Washburn Island and World War II - Cape Cod History

Despite Cape Cod being a relatively small location (approximately 339 square miles), some places are far less traveled. Most of these locations come in the form of small islands located in and around the peninsula.

A few examples include Strong Island in Chatham, which is 75 acres and consists primarily of marshland. There is Sipson Island, which is 25 acres and has been privately owned for over three centuries. Sampsons Island in Cotuit is a 15-acre nature preserve. Bassetts Island in Pocasset is 60 acres of beaches and upland forest. There is even more to be explored, but none has the wealth of history and the air of mystery that exists on Washburn Island.

Washburn Island is approximately 330 acres in size and sits inside Waquoit Bay off East Falmouth. Today it’s a largely undeveloped, pine-and-oak–covered island with a popular primitive campsite and a handful of sandy beaches. That calm surface hides a layered past: Indigenous seasonal use, 19th-century farms and Gilded-Age summer estates, and dramatic storms. Perhaps most intriguing is the island’s surprising role in World War II amphibious training.

Long before European colonists arrived, the island was used seasonally by Native Americans. They referred to the island as Menauhaunt. Archaeological finds like shell middens, stone flakes, and other artifacts show human activity in and around Waquoit Bay and Washburn Island for many centuries. Through the 1700s and 1800s, the island was intermittently used for grazing livestock and small farms. In the 19th century, three farms existed on the island, two of which were gone by the end of the century. By that point, the future Washburn Island had attracted private owners.

In 1900, Henry A. Bryant, whose family had opened the Pacific Northwest to the shipping trade, acquired the property. On it, he had built a large three-story summer house overlooking Waquoit Bay and Vineyard Sound. For a time, a hand ferry connected the island to the mainland with a landing on the Seapit River at present-day Ferry Road.

Henry Bryant died suddenly on January 6, 1904, at the young age of forty-six. The estate on the island was left to his widow, Alida. She held on to the property until 1912, when it was sold to a group of bankers and corporate investors. This included the former U.S. Ambassador to Austria, Albert Washburn.

Albert Washburn c. 1920(Library of Congress)

At first, the purchase was only for the former Bryant estate, with the rest planned to be sold in parcels for development. Those plans fell through, and Albert Washburn and his wife, Florence, bought the rest of the island for their own private use.

The Washburns erected a wondrous compound. In addition to moving into the Bryant estate, the Washburns constructed a stable, a barn, a boathouse, a pier, and a narrow bridged causeway. The family name is what the island is usually called today.

The bridge to Washburn Island looking west toward the mainland.(Falmouth Historical Society)

The main house burned to the ground on October 26, 1926, thanks to a fire starting inside a defective chimney. The soft sand near the bridged causeway severely affected the arrival time of firefighters. By the time the blaze had been quelled, all that remained were the servants' quarters. The barn and most of the farm remained intact. A modest farmhouse was built to give the Washburns a place to live during their summers on the island.

Albert Washburn died suddenly of food poisoning in Vienna in April 1930, leaving the island in a state of flux. The estate never fully recovered, and the property shifted toward recreational use after that period. This was mostly because while the island was still owned by Florence Washburn, she never marked the property or imposed any restrictions on visitors.

Florence and the rest of her family began spending less and less time on the island in the early 1930s. It became a haven for those using the island for picnicking and recreation. Unfortunately, some took advantage of this generosity by looting the farmhouse and vandalizing parts of the island.

A massive hurricane in 1938 dramatically changed the island's appearance. It washed away the causeway and bridge. This left Florence Washburn with no easy access to the island where the farmhouse remained. The storm surge also ripped a channel open in the area that was 125 feet wide and seven feet deep. For the first time in decades, Washburn Island truly was an island.

Washburn Island’s most dramatic chapter came along with World War II. Florence Washburn, who had been living exclusively in Hanover, New Hampshire, said in June 1942 that she wanted to rebuild her beloved island that had been severely damaged by vandals. However, she couldn’t get the assurances needed to protect her property rights.

A perfect storm came up as the U.S. military rapidly expanded amphibious training in the early 1940s. Needing coastal areas to prepare troops for beach landings in both the European and Pacific areas, the military looked to Washburn Island. With Florence unable to rebuild the island the way she wanted, she instead leased several tracts of land to the federal government.

