My Beach Buggy Days Part 3

Many weekends were spent on Duxbury Beach resulting in many, many stories. The first five years were with the old  1936 International, a two-wheel drive over-sand vehicle.  However, being a 1936 truck, it rode like a truck!  It was under-powered, hard to steer, had poor brakes, and a gear ratio not suited for off-road driving! So why in hell did I use it?  It was free. My Dad gave it to me and the cost to convert it was not much money…..a good thing, because I didn’t make much.  So with the above con’s, a short trip to Duxbury  Beach was in my favor.

In the early days I simply drove to and  over the half-mile wooden Powder Point Bridge….then made a right turn onto the “Back Trail” on  the Bay-side.

Powder Point Bridge, Duxbury, Mass. (upper L),  To Duxbury Beach…a right turn to High Pines, 1.7 mi.,  another 2 mi. to the Gurnet, now Plymouth. Then 2 mi’s to the Western Point of Saquish.


At a low tide, the beach side was the easiest route to your destination.  However, at a high tide, the back road was your only choice, even though the water filled many low areas.  It was a slow trip weaving in and out… trying to stay above the salt water.  Back then, there were dunes ten feet high …maybe more.  There were numerous coves within these dunes that would accommodate  4 or 5 rigs, so you could join your friends or they would join you.

In my early days, it was just my girlfriend and me.  Most of our friends then were single.
Interests varied from hiking, swimming,  camping, striped bass fishing and shell-fishing.  Beer drinking was a requirement!  Camping gear was primitive. Cooking was usually done over a campfire and campfire wood was scarce.
I was in the woodworking business so my scrap wood was always bagged up and dragged along using up much of the truck-bed space.
Any driftwood was a welcome addition.  If it contained any metal or copper, it made for pretty colors and the smell of salt water driftwood is like no other.

Compliments of Grace “Dee Dee” Dunn.

A little more than half way down the beach was a high point called High Pines that had a hunting camp on it.  It was nearly covered with wind blown sand dunes, along with beach plum bushes.   Poison ivy had a foothold there too. I understand a waterfowl hunter from Duxbury named Burt Hunt built or owned this camp as a duck hunting lodge in the 20’s & 30’s.  It was also used in my time,  and Google Earth shows that it’s still there, although no longer a shack!
A short distance south brought you to the Gurnet & Gurnet Point…a high ledge at the mouth of  Plymouth Harbor.  A lighthouse is at it’s highest point, a Coast Guard installation, numerous camps and year around homes are now there. The east and south sides are cliffs to the ocean. The west side is attached to Saquish beach, the head & west end with many camps within the sand dunes. It’s quite private and little room for visitors or camping.  It’s a beautiful spot with Plymouth, Kingston, & Duxbury Bay nearly  surrounding the spit.
Clark’s Island is just off-shore to the northwest. It’s an historic area with records of the Pilgrims being anchored nearby in November, 1620, waiting to explore the upland to establish a settlement.
The area mud flats are a shell-fishing mecca.  I have dug steamers, Quahogs ,  (cherrystones & littlenecks), razor clams & sea clams.

Getting back to the beach approaching the Gurnet, we set up camp so I could go skin-diving off the rocky ledge that runs out  from the Gurnet.  A spear gun always provided us with a flounder or tautog… a favorite fish to cook on the open fire.

  Returning from a catch.

A low tide was required to dive the rocks in search of lobsters.
Any catch of lobsters, plus a few steamers, made a happy day for a clam bake.
This was a good day….. 2 lobsters & 2 crabs.

We would dig a pit in the sand, line it with stones, then a fire was built within to get the rocks hot enough for cooking.  A pile of seaweed was placed over the hot rocks.  Then lobsters and corn were placed on top, followed by clams and seaweed.  A tarp, covered with sand, was placed over the whole pit.

Loading up the firewood


Covering the catch with rockweed

I always had some dread of the cooking results,

Done? Not done? Overdone?

I will admit, we never had a disaster.  If anything was over cooked, it was the littlenecks.  They have to be removed  from the heat when they pop open or they get rubbery!

Another happy day for all.

An hour’s wait & a few beers later,  we would  open the pit. That was  an exciting and rewarding  experience every time we had that opportunity.

“The Good Ole Days”.
Oh how I long for days like that again.
My girlfriend of 5 years and wife of 60 years (the same wonderful person), often reminisce of our days on the beach.

“The only B.S. I want is the ”Beach and Sunshine”.  And, once there, followed by more B.S.S., “Beer, Sunshine and the Surf”. 

“Life, the way it should be.”

Next; Our early days on Sandy Neck Beach, Barnstable Ma.

W. Ray Freden.  Marshfield Seaview ….70 years.

” Down East Maine”…..17 years.

The Blizzard of ‘78

Feb. 2023.

As I write this note, here in Down East Maine, I am looking out the window watching the snow drift across my deck, the wind is  a-blowing-like-hell !  But, why shouldn’t it be?  It’s Maine, and it’s Feb.
Enjoy my previous posted blog of my  venture from Dedham to Marshfield  on the 7th, 8 th. & 9th. of Feb, 1978!

   47  years ago, that was just over half  my life ago!  I’m having my morning coffee and a freshly made blueberry muffin, my wife makes the bestest !  and watching snow being blown across my deck,  reminded me of my  three day journey home after  that blizzard.  I have done a bit of revision to a few photos and some text.

