Odysseus Abroad: Boston, Massachusetts

Winthrop - Cambridge - Boston - Provincetown - The White Mountains, NH - Boothbay Harbor, ME

East House, McLean Pavilion Belmont, MA

The second tropical storm from the central Atlantic headed through the coat of New England as we settled into a house in Winthrop, Massachusetts for a few days. Thirty four years earlier I had arrived in Boston from Ireland for the first time and would live there for 3 years (1989-1993), returning only in 2010 to run the Boston Marathon - that visit was extended to ten days due to interruption of my return to Malaysia then by eruption of Eyjafjallajokull Volcano in Iceland, allowing me to explore many of my old haunts in the region. Returning now on a mission of sorts, with plan to avail of the psychiatric expertise of McLean Pavilion, Belmont, Massachusetts, for my fragile charge and co-traveler. Having devoured the book "Gracefully Insane: Life and Death Inside America's Premier Mental Hospital" by Alex Ream, I was looking forward to visit the institution, but we had a few days there in Winthrop by the ocean to prepare. Ten days earlier we had planned the same trip when the first tropical storm was headed to Boston, but a positive Covid test of my co-traveler postponed the trip. A full moon pulled the tides high drawing the tightly packed storm swells pounding high on the seawall where I would sit each evening. The current sea defenses barely withstood the storm pounding and would be no match for rising sea levels which will return the area to a group of islands eventually. A few weeks later the third storm would hit New England as I stayed on the coast in Maine.

Winthrop had always been my go-to place while I lived in Boston, whether to go for long melancholy walks, to photograph, or explore during storms, all moods are experienced there, the calm of autumn being interrupted regularly by 90 megawatts of thrust power being released overhead by aircraft ascending from Logan Airport nearby. Logan is an awkward and overstressed airport packed onto a stretch of reclaimed land close to the city. Two of the 911 attach panes took off from Boston Logan which may reflect the difficulty in securing the site. It was at Winthrop beach I took some of my most memorable photographs - one from the beach at night back to the lights of the seawall in long exposure, the stretched lights of planes taking off in background, the silhouette of a lone saxophone player sitting on the seawall, or a fisherman's rod nearby. It was from Winthrop I took pictures of the Tall Ships which visited in 1992. It was also at Winthrop that I experienced a terrible storm in fall of 1991 around Halloween when a Nor'easter combined with Hurricane Grace and pounded Boston with fully westerly force from the dirty side of what would later become known as "The Perfect Storm", a phrase formed by writer Sebastian Junger as title of the book he wrote on the storm. The term has since come to mean the combination of many factors to form an extreme situation. There was no work due to a stay at home order during the storm, but I was out in my four wheel drive Subaru exploring Winthrop and being battered by the wind, rain, snow and sea salt.

Deer Island was off-limits back in earlier times, but has since been opened up as a two mile hiking park. The island was used as a prison for natives in earlier times when conflict arose with European immigrants. Later it was used as an immigration hold for many of the Irish immigrating during the famine years - of 4000 who passed through, some 800 died on the island due to illness or as a result of the grueling sea journey. An Irish cross overlooking Boston harbor was installed as a memorial recently. Daily I ran or hiked around the periphery of the island (now a peninsula after a hurricane in 1938 closed the gap) which used to also house a prison and still is home to one of the largest waste water treatment plants in the world, whose six pack of egg shaped bio-digesters are iconic on the skyline arriving to the region by boat.

Marblehead was another place often visited in past, the house of Dr. David Crowley, his wife Martha an two sons, David and Kevin, who were close to my age. They visited us in Ireland when I was around 14 years old, and I recall taking them to a pub for drinks, we all arriving home well on it, their parents shocked (or actually in denial). Unfortunately David (junior) had passed away in 2017 from reports online and parents moved to Florida since. David senior was still listed an owner of a house in Lynn which I had visited many years ago, invited by his parents to hear many of the old stories of my great uncles, Jerry and Pattie McGillycuddy - one of them bought their first car and couldn't drive too well, circling the house numerous times until the car stopped (family folklore). David senior had driven me to Duxbury on south side of Boston to meet my second cousin, Ken McCarthy and his wife, Carol, plus two children back in 1990. Both Chemical Engineers working for Polaroid, one of the most innovative companies last century. Currently reading "A Triumph of Genius", a story of Polaroid and it's pioneering leader, Edwin Land. I sent a note to Ken via email found online, but no response and suspect the email vis consulting company no longer active. My charge laid on the couch day and night uninterested in exploring the north coast of Boston, but I did get us out to Revere to order food at the iconic Kelly's Roast Beef, established in 1953, and a regular haunt of mine for the fried clams, the best around.

