The Oceanfront Refuge

Although I live inland, the sea is not far away.  It’s close enough for a day’s outing and is more-or-less on the way to my mother-in-law’s house.  Sand beaches, rocky outcroppings, small seaports, and lighthouses abound along the New England coast, and visiting them never grows old.  For many years now, we’ve made it our practice to stop at some coastal point on the way to or from visiting Miss Patty’s family.  The children developed several favorite spots, and all of us enjoyed these waterfront sojourns tremendously, often wanting to stay longer than our time allowed.  Because these seaside visits were neither long enough nor frequent enough, they have become a case of absence making the heart grow fonder.  Sometimes I yearn to just look at the ocean again, somewhat like wanting to visit an old friend or a close relative.

I’ve long thought it would be nice to live in a house set on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic.  I could see the ocean every day then.  Realistically, though, this arrangement would probably not always be practical.  In lieu of it, I content myself with day trips and vacations and the taking of photographs.  Seascapes have long been one of my favorite art forms, and they are frequently the next best thing to actually being there.  Accordingly, then, I’ve selected a batch of recent seaside photographs to share here.

On Thursday, July 28, 2022, Miss Patty and I stopped at Fort McClary in Kittery, Maine, on the way home from her mother’s house.  In this peaceful and pristine park that sits well off the beaten tourist path, we rested for a while and enjoyed the magnificent view of the entrance to Portsmouth Harbor.  In this photograph, Whaleback Light stands on the left in Maine; on the right is the better known Portsmouth Harbor Light in New Hampshire.  Beyond the two lighthouses lies the open Atlantic.  On the extreme right, Fort Constitution guards the channel.  Prior to the American Revolution, this facility bore the name Castle William and Mary in honor of England’s famous dual monarchs of the 1600s:

On our last voyage from New England to New York, made on Wednesday, October 5, 2022, I took this photograph of the fabled Plum Gut Light from the ferry Cape Henlopen.  Everyone in our family has sailed past this lighthouse near the North Fork of Long Island many times.  On this particular occasion, however, the colors of the land, sea, and sky combined to form a unique canvass that made this my favorite of all lighthouse photographs:

On Monday, October 9, 2023, we travelled to York, Maine, for a lunchtime rendezvous with my mother-in-law.  While the food was good, I was much more interested in the adjacent oceanfront.  A prominent feature of this oceanfront is the famous Nubble Light, situated on a small island across a narrow channel from Cape Neddick.  One of the most iconic of American lighthouses, it attracts legions of sightseers and photographers all year round.  Endowed by Nature with magnificent beauty, it is truly a sight to behold and by which to be inspired and edified.  In this photograph, we see Nubble Light surrounded by the elements of earth, sea, and sky, manifestations of the natural sciences of marine geology, oceanography, and meteorology, all fascinating fields of study and all included in varying degrees on the Merchant Marine license exams:

Just to the right of the Nubble, we see the open Atlantic.  If we zoom in with our trusty cell phone camera, we can discern Boon Island and its lighthouse on the horizon several miles offshore.  Often invisible from the mainland because of clouds or fog, the Boon Island Light has long been and still remains an important aid to navigation.  It is always a special treat to see this great sentinel of the sea on a sunny day with a clear atmosphere:

To the left of the Nubble lies Short Sands, one of Maine’s few bathing beaches.  The water here is quite cold, so wading and not actual bathing is more the norm.  Those who do go bathing or surfing usually dress in heavy wetsuits for protection from the cold.  One need not get wet to enjoy Short Sands, though.  I was quite content to remain on the beach and simply watch the waves:

Returning to Cape Neddick after several months on Wednesday, July 17, 2024, I was again delighted to simply stare at the ocean.  Here is a lovely calm stretch of the open Atlantic, much as I saw it many times as a young mate on the bridge wing of a cargo ship:

Two weeks earlier, on Wednesday the Fourth of July, we passed through Rye, New Hampshire, and stopped to take in this view from a rocky beach.  My granddaughter, Miss Lydia, was fascinated by the rocks and the water, and she asked many questions about both.  We would have been happy to remain there all afternoon but faced with the daunting task of wending our way home through a nightmare of holiday traffic, we reluctantly returned to the car and got underway.

