A Tuesday in February in Menemsha starts like most of the Island — serene. But more so.
The busy summer harbor is in hibernation mode — the waves roll in, an occasional gull squawks, the parking lot remains empty at sunrise save for a few footprints in the recently fallen snow.
A closer look, however, reveals a few hubs of activity. Menemsha Texaco remains open, as does Menemsha Fish Market. And up the hill, overlooking the harbor, Coast Guard Station Menemsha keeps careful watch all year long. Breakfast is at 7 a.m. sharp.
Tuesday’s agenda is two-boat training, which includes man overboard and towing back to shore exercises. Search and rescue drills with a helicopter operator are also on the schedule for later in the day.
“[They are] frequent missions but they can go wrong very easily,” chief boatswain mate Tyler Vanderhaden says, not long after finishing his morning meal. He looks out at the 47-foot motor life boat. “It makes me nervous getting complacent.”
There are 24 men and women stationed in Menemsha, with eight on duty at all times. They come from all over the country, from the Jersey shore to Chicago, North Carolina to the Berkshires.
Each boat is equipped with necessary equipment and instructions for various protocols, including search and rescue.
“A lot of policies in the Coast Guard are written in blood, they say,” boatswain’s mate second class Patrick Shanahan says, flipping through a book of protocol checklists.
At 9:54 a.m., the officers head out to the boathouse for a standard brief risk assessment, following the PEACE model: Planning, Environment, Assets, Communication and Event Complexity. Suited up, they walk to the boats, but an engine won’t work and the morning exercise is scrapped. But another opportunity for training awaits in the afternoon when the helicopter is scheduled to arrive.
Down the hill, activity begins at the Menemsha Fish Market. The fish store officially opens at 11 a.m., but today the door is unlocked at 10:33 a.m. According to long-time cashier Janelle Fogg, the family-run fish market often opens early, depending on when inventory arrives or customers knock on the door.
Ms. Fogg’s father, Stanley Larsen, owns the market. Having grown up running around the fish store, she has fond memories of occasionally sweeping floors but usually causing a ruckus in the shop and on the water. Crabbing, painting and running around in the summertime was all she knew growing up.
“It was a cool life,” she recalls with a smile. “Everyone took care of me.”
Two decades later, she’s at the register, remembering regulars’ orders while experimenting with recipes depending on what ingredients are available.
“My dad’s obsessed with American chop suey, so I’m gonna make a big batch for everyone for lunch we can just all enjoy,” Ms. Fogg says.
The days are generally slow post-holiday season, but the shop keeps busy by delivering inventory around the country, and servicing locals who come in to enjoy a cup of clam chowder or lobster bisque.
With local fish scarce this time of year, most of the catch comes from New Bedford or Boston. Shellfish represent the bulk of local deliveries, according to Mr. Larsen. Occasionally, a lobster boat will roll through.
Twenty one years in business and Mr. Larsen is used to the ebbs and flows of the season.
“We have specials every day. Sometimes we’ll stock up on some fish and stuff for a week and it keeps us going,” he says.
At 12:24 p.m., as more cars start pulling into the parking lot to grab lunch, the Coast Guard’s search and rescue drill with the helicopter begins out in the water. A low whirring of the helicopter blades can be heard, but not enough to alarm anyone taking an afternoon walk along the dock or filling up at Menemsha Texaco.
Eventually, the helicopter and boat are just a blip on the watery horizon as training continues.
The rest of the afternoon settles into a quiet rhythm. When sunset arrives at 5:12 p.m. it is also subdued, lacking the spectacular pinks and oranges that often decorate the sky in summer. Only a small sliver of pink beckons from beyond the clouds.
In July and August, the scene draws a crowd, clapping and toasting the end of another day. In February, it’s just the gulls, the Coasties, the fishermen and the shopkeepers who take note as the curtain falls on just another Tuesday on the Vineyard.
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