We were up early, packed, coffee on the go and heading across the city during rush hour traffic for check-in at McLean Pavilion at 8:15am Wednesday September 27th. It was my first trip through the "Big Dig" tunnel on Interstate 90, a $2.8 billion which was under construction while I lived in Boston, evening having friends work on the project, but it was a disaster financially, running up to $22 billion eventually after facing some serious technical issues, plus a good share of corruption in contracts. For $22 billion we were still bumper to bumper in the tunnel and I wondered about the quality of the work on the tunnel with all that corruption and being stuck was not helping my mind go to imagine a catastrophic failure and flooding....maybe some contractor didn't but the expensive marine cement, but when to the much cheaper garden variety, and now after years of vibration, bacteria and salt intrusion, it would give way...but it held up and we were back above ground, again bumper to bumper, with accidents delaying us and worried about being later for McLean. A black pickup with hidden police lights whipped by, parting lanes - this amused my charge, who hadn't expressed amusement in weeks, that anyone old yokel could put lights on and cut through rush hour. Even more amusing then what the cause of delays, police having pulled over a black pickup truck - was it the police light cheater...or, no, but a concept worthy of a laugh. Soon we were on Mill Street, right on McLean Street, passed Bowditch and Wyman buildings, pulling up at the door of East House right on time. All these buildings were familiar to me from reading the history of McLean Mental Hospital by Alex Beam, "Gracefully Insane", a wonderful account of some two hundred years since the original institution was setup in Charlestown, well before moving in the 1890's to the enormous sprawling grounds in Belmont set in hills and forest. Met by Kathy McCool and given a brief tour of East House, which mostly housed treatment for obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), but whose third floor was partly set aside as residence for patients of McLean Pavilion program in the Wyman building next door. Dropping my patient there for two weeks of diagnosis led by Dr. Marc Zuckerman, I would tour New England from Cape Cod to New Hampshire and Maine, returning during a weekend for a visit, plus the last four days staying at A Cambridge House, where I had stayed during the Boston Marathon 13 years prior.

Although the grounds of McLean Belmont are smaller today than originally, as lands and buildings were sold to support the survival of the institute in 2005, it is still a large complex with many buildings and the surrounding forest, although public lands now, are still accessible. In facto one of the key principles of McLean is not to look like a high security locked down institution, anyone can walk the grounds and the patients don't feel too restricted. East House itself was once a high security ward for seriously mental female patients before it's current purpose. On each visit I would walk the forested grounds, often stopping at the old steel water tower on a high point near the Wyman building. Graffiti there was all of a generative nature by patients: "I'm having some anxiety" shouts a cartoon bear, "This is for everybody going through tough times, believe me, been there, done that. But every day above ground is a great day, remember that" reads another, "You deserve to get better", by Another Hopeless Patient, "I have to believe that healing is possible, Survival is Resistance!!!", "Future Niamh, I hope you got all that you wished", "we are all just walking each other home" Ram Dass. Besides the forests transferred to the city of Belmont for public use, some land was sold for housing developments, so there is essentially a regular (nice) housing complex unrelated to the hospital on the grounds. An old redbrick administration building lay abandoned and derelict at the edge of the complex, probably part of the transfer to the city and unmaintained. Exploring the empty rooms I imagined their function during the hay day of McLean, when the institute was a warehouse for long term care of the mentally ill wealthy and there was no shortage of funds to fill the coffers. As the old wealth dried up and the realities of modern health care required shorter treatment plans, McLean adjusted, opening the Pavilion diagnostic program as a comprehensive version of old McLean in two week period in late 1990's.