The Army’s amphibious units (Engineer Boat and Shore Regiments and associated training commands operating out of Camp Edwards and nearby facilities) used the island for landing exercises. To create a proper base, there was the construction of a crisscross of several temporary roads and five finger-like piers that stretched nearly 900 feet out into the water. Washburn Island also saw drill fields, parade grounds, and an obstacle course. Once completed, the island served as a training ground for two years.

Despite wishing for the operations at Washburn to be secret, it was easy for locals to spot what was going on. It became commonplace to spot barges landing on the beach and soldiers wading through the water in full gear with rifles held overhead. After the war ended, Cape Codders proudly referred to Washburn Island as the ‘Cradle of Invasions,’ and the troops as ‘Cape Cod Commandos.’

Perhaps the wildest scene during these operations was the full-scale mock invasion the troops performed on Martha’s Vineyard. This included traversing the rough seas of Vineyard Sound and landing at designated sites at Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs on the north side of the island, more than five miles away.

A World War II amphibious vehicle, the DUKW.

For training purposes, the island was temporarily reconnected to the mainland via a sand causeway and wooden drawbridge that began at Ovington Point. Temporary structures were also built to support the effort. Contemporary accounts and later histories emphasize Washburn Island’s role as one of the local training beaches where soldiers practiced the skills, including small-craft landings, that would be vital in Normandy, the Mediterranean, and Pacific operations.

Washburn Island’s importance began to dwindle in 1943 due to harsh weather. The majority of the program was moved south to Carrabelle, Florida. Another major hurricane roared through in September 1944. This storm again destroyed the bridge and causeway. For a time, the military decided not to rebuild. It seemed as though this chapter of the story was over.

As World War II was coming to a close in the summer of 1945, Washburn Island got a new purpose. It became a place of recovery for those G.I.s returning from battle. The island that was not long before filled with amphibious vehicles and soldiers preparing for battle now looked far different.

On August 9, 1945, Washburn Island opened the Convalescent Hospital. It was staffed by twenty-five officers and men and was visited daily by 800 men who were transported to the island over the causeway via bus.

Recovering soldiers had access to surfboards, diving rafts, boats for fishing, lounge chairs, and various other beach games. Lt. Victor Dauer, the commanding officer of Washburn Island, emphasized that the facilities were meant for total physical and mental relaxation. Soldiers from all across the country came to Washburn. They got a slice of the good life as the highly regarded Coonamessett Club temporarily operated only to serve those veterans.

When all of the soldiers who had needed help had been taken care of, it was time for Washburn Island to be returned to its namesake. The structures that had been erected were all torn down, leaving only cement slabs on the island. The government gave the island back to Florence Washburn; however, it had changed dramatically.

Numerous trees had been cut down to make way for the military buildings, or they had been felled by the hurricane. The structures that did remain included the old farmhouse, the barn, an ice house, and a bath house. One thing that would not remain was the bridge. In late September 1946, the wooden bridge was removed, and Washburn truly was an island again.

The structures left on the island were left to slowly decay over the years, leading to their eventual razing. Despite the island being deserted, Florence refused to sell, even stating on numerous occasions that she would ‘never’ sell the island. She did, however, continue to allow visitors to the island for recreation up until her death on January 27, 1953.

Florence’s son, Dr. Lincoln Washburn, continued his mother’s policy of allowing visitors and also to never sell the property. This finally changed in 1976 when large increases in taxes in Falmouth got Dr. Washburn’s attention. Talks were loud in the coming years about potentially building a fifty-luxury-home subdivision complete with a 150-spot parking lot and a 200-foot dock. Luckily, the state stepped in to preserve the natural beauty.

In June 1983, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts acquired the island for $2.1 million($6.83 million in 2025). This was a far better option than the alternative.

Washburn Island was incorporated into the Waquoit Bay National Estuarine Research Reserve, which manages it for habitat protection, research, and low-impact recreation. Today, the Massachusetts Department of Conservation & Recreation (in partnership with the Reserve) manages camping, trails, and visitor access; the island contains primitive campsites, composting toilets, and marked trails but no developed utilities, preserving much of its wild character. What remains today on Washburn Island includes the natural features like a barrier beach, dunes, and salt ponds. There are also oak and pine forests and marshes, which are habitats for shorebirds and marine life. Except for the very small concrete slabs being overtaken by nature, there is nothing that remains from the days when the island was used as preparation for battle and the recovery from it.

