A Walk in Yap-Land

The wife and I and our Molly with the pointed ears decided to revisit Halibut Point Reservation, Pigeon Cove, Saturday afternoon so that our incognito friend could take color pictures of one of the most beautiful spots on Cape Ann. Because of an out-of-town Sunday excursion that was a "must" we did the hike on Saturday afternoon and soon realized we had picked a perfect day weather-wise, for where it was easterly raw in Rockport proper, it was actually mid-summery in most parts of the Reservation.

As we entered Gott Avenue, we were greeted by the greatest acclaim from "yappers" that we had ever experienced. All had sensed right away that there was a foreign pooch invading their realm, and they let the lady boxer have it. It sounded like a flood of kennels stashed together. But it was all most friendly, hounds, terriers,and just plain mutts. Those folks do well by their canines.

We were in deep country right away for to our left was the sight of wing-flapping geese, the blatant bellowing of a cow in a rustic barn; across the way was the refreshing sight of a hopeful effort of fir tree reforestation. It looked right healthy from where we stood. At this point the east wind was shrill.

We passed the picturesque 17th century Gott House with its sharply pitched roof, one of the oldest on the Cape, and certainly one year older than when we last enjoyed its exterior. Here we left the road and cut through a brambled path, hoping to reach the sea We came to the first dead-end road of our walking career. But it was worth looking at with its ancient stone wall of Concord character on the left and a mass of ouchy green brambles that reached to the top of the trees on the right. Molly had a good time, too.

Backtracking, we picked another promising path down which we had to wade ankle-deep through mushy growth with the sound of the sea drowning out the yappers, only to realize we would need a skin diving suit to complete the ramble. Again we back-tracked.

This time the pilot, after believing she might have espied marigold coming to life in the dankness, decided that a paved road would best fit the leather we sported. Me, I was with her 100 percentum.

On both paths, the temperature was silky warm. We could have picnicked there that day in comfort, far better off than in summer because nary a pesky skeeter was buzzing. We passed by another homey appearing layout where not only geese and hounds were in evidence but also rabbits that took us back to the days when we too had a blown-up bunny that brought tears to our youngsters' eyes when Bunny up and died.

Nearby was what looked like an old-fashioned but much dilapidated lunch cart. It had the appearances of a parlor car on the Toonerville Trolley line but it was a sure-fire subject for an artist's brush. Maybe it has already been discovered and the catch is hanging in some gallery in the land.

Here we entered upon Fire Lane with no explanation from anyone as to how it got its flaming name. We did note that our police recognized what a hot place it must be since they had a bold "No Parking" sign on it. At our age, we didn't think the police would be distturbed by our invading it on foot.

From there we came onto the paved highway that leads to the sea. That Saturday all involved put on a great show for us. The raucous sounds of the suburban yards were replaced by an amazing change of pace. It was like entering a chapel with the doleful peal of a bell on a rocking buoy at sea, the deep-throated roar of the sickly green surf smashing onto the rocks.

For Molly, who worries little over any other sounds than those of fellow four-footers, it was Paradise as she raced up and down the macadam and scoured through the brush on either side.

For us and our lens-rapt guest it was an afternoon well spent. Halibut Point, come winter or summer, is worth your walking attention. It will ease the ulcers. That, the wife and I will assure you.

J.P.C., Jr.