In "Gracefully Insane" Alex Beam outlines the history of treatment programs which were ineffective with no scientific basis, but worse, many would seem to us today like torture. One such treatments sounds very much like "water boarding" to shock the patient to get better! It was only in the 1950's that the first psychiatric drug, Thorazine, emerged with effective outcomes and many more since then have proven to help patients. Alfred Stanton joined McLean as Chief Psychiatrist in 1955 and transformed the institute from a holding grounds for mental patients to a treatment center with focus on improving and returning people to society. He advocated normalizing patients within the community, advanced and modernized psychiatric treatment, but the 1960's brought an additionally difficult set of patients, younger and driven by the drug experimentation of the era, some even still at school, necessitating McLean to setup a school onsite to allow patients to graduate while being treated. A string of suicides also became a concern at the hospital - some argued that these were due to the nature of attracting difficult patients, but these probably led to the decision by Stanton to move on from leadership of McLean in 1972. The derelict admin building was mostly stripped bare, but for a few artifacts left undisturbed in a dark corner of the basement. I recovered a framed record in recognition of of the "Alfred Stanton Lectureship", with a long list of associated psychiatrists, some of whom I recognized from Beam's book, including Shervert Frazier who took over from Stanton when he moved on to teaching and research in 1972. I also recovered two one page biographies of the first two chief psychiatrists, Rufus Wyman (1818–1837) and Luther Bell (1837–1855), which brought light to long history of the institute, originally called The Asylum. Bell was one of the founders of the American Psychiatric Society.

Having read about the odd psychiatric ideas of Freud and Jung, the torturous and ineffective treatments of McLean prior to the 1950's and even the ideas of the American Psychiatric Association, including the dubious definition of homosexuality as mental illness in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental up until 1973, one could easily be left with the impression that the psychiatric profession really has no idea, and is certainly not science based. Hearing diagnosis like "Borderline Personality Disorder", or "We don't really understand what's wrong with this person, but the act oddly" sounds like a medical diagnosis of "Failure to Thrive" for a new baby who dies unexpectedly, or like "Failure to get rich" by an economist for most of the population. Fortunately, the psychiatric profession has actually moved on and learned much about the mind and disorders in recent decades, and while there is significant room remaining to improve, the folks at McLean absolutely delivered on their promise to diagnose and understand the situation we encountered. It was odd for me as I had no personal experience with a mental disorder. Yes, Monday mornings can be tough sometimes, but I have a well regulated mind and body. Growing up my father would call "Depression" some weather system arriving from the Atlantic and the term "Bored" as only a piece of wood - he was exceptionally resilient mentality and that was my experience also, but upon reflection mental disorders were much more common in my world than I recognized. My roommate in Boston at 50 Wicklow Street suffered from serious depression, my colleagues for him after missing weeks of work. My best friend at college and also later in Kansas City both suffered from bipolar disorder. Many of the homeless people around the the cities I visit in the US are suffering mental illness while access to diagnosis and treatment is insufficient.

McLean Pavilion came up as the number one psychiatric institution in the US while doing research and has attracted many famous people over the years: Mathematicians John Nash, musicians Ray Charles, James Tayler and Steven Tyler, writers Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Robert Lowell and David Foster Wallace. Sadly Plath and Wallace were unable to live with their struggle, both committed suicide. James Tayler wrote "Knocking Around The Zoo" about his time there. Due to it's reputation, often the worst cases come to McLean and often complicated combination of mental disorders and substance abuse.

The fall weather was gorgeous, New England in blue skies, crisp air and illuminated in full foliage color and being cheaper to stay outside Boston, I toured around for a total of nine nights to different locations, but ultimately also spent nine nights between Winthrop and Cambridge allowing me to retrace memory lane from my time in Boston 1989-1993. Although that was only a few years, they were important, influential and impactful years which left me with a deep appreciation of New England.

The last three months of 1989 I had worked a second job as valet parker at the Copley Marriott, taking the lucrative evening shift Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights, to help save money for a summer road trip I would take across the US in 1990. Nothing much had changed as I visited the hotel some thirty four years later. The ramp to valet parking and hotel entrance was as I recalled it. Sauntering back to the valet station brought many memories back, of the characters and incidents, enough to fill a reality television show. I mentioned to the office attendant that I had used to work there many years ago, I remember you" came the retort. Hamid had started there in 1986, having fled Lebanon with his family. It emerged that we had worked together in 1989 and proven as I relayed some key incidents. As I mentioned the time a valet took a tall van up the wrong ramp, clipping off the 400psi sprinkler system, flooding the garage, Hamid said sadly, that was the manage, from Sudan, he hung himself a few years ago. Another guy disappeared one night with a car, was found a few weeks later in Florida. We used to squeeze four cars in three slots, climbing out the window as the door wouldn't open - still do that, Hamid said. From the chaos of Lebanon, Hamid worked hard over the years to bring up a family of three children and the next generation is a highly successful daughter who is a lawyer in Washington, a son who struggles sometimes, a very typical story of immigrants. He has worked various jobs at the hotel, clearly a loyal employee. They live on Cape Cod and he commutes to Boston, pulling long hours on the job to save. It's also a story of Lebanese overseas, always successful, but at home the ineptitude is overwhelming, lamented Hamid.