Those looking to visit the island may do so. There can be day visits, beaching boats, hiking, and a small, reservation-only primitive campground (ten sites, plus one group site). Access to Washburn Island is by private boat only; there’s no public ferry. One can easily kayak to the island. The closest point to Washburn is at the Menauhaunt Yacht Club, which is less than one hundred feet. The island’s management emphasizes research, stewardship, and low-impact recreation.

In a local newspaper article in 1951, Washburn Island was seen as a place so badly damaged by storms and people that it could not be able to be salvaged. Nearly eighty years later, it stands as a pristine escape within an escape on Cape Cod. From the Native Americans, to the Bryants, to the Washburns, to the military, back to the Washburns, and finally to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this 330-acre property has had an incredible story. Luckily, it will remain a beautiful getaway for hikers, campers, and beachgoers when it easily could have become another private haven for the filthy rich, which makes up too much of Cape Cod as it is.

Looking across Waquoit Bay with Washburn Island on the right.

Florida Living: 20 Years Later

My 20s were spent searching. I was searching for love, searching for adventure, searching for my future. I was in my 20s from 1997 to 2007, during which time I moved seven times and switched jobs five times. When you’re younger, risks don’t seem as risky, for lack of a better term.

I had moved to Las Vegas in 2000 and returned to Cape Cod early in 2001. It was a significant shift in my life, one that I felt I needed to undertake. It didn’t work out. When I returned to Cape Cod, I found myself falling back into the same rut that had made me want to move away in the first place. Severe bouts of depression overwhelmed me. These were alleviated thanks to a fluke meeting with a girl who would change my life more than almost anyone ever. It also didn’t work out.

I moved to Florida in September 2005. This was a reaction to the ending of that relationship. The original plan was to move to New Orleans in the summer of 2005. I was so positive that the girl who owned my heart was the one that I went all in. I had apartments lined up to look at. I even had a potential job, it was at an art gallery. I forget the name, but I was so confident that I’d be living there soon that I began sending feelers out as far as meeting. I can’t remember what my job was supposed to be. Maybe a greeter of some sort?

Lake Ponchartrain, just outside of New Orleans, where I had hoped to move.

When my reason for moving to New Orleans was taken away, I was torn. My mind was still set on moving away from Cape Cod, much like I had done 5 years earlier when I moved to Vegas. I felt like I was again stagnating and needed a change. Being in my 20s, I was going for the biggest change possible. Switching jobs or changing hair color or clothing styles just wouldn’t cut it. I thought my destiny was going to be moving to New Orleans and further developing a serious relationship. With that off the table, my backup plan was Florida.

My initial plan was to stay with my cousin Tracey and her then-boyfriend in Delray Beach, which is just south of West Palm Beach on the east coast. I was lucky to have a support system where I could move to a far-off place and still feel safe. A more feasible option that came up was for me to move further south to Fort Lauderdale and move in with another cousin and her boyfriend. I don’t think I had any concrete plans besides driving down to Florida and sort of just letting the chips fall where they may. That was my first mistake.

It was like deja vu as I gave my notice at the same restaurant I had been working at when I left for Vegas. Returning to that job, although the people I worked with were great, was probably a big reason why I felt stagnant. I packed up my blue Saturn Ion. The back seat, trunk, and passenger seat were nearly spilling over with everything I owned. I left Cape Cod and headed 1,500 miles south down I-95 toward Florida right after Labor Day.

The same model of the car I drove to Florida and back.

The drive down I-95 was pretty standard most of the time. New York City was a pain-filled with traffic. I went through or got close to Philly, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C. There was no way I was going to make 1,500 miles in one shot, so I needed to stay overnight somewhere. I believe it was somewhere in southern Virginia. The main thing I remember about stopping for the night was the fact that my car was overflowing with all of my possessions. I brought in what I could, but most of my stuff had to stay in my car. I was so relieved when I woke up and found my car hadn’t been ransacked.

It was while stopping for gas in the middle of nowhere in Virginia that I had a nice heart-stopping moment. I went to pre-pay for the gas with my credit card at the pump. In those days, I think you could still pump and pay after, but since I was in a totally unfamiliar area, I wanted to keep my interactions with strangers to a minimum.

I didn’t end up getting to pay at the pump, though, as nature intervened. It turned out that there was a black widow spider that had built a web around the credit card slot. I guess not many people stop there for gas. Needless to say, I went inside and paid. They didn’t seem to care about the spider. I guess they were just used to things like that. I mean, the gas station did look like a place where horror movies took place after dark.

