At The Coast.

I spent last Saturday on Boston’s North Shore, in the general vicinity of Gloucester.  It’s a beautiful piece of the planet, juxtaposing the pink granite seaside escarpments more commonly associated with the Maine coast with the population pressures inherent in a locale within easy driving of one of the Northeast’s great cities.  The result is a blend of the power of nature and the control of polite society, with expensive homes commanding ocean views which, truth be told, ought to be there for us all:

The “No Trespassing” signs frankly fried me, and I thought of the 70’s pop song “Signs,” wherein this sort of economic privilege is challenged by a populist sense of fairness.

Still, the coast had serious photographic possibilities for a hilltown boy, and I snapped away, tilting lenses and shifting perspectives in an effort to milk the learning curve:

Grasslands give way to seaside granite under a waxing gibbous moon.

There was a storm out to sea, and the waves generated by it were substantial:

I noted many locals lined up along the seaside drive to enjoy the show, and deduced that it wasn’t an average evening of sound and waves.

And they were right – it was an “event.”  The incoming tide pushed waves up and over this twenty-foot chunk of sea-stained granite:

I got thoroughly soaked as this wave crested its puny granitic constraint and crashed down on my perch:

Yeah, I ran like a baby-child as the salt water doused my kit, and may have lost a few minor appendages to my photographic quest.

Anyway, this coming weekend will host an intersection of full moon and lighthouses and low tide, which I have an unpopular affinity for, so expect to see some of that as the weekend comes and goes.