It was an eye opener for me to revisit Copley after such a long time and be remembered, but this is a very Boston experience. Last visit in 2010 when visiting my old company, I met the receptionist from early 1990's at the front desk. Eddie Fredette told me that was his last week after 40 years a receptionist for Badger Engineers and he remembered me well from thirty years before. I had taken up inlay woodwork while living n Boston and visited the same woodshop in Cambridge, now called Rockler Woodworking and Hardware. In Cambridge also stood my favorite bar, The Plough & Stars on Massachusetts Avenue, still standing unchanged decades later. All the houses I had lived in were still present, 50 Wicklow Street, 18 Bristol Street, 49 Thomas Street, 550 Mass Ave. Up in Medford visiting Waitts Mount Park brought memories of my favorite spot to visit and picnic. Quite isolated with a steep drive up, it used to be fully accessible allowing me to drive up on the tough granite rock rounded and smooth during the ice age and now an excellent platform from where to view the Boston skyline. Up in Revere, Kelly's Roast Beef still served takeout food with essentially the same menu. One institute which did not survive was the Ebenezer Baptist Church which I had visited back in 1989 and walked by again on this visit near my first sub-let off Mass Ave. The redbrick façade was intact and to be preserved, but the interior was completely removed. A horrific fire I would have assumed, but learned later, that by late 2020 the congregation had declined and with rising maintenance costs, could no longer keep the 148 year old building, which was sold while the group found a new location to congregate. Another establishment closed down last year after a hundred years in business, Nissenbaum Salvage Yard in Sommerville, started by Jacob Nissenbaum who scoured the neighborhood for used and recyclable things on his horse and cart, eventually specializing in auto parts as the industry developed. Nissenbaum was a regular hangout for me while fixing my junk cars, the Plymouth Fury and Renault Alliance as they provided the cheap used parts for what could not be fixed with clothes hangers and duct tape. They sold the site for redevelopment in 2022 for a handy $150 million. Whether loafing around Boston exploring or fixing stuff I listened to "Car Talk" by Tom and Ray Magliozzi weekly not only from interest in mechanical knowledge, but more so for the comedy, humor and attitude of the brothers who had deep experience from running garages in Cambridge, and ran Car Talk from 1987 to 2012, but alas all good things must come to an end, which Car Talk did with the death of Tom.

Another aspect of Boston which seemed to have disappeared in the three decades since my living there, any sign of the McGillycuddy family. My grandfather lived on Boston from 1908 to 1919 with his brothers Jerry and Pattie. While he returned to Ireland permanently, the brothers stayed, having fifteen children between them and many further descendants in the region. Many came to visit in Ireland over the years, where I had met cousins, the Crowley's of Marblehead in 1984 and had then visited them up in Marblehead when I lived in the area 1989-1993. As I looked them up I sadly learned their son, or my same age, had died prematurely a few years prior. I tracked the parents name down to a house in Lynn, but found it was a rental and they had moved to Florida. It was in Lynn where the family had settled and I visited a house there in 1989 with a relative who lived to 106 years, possibly the same house which s now a rental. In 1992 I met a cousin with my same name in Cambridge, but searching for him or other cousins lead nowhere now three decades later, the McGillycuddys of Boston seemly having scattered to the winds.

Each day I walked extensively around Boston and Cambridge retracing my steps of decades earlier. The grandeur of the Christian Science Plaza and the reflecting pool was always an inspiring place to visit. Christian Scientists are just Christians who coopted the term science in their title probably to give some legitimacy upon its founding is 1879, as science was fast gaining ground against supernatural beliefs of religions, but the term (Christian Scientist) is clearly an oxymoron. At least they are not weirdo's like the Scientologists! Nearby the Berkley School of Music is always a good and inspiring place to hang out and hear innovative musical practice and interesting people. Crossing the Charles River (more like a lake) on the Harvard Bridge one gets a great view of the city skyline and view back to the iconic Citgo sign. Citgo's rise in petroleum development mirrors many of the successful American oil companies since the breakup of Standard Oil and places it's logo in Boston in 1940, making the sign more than an advertisement now, but a symbol of Boston itself and Fenway Park nearby. By the 1980's a failing company, Citgo eventually landed in ownership of the Venezuelan oil company and the sign could have been torn down in protest of Hugo Chavez brutal kleptocratic dictatorship, but was eventually voted in as a city landmark, protecting it for decades to come. Across the river along Memorial Drive is the Shell Oil Company "Spectacular" Sign, a large colorful and well lit logo from 1933 (located at current location since 1944). Although the Shell logo and even name have changed over the years, the "Spectacular" sign remains an icon in the city of Cambridge. I didn't get to Charlestown where I once also lived, but the bright pink neon Schrafft's Candy Company sign still towers over the Mystic River there, long after the companies' demise in the 1980's. On my way back to my house at Porter Square I often walked the grounds of Harvard Yard for inspiration among the student vibe, listening to a plater of passing conversations at the institute originating in 1638 with donation of the library of John Harvard. Many ancient artifacts survive in Boston, including the Kings Chapel Burying Ground where one can find gravestones from the 1600 and 1700's with beautifully ornate carvings representing death, skeletons and bones.