Not what you want to see at a gas pump.

A fun event happened when driving through North Carolina. I came up on road work and must not have been paying that close of attention. I ended up having to slam on my brakes. I owned and still own a soft green 8# medicine ball, which was packed for my drive south. When I slammed on the brakes, that ball came flying forward from the backseat. It hit my gear shift and forced my car into park. I almost got whiplash from that stupid ball. Luckily, I was almost stopped, so slamming the car into park didn’t do any damage.

In Georgia, I remember getting my Saturn up to 105mph. Those were small and light sedans, so getting up that fast was a risk. I don’t think I saw a cop for 1,000 miles, which got my bravery up and gave me a bit of a lead foot. I was hopeful of making it to Fort Lauderdale by the end of the day, but I guess I didn’t fully understand geography.

Only when I crossed into Florida did I realize how big the state was. I went through Jacksonville and can still remember Gwen Stefani’s song Luxurious playing on my iPod at that time. I can see the overpasses on the highway as if it were happening now. It’s funny how songs can bring back certain memories.

I stopped in St. Augustine to call my cousin Tracey to tell her I had crossed into Florida. She laughed and said it was still about 4 hours to her house in Delray. It was closer to 5 hours to Fort Lauderdale. It was probably mid to late afternoon by then, so I bit the bullet and ended up staying the night in St. Augustine. It was another night of worrying about my belongings. I covered the fully loaded backseat of my car with a blanket, like that would stop thieves. Looking back, I also kick myself for not stopping at St. Augustine Lighthouse. I am a huge lighthouse fan and have planned many road trips based around visiting certain ones. I actually had 2 chances to stop there and missed out. Now granted, there was no GPS then, and I only had a flip phone, so I likely would have gotten lost trying to find it. Still, it might have been the only chance I’ll ever get.

I arrived in Delray Beach first and spent some time with Tracey. I felt at home there, but also knew that I had said I’d be moving into the apartment in Fort Lauderdale. The fact that I didn’t go immediately to Lauderdale should have been another sign.

I had fun getting acclimated to Florida. I drove the A1A highway just like in Ice Ice Baby which, for some reason, I found thrilling. After a day or two, I eventually made it down to my destination. Fort Lauderdale was a beautiful city, but I didn’t feel as at home as I did in Delray. I chalked it up to needing to get used to my new surroundings.

One thing I wasn’t expecting was my morning wake-up call in Lauderdale. It consisted of a flock of wild parakeets that lived in a tree right outside my bedroom window. Once the sun came up, it was like being in a pet store with squawks nonstop. Yes, I was living in the apartment with my cousin and her boyfriend, but I felt as if I was totally on my own. After having a large support system on Cape Cod, it was shock to my system to feel so alone.

A Monk's Parakeet, my morning wake-up call.

My cousin Tracey’s boyfriend came down to Lauderdale one day, and he and I went with my other cousin to wander Las Olas Blvd and do a little day drinking. Las Olas is the main road that is filled with shops, bars, and restaurants. I couldn’t get over how hot and humid it was, but hey, it was southern Florida. It would be over 90 degrees and 90% humidity every day. It was almost like clockwork that you could predict that in mid-afternoon, it would quickly cloud up and there would be a round of heavy thunderstorms. Just as quickly, it would get sunny again. Then the humidity would become unbearable. It was like the worst of Cape Cod’s summer weather, but it was an everyday thing.

Florida was supposed to be a new chapter of my life, but I started off by treating it like an extended vacation. I remember having to call my old job asking for my last paycheck to be sent to me. Sure, I was looking for a job, but it was almost like I had no sense of urgency. It literally was like I just up and moved without any real plans of what to do.

Las Olas Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale

The one job story I have is that I applied to a company that specialized in newborn photos. So you’d go to a new parent’s house and take photos of the parents and the baby, and they would hopefully buy a package of the photos. You might need to do some high-pressure sales, though.

I forget the name of the company, but I remember driving to meet the guy at the office, not far from my apartment in Fort Lauderdale. The guy looked a lot like Larry Fine from the Three Stooges, if you need a reference. We drove to one potential job location in Miami. It’s ironic that I have a lot of issues with trusting people, and have had for most of my life. Yet I jumped into this stranger's car, in a strange place, and drove to an unknown location without a second thought.

