Block Island

When I was a child every summer my family made a pilgrimage to Maine, where we rented a small cottage on the beach. As we approached the coast, my brother, sister and I would hang our heads out the car windows and compete to be the first to get a whiff of the damp salt air. The beach was a huge, flat, sand expanse with a jetty at one end and a maze of rocky tidal pools at the other.
During low tide you could barely see the water. During high tide it lapped at the sea wall. Small universes of sea urchins, barnacles, crabs, snails and starfish resided in tidal pools large enough for a child to swim in. We convinced ourselves we saw mirages of ancient European cities on the hazy August horizon.
These memories compel me. Summer reaches fruition with the family pilgrimage to the beach.
So, once again, my husband and I loaded up our minivan with boogie boards and beach toys, strapped in our son Wolfie, and made the four hour drive to Galilee, a dilapidated community of bars, seafood distributorships and souvenir shops on Point Judith, Rhode Island, that serves as a departure point for tourists and commercial fishermen heading out to sea.
We arrived early and settled in on the second-story deck of the Wheelhouse Tavern next door to the ferry ticket office. The rank odor of countless barrels of bait lining the docks blended with the enticing aroma of frying clam fritters. We drank beer, ate lobster rolls and watched the heavily loaded ferries come and go. Wolfie entertained himself by scrutinizing the fishermen at work on their boats directly below us. A guitar player hired to entertain the clientele serenaded us with songs like “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” which my husband, who is prone to seasickness, did not find appropriate for the about-to-board-the-ferry crowd.
We set sail at 6 p.m., leaving the harbor and passing Point Judith, then headed east across Block Island Sound.
Block Island is a pear-shaped outcropping formed by glaciers some 12,000 years ago. Just under seven miles long and about four miles across at its widest point, the island is a blend of grasslands, coastal bluffs, sand dunes, wetlands and salt and freshwater ponds. Old Harbor, the island’s hub, is a cluster of fanciful Victorian era hotels clinging improbably to the island’s rocky shores. The enormous Great Salt Pond opens up into the interior of the island. A man-made channel to the sea allows the pond to serve as a harbor and it is filled with sailboats throughout the summer.
Originally home to Manisses, a tribe of Narragansett Indians, Block Island was “discovered” by explorer Giovanni da Verrazano in 1524 and then again by Dutch fur trader Adrian Block, who sailed by the island in 1614 and gave it its name.
Designated one of the “Last Great Places” by the Nature Conservancy, much of Block Island is now protected from development. Although sections of the sandy beaches on the eastern coast become quite crowded on summer weekends, it is easy enough to find a place to enjoy some solitude.
The first part of the island to become visible from the ferry is the northernmost tip called Sandy Point. A narrow, mile-long peninsula of sand jutting into the ocean, Sandy Point is a popular spot for weddings. It’s also a popular spot for shipwrecks, because the sandbar extends out from the island for another half mile under the sea.
To alert ships to the danger, a lighthouse was built on the point in 1829. Called the Northern Light, it had to be reconstructed three times due to poor choices in location and devastating winds and seas. The fourth lighthouse, built in 1867, still stands today and is home to a small museum.
On Block Island we joined forces with our friends and their families who over the years have made our tradition their own. Numbering 12 adults and 8 children, ranging in age from 1 to 14 we cut a wide swath. On our first full day we convened on Mansion Beach. A wide strip backed by dunes with decent waves, no rocks and a short walk to bluffs and tidal pools, it is an ideal spot for beaching with kids. At first dip, the jade green water felt as cold as iceberg runoff at the North Pole, but amazingly, you got used to it.
The kids with their boogie boards rode the frothing waves like porpoises. Wolfie cut a dashing figure in his new wet suit, which protected him wonderfully from sun, sand and cold.
The requisite giant hole was dug and filled with water. The diaper set, 1-year-old Justin and 2-year-old Bryce, stripped down and lolled in the shallow, sun-warmed pool, occasionally flashing their white bottoms.
Mansion Beach is so named for a fantastic mansion constructed in the dunes in 1889 for Mrs. Edward Searles, the widow of railroad tycoon Mark Hopkins and at that time the wealthiest woman in the United States.
After her death, the mansion fell into disrepair, although it was revived during Prohibition as a restaurant and speakeasy. Lying between Narraganset Bay and Long Island, Block Island was a popular haven for smugglers who kept its speakeasies, such as The Mansion, well supplied. The mansion burned in a mysterious fire in 1963. All that remains is the impressive stone foundation.
After the beach, we ventured into the Club Soda, a local watering hole in the basement of the Highview Inn. Much of its dim, cave-like ambience comes from the aquamarine murals that cover its walls. The murals were painted in the 1940s by an artist named H. D. Wetherbee in exchange for a place to live, food and plenty of Scotch.
We chose a cool and blustery day to take advantage of some of the unique hiking opportunities on the island. A network of trails called The Greenway travels through more than 600 acres of protected land from the Great Salt Pond through the island’s interior and out to the spectacular rocky southern coast.
Considering the children we chose an easy hike through a unique glacial outwash basin called Rodman’s Hollow. Rodman’s Hollow, named for one of the island’s original families, was bought during the 1960s by developers. In response, islanders formed the Block Island Conservancy and bought it back so it could remain forever wild. Winding through the sunken scrubland, the trail dips into the hollow then rises again to the tops of the bluffs overlooking a rough and dark blue sea.
The rocky beach that lies below, called Black Rock for the rough-and-tumble outcropping of shining black and ocher boulders continuously pummeled by waves, is my favorite part of the island. The roar of the surf, the craggy sand cliffs and the salty wind wet with spray create an atmosphere both desolate and sublime. I drink it up with all my senses, knowing I must store up enough to last me through until next summer.
Covered with mud, sand and sea spray we head back. Whereas we families with young children have rented houses, spending our vacation in tenement-style arrangements complete with squalling babies and lines for the bathroom, some of our companions on the island have opted for a more civilized lifestyle, taking rooms at the Atlantic Inn. A Victorian hotel perched on a hill above Old Harbor, its wide front porch and sloping lawns look out over a panorama of ocean and beach.
The view spread out below us as we drove up the hill toward the hotel. Schuyler, 4, and Wolfie were in the back seat. Excited by the expanse made more dramatic by an approaching storm, I called out to the two boys “Guys, can you see the ocean?”
“I can see the ocean!” yelled Schuyler.
“I can see the clouds!” yelled Wolfie, referring to a charcoal cloud mass forming to the north.
“I can see God!” yelled Schuyler, fresh from a stint at a vacation bible school. My husband and I laughed.
If God can be seen, Block Island would be a likely place for a sighting.