Boston is known as an innovation hub, with institutes like Harvard and Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), but a search for "top universities in Boston" reveals over forty reputable institutes. Nearby many of these education and research centers are located spinoff businesses, especially in Cambridge. My own company, Badger Engineers, located across the street from MIT had historical origins in developing innovative distillation techniques for newly found oil minerals in 1856. Cambridge was the home of Edwin Land's innovation company Polaroid who developed light polarizers which were critical during World War Two and doubled down later with the groundbreaking work developing instant color photography. I got a tour of Polaroid's factory south of Boston in the fall of 1989 where two relatives of mine worked as Chemical Engineers, one on polarizers and one on film manufacture, both of which fascinated me, but the company was already in decline from it's hay day of innovation, however, it's legacy remains intact to this day with a nostalgic reemergence of the instant camera as a retro trend. "Innovation" is included in the title of a long list of companies in Boston and Cambridge, plus in the charter of many more. When I left Boston, as my company was in challenging times, many of my colleagues left for other biotechnology companies in Cambridge, which has been a biotechnology innovation powerhouse for decades. I recall my first performance review during a one year at Badger Engineers, One Kendall Square, when my boss admitted he had little knowledge of what I had delivered that year as he did not work directly with me, but what impressed him was my tenacity to rebuild an automatic transmission with parts from a hardware shore and rubber seal factory for cheap so I could drive across the country that summer - for my innovation outside work I got an excellent review! Boston Consulting Group, one of three big strategy consulting companies comes from the area. While many rural New England homes are heated by wood due to the abundance of sustainable forest, the energy short, with little access to gas, aesthetic resistance to wind, and with many urban homes heated with high cost and carbon fuel oil, one may be surprised that one of the most famous energy research entities, Cambridge Energy Research Associated (CERA) was founded in, you guessed it, Cambridge. Shell TechWorks is an innovation center located in Boston (formerly located in Cambridge) whose purpose is to solve difficult problems and develop new technologies. With staff hired from many local innovative institutions and a long list of successful projects delivered celebrated on plaques along the walls, there is an sense of novel thinking in air there and a hum of curiosity in the laboratories developing physical solutions to complex problems. I had only sports and hiking gear with me in New England, so I bought a pair of business shoes at the Goodwill store at Davis Square for $14 before visiting TechWorks - it turns out I didn't need them, they were very casual which you might expect from an innovation center. Later on my way to return the shoes to Goodwill, to be restocked on the rack for resale, price tag still intact, a lady pointed to them and said "Oh!, I bet that means (empty shoes) that you lost a friend! I too have lost many friends during my life, come walk with me and I'll tell you". After dropping off the shoes, she continued to talk to me specifically as I walked away toward my house at Porter Square, pushing her cart, likely with mental problems undiagnosed along with other challenges in life.