I remember going through Alligator Alley in the Everglades and seeing gators on the side of the road and people jogging in the same vicinity, and being surprised that I didn’t see someone get killed. It was the only time I ever went to Miami. I just remember not feeling comfortable with the way the guy was trying to pressure a new mother into buying an expensive photo package. We stood in the living room of this young mother’s house while she was tending to her newborn. I was just watching. Larry Fine kept pushing until she finally agreed to one of the cheapest photo packages. I knew that it wasn’t going to be a fit for me. I am not a good salesman because I empathize too much with people when it comes to money issues. So that job never happened.

My potential boss.

I believe that my moving to Florida was snakebit from the beginning. It was, after all, a fallback plan from what I had really wanted to do, which was to move to New Orleans. I think that’s why I wasn’t heavy into the job search. More proof that it was snakebit came about a month into my time there when Hurricane Wilma struck. It was a Category 3, bigger than any storm I’d ever been through.

As the storm was getting closer, my cousin Tracey offered to let me drive up to Delray and stay with her. I wasn’t really happy in Fort Lauderdale anyway, so I jumped at the chance. Tracey was and is like an older sister, so I felt more secure being under the same roof as her.

I liked Delray Beach. Not far from where I was on Linton Blvd, there was a strip mall that had 4 fast-food places in the same parking lot. I would go and weave my way through all 4, getting things from KFC, Wendy’s, Taco Bell, and Arby’s. That’s not the only reason why I liked Delray; it was just a nice, unhealthy bonus.


I also got to try a new energy drink they were selling called Celsius. Today it’s everywhere but ironically, it was founded in Delray in 2005, so I was on the ground floor. This was back when Celsius was in glass bottles.

The big thing I loved about Tracey’s house was that it was on the Intracoastal Canal. Every house on her street and the neighboring streets had docks, and most had boats. She had a grapefruit tree and a pool that was shaped like a bean. It was also crazy to see all of the lizards that would be running around. Think about having squirrels in your yard, now replace them with lizards. They were harmless, all of them probably 6-8 inches long, but still a wild scene.

I would take my little iPod shuffle, grab a few beers, and go sit out at the dock for sunset and after, and just love life. It was weird, but the Boz Scaggs song Lowdown seemed to always play during my sunset drinking times. It was like my unofficial drinking song. Every time I hear that song to this day I can picture that dock and those purple and orange sunsets. 

I remember there being a party one night, and this was where I learned about the wacky effects of combining alcohol and caffeine. There were small kiddie pools with alcohol in one and Red Bull in the other. I enjoyed a good mix of both. Luckily, I didn’t make any poor decisions while under the influence. Again, I was not taking life in Florida very seriously.

My favorite seat

So, back to the hurricane. Wilma roared through. We taped up the sliding glass door, and almost immediately lost power. Everyone within 50 miles lost power. Luckily, Tracey’s house was not damaged, but there was significant damage to the neighbors' houses. The worst thing that happened to Tracey’s was all of the grapefruits being knocked out of her tree. It was a wild scene tossing more than a dozen of them into the ocean. It looked like one of those rubber duck races.

I remember having to pick up and move a pretty big tree with Tracey’s boyfriend. I swear there was a photo of me pressing another smaller log overhead. The worst damage I saw was an auto dealership that had been completely pancaked. It had been an all-glass showcase, and I think it was a luxury car brand. So it was possibly over a million dollars worth of cars crushed by this storm. The big thing was that we realized that there was no telling when power would be back on. Luckily, Tracey had a generator, but it needed gas.

There was a major gas shortage thanks to the storm. Every station within 50 miles was either empty or had really long lines with no guarantees that there would be gas when you got to a pump. I believe that we ended up driving nearly 100 miles north before we finally found a gas station that we could get into.

They were limiting people to no more than $20 max on gas. Tracey was smart and slipped the guy some money to let us fill up the car and the tanks for the generator. I’ll never forget watching the pump going so slow as if it was almost out of gas and seeing a line of cars behind us. We got our fill, and we got the hell out of there fast.

The drive back south consisted of copious amounts of fumes in the car from the gas cans, and me getting car sick and having to jump out in some rural area to puke behind what I think was an abandoned barn. I didn’t go inside to check. I do remember Tracey falling asleep in the backseat close to the gas cans, and her boyfriend wanting me to wake her up just to make sure she was alright.

