If you never venture far from the entrance to Plymouth Long Beach (also known as Plymouth Beach or just Long Beach), and most people don’t, you might be forgiven for thinking it’s an utterly forgettable and ordinary stretch of shoreline. Long Beach, for those unfamiliar, is a narrow, three-mile spit of land that separates Plymouth Harbor from Cape Cod Bay. It is a prominent feature of Plymouth’s seascape, visible throughout downtown.
The disappointment begins just as you turn off Warren Avenue (Route 3A) into the parking lot where the dilapidated, graffiti covered remains of Bert’s Landing restaurant loom. A few Jersey barriers, also covered in graffiti, “protect” a large weed covered concrete slab alongside the building. Various detritus strewn about makes it appear as if you are entering a war zone, not a beach on the South Shore of Massachusetts.
To make matters worse, this sad piece of Plymouth sits almost directly across the street from one of the town’s most popular attractions, Plimoth Patuxet Museums, ensuring that countless visitors see the bedraggled spot on one of the town’s most beautiful stretches of road.
The stoney, dirt drive and parking lot, and the sad-looking structure for the parking lot attendant don’t help, either. (And the line-up of a half dozen signs out front lacks even a shred of aesthetics).
It’s a shame the most visited part of Long Beach is such an underachiever. What should be one of Plymouth’s crown jewels deserves an inviting gateway.
Nor does the beach itself, for the first mile or so, dress to impress. This is no sugar sand beach into which to sink your feet. It’s rock strewn, especially at low tide, and uninspiring.
But walk on – beyond Sandy’s restaurant and the bunker-like restrooms – as I did with fellow Plymouth Independent columnist Bill Fornaciari, on a recent hot and sunny Sunday, and you will be handsomely rewarded. Bill grew up in town and offered to be my guide for a walk to and from the very tip of Long Beach – known as “the Point.” Along the way he reminisced about days spent on Long Beach as a child and later as a teenager.
As we walked, the rocks petered out around the one-mile mark and the beach became wide and sandy. Low tide is best for this trek because the beach can virtually disappear at high tide. Except for two clusters of a dozen cars or so, and a few dozen people, the beach was practically empty, even on a perfect beach day. No surprise there. Unless you have a town issued 4×4 permit (residents only), it’s quite a hike to get this far out, especially if you’re carrying beach paraphernalia. A limited number of cars are permitted on the beach at these designated spots, accessed by a rugged roadway. You can’t drive up and down the beach itself, fortunately. And depending on the status of piping plover nests, vehicle access to the Point may be limited or prohibited.
It wasn’t always thus. Bill remembers when hundreds of cars massed on the beach during his childhood summers. While some may pine for those days, I’m not a fan of cars and trucks on beaches. They mar the natural beauty of the beach and disturb wildlife. But I can imagine why a teenager might have fond memories of long days at the beach with friends, food, and beer.
As you approach the Point, an ephemeral island comes into view. This is Brown’s Bank, a roughly circular sandbar just off Long Beach. Brown’s Bank is there at low tide and a few hours later it’s gone, only to return. That may not distinguish it from most sandbars, but it’s large enough, approximately one square mile, to appear to be an island. On this day, dozens of boats were nosed up to the edge of it and others anchored in the narrow, but deep channel separating Long Beach from Brown’s Bank. A couple of jet skis flew through the channel as people walked or lounged on the bank, having brought their beach gear by boat.
Since moving to Plymouth last winter, I’ve been surprised by how Caribbean blue/green the bay water is on a clear day. Out near the Point, one could easily mistake the view for one to be found on an idyllic Caribbean isle.
Just off the Point, at the entrance to Plymouth Harbor, is the squat, coffee pot shaped Duxbury Pier Light, known locally as Bug Light (not to be confused with Bud Light). Put into service in 1871 and automated in 1964, Bug Light is still a navigation aid and marks a dangerous shoal off Saquish Head.
The six-mile round trip walk took us about two hours. You really don’t know Long Beach until you explore its northern reaches. Whether you walk or know someone with a vehicle permit or a boat, find a beautiful day and discover the Long Beach less traveled.
Finally, a word about my last column. A couple of eagle-eyed readers suggested that the bird I saw on the North Plymouth Grace Trail (also known as the Seaside Trail among other names) wasn’t a bald eagle, as I wrote, but an osprey from a nest atop a nearby nesting pole. Now, I’m no expert, but a couple of other people standing next to me also thought the suspect was an eagle, but they didn’t appear to be from the Cornell University Ornithology Lab either. In fact, from the looks of the jacket he was wearing, one was a hockey coach. Bald eagles can be found in these parts. Their population is on the rise, they’re known to take over osprey nests, and this specimen did not have the white neck and breast ospreys have. I guess we’ll never know for sure, but I’m sticking with my eagle story because it’s the better one.
Peter Zheutlin – a freelance journalist who has written frequently for The Boston Globe, The Christian Science Monitor, and many other publications – brings the perspective of a Plymouth newcomer to the Independent. He is the author or co-author of nine books, including the New York Times bestseller “Rescue Road: One Man, Thirty Thousand Dogs, and a Million Miles on the Last Hope Highway.” Zheutlin can be reached at pzheutlin@gmail.com.