Alfred Stanton transformed McLean in the 1950's

Graphic gravestone at ancient Kings Chapel Burying Ground

Boston on the Charles River

YMCA, Wicklow St, Bristol St, Thomas St

Kelly's Roast Beef of Revere since 1953 - great seafood

Waitts Mount Park, Medford

Derelict Admin Building, McLean Belmont

Old Northern Avenue Bridge, Boston

The Plough & Stars, Mass Ave, Cambridge, MA

Christian Science Plaza, Boston

The Water Tower, McLean Belmont

McLean Pavilion, Wyman Building

Cape Cod

Escaping Boston from McLean Belmont I made it Cape Cod for three nights in Provincetown (P-Town) at Eastwood, an affordable motel, stopping at the Parnassus Book Services near Yarmouth along the way and well worth the visit. The proprietor guided me to an unusual Beech tree nearby behind the post office. Beech usually grow tall and straight with smooth bark and modestly sized green leaves, but this monstrosity grew in all directions with a sturdy twisted frame, supporting a massive canopy. Weather was beautiful with sun and blue skies as I explored the sea, marshes, sand dunes and beaches of the unusual sandbar which extends in a curled ark far out in the Atlantic protecting a shallow bay. In 1620 the pilgrims were pushed back by weather from their route to Virginia, pulling to for safety of Shoal Hope which became Cape Cod due to the large fish catch in the area. They eventually settled across the bay at Plymouth, but a small settlement remained. Native Algonquian and Nausets long lived on the fertile sea grounds of the cape, but sold the land by mid century for a pittance to the colony. Meanwhile, four hundred years later, my the time I would first visit in 1990 on a road trip with a friend, Omar, we learned pretty quickly that the town had become a free and safe haven for the gay community, being asked if we were a couple (laugh), or more to the point, having been assumed to be a couple, which couldn't have been more from the truth, but we took it in good spirits. Gay havens were probably more important back then due to broad societal homophobia, and although the town remains gay friendly, it's probably less defined by it today due to acceptance in society. Artists flocked to the area, with many fine art shops, ameteur arts and tourist shops from which to choose. The 90 minutes it takes for the passenger ferry from Boston directly across to P-Town is well faster than the two and half hour drive around the long way. One could almost commute from P-Town especially if availing of a flexible schedule. An old rail line now serves as a hiking path, beautifully clad with trees, and day or night would use to run or walk to town. "Only Lesbians drive Subaru's" I was once told by someone as a friendly ribbing, "I must be a Lesbian then" I responded, as I currently drive my second amazing modest, high ground clearance four wheel drive Subaru, The Outback, my first being a Subaru Legacy while I lived in Boston three decades ago, both silver. The Subaru's of P-Town did not disappoint, "Tree hugger", Bernie fans and lefty liberal bumper stickers providing evidence and in juxtaposition with the off truck with "Trump" signs.

The tip of Cape Cod is a wildlife haven, the shallow shoals being swept with tides twice a day revealing rich ecosystem supporting bird colonies and migrating flocks. A mile of granite rock causeway leads south from town directly across a shallow bay intermittently covered in water to a spit of land, a sand bank, which is home to both the Wood End and Long Point lighthouses. At high tide only the tip of the he causeway rocks peak above the water which can be unnerving during a storm. Upon the rocks are strewn broken shells smashed there for opening by the powerful seagulls jaws. One must be quick as gulls challenge each other for the prize inside the shellfish. At low tide sand pipers and oyster catchers pick through the wet and streaming sand for food. Over the days I walked all the outer sands of Cape Cod near Provincetown, observing the seal colony on the north side resting high on the sand during low tide warming in the sun. A friendly fox followed me around at one point, probably looking for food, likely having been fed by tourists in the past. A horseshow crab lay dead and upside down on the sand left by the tide, I learned they are not quite a crab, more of a arachnid, but ancient in design and from an evolutionary perspective are absolutely ancient, remaining stable for 250 million years. Inland among the dunes are amazing wetlands rich with a fall harvest of red cranberry bogs. Set in the dunes I found an derelict and decaying shell of the coast guard station located where they could access the north coast where many ships have crashed over the years. Graffiti somewhat revived the scene. Down the outer coast a few pieces of foundations were all that remained of the Marconi wireless transmission station from 1903, erosion having taken the rest bac to sea. Already sea level rise is eroding the curled cape cod peninsula and the long term future is beak. Nearby the Truro Historical Society-Highland House Museum was housed in old hotel building supporting early tourism to the cape, when people may visit for a whole summer with room and board.

Departing Cape Cod I spent two nights in Cambridge visiting McLean, Belmont, before heading north to the White Mountain region of New Hampshire for three nights.

The White Mountains, New Hampshire

The Kancamagus Highway from Lincoln to Conway was my entry to the mountains, named for "the fearless one", Kancamagus was a leader of Penacook Indians of New Hampshire, the highway is an impressive work of engineering crossing some of the most beautiful low mountains of New Hampshire with a high pass at 2855 ft. It was in full fall bloom of overfed deciduous trees calling it quits for summer and starving their leaves to discard them before winter snows come which would otherwise damage their structure. Just north of Jackson, NH, I turned left on an unpaved tree lined lane, Dana Place Road to my rural house rented there for three days. More of a sky lodge for winter sports, and fit to house 12 people, it was the perfect retreat for fall exploration of the region of the forests and mountains. The multistory house with balconies and terrace overlooked the forests and a stream valley to the west and up the the White Mountain foothills. A short trail brought one to the Ellis River where a hollow in the granite rock formed a deep cold swimming pool, the smooth waters there glimmering green, red and blue from the skies and fall leaves behind.

