The Lighthouse Keeper
By Daniel W. Drake

Associate Publisher

As the plane took off from Nantucket this past Sunday evening, it climbed through a layer of soft, puffy clouds into a clear sky. The usual haze was missing and the vista all around was spectacular. The earth spread out as far as the eye could see. The mix of land and sea added to the beauty. In the softness of the early twilight the scene was striking in its splendor.

The ocean shimmered. The land masses took on a kind of mystical quality because the hand of man and its effects on the landscape were minimized.

Only Nantucket, below and behind the plane, was invisible underneath its cover of clouds. It was as if the island had wrapped a fluffy towel around itself in modesty as it emerged from the sea.

To the left, Martha’s Vineyard was lying under a similar canopy but the plane’s altitude was such that the entire island was spread out beneath the cloud layer. From Chappaquiddick to Menemsha, West Chop to the Great Ponds, Edgartown to Lambert’s Cove, it all seemed like looking at a page in an atlas of some far away and exotic place.

Ahead and slightly to the right, the “Lower” Cape lay open and vulnerable. From Monomoy Point and Chatham along the Seashore, through Orleans and Eastham, on to Wellfleet and Truro and Provincetown, the topography was laid out much more clearly than if one was driving along Route 6.

Approaching the Cape, the South Shore unfolded in front of the plane and the skyline of Boston became visible. And still, the Vineyard and all of the southeastern coastline retained their forms, while the orange glow of the setting sun began to imbue the whole scene with a mystical aura.

The beauty was awesome, almost overwhelming. Nature was putting on a show that could not be matched by anything that mortals might craft.

Even Otis Air National Guard Base, from 5,000 feet up, looked like a toy airport and took nothing away from the rest of the scene. And instead of allowing the surrounding views to stay in the forefront of the psyche, that sight below triggered some musings on what might happen to the facility if it is shut down as part of the current round of base closings.

Given the congestion at Logan; the difficulty Massport has had in building another runway; that airport’s proximity to a densely populated area; could not Otis be developed as a complementary facility? Perhaps it could serve overseas and transcontinental flights.

No, the idea is impractical. Otis is isolated. Access is difficult. If the traffic problems getting to and leaving the Cape are bad now, think what it would be like if a major airport’s comings and goings were added to the mix.

But how about something radical like making all the passenger access by high-speed train? The roadbeds still exist. The trip could take 30 minutes or less from Boston. Satellite stations could be created in a few places along the route and perhaps from Hyannis. Is it doable? Who knows? It would require a lot of creativity and out-of-the box thinking. Could it be done in a way to minimize the impact on the area immediately surrounding the facility?

How could such thoughts intrude on the beauty of the moment? There is no predicting how the mind will work.

Those thoughts were pushed aside as the plane landed in Logan with darkness beginning to wrap its arms around that part of the world.

Reality intruded Monday morning at the airport, when the automatic ticketing machine said the flight was delayed and a connection would be missed. Somehow, coming from a machine, such news is more offensive than if it comes from a live body, particularly since the machine cannot help remedy the problem.

Waiting in line, once, twice, three times; carrying a heavy bag along to ensure it made the connection; being forcibly separated from the bag which was checked through to the final destination in the face of what was going to be a twenty minute connection; all led to a certain grumpiness.

Once again, though, the surrounding world came to the rescue. The plane took off from Logan to the north. As it circled around to the east and then settled into its southerly course, Race Point and the tip of the Cape again came into view. The elbow soon followed.

Then across an expanse of sea the full glory of Nantucket was revealed. There was no cloud cover this time. From 14,000 feet, the island still looked large. In the harsher glare of the morning sun, it was more of a shadow in the midst of a shining ocean, but the outline was as clear as if it had been drawn on a piece of paper lying on the tray table.

Fleeting thoughts of what was going on below passed through. Construction projects were already humming. Some were out doing errands; going to the gym. Others were having the last cup of coffee before going to work or trying to decide how to spend their day of leisure. Dogs that had woken up at the first light of the sun at 4 a.m. were now dozing off again, wondering why their human friends never went back to sleep.

The thoughts then went to what to write about. The procedural fiascos at the Board of Selectmen’s meetings to hear the appeals from the Historic District Commission’s Great Harbor Yacht Club? We weren’t at the last one, so probably shouldn’t comment. Although maybe it is fair to ask why Selectman Watts has been absent from both of these meetings?

The purchasing of assault rifles by the Sheriff for himself and the police department without having such acquisitions go through the normal budget and approval process? That is really disturbing, but we have already written that the sheriff’s office should be abolished. Maybe, to get the proper perspective, it is time for another viewing of “The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming.”

As Nantucket faded in the distance, and the Vineyard and Elizabeth Islands took its place, followed by just a vast expanse of open ocean visible through the window, these thoughts dissipated. They couldn’t last. It just wasn’t worth spending any time on them.

The passenger made the connection. So did the suitcase. And the sun here doesn’t come up until 5:30. Life is good!

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The “Lighthouse Keeper” reflects the views of the author and does not represent the editorial position of The Nantucket Independent. Please send any comments to drake@nantucketindependent.com.