We might have spent another day or two back at the house in Delray. Not wanting to just hang out and waste the generator’s power, we all ended up making the trip north to Orlando, where a friend of Tracey’s had power. They offered us a place to stay for a few days. That was another unique experience. We packed up what we needed and made the trip nearly 200 miles north to Orlando.

First off, Tracey’s friend liked being naked a lot. It was not ‘good naked’ like on Seinfeld. This friend was very nice, but no model, so I was not enjoying it. It was like a Monkey's Paw situation. I slept on the couch in the living room, and I’d have a moment where this woman would stroll in totally naked. It sounds like the start of some erotic movie, but sadly, it was not. I’d end up rolling over to face the couch.

On the other hand, where we were staying was within walking distance of Universal Studios, and it was the week of Halloween. There was a costume contest with the winner getting $5,000. I was all in on that. I got dressed up as a geisha girl. I had a blue dress, a white painted face, red lips, and some sort of hat. This was all stuff readily available where we were staying. I didn’t go to some Halloween store to buy a blue dress.

At Universal for Halloween, they had people dressed as zombies and crazies with chainsaws that would chase you. I was in line with my other cousin getting something to eat, and a chainsaw guy came up behind us and revved the engine. I’ll never forget that I turned around and said ‘what’s up?’ He let out a scream when he saw that it was a guy dressed as a geisha. I should have gotten the prize right there but sadly, I didn’t win. The couple we were staying with did win third prize dressed as convicts with striped uniforms.

After Orlando, after power was back on in Delray, and things were pretty back to normal, it really hit me that I wasn’t feeling life in Florida. I didn’t even bother going back down to Fort Lauderdale. All of my job interviews had gone up in smoke due to the hurricane. I was blowing through my savings just trying to get my bearings.

Plus, I was in a bad place mentally over my recent breakup. Only looking back in hindsight, do I realize just how badly I was doing mentally after that. I had moved to Florida to escape my emotions. It’s as if I felt as though this major change would throw me off so much that I’d forget about old what’s her name. That was not the case.

There were some great sunsets there.

Still, there I was, far from home. I didn’t want to fail and go back to Cape Cod, much like I had done when in Vegas. I also didn’t want to fail in Florida and be left with no way back. I felt like it was a choose-your-own-adventure book, and I wasn’t willing to take my finger off the previous page to fully cement my decision.

I celebrated my 28th birthday at a gentleman's club. It was a first and to this point only experience in such a place. Everything for me was comped, which made it a very fun and unique celebration. This included a private dance in the champagne room with a girl who looked so much like my recent ex that it really messed with my head. Don’t get me wrong, lap dances from a hot stripper were great, but it highlighted the fact that I felt lost inside. I needed to go back to Cape Cod.

Less than two weeks after my birthday, I had a sort of ‘tearing the Band-Aid off’ moment. I just said to Tracey that I felt like it wasn’t working for me there and that I was going home imminently. She said, rightfully so, that I hadn’t given it a full chance. My mind was made up, though.

I have been someone who has always had trouble asking for help from others. I’d almost rather suffer than feel like I owe someone. What I mean is that if I had remained in Florida, I’d have likely needed to borrow some money to make ends meet until I found a decent-paying job. I hated that idea. Ironically, what lay ahead of me was driving 1,500 miles back up the East Coast to Cape Cod, where I’d also have no money and no job.

I made a final drive to Fort Lauderdale to pack up the rest of what I had brought with me to Florida. Luckily, I hadn’t signed any sort of lease on the apartment where I had originally planned to stay. I basically was able to slide in and then get out with an Irish Goodbye. My cousin, who was living in that apartment, wasn’t happy that I was leaving, but I was long past the point of no return.

The trip back to Cape Cod was far more eventful than the trip down. I stopped overnight in North Carolina. The next morning, I packed up and headed for the highway. Before I had even made it to full speed on the entrance ramp, I was met with the flashing lights of a police car.

I was ticketed for speeding, which I probably was, but I was not even on the highway yet, so how fast was I really going? I was told that due to my rate of speed, I needed to be in the Johnston County court in Smithfield, North Carolina, the following Monday. I explained that I was in the midst of driving from Florida to Cape Cod and didn’t have the money to pay for a hotel room and any other amenities for a few days.

The cop didn’t care. What he did say was that if I couldn’t appear in court, I would have to hire an attorney to appear on my behalf. I ended up having to call a North Carolina lawyer to pay them to appear in court for me as soon as I returned to Cape Cod. It was Everett Law Firm, which got off on the right foot by misspelling my last name in their email.

