My Kingdom for a Chair
Cuttyhunk Island sits off the coast of Massachusetts 12 miles south of New Bedford and about 8 miles northwest of Martha’s Vineyard, part of the Elizabeth Islands chain.
I didn’t know much about Cuttyhunk, other than it was “undeveloped” as Cape islands go, and tiny. I did learn that the island was one of the first places visited by the English in the 1600s, even before the Pilgrims arrived. After that, Cuttyhunk switched hands back and forth, lost all of its trees, and it experienced other forms of a rich history. (Here: feel free.)
I had the chance to spend the day there one recent Sunday. I got up early, threw a camera, etc. into a backpack, and drove 90 minutes to New Bedford to catch the 9 a.m. boat. A round-trip ticket cost $62, plus $18 for parking. The ferry is small, sturdy, and reasonably comfortable. I was able to buy a cup of coffee, walk around a little on deck, and pet a very sweet dog named Ollie. The trip took an hour over mellow seas, and by the time we pulled in to the harbor, the low overcast had lifted and out came the sun. The day promised to be a winner: 80s and mostly sunny.
The island is dotted with a few hundred houses, most owned by New England’s “established” families who have used the island as the kind of sleepy, summer retreat. I imagine it’s what Nantucket and the Vineyard used to be before they became whatever it is they’ve become. Conversely, Cuttyhunk feels about a hundred years slower. People get around by walking or driving a golf cart. There are no bars. In fact, alcohol isn’t sold anywhere on the island. I’d heard on the boat that the one restaurant does serve a great breakfast, but only until 11 a.m., so I hoofed it over as soon as the ferry let me off.
I arrived at 10:30, and the breakfast place was still packed. The food looked great, but the hostess half-apologetically told me they wouldn’t be able to serve me because “usually we stop seating by 10 on weekends.” I was annoyed, but what’re you going to do? The lady did point across the island to a bunch of buildings on a dock about a half mile away.
Clustered around a marina, I found an ice cream stand, a jewelry shop, a fishing charter, and two or three stands to get seafood, burgers and so on. It was a bit early for lunch, but I did manage to get an egg salad sandwich. I ate on the dock under an umbrella—it would turn out to be the last time that day that I would manage to sit down in an actual chair. That’s because on all of Cuttyhunk, there really wasn’t any anywhere else to sit. A few benches, yes, but unless you own or are renting or borrowing a house, a day trip to Cuttyhunk means being on your feet or sitting on a kelp covered rock.
Otherwise, I did enjoy walking around and taking photos. It was most tranquil. There were many birds and old buildings. I walked up to what felt like the island’s highest point and got a decent view of the place, including Church’s Beach. An hour later I was lying down on that beach on a towel that I’d miraculously thought to bring, using my backpack as a pillow. I put my hat over my eyes, listened to the gentle lap of the waves and the sounds of people chatting and throwing balls into the surf for their dogs. I promptly fell into a delicious nap … whereupon the sun burned the living shit out of my legs. Let this be a lesson to me to always put sunscreen on, even if it’s Massachusetts.
I got back to the boat with time to spare. I shared a table with a lovely couple from Brookline, who told me all about their history on the island. As we pulled away from the dock, the man pointed out the window at a crowd of several dozen people, most of them in their 20s or younger, all waving goodbye to the boat. A tradition! And after the boat moved off a safe distance, many of them jumped into the water.
Other than the sunburn on my legs, the trip was pleasant. Confession: I didn’t really enjoy the Cuttyhunk experience until my phone died about halfway through. This once again proves that phones suck. Can you imagine not having a phone for a week and being stuck on an island like that? Just laying around, taking three-hour naps on a threadbare couch under an open window, curtains pushed in by a soft, steady 2 p.m. sea breeze. Airbnb doesn’t appear to be a thing on the island, but actually, you know what? Good. So unless I somehow marry into one of these New England families that I hear so much about wherever I go, Cuttyhunk will have to remain a place where I visit but never rest my head on anything other than a backpack. Even with that, I’ve had worse Sundays.
Photos Etc. 
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