Leg 36 from the head of Jennings Cove to Birger Youngquist's old place.
As I rounded the point at Stetson's I heard voices. Oddly, this was the first time in fifty or so walks, that I'd encountered another human being. I thought perhaps I'd interrupted a caretaker and crew hauling a float for the winter. Instead I came upon a big fibre glass whaler, high and dry, having motored in on the coming tide hours earlier and now abandoned by the receding water. Nearby were two clammers, busily engaged in the exhausting work of raking through the mud in search of steamers, gathering all they could duri
ng the five or six hours provided them, loading hod after hod into the boat. I walked around the perimeter of the cove without them seeing me. There were no niceties involved in this business, neither in the things they had to say to one another as they worked. Still, if this were the only thing left for me to do to provide for myself and my family, I wonder how long I'd last. More were around the next bend but this time the boat was not in view and they were wading through knee deep water raking what appeared to be only the water in search of I what, I could not tell. And then, as if I had not had enough of 
people, I rounded the final bend and came upon someone poling their dinghy (it was that shallow) out to a mooring and then heading up the River in a motorboat for North Haven. Altogether this was seven people, seven more than I'd encounted in nearly a year.
ng the five or six hours provided them, loading hod after hod into the boat. I walked around the perimeter of the cove without them seeing me. There were no niceties involved in this business, neither in the things they had to say to one another as they worked. Still, if this were the only thing left for me to do to provide for myself and my family, I wonder how long I'd last. More were around the next bend but this time the boat was not in view and they were wading through knee deep water raking what appeared to be only the water in search of I what, I could not tell. And then, as if I had not had enough of 
people, I rounded the final bend and came upon someone poling their dinghy (it was that shallow) out to a mooring and then heading up the River in a motorboat for North Haven. Altogether this was seven people, seven more than I'd encounted in nearly a year.
Whien I was a kid this was a common sight, dories full of nets waiting for the herring and the tide that would allow them to shut off the cove for harvest. Those though, were beautiful things, wooden, often lapstrake. These are huge fiber glass industrial things. Still this was a photogenic assemblage.
This was an early morning walk. I'd earlier warned a certain summer resident, staying late, that I'd probably be emerging in his front yard around 9am and came up from the shore looking directly into his bedroom at 8:58. The shades were all drawn back and revealed that he certainly hadn't taken me seriously. I quickly re-directed my gaze, oopting not to take a photo, and headed upland for my bike which I'/d stashed earlier next to his driveway but some distance from the house.
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