RAMBLES in PROVINCETOWN and the PROVINCELANDS (page 4)
November 2019
A walk in Provincetown
The sky spits out a cold rain as I make my way down the street. Cars are parked everywhere but there is barely a soul in sight. I would have preferred a less melancholy goodbye but I suppose it’s fitting. My presence here has been anything but casual. While I knew the forecast of wind and cold before I arrived in this unkind season, I never expected my rewards would have to be gleaned, not harvested. It seems so inevitable now. No matter how I find my reward, it is a prize all the same.
October 2017
A loop between Provincetown and the Beach Forest
I’ve longed to rediscover the fire roads I walked down on my very first visit to the Provincelands if only to put to rest the idea that this visit was a dream. I had no Idea where I wandered off to back then and I have not been able to retrace my steps since. A lot can change in twenty-seven years, so much that I’m not sure if the overgrown trails I walk today are not yesterday’s roads. From these narrow paths, the whole forest appears ghostly like a memory of something that does not exist. Describing this place as eerie would not be undeserved, and yet I have never felt so peaceful.
November 2017
A walk in Provincetown
The darkening streets call out to me to linger. They are demanding exploration. It’s a real temptation but with each bite of the wind I am reminded that the shots taken so far are liars. They look calm and reflective, refusing to speak of the bitterness blowing in from the North. I’ve been braver that this but my constant sparring with the elements has shifted my mood. Dune shack living may have taught me there is a lot I can do without, but it has also made me less complacent with what I have. A room with heat and a thermostat I can retreat to is a real luxury that too many live without.
November 2017
A short visit to the back shore
I expected to spend the morning on the beach until I stepped outside where gale force winds began picking small pebbles out from the dunes and hurling them into my face. With every stinging blow I questioned my resolve. When I saw rows of crashing waves rising out from the bluest of seas, there was no question to why I persisted. I can’t explain how much I wanted to linger, savor it all, but after my hands turned numb I knew this was but a brief gift. Turning away I tucked a bit of the shore inside me.
November 2017
Roaming the Provincelands and Beach Forest
The days are so short now, the sun so low that the day never seems to peak. Warm afternoon light is upon me before the afternoon is half over and then night begins to descend before I’m ready to receive it. There is something absent in this light that mirrors the dullness in the land. I would call it a conspiracy if I didn’t know winter was drawing near. I won’t complain, I’m just being taken someplace new. Out here, things only seem simple.
November 2017
A walk through the Peaked Hills and Parabolic Dunes
Small vernal ponds have sprouted from recent rains; they are like eyes staring up at me from the desert floor. Frozen over, they give a cold stare. Are the dunes as curious about me as I am about them? Do they want to see who dares walk across their brittle skin? Can they differentiate the footsteps of a pilgrim from the countless creatures that roam by night?
November 2017
A visit to Grassy Pond
I hoped to see a snow covered landscape at daybreak but all the precipitation that fell during the night had been absorbed into the sand, freezing its surface solid. In the forests of the back dunes a different story was being told. It seems that here, a spoonful of frothy snow was doled out to every leaf of wintergreen. This was winter, not a season to be found on a calendar but a feeling that rings through my heart. The biting cold was no longer oppressive; it just was. For the very first time I understood where I stood.
November 2019
A stroll on the back shore
There was a time when nothing but chimney tops rose above the bluffs of the back shore. Attaching these meager landmarks to actual dune shacks was never more than a guessing game. Now some shacks are in full view. Storms have taken their toll on these bluffs. The summer beach is already gone. I refuse to worry. This is only a problem when the land is viewed as real estate. There is nothing lost to nature. The beach is still the beach with moon snails ready to glean and the occasional crab that strikes a pose.
November 2019
A walk into the Peaked Hills
The landscape to the south of my shack has become a jumble in my mind. Maps are not helping. Today I try to coordinate my footsteps with what I’m seeing so I can bring some sense to it all. My change of focus helps, but the land is not cooperating. In places it is wandering about like a ghost lost to the night. Memories are worthless in these conditions. I’m beginning to think that my efforts to understand this place are nothing but busy work.
November 2019
A ramble on the back shore bluffs
Waves only advance in the thinest of ribbons despite the heavy wind. All the action is confined to the grass. It is whipping as if possessed by a demon that it is frantically trying to throw off. I expect its golden gilding to be tossed high into the air any second.
November 2019
A walk in the back dunes
The day starts simply. I have no idea that following a pair of old footprints over a saddle will end with me mapping out a series of trails and dead roads that I never knew existed. One of these invites me into a bog filled swale. It is like coming home. What do we look for in love? There is more to it than our desire for passion. Lovers can become the most obsessive when they believe their partner is a completion of themselves. What completes me in this dark dank place? Why do I feel I’ve found myself. Is it nothing but a delusion? I guess I know what everyone knows, there is no explaining love.
November 2019
A walk in the Provincelands
While I do not come to Cape Cod seeking bright autumn colors, I am surprised by how worn and dull everything looks. To me this procession toward the bleak is the province of early winter rather than fall. Even so, it is not to be wished away like a cloudy day but understood. There is plenty of beauty to be found within these endless shades of grey. Every twig, every blade of fading grass is a single thread in a grand tapestry.
November 2019
A walk from Beach Forest to the back shore
There is a remote stretch of dunes sitting above the Beach Forest that I’ve only crossed once before. I got lost then or as close to lost as I get. Little is obvious once in the middle of it. The heavy overcast today makes it even more difficult to maintain a sense of direction. It seemed a trap back then. It feels a little like one now. I search for clues to guide me, I make some educated guesses but in the end I never have more than a vague idea where I stand. Without landmarks to measure against, mapping becomes nearly impossible. By the time I leave my understanding of this place has barely improved.
