Rowe Avenue to Steel Derrick

We ambled again into Reedland (Selectman Bill Reed's Pigeon Cove) Sunday before last, the wife and I, and again we found a delightful walk. And it wasn't long enough to tire even a confirmed autoist, but it was far more rewarding than a Sunday ride. We cheated to the extent of riding to the start at Granite Street and Rowe Avenue.

From there we set our sights for the farthermost quarry pits in that area. The wife hadn't been on that walk for nearly a score of years. Last time I had seen the early part of it was to report a pit drowning, a tragedy far more frequent in the past when swimmers haunting the water-filled abandoned quarries were more numerous. Private owners were finally forced to discourage swimmers due to the unwarranted actions of some. These owners have done royally in converting the old quarry areas into rugged inspiriting settings for idyllic living.

First thing to hit our eyes was the dark-brown stained house where resides Mrs. Alfred Otis, 89, formerly of Marblehead. We recalled it as having been painted yellow when Abbie Condon had it. The new color gave it the touch of early 17th century. Mrs. Otis bought the house so that she could always have a view of the ocean. She has it all right, the grandest kind of a view.

Right next door we spotted another of those picturesque wrought iron fences skirting the Rowe Avenue property of Elias Newman. As an added decoration, he had a large gold spread-eagle on the side of the house. A high peak to the roof and long windows stand out.

Up ahead was a huge barn made of granite blocks where in the past they say that Police Chief Jacob H. Perkio's father once had cows. And before that, the quarry owners kept oxen used in hauling the quarried granite down to the barges. Beside it was the Rowe House in which several families lived in the past. The years have taken their toll of both places but the granite itself looked little disturbed.

It was like walking along a ridge hearing the echoes of voices from below the keystone bridge hollering, "Hey, where's the elevator!" The man-made cement dam bottling the excess water supply, and the gulls screaming overhead brought us to Rockport's latest water supply, an abandoned quarry put to work fo the common goood.

Returning to the woodland path, we struck out to find the last quarry. Up past Swan's place to Wooditarns bearing the sign "Private property-do not enter" and another "No parking on either side." I began looking for some bellowing mastiff emerging from the bracken to challenge us.

But Rover never showed. Instead we came out upon a rock shelf and there before us spread a most beautiful and tranquil lake bounded by shelf upon shelf of granite. Across the way what apparently were the owners, enjoyed the gentle ease of reading the Sunday papers at the edge of the pit.

Back to the path, we noted about every native berry existing there, and even saw a wild rabbit dart across the path into the brush. What was even more delightful there was no harsh sound of cars, no heavy smell of gas or oil.

Finally we came to Steel Derrick pit, the biggest and the handsomest. Here there were several bathers sunning themselves on the ledges. Swimming seemed to be out of the picture. The water temperature hadn't climbed that high. From the quarry depths arose what looked to be Grout Island, a sizable pile of granite leavings. Ring bolts still showed in the rocks where once big derricks swung to get the blocks out of the quarry.

It's a recommended walk --by us, that is--for a restful pleasant Sunday afternoon, a great chance to renew acquaintance with your feet.

J.P.C., Jr.