From the Sept. 28, 1951 edition of the Vineyard Gazette:

Whatever benefits accrue from the annual striped bass derby, this much is certain, that visitors and residents alike will gain an acquaintance with the Island not otherwise possible. For, once yearly, the ancient roads by which forgotten generations hauled their cargoes of clay to the shipping points, or drew home seaweed from the beaches, are again traced out and negotiated by bold and intrepid drivers as they seek the vantage points for beach-fishing.

Here at Paul’s Point, at Cedar Tree Neck, at Daggett’s Landing, Rogers’ Landing and Saltworks Landing, and so on, the rod and reel fishermen have been seen, casting from every point of rocks, or walking the beaches in between. Meanwhile their cars, bright with enamel and polished metal, stand parked on the upland, where for eleven months of the year no living thing travels save the deer.

The Lambert’s Cove road is the ancient drive of Jonathan, whose name, like that of the early members of the family, was spelled Lumbert, and so pronounced by the older people of fifty years ago. Mr. Lumbert left his name upon the pleasant cove, which eventually became a popular harbor for small fishing craft. Somehow, despite the fact that the old road passes across private property, this way has been kept in constant use and the hazard is not great in traveling down through the pasture field and low dunes to the beach.

So, too, is it on Daggett’s Road, which terminates at the well-known homestead just east of Cedar Tree Neck. But there are other roads lying westerly which may be better or worse, and all are well patronized during the bass derby.

There are some bathhouses up along the shore in the vicinity of the site of the ancient saltworks, identified today only by the location of the ledge which makes off from a nearby point. But once upon a time the Saltworks Road was a thoroughfare, traveled by men on foot and with ox and horse-carts.

Older inhabitants used to call the smooth, straight beach to the westward, Gray’s Beach, and spoke of Shubael Gray. There was also an old house, so near the tide that spray from the breakers in time of storm might splash the windows. Old-timers called it the Vernal Clifford place, and it was a pleasant, sightly spot, when the sheep kept the grass grazed down to the semblance of lawn, and the forest was yet some distance back from the tide. The bass fishermen find their way to this place and walk the smooth beach, perhaps unsuspected by the majority of them until they come upon it.

The Paintmill Bight lies much as it did fifty years ago, as far as beach and water are concerned. But the clay-wharf from which so many cargoes were shipped, has long since disappeared. So, too, the roads, coming to the beach at this point from two directions, one around the shoulder of a hill to the east, the other along the face of the sand-cliff from the west.

Beck’s Beach and Beck’s Ledge, with Beck’s Pond in the background, is a spot both historic and intriguing. Beck, so the old people said, was an abbreviation for Rebecca. Rebecca Skiffe lived in a house by the pond, no trace of which remains save a low mound of earth where the chimney fell. It was Rebecca who buried her silver spoons before the British raid during the Revolution, and never could find them again.

There are spots here in two places where the bottom is soft, but in three others, the ledges run far out into the Sound, and here are fish, surface and ground-fish, and believe it or not, cars find their way to this far-removed spot of Beck’s.

On the same estate, Great Rock Bight opens like an extended thumb and forefinger, with the “great rock” standing far up in the bend thus created. Today it is difficult to walk up or down, but the bass fishermen reach the spot, and they were there, casting out to the great rock which seemed a prime place for bass.

And then the old Brickyard. The sea-wall crumbled, the yard itself showing the results of being flooded and lashed by seas during the hurricanes. The old water-wheel, crumbling to decay; the tall chimney, gradually disintegrating under the touch of time.

The old roads, leading to the mill, to the brickyard, and to the landing where once wharves stood, these have gullied and washed, and many a stone obstructs the passage of car or pedestrian. But the bass fishermen reach this beach, and they drive their cars very close to it!

There are probably many other places where the bass fishermen penetrate in similar manner. Perhaps the majority of them think but little about it. But to the old-timer who can remember when much of this was open territory, traveled over by the general public and known to all, this is all to the good. Through such acquaintance with these places, perhaps they may again become populated and again people will enjoy their beauty. For it is not well that anything valuable, beautiful or good be concealed and forgotten.

Compiled by Hilary Wallcox
library@vineyardgazette.com