The form I had to fill out and return, including what I had to pay the lawyer.

I succeeded in getting the ticket cost lowered somewhat, but it was offset by what I had to pay the lawyer. It was a ridiculous set of circumstances, but I used it as a life lesson. In fact, for more than a decade, I was subscribed to that particular law office’s newsletter. The funny part was that not long after I unsubscribed, I got a speeding ticket when driving in Maine.

My time in Florida lasted a little more than 2 months. Was it a failure? Overall, yes, but with a caveat. If the hurricane hadn’t hit, I think that I would have had a better chance for success. It went from being a new chapter of my life to a sort of reality game show where we traveled hours for gas, dressed up for costume contests, and celebrated in strip clubs.

Do I regret it? Not at all. Over the ensuing years, I learned a lot about myself thanks to that time in Florida. I learned about the differences between calculated risks and running from problems. Plus, it did end up being a sort of adventure movie that I was able to experience with little damage done. Well, except for that speeding ticket.

Interestingly, though, since I left Las Vegas, I have always had a desire to return there, maybe not to live but at least to visit. I have never had a desire to ever go back to Florida, which makes me wish my cousin Tracey lived somewhere else. I am not sure why I have the desire to return to one place but not the other. I have family in both, and both experiences ended with me failing and having to move back to Cape Cod.

Upon returning to Cape Cod, I felt like I was drifting again, but in familiar waters at least. I didn’t have time to be picky about a job since I was broke. I ended up working in the dairy section of a Stop & Shop for a few months. This was fine. It was low-key, not great pay, but simple.

In a serendipitous moment, my old boss at the restaurant I had left when going to Florida happened to pass through the dairy section. She said I should go back and work at the restaurant again, and so I did. This time, I was so appreciative of the opportunity that I stayed way longer than I should have out of loyalty and respect. I will admit though, I often wonder what my life would have looked like if I had politely declined to go back. That’s another in a long line of ‘what if’s’ in my life.

There was however, one major positive that came from my time in Florida. It is one that is still large in my life and includes what you are reading. While sitting on my laptop in my bedroom at the apartment in Fort Lauderdale, I happened upon a screenplay writing contest.

It was through a company called Withoutabox, no, I didn’t forget the spaces. They partnered with a lot of major film festivals at the time. I had almost exclusively written poetry up to that point, so crafting a screenplay was uncharted waters.

The Withoutabox website as it appeared in 2005

I wrote something for it, but didn’t win. I can’t remember if they contacted me to tell me, or if I just figured it out when I didn’t hear anything after a few months. Regardless, I was so happy with that screenplay that I decided to turn it into my first short story, which I ended up calling Eight Hours. Basically, that story was a kind of fictionalized version of the recent breakup that had prompted my move to Florida in the first place.

That short story started me down a different writing path. The poetry started fading away and was replaced by short stories, children’s books, and novels. I would end up uploading more than a dozen of my works onto the brand new Amazon Kindle store between 2007 and 2010. All of my writing, the ebooks, blogs, and eventually 9 going on 10 published books, stem from that contest in Florida. 

Everything I’ve done creatively since then, with videos, podcasts, and film, all go back to my time in Florida. So, for as disappointed as I was that I bailed on it pretty quickly, I feel like all of my major accomplishments professionally got their start during that brief time when I called Florida home. For that reason, I can never say that my time there was a failure.

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog: #38 - Vanilla Ice, Cricket Whisperer, Northern Lights, etc.

1. It’s the time of year when people start pulling their boats out of the water. This past week one guy was pulling his 30-foot boat out at a ramp at a local beach. It was a weird dichotomy as it was definitely a cool boat, but he decided to blast Ice Ice Baby while hooking it up. I think within a few months of that song coming out in August 1990 I was embarrassed to play it and I was 13. Granted I didn’t see the guy super up close so maybe he was Vanilla Ice. That would be the only person on Earth I could see proudly blasting that song in 2024.

2. This week marked 15 years since my infamous Caught In A Rising Tide video. It was one of my first YouTube videos and was a funny experience of me walking out to Wing Island in Brewster to get some photos only to return an hour later with the tide coming in. I ended up walking through nearly 2’ of water, soaking my shoes and pants. People asked why I didn’t take my shoes/socks off and I figured I’d end up with splinters from the boards I was walking on which would lead to infections and then maybe losing a foot. Soaked shoes made more sense. I went back to Wing Island and shot a sequel video. No, I wasn’t stuck in a rising tide but it was a fun and fitting follow-up video.