In the morning under perfect fall crisp blue skies I drove around to Crawford Notch from where many trails start and diverted along the most beautiful country road, Mt Clinton Road, to my chosen starting point at Mt Jefferson Trailhead, which I had first visited late fall 1989 for a hike. Marked there was a sign marked "Jefferson Notch, Elevation 3009 ft, This is the Highest Elevation Reached by a Public Highway in New Hampshire". Starting along a gentle trail under well shaded canopy, the trail eventually gets steeper, rising out of the thick trees revealing wonderful fall colors mixed with the silver gray of dead trees in contrast to the fertile red berries of the Rowan Trees. A bluff of rounded granite ricks, called Rock Bottom, made for a good stopping point for pictures of the colorful valley. The hard part was to come, the ascent of the Ridge of Caps, a steep rocky section requiring hands and come climbing. There is no one trail up the ridge, but many interchangeable pathways to chose from, some leading to nowhere. Further up another challenge was the ascent of the cornice and then a short steep trail to the peak. On the clear day, Mt Washington was in full view to the south, the highest peak in New England at 6288ft and known for it's brutal weather conditions during winter or during storms, when wind speeds up to 231 MPH have been measured, a world record outside hurricanes. puff of black smoke on a ridge below the peak revealed the coal fired steam cog railway on the ascent. In 1993 I had hiked (w/Steve Venables) across from Mt J to Mt W across that very railway as the train passed by belching smoke and found a whole group of leisurely tourists at the peak, accessible by road as well. I rathered the isolation of the empty peak of Mt Jefferson on this day, quiet and clear to the horizon in all directions. The granite crystals glistened in the sun white and silver, giving the mountain it's name, apparently fooling prospective mineral miners of potential treasure in early years. The formation of magma erupted around 100 million years ago as the continent moved away from Africa where it would have originally connected with Morocco and the much older Atlas mountains which once rivaled the Himalaya and connect with the Appalachian range. Glacial action has since shaped the hard rock to the contours on today.

Down the valley stood Bretton Woods where the currency exchange for many large economies worldwide were negotiated and linked via the US dollar to a fixed exchange value for gold, a system which lasted until 1971, after which the US dollar and many other currencies floated their value on their economic merits rather than on a commodity price like gold. George Soros made a significant fortune on the arbitrage of currency valuation in the decades since.

The following day approaching the mountains from the east side instead from the Pickman Notch trail head, until pristine weather conditions I followed the Tuckerman's Ravine trail, which was a constant grade and wide well formed combination of paved rock and steps, which made the technical hiking easier, but of course the elevation gain always a challenge. I had got into a good pace with no one else on the trail and in deep thought, when a hiker approached from behind, a younger version of myself, bounding up the trail as I did thirty years earlier. Still I kept a good pace and him in view a while. Missing my turnoff to the Lion's Head Trail, I found myself at a juncture whether to continue up the Tuckerman's Ravine trail, knowing there would be a very steep ascent at the end of the valley. The ravine is a large steep sided valley gouged out by a reoccurring glacier over many ice ages in the past million years. It is in a classic position on the east and lee side of the mountain ridge which would have increased the precipitation necessary to pile on the snow. While would find the prospect of hiking up the ravine walls daunting, some brave or crazy skiers have skied down the snowbound slopes in winter. Instead I diverted up the Alpine Garden connector trail which got me back up to Lion's Head Ridge high overlooking Tuckerman's Valley. Sitting and picnicking on the Ridge with amazing views across the mountains and east New Hampshire I talked with other hikers passing through from numerous other trail options for tacking the peaks of White Mountains. Not too far above stood the peak of Mt Washington which was less inviting with it's road traffic, rail crown and fall tourists, which I would leave for another day. The descent via Lion's Head Trail looked rocky and untraveled, so I returned via the steep but beautiful Alpine Garden, with sections of shear rock providing and exciting climb down. Each evening I walked to the Ellis River and watched the sunlight decline over the forests from my balcony at Dana Place House.

