
Leg 41, from Clam Cove to the head of Polly's Cove, November, 2010

It's hunting season. I must of been uncharacteristically quiet biking to my starting point. As I dismounted a flash of orange in the woods ahead alerted me to a hunter down on one knee taking aim across the cove. In a few minutes he wandered northerly away from me having not fired the shot I'd expected to hear.


Here, at the head of Polly's Cove, the village of Stonington can be easily seen in the distance. When I was a kid Polly's Cove was a populat place to undertake 'shutting off' for herring. I lived in the Bucket, a legendary homestead down by the old ballground, during the fifties. Alfred Hall lived across the street. He was a very gentle soul, older than my own father. He and his brothers shut off Polly's cove regularly. I think they owned land at the head of the Cove. Now and then my family and his camped there. I remember a tent platform from which we looked straight out to Stonington.
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