I  was a a 44 year old man from Seaview. I was teaching in Fitchburg, Ma. On February 6th, 1978, I was up at 5:00 to leave Seaview about 6:00 for the 90-mile journey.

Monday morning off I went, with a slight falling of snow, arriving at school at 7:55, just in time for class. I kept an eye on the much faster and heavier snow falling. School was called off at noon. I called my wife to get the latest news; she said, “It’s getting bad.” I had a room in Ashburnham, but decided to head back home,

East on Route 2 was plowed, however, slow. It took two hours to get to Route 128 – usually about 30 minutes. Approaching 128, I had to make a decision to continue on Route 2 or 128. Route 128 looked clear, so down I went. As I approached the Mass Pike, I entertained the idea of heading toward Boston.

Unbeknownst to me, at 6pm, Route 128 was at a complete jam in Canton. I did not have a radio in my truck to monitor the storm or traffic. It was stop and go for about a mile, then stop and no more go! I could see the railroad bridge in Westwood.

14 died from carbon dioxide poisoning.

After about an hour, people were walking past me. I stopped one and asked where everyone was going. That person was going to seek refuge in the St. Bartholomew Church, not far away. He told me that Route 128 was jammed solid. Not being a church going person, I opted to stay in my truck.

It was quite cold and the wind wouldn’t stop howling! A few more cold souls passed by about 10PM. I was quite aware that exhaust fumes entering the cab could do me in! I cleared the snow away from the exhaust a few times. I had my suitcase with me for my week of extra clothes, and the two sheets I would have used on my bed in Ashburnham. I usually had some leftovers and sandwich making stuff, however I left that back in the shop refrigerator. I cracked open the wing windows and the back slider for a fresh flow of air. I turned the heat to full hot and high fan, wrapped up in the sheets, and dozed off. When the heat got so hot I woke, turned the truck off, and dozed until I was cold. That went on for nearly six hours.

The sound of sirens awoke me at about 6:30 am. Two State Police cruisers were broadcasting that a bus was coming to transport any of us left. This was happening on the cleared northbound lane, now being used for both north and southbound traffic.


I was stuck within sight of this bridge in Westwood!

About 20 of us abandoned our vehicles, climbed over the guardrails, and boarded the bus. More were picked up as we traveled along. We ended up at the National Guard Armory in Dedham. They let us use their phone to call our loved ones. My wife and two kids were fine as well as Reggie, our dog. They had plenty of wood for heat and cooking.

After I contacted my wife, the guardsmen fed us onion soup for breakfast! There were four of us at the table trying to decide what to do. One local suggested  a small restaurant close by that we ended up having a lunch in, they had gas fired grills and a limited menu,  cash only!

Two of the group were from Quincy, one from Norwood, and me, from Marshfield. The two from Quincy left us. My new-found friend said he would walk home to Norwood and asked if I wanted to come along. I did.

Oh my god, what was I in for? Down Route 1, un-plowed! We were walking on a snowmobile trail with just the roofs of cars showing! As we passed Lechmere’s, the snow had drifted so high it covered the entire entrance!

We continued until we came to a Chinese restaurant, and turned right up a hill that was barely plowed. It was dusk. When we arrived at my friend’s house, the entrance was completely covered in snow!

Our shovel was a board. It took about 30 minutes to get through the door with quite frozen hands. My friend’s wife made us dinner, we did some chatting, then off to the sofa for a some well-needed sleep. The next morning: a nice breakfast, a thank you, and a farewell.

I hiked south on Route 1. Some plowing had been done to Route 27 — that was my way home. I got a ride on the running board of a wrecker into Stoughton, another ride in the back of a pickup through Brockton, and finally another ride on the step of a grader into Rockland. I headed east on Route 123 and got a ride to 3A & 123.

As I got to Neal Gate Street in Greenbush, a friend picked me up and dropped me off at my front door! Wednesday, Feb. 8th about 2pm — two and half days. Not too bad!

My wife had the deck and back steps cleared. Up I went, opened the back door and hollered, “I’m home!” My wife said that she had a feeling I’d be home that afternoon. Hugs and kisses for the wife, the kids, and the dog, in that order.

Now my wife says, “Let’s take a walk down to Fourth Cliff to see the damage!” Oh well, why not? My legs were still in motion from hiking from Norwood.

looking for the pavement on Central Ave.


Heavy Equipment Operator Ned Dubois operating a big Cat.

A week later I obtained a permit to recover my truck. I found it in the northbound lane. The National Guard had cut openings in the guardrails and dragged all of the vehicles into the northbound lane.

The next week was spent freeing the vehicles.

All was well, except all my clothing in the suitcase was gone! I suppose a Guardsman was grateful for the dry clothes!

“Snowflakes are one of nature’s most fragile things, but just look what they can do when they stick together.” – Vesta M. Kelly

by Ray Freden Seaview/Marshfield

Note;

I later learned a friend from Needham,that had tickets to Boston’s traditional “Bean Pot ” hockey game’s at the Boston Gardens.
There was no way he could take the”  T “or drive into Boston.
His neighbor had a snowmobile, Believe it or not they snowmobiled through the storm Feb. 6th, and  into Boston to the Gardens for the semi finals game between  Harvard , (4) & Northeastern,(3) .  Jack relayed to me, “the only things moving were snow machines!”