Boothbay Harbor, Maine

After a week of wonderful weather, there was finally a break with a tropical storm approaching New England and the rain as I left New Hampshire and drove across Maine via Bethel, Augusta, Wiscasset arriving in Boothbay Harbor. There was a mix-up with my coastal house, which was occupied by someone else who mistakenly checking into wrong property, so I took the house next door, negotiating a fourth night for free. The most beautiful part of the New England coast stretched from Bar Harbor on Mt Desert Island up to St John's New Brunswick and the bay of Fundy with it's 50 ft tidal range, but that was too far from Boston, so a compromise was the stretch of coast east of Brunswick, Maine, where a complex range of inlets form around the Kennebec, Sheepscot, Back and Damariscotta Rivers, forming many islands and protected havens with deep navigation, which brought me to stay at a coastal cottage on Lineken Bay near Boothbay Harbor. The mother and daughter at the next cottage, with whom I swapped, were from Michigan and had been out on a whale watch and didn't see anything in the fog, so were given a rain pass, but would unlikely venture back for a three hour repeat with the weekend weather looking bad. Instead I would take a shorter harbor boat tour the following day before the storm arrived. Most of the boats moored in the bay were lobster catchers, with wide low flat transoms and gunnels for lifting pots over and a high pointed front with a sturdy canopy over the captains seat for navigating rough seas. Some of the islands in the may has single or a few houses on them, a paradise of isolation in good or bad weather, each served with a dock and utilities from shore. My heart yearns for the romanticism of living on such an island, like Yeats on the lake isle of Innisfree, but my head sees it more as a prison, especially one like me who runs and walks many miles each day. Fog had lifted, but not far and the overcast was complete as we toured the calm bay accompanied by seagulls and held in check by the two second revolution of Ram Island Light to where we were headed. Located on a grassy island elevated enough to keep above the worst winter waves and located as far out in the bay as possible, The Ram Island Lighthouse was built in 1882 and being remote enough to require a homestead and attendance of a permanent lightkeeper. Even in dull weather the scene was idyllic, but my mind drifted to remember the psycho-thriller movie by Robert Eggers in 2019, "The Lighthouse", where Willem Dafoe, the head lightkeeper on a New England lighthouse puts a junior apprentice through his paces in a sinister manner. With a telescope and enough books, food and wine I probably could spend a winter on a lighthouse island.

Nearby seals lay above the high tide waters on a narrow ledge, the captain called The Hypocrites (or Smedrick Ledge). The air was clear enough to see the tip of the Newagen Peninsula where situated two small islands called The Cuckolds. Reading later the "United States Coast Pilot: Atlantic Coast. Eastport to Cape Cod" to get an explanation of the names of these islands I was successful fining them references, with a full description of their physical dimensions, valuable to any sailor, but not a word on their names. With further research I could not find any explanation and maybe no one knows, which is strange as the one googles "Cuckold" the first thing that comes up is porn, and no reference to this my the many couples who report to having stayed at the lighthouse on the island. Both islands are low to the water and exposed to the outer ocean, so very dangerous to mariners, especially in fog. Depths in the bay vary significantly from 120ft to zero with little evidence on the water surface, so navigators need caution. Lobsters also have favored depths depending on temperature, current and food availability so the skill of a lobster catcher is to locate the pots on the right subsurface ledge. There were no deep water trawlers located in the harbor, although it is deep enough. Sadly the cod fisheries have long ago collapsed dur to overfishing and with moratoriums or quota restrictions locals have opted to pursue nearshore lobstering or move on to new ventures.

The next day was wind and rain all way as a tropical storm landed mid coast Maine, but providing a wonderful atmosphere as I hiked the Lobster Cove Meadow up to the Pine Tree Preserve and later in the day the wonderful forest of the Lineken and Burley Preserves over to the Damariscotta River. That evening I sat dry under the picnic shelter in Barret's Park as the wind and rain whipped around outside in the dark and the waves lashed the shore. Sunday morning was met with a clear sweep into a beautiful sunny crisp Autumn weather as I sat lolling on the floating dock with my coffee. Light over the ponds, wetlands and the ocean was a mirror of fall blue skies, white clouds, green, yellow and red leaves over dark tarns or brown seaweed, the tides and breeze changing the picture constantly. That was the last of my exploration before returning to Cambridge for four nights before returning to Kansas City. As I walked the airport awaiting an connecting flight on my way home, dressed in black commando and hiking gear I was awakened to some girl shouting "Nice Pants Man", and turning around, "Nice Face Too Man, you can come back talks to me anytime!", as she crossed over in another direction. Life is good sometimes!