November 2019
A walk in the Provincelands
I catch a brief glimpse of the sun as I round a bend in the road and then it’s gone. No grand sunrise to shoot today. I’m far from unhappy. There is still something wonderful about the light that speaks of morning. Even in this weatherworn land anything seems possible.
November 2019
A walk in the Provincelands
Having lived at C-Scape before, I would have thought I knew the surrounding landscape intimately. While I find the general layout familiar, nothing else seems to be. I can see the land has changed, but not enough to account for my lack of recognition. I don’t think the problem is based in a faulty memory as much as my initial lack of exploration. I was always headed somewhere else back them, far out of sight of the shack. Returns came at an hour when I could barely find my way back. Today I find the new in the near and an old friend in the moon.
November 2019
A loop around Provincetown’s East End
I am searching for a road, a particular road whose name I cannot recall. It is an old byway that was once a popular route into the dunes before the age of paved roads. One nameless track looks promising. I can envision an ox cart returning from the bogs, a heavy load of cranberries pressing its wheels deep into the ruts. It seems worth exploring but ironically I’ve run out of time. There is a jeep waiting to take me out into the dunes.
November 2019
A ramble through Provincetown
The morning is so cold that I did not expect to see anyone out except for some fishermen. Yes, the streets would have been empty if the people of Provincetown were not so infatuated with dogs. The dog walkers I pass seem just as surprised to see me in these pre-dawn hours but a glance at my camera explains all. We are both prisoners of habit.
November 2019
A walk in Provincetown
The overcast finally broke on the approach of sunset setting the rooftops of town ablaze. I am on the shore, unable to resist the gravity of a beached boat. It does not matter that the subject is cliché, there will be good angles to be had and I cannot resist. I’m sick of the relevant. These may be exciting times for artists but I have never been so bored with what I see. At a shop window I found myself staring at a toy train with the same intensity I would have given it if still a child. Some things don’t grow old if we remember what joy is. I don’t know how many shots I have taken of stranded boats but there never seems to be enough to satisfy. When the sky starts shedding pellets of ice, I know what is real.
November 2019
A loop between Provincetown and Herring Beach
For all my walking in the Provincelands, there are places that have not seen my feet. Distance, accessibility, being off route, it does not take much for a place to be overlooked. I’ve been slowly trying to rectify this neglect but time is never on my side. Today, when I meet up with an unknown footpath I follow it down into a hollow. I don’t know if it was curiosity that took me down this winding track or just my desperation to escape the wind, but all it takes is a first step for an adventure to begin. This one takes me to the shore of Shank Painter Pond, a long coveted destination just outside of town. How many more discoveries are just waiting for me to act?
November 2019
A walk through Provincetown by night
Can a New England town be photographed at night? If it’s the idea of a New England town rather than its physical presence, then the answer is probably no. Once darkness settles in and artificial light takes over the streets, the strange ambiance created in Provincetown is little different from any urban location. There is a universality to the night whether we light it up or leave it dark.
October 2017
A walk across Provincetown
What makes a New England town is more than architecture; the types of buildings and how they are laid out all follow a long social history that gives them their distinctive character. While Provincetown is full of old buildings, the town reeks of plastic more than seasoned wood. IÕm not talking about materials as much as the neatness to everything. The casual life is falling victim to pretense. At least I still have the light.
October 2017
A loop between Provincetown and East Harbor
If fog can be cut with a knife, what about the morning light? It is not just illuminating, it has a real presence. As the sun’s rays pierce the darkness it embraces both the landscape and my soul as if it were alive. All before it are turned into lovers.
October 2017
A walk to Pilgrim Beach
I am out well before dawn. The tide is out and the beach is wide. There is no morning blush; when the sun begins to rise, a band of crimson takes the horizon prisoner and will not let go. Nothing seems real. I only wish my imagination could produce such a wondrous scene.
October 2017
A walk in the Peaked Hills
I am exhausted. The wind is blowing furiously and yet I canÕt seem to stay out of the dunes. Before I know it IÕm rushing in to capture another sunset. Is this because the day was so cloudless and stark? Even under a deep blue sky the intensity of the midday sun can bleach all before me colorless. This is an oppressive light, then again does not the evening carry its own weight. The setting sun may glow red, but once its bathing rays retire, all is inevitably seized by the dead cold of an approaching night.
October 2017
A 9 mile loop between Provincetown and the Snake Hills
As much as I photograph scrub pine anchored in sandy earth, my choice of subject does not follow personal appeal. I am a north shore man, preferring quiet coves, damp earth and the lush foliage that sprouts from it to that which survives in the poor soil of the Atlantic shore. Yet this is where I repeatedly return to, not by duress but by choice. Perhaps it is because life out here lives more on the edge. I crave the drama to be found in a landscape that will not be defined.
October 2017
A walk on Provincetown Harbor
While a late day walk provided for an attractive warm glow to be cast down the beach, walking straight into the sun was not the best of plans. I had to content myself with shooting patterns etched into the mudflats while I plunged into blinding light. Once I put my back to the sun, I watched my shadow grow longer and longer until it became an unrecognizable line. Then suddenly it was just gone, and the sun was gone, and the most magnificent colors arrived.
October 2017
A 7 mile loop between Provincetown and the Provincelands
I crossed a great swath of territory today that I always thought I knew but now find unrecognizable. How many times have I crossed this ground? Why is there a problem? My internal map has gone astray and I have to feel my way across the sand. After all these years I was beginning to worry that this place was growing too familiar. Where would I find my mysteries? Apparently this place can offer me and endless supply.
Copyright 2017 Alan Petrulis All Rights Reserved