Pat Jenkinson's lobster boat Solitude sits idle at the dock in Menemsha. The last time he took the boat fishing was right after Christmas, and it wasn't much of a trip. Mr. Jenkinson says he won't go fishing now until spring. "There is nothing out there," he says.

The shaky wooden dock is stacked with green wire lobster pots from another season. Sparrows fly in and out of the pots. Captain Jenkinson says he knows of at least one local hawk that pays close attention.

Solitude is a good name for a boat, and it is a good name for Menemsha in winter. The small fishing village is asleep. Fish shacks are empty. The bustle of summer is nothing but a memory. Even the snow has few footprints.

Next to the lobster pots stands Eric Cottle's fish shack, a reminder of the history of this place, frozen now. Ice clings to the windows, and snow frosts the exterior wall.

A red Chevrolet pickup truck speeds down the road past an empty Menemsha Market. Behind the wheel, wearing a red cap with a long black rim, is Robert Flanders, 85. His wife Gladys rides shotgun. They are doing what other Menemsha fishermen do all winter - checking the boat, making sure it's okay.

At The Home Port Restaurant chairs are stacked on the patio wearing jackets of snow. The restaurant sign is down.

At The Galley where - wasn't it just yesterday? - summer patrons stood in line to get soft ice cream and a cheeseburger, the window is closed and shuttered, the sign a January cliche: "Closed for the season. Thank you for your patronage. See you next May."

At Menemsha Texaco early morning patrons want either gasoline or coffee, or both. Marshall Carroll, who runs the store with his family, came in at six, an hour before sunrise. "It is a nice time of the morning," he says.

Paul Mayhew, a local builder, usually shows up. "We talk about the news of the world. What has happened," Mr. Carroll says.

Mr. Mayhew's overview of worldly events matters a lot more now. Delivery of the daily newspapers, including The New York Times and The Boston Globe, was suspended just days before Christmas, because it didn't make economic sense to deliver papers at this time of year. "Too quiet," Mr. Carroll says.

The largest number of visitors at one time fly overhead. Canada geese in chevron head toward Lobsterville.

Inside the store, the air is warm. Mr. Carroll says he replaced the old burner with a new wall-mounted kerosene heater and it works nicely. "My fingers don't freeze at the computer anymore," he says.

Outside, brothers Jonathan and Gregory Mayhew tend to business on their fishing boats, tied up to a snow-covered bulkhead. Jonathan runs the 67-foot western rig Quitsa Strider II. Gregory runs the 75-foot Unicorn.

The two men will go fishing tonight, 80 miles south of Noman's, looking for fluke. They will spend two days offshore, always within eyesight of each other for safety. The water temperature that far out is 45 degrees.

As the Mayhew brothers work, the green buoy off the Menemsha jetties clangs. The buoy is cloaked in sea ice.

Farther down the dock, lobster boats and a wooden dragger wear white skirts of ice just above the waterline.

No need for a compass at the floating dock reserved for charter fishermen. The northeastern side of every spile and the north wall of every fish shack wear a thin coat of snow.

Stanley Larsen is inside Menemsha Fish Market, shuffling about under fluorescent lights, heating quahaug chowder in a microwave oven for a visitor. Mr. Larsen bought the fish market from Donald Poole last year. Before that he was a fisherman. "This is a lot like running a boat," he says, looking around the market. "No bursting pipes this year," he adds. Lobsters swim in the showcase tank. Outside, herring gulls hop from the top of one spile to the next.

A car pulls in. Jennifer Clarke walks into the store with a special greeting. She gives Mr. Larsen a copy of her newly released CD and rushes out. "A lot of people give me things," he says with a smile.

Pat Jenkinson, Marshall Carroll and Stanley Larsen like to keep an eye on the most frequent winter visitors at Menemsha: the birds. Mr. Carroll says people are still talking about the Atlantic brant that walked past the front door of Menemsha Texaco weeks ago. Everyone was shocked, because brants are shy and spend most of their time in the arctic. But this one was comfortable enough to visit the outermost gas station at Menemsha.

Mr. Larsen says he sees loons and other coastal birds right outside the market.

And Mr. Jenkinson says he will keep an eye on that hawk.