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CINDY HOROVITZ WILSON
The island's shoreline, all 17 miles of it open to the public, offers surprises to the beachcomber: Driftwood, harbor seals on the rocks, colored beach glass.
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Winter, Block Island: Commit to serenity
BLOCK ISLAND, R.I. - No horde of tourists greets the ferry that arrives at Block Island on a windy winter Saturday. No shoppers meander past the Victorian buildings of Old Harbor, where bookstores and clothing boutiques and souvenir shops are battened down for winter.
No bikes or mopeds whiz past outdoor cafes that are closed for the season, and no one is offering sundown clambakes or sailing tours. The sandy curve of Crescent Beach is devoid of bathers and beachcombers.
Thousands of people visit Block Island on the typical summer day, but only a few are here this time of the year. And that is precisely what makes this quintessential summer vacation spot an attractive destination between December and March, say islanders and off-season visitors.
Block Island in the cold months is ideal for walking on abandoned beaches, hiking the network of trails that crisscrosses the island's bluffs and fields, and cuddling in front of a fireplace with a book, or a loved one, or both.
"Especially this time of year, if you work at it you could almost get time to seem like it's standing still," says Jim Murphy, who owns Corn Neck Farm Woodworking, a windswept shop where he makes the chairs he markets as the Block Island "Sittin' Machine."
"In the summer, tourists come, and they run here and they run there, and they end up not doing what they've come to Block Island to do, which is R & R, rest and relaxation," Murphy says. "Winter is the best time to do it."
The wintry months here also create challenges: to find food, or shelter from the gusty wind that rakes the seven-mile-long island. Rita Draper, whose family owns the 1661 Inn and Hotel Manisses, a resort that offers rooms all year, makes clear to winter tourists that serenity comes with a commitment to simplicity and solitude.
"We're really careful to tell them that there's really not much open," she says during the buffet breakfast, which she calls the hotel's busiest time during the off-season week.
"We don't try to lure them out here," says Draper, whose welcome package for guests includes a slip of paper listing the few places to eat - and a fitness center - still open. "They're always saying, 'It's OK, that's what we want.' "
The inn offers rooms with wood-burning fireplaces and hot tubs. Included are complimentary brandy and plenty of firewood, enough to keep warm during the most blustery night. Guests who pay for two nights stay a third night free. Another benefit is that Block Island is a whole lot easier to get to, and get around, in the cold. Bringing a car during summer requires ferry reservations up to six months in advance. But spaces are easy to get in winter. Islanders encourage even the hardiest of hiking enthusiasts to come with their cars in the cold months.
"You can rent a bicycle, but the winds are too strong for that," says Penny Riordan of the Block Island Chamber of Commerce.
Having a car comes in handy after an afternoon at Mohegan Bluffs - 150-foot cliffs carved by the receding glacier that formed the island thousands of years ago.
Visitors to these great clay cliffs overlooking the wave-battered southern coastline are treated to a spectacular sight when the sun sinks into its reflection, beyond the silhouette of the distant tip of Long Island. But to gaze at the sunset requires staring into the teeth of the prevailing southwest wind. It was nice to know the tiny parking area and the car, with its heater, were a short dash away.
But the best sites can be explored only on foot. The 17 miles of shoreline, all open to the public, offer plenty of surprises to the beachcomber. The beaches are strewn with driftwood, including one huge ship-busting log on the south coast. Harbor seals loll on the rocks on the east coast. Crescent Beach, on the northeast coast, features the best collection of blue and green beach glass, and dunes that provide some shelter from the wind.
Occasionally, it gets cold enough for Sachem Pond, at Block Island's northern tip, to freeze. In January 2003, islanders skated and ice-sailed on the pond. But "you can't really count on that," Draper says.
You can count on the miles of hiking trails, intersected by rows of ancient fieldstone walls built by the farmers who cleared the land after the first European settlers landed in 1661. (There are a few signs of the Narragansett Indians who occupied the island previously, including an old cemetery. Dutch explorer Adrian Block replaced their name for the island, Manisses, or "the Island of the Little God," with his surname in 1614.)
The walls lend the parcels of land they delineate a unique look, which islanders try to protect with wooden stairs that allow hikers to cross the old barriers without disturbing the stones.
The stairs are one sign of the special regard islanders have for their unique landscape. More than 40 percent of the island's 9.73 square miles has been set aside for conservation and public use, including Clay Head, a famed birding area, and a network of trails called "the Greenway," which leads to Rodman's Hollow, a sprawling nature preserve hidden in a sheltered ravine. There, deer dash through bayberry thickets and harriers soar overhead, prowling for food.
Humans looking for grub on the weekend head for the Beachhead restaurant, the home of Block Island clam chowder, which has a clear broth - no cream - and a lot more clams than the usual New England version.
"Sometimes, people actually complain there's too many clams in it," says Tracy Fredericks, a server at the restaurant.
Islanders who stay for the winter talk about the strong sense of community, embodied in the annual Groundhog Day census, when they gather at Albion Pub to count their number. Everyone on the island is counted, including visitors, while even a lifelong resident who happens to be off the island that day is not. In 2006, the island census tallied 969, Riordan says. (The official 2000 census puts the number of permanent residents at 1,010.)
But does the isolation that visitors crave wear on year-round islanders?
Rick Lysick, a bartender at the pub and keyboard player in the house band, which plays bluegrass and alternative and hard rock, says he sometimes goes to the mainland "just to sit in a traffic jam or drive faster than 25 miles per hour."
But he always comes back.
Why?
"It's the last small town on the East Coast."
