PBW: So Far and yet So Close.

It's raining outside right now, just a light drizzle, but it's also 30 degrees. Winter is creeping up and soon it will be December. I often feel powerless in the face of time and disruptive changes, swept away upon the current of existence around me, helpless to do more than tread water any way I know how. Good or bad, change is inevitable, but I really long to slow things down, enjoy being here on this Earth. The human race is one I can never win, and people and moments keep leaving me in the dust.

With the weather being as beautiful as it was this past weekend, coupled with the fact that I'd taken Monday off, it didn't feel right to stay indoors. I had a few destinations in mind, especially after last week's unplanned journey. Gas prices be damned, I set out East letting the car take me where it would. Sunday, back roads and winding hills along the shore brought me to Caumsett Park, a 1,750 acre marvel of nature that I'd NEVER been to, even though it's not all that far out East from where I live. As I took my trusty camera to gather images for yet another Photo Blog Wednesday, I was amazed at the variety of wildlife and terrain that I encountered.



I was undaunted by this first sign. 2 miles? I run more than that on a daily basis in the gym. How long or difficult could it be to stroll to the beach on a warm autumn day? I'd soon find out.




A dirt path leading across an open field invited me into the colorful woods beyond. Before entering, I paused to capture a richly textured tree stump.




Soon I was well into the woods, surrounded by fall colors and the outstretched limbs of barren trees.



At one point the long dirt road emerged into a clearing, where horseback riders could be seen galloping by. The trails for horses were rougher, and cut across the foot path at times, and I came upon many intersections.



After the clearing, it was back into the woods, where the trail curved even as the road down became steeper. I thought I heard water, but I still had another mile ahead of me.



Beyond a railing, I could soon see marshlands, with the Long Island Sound far in the background. The air was changing now, and the entire journey felt outside of time itself. Far from the sounds of automobiles and the shadows of buildings, I thought of these lands where I walked, where people walked hundreds of years before, and how the sights weren't all that different. It was as though I'd traveled back in time, and it was wonderful.




At last, after 45 minutes of walking, my goal was in sight. The water was an amazing shade of blue, the sky clear and the beach pristine. I could hardly believe I was on the North shore of Long Island and not some tropical destination instead. If I was feeling tired by this point, I soon forgot all about it.




I had to walk over an amazing natural arrangement of rocks to reach the finer sands, but soon I was heading out to the edge of this wondrous peninsula.



Water around here is NEVER this clear. I was certain now that I was in the past. Of course there were a few present-day families, fishermen, and couples scattered about the beach, so I headed away from them to maintain the illusion.



Here I turned back to snap the trees and cliffs I'd come down from. Later on I'd get a closer shot on my return trip.




The peninsula actually curved and jutted to the left, and this wasn't the terminus I thought it would be. I did encounter plenty of seagulls, and while the adults scurried, these two young ones waited. I approached slowly, not wanting to scare the little guys into the currents that I was certain would overwhelm them. They hadn't learned to swim or fly yet, but they could run. I kept my distance so as not to corner them, and eventually they ran toward the adults astoundingly fast. I sat for a while to rest, enjoying the sound of the waves and absorbing my surroundings before I continued to follow the shoreline.




The driftwood photo doesn't do justice to the scale of this full size tree I initially thought was GROWING out of the sand. I did find some interesting cacti growing on the beach, though.



Likely, there was once a dock or a landing when the park was a private estate.



As I walked along the shore with the Sound to my right, a lake to the left separated the beach from the marshes I'd seen from up in the trails. The lake I would eventually learn was fed by the Sound.



A large sign warning boaters seemed explanation enough for the clear waters. Most of the beaches I've been to on the North Shore have been near enough to yacht clubs, factories and plants to keep the water murky shades of green and black. Here were waters predominantly undisturbed by the byproducts of man's constructs.



This is where the peninsula ended, and the connection to the lake. I now began walking back on the other side, following the lake.



I was soon in the marsh, with a questionable wooden bridge before me. The wood was old, damp, rotting, and patched in many places. I took the photo, and began walking. Carefully...



The sun was setting by the time I got to the other end of the beach with the cliffs, and I didn't get any other photos. Just to the left of this photo a young couple sat on a rock gazing out, and I allowed myself a brief pang of regret for not having a young lady to share the experience with that day. I comforted myself in the thought that the day's exploration provided valuable research for future dates, and I could always come back when I did have a girlfriend again. Looking at the wooden staircase alongside those cliffs, I realized I had more immediate concerns. I was exhausted, the sun was setting, and my car was two miles away uphill.




I took the same trail back, so I didn't take any pictures of the return journey. Basically, imagine the first few photos in tonight's post a lot darker and scarier, and that will convey the experience. Had I more time and daylight, I would have explored a different trail, but the place is huge and impossible to cover in one day on foot. The people with the horses and bicycles may have had the right idea. When I did eventually reach my car, I noticed some parents telling a little boy he could see the hawks. Inside a fenced enclosure were several red-tailed hawks, and the sun was still pretty bright back in the open field, so I managed a few more shots that day after all.

By Monday afternoon when feeling had returned to my legs, I just took a book to sit and read on a local beach before it got too cold. But remarkably, in the span of four or five hours on a Sunday afternoon a day prior, I'd gone hiking through the woods, walked along a tropical beach, encountered various species of birds, and seen many horses, all within a few miles of where I live. Sometimes you just have to expand your horizons a little bit to discover a wholly different world. In doing so, it becomes just a bit easier to navigate the more difficult currents of ordinary everyday life.