Adrift in Memories

By Deane Turner

Mashpee’s Great River was still and serene as the early May morning fog lifted, revealing a tall, majestic blue heron stalking its prey. After a long winter’s nap on land, our boat slid effortlessly into the waiting salt river, her natural setting. A flick of the switch and our big engine kicked in, and we headed downriver with ease, passing marshy shores and empty summer homes, coves and inlets. As we slithered between the freshly painted channel buoys past Monomoscoy, we spotted a seagull gliding past the osprey’s lofty, empty nest.

Finally, beyond the “no wake zone,” we quickly gathered speed, heading north up Waquoit Bay. Tears brought by the rushing wind combined with emotions uncorked by the exhilaration of the first ride of the new season. There was always something special, something spiritual, about this chilly, peaceful, uncongested first ride of spring. Dressed in heavy sweaters and windbreakers, clutching our hot coffee, we took in deep breaths of salty spring air.

As we swung around at the top of the bay and headed south, we spotted another lone boater. Issuing our first wave of the season – the mariner’s universal unspoken language – we quickly crossed paths. Slowing again as we passed Washburn Island’s empty beaches, we were greeted by a long chorus line of black cormorants, the sentinels of the breakwater.

Finally, we opened her up and jettisoned out into the sparkling Nantucket Sound, pointing towards Martha’s Vineyard. We searched the horizon for familiar landmarks. East Chop, Gay Head, Nobska Light, they were still there. What a glorious setting. We were on a natural high; the new season had begun.