Visiting Portland, Maine, on Thursday, August 1, 2024, with my son Steven, I could not resist examining the cruise ship Silver Shadow and the schooner Timber Wind, both docked downtown.  The weather that day was hot and humid, and this caused an impressive buildup of cumulus clouds that hovered over the ship:

At a nearby pier lay this unidentified cruise vessel.  Not even Steven, with his young and healthy eyes, could read her name.  More noteworthy, I thought, was this additional pileup of cumulus and borderline cumulonimbus clouds.  Not surprisingly, it rained later that afternoon.

Finally, we see the diminutive Spring Point Light at the end of the breakwater in South Portland in an unusual view from across the harbor.  When my children were young, this site served us well as the setting for several picnic lunches.  At the end of the long jetty, we had a magnificent view of Portland Harbor and Casco Bay, and we watched as a parade of oil tankers, cruise ships, pilot boats, and ferries passed in front of us.  On this more recent visit, there was little traffic on the water, but the view, even on a cloudy and hazy day, was still fantastic.  Once again, I would have gladly stayed there all afternoon, but duty called, and I had to go.

The duties of life have called me away from my waterfront “happy place” many times.  While it was always sad to leave the sea and attend to business, I’ve always been grateful to have visited the seaside, even if only briefly, and to have been uplifted and edified by it.  The oceanfront has long served me as a refuge from the commotion and contention of life.  It is a place of peace and serenity, a place to enjoy the primordial beauty of Creation, a place to seek and experience Divinity, and a place to “be still and know that I am God” (D&C 101:16). 

A Parade of Ships

The ferry Susan Anne stood at the dock in Orient Point, Long Island, on Friday, July 15, 2016.  She was loading the last few vehicles and passengers for the 9:00am departure for New London, Connecticut.  We had a reservation for the 10:00am sailing, but we had arrived early because of better than expected traffic.  With about an hour to spare, then, I left the car and walked down to the narrow beach by the dock and started taking pictures.  The Susan Anne glowed in the bright sunlight.  A few minutes after 9:00, she sounded her whistle and eased away from her berth.  Once clear of the pilings she backed to starboard, put her engines ahead, and set an eastward course.  On her way out, she passed the incoming Mary Ellen, the vessel we would soon board for our scheduled 10:00am departure.  As I photographed the two ferries maneuvering, it occurred to me that I just might get pictures of the entire fleet that day.  At the very least, it would be worth a try.

Aboard the now docked Mary Ellen a few minutes later, I roamed the weather decks, camera in hand, and resumed my quest.  Soon the Caribbean Ferry arrived and backed into the adjacent berth.  Then the Sea Jet came along and waited patiently for the Mary Ellen to depart.  A traffic jam on the Orient Point waterfront—three ships vying for two docks!

At 10:00am the Master of the Mary Ellen appeared on the starboard bridge wing.  Gazing upon the assembly of shipping with his hand on the propeller and rudder controls, he looked almost god-like as he surveyed the scene around him and eased the ship away from the dock.  He did in fact look every inch the fully qualified and licensed Merchant Marine officer in his black trousers, white shirt, and four gold stripes on each shoulder board.  More importantly, he displayed great professional skill as he maneuvered the Mary Ellen on her departure.  An hour and a half later, he would display even more shiphandling skill in bringing the vessel to her dock in crowded New London.  For now, though, the Mary Ellen headed east on pristine blue water toward Plum Gut as the John H came in.  Another beautiful day on the sea, in my mind the pinnacle of all Creation.

The Mary Ellen and her running mates formed the parade of ships that spent the day crossing the eastern end of Long Island Sound, carrying automobiles, trucks, and passengers between New York and New England.  In our short voyage, we witnessed the workings of the whole fleet.  Beginning then with the Susan Anne, here are the day’s portraits of the ships of the Cross Sound Ferry:

The Susan Anne prepares for departure at the dock in Orient Point.

The outbound Susan Anne meets the arriving Mary Ellen a short distance off the beach at Orient Point.

The Mary Ellen approaches the dock at Orient Point.

The diminutive Caribbean Ferry approaches the dock at Orient Point, seen from the upper deck of the much larger Mary Ellen.

The Sea Jet waits for the Mary Ellen to depart.  Then she will dock in the space just vacated.

As the Mary Ellen sails toward New London, she first passes the John H bound in the opposite direction.  Here the John H has come through the Plum Gut and is passing the Plum Gut Light.

A close-up of the Plum Gut Light.

In open water, the Cape Henlopen is the next ferry sailing toward Orient Point.

Still in open water, the New London follows on her voyage to Orient Point.

Finally, we see the Susan Anne again, leaving New London now and heading back to Orient Point.