Quansoo Cut, The Long of It.

My daughter called me last night, with news that on her beach trip yesterday afternoon she’d found that the barrier beach at the south end of Tisbury Great Pond had been opened to the Atlantic Ocean.

It was dark and too late to go see, but I rose well before dawn this morning to go see, and to take photographs. There was plenty to see. When I got home, the counter on the computer said I had 456 images to download. The first image was timestamped 5:34AM.

The East was filling with intense orange light. There was noise of water  rushing under the Crab Creek footbridge. Seabird sounds were flooding the chilly new-lit air.

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Crab Creek at Dawn. Chilmark, Massachusetts.

A beach is such an open, flat, expansive sort of place that I needed “long” photographs.

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First light over South Beach and the Atlantic Ocean.

The Cut is a quarter mile walk from the Crab Creek bridge. The dark horizontal slash you see cutting across the beach is where the Pond is draining into the Atlantic.

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The Cut. April 2016.

Black and white?

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The Cut. April 2016

Or color?

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The Cut. April 2016

Sunrise came.

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Excavator bucket prints and tread tracks.

The outflow stirs up potential food.

Birds and seals will come to look for a meal.

So will humans.

A young man had heard the news of the open pond.

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Getting ready to take the first cast…

I don’t know if he caught a fish..

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Fishing the Cut at Dawn. April, 2016

Fish or no fish, does it matter?

Just to be here is ample reward.

I turned, and headed west toward the Crab Creek bridge.

Ahead, a pair of Canada Geese were on the move.

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Geese over the Dunes.

I crossed through the dunes and paused on the bridge to take one more picture.

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Crab Creek, 6:33AM, April 14, 2016

There was still a long day ahead of me.

 

Post script: I now know if the young man was successful. He was. He caught some small striped bass, an early and praiseworthy angling achievement. How did I find out? This is a small island. Shortly after this post went up, I got a message from the UPS deliveryman who usually brings parcels to my place. He told me who the young man was. I had the pleasure of being in tough with him, and sent him a series of the photographs I’d taken of him. But I’m not going to tell his name, since local fishermen prefer to keep quiet about such things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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