Photos from the Beat
A Kayaking Story
ArcherVision and I strapped the kayaks to the top of the car and made an impromptu dash to the Cape this Labor Day weekend.
In search of a more interesting paddle that wouldn't break our backs, we did a little research online and came across The Cape Cod Insider, who detailed a river trip down the Herring River, which is located in my hometown of Harwich. I am familiar with the river, but have never kayaked nor canoed it. My father used to take me to the adjoining Herring Run, a set of wide water stairs that guide the fish, when I was a kid. We'd grab the little buggers in nets for dinner, sometimes squeezing the roe and cooking it in a frying pan -- snap! crackle! pop! -- and topping it with ketchup.
But exploring the salt water passageway that cuts through a large slice of town, I had never tried. It sounded like a nice way to spend a Sunday, and The Insider promised copious wildlife sightings, so we were off.
We put in at a town landing off of Route 28 in West Harwich, where we were able to park and launch for free. The landing is across the street from the popular Irish Pub, which has live bands in the summer and often hosts post-race parties for area 5- and 10Ks, including their own, held in August.
It's also just feet away from the best gift shop in the world, the Captain's Cargo, owned and staffed by a man named Hugh, who resembles a salty Santa Claus. He has fine photography as well as fart bags ... it's a weird, wonderful mecca of ridiculousness and I buy half of my Christmas presents there every year. Sadly, Hugh is rumored to be selling his property and closing up shop.
But I digress. We set out floating with the rising tide into the main artery of the river, the reeds rising around us as we worked our way in.
Thousands of young blue crabs scurried up the banks as we passed, giving the illusion of a rippling coastline, and gulls soared overhead, occasionally coming in for a landing.
The river twists and winds its way north, sometimes flowing under low bridges from which fishermen cast lines and tourists lower fish tails and crabbing baskets into the water.
As the surroundings become more remote, the wildlife does indeed emerge from the dense marsh; swans glided along with us, cranes and egrets posed on muddy stumps, and dragonflies whizzed by in pairs.
At the end of the line, we reached the Herring Run, and land, which separates the river from an adjoining reservoir. The two are connected by an underground pipe, but there was a small landing where we could park the boats and climb up to the run to grab a snack and rest. I noticed a sign that said taking herring was now prohibited, and felt nostalgic for childhood.
The reservoir is surrounded by well-cleared trails that we were also able to explore, easily navigating them for a leisurely walk.
On the ride back, the tide now high, paddling against the tide was relatively simple except during gusts of wind and when rowing over a cross-current, usually near a bend in the wider parts of the path. The tributaries on either side of the river were also now deeper and wider, making the ride back seem unfamiliar at times, but if we kept a close eye on the tide, and kept moving against it, we could find our way, dubbing any wrong turns 'exploring.'
After more than four hours on the river, we packed up the boats quickly and headed to the local grocery store for burgers and hot dogs, having invited friends over that night for a cook-out. However, the Irish Pub is also a great post-yak watering hole, and also nearby is The Weatherdeck, one of the Cape's quintessential fried clam joints, and one of the best. You can play a round of mini-golf if you're so inclined, though the course, too, is different than it was when I was growing up. Then, it was home to Davey the Whale, a huge structure through which you had to hit the ball -- as it talked to you through a speaker in its mouth.
Davey was removed at some point during my pre-teen years. I remember walking by a sandlot in North Harwich as a teenager with a friend, and we saw him lying pathetically on his side, near a pile of pallets.
It's not the same Cape Cod I grew up with, however it's the hidden nooks that have yet to be explored that keep me coming back. It's not unlike the ebb and flow of the water itself; some things flow into the sea never to return, while others arrive with the currents, and become a new part of the landscape.
The Captain's Cargo may soon be empty, the Weatherdeck's mini-golf has been re-landscaped, and the hiss! and fizz! of herring roe in the cast iron pan is a distant sound to me. But deep within the reeds, the cars were silenced, the smell of deep-fried civilization was far away, and the herring swam freely under my kayak.
It was nice to be home.
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