3. I decided to treat myself to a pizza from Domino’s. Now I know that some people don’t like Domino’s but they do have over 20,000 locations worldwide so they’re doing something right. Anyway, I ordered a 3 topping medium pizza from them and went to pick it up. They were super busy inside so what happened next was understandable. They handed me my pizza and I immediately noticed it was a large. I checked the receipt and it said medium so I got an upgrade for free. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows though. In addition to the pizza being a large, it had additional toppings including mushrooms which I am not a fan of. I will say that picking mushrooms off a pizza was a fair trade for getting a free upgrade to a large.

4. I am approaching 47 years old and yet every year I am still amazed at how quickly the sunset times roll back in the fall. It’s like one minute you blink and the sunset is 8pm and then you blink again and you’re walking out of work at 6pm at dusk with an owl in the trees near you scaring all of the little creatures below. The way I found out it was an owl was not that I saw it, I didn’t stick around. No, my co-worker saw it do some swooping over the parking lot in search of dinner.

5. I was pretty zoned out at work trying to get caught up on some paperwork. I was so focused on my computer screen that I didn’t notice the encroaching intruder. A small spider was slowly descending from the ceiling on its web. I was so into my work that I didn’t see it until it was quite literally an inch from my face right between my eyes. Only then did I let out a yell in surprise. Don’t worry though the spider was not smashed. I grabbed its web up above and coasted it to the floor behind my desk.

6. In other insect news we have had a stowaway cricket inside my work for weeks. Sometimes it’s quiet, other times it chirps so loudly that it seems to echo off of the walls. Today its chirping was loud enough that I actually tracked it down. I grabbed a paper cup and a tissue and went to work trying to coax it into the cup. To my surprise, after I asked it nicely to get in, and promised I wasn’t going to just crush it, the cricket crawled into the cup. Then he got smashed. Just kidding, I brought it outside and let it go in the grass.

Am I the cricket whisperer? 

7. There are 2 days each week when I have to be at work early, typically around 6:40am. My body is now used to waking up around 4:45am. However, getting to bed the night before is still a harrowing task. The routine I have now that is working relatively well consists of popping 2 melatonin at 7:30pm followed by a 3^rd at 8:30. This usually results in me being knocked out by 9pm. It was easier in the summer to wake up so early. Now with sunrise being close to 7am when my eyes open at 4:45, it’s easy for my brain to try to trick me into thinking it can’t be time to wake up yet. Each time I get up on time is still a minor miracle.

8. Nothing better than being awakened from a deep sleep at 3:30am by thunder so loud that I could feel it shaking the house. I spent a half hour trying to go back to sleep for a little longer but the thunder and lightning were so severe I just gave up and got out of bed at 4:30. Despite being tired I would much rather deal with a few severe thunderstorms than the once a century Hurricane Milton that is wrecking Central Florida.

9. A fun memory that popped up on Facebook this week dates back to 2016. My sister Ashley and I were at Longnook Beach in Truro, MA which is very remote with little to no cell service. We spotted a middle-aged man with a bicycle walking up the 50-60’ sand pathway to the parking lot. Out of nowhere one of his bike tires popped. The weather was a bit misty and feeling bad we offered to pack him and the bike in my car and drive him home. Luckily he wasn’t far but it was another remote section of little Truro. Then things got weirder. We helped him get his bike inside his house and he offered us tea. We politely declined as it was a little odd. He was insistent on giving us something as a thank you. This ended up being in the form of a random CD. It looked like a mix of tracks by some unknown artist. Maybe it was him, but who knows since once we got back in the car I was already looking for a trash can to throw it in.

Longnook Beach in Truro, MA

10. A first for me happened this week as I got to see and photograph the Aurora Borealis, aka the Northern Lights. They are rarely visible this far south, typically being seen in Canada or maybe at best Northern New England. I took the long way home from my mother’s house and stopped at Gray’s Beach, aka Bass Hole, in Yarmouth Port. It was not even 7:30pm and I could see the pinks and greens in the sky. It was beyond words. I was mad that I didn’t have my regular camera, or my tripod for my phone, but still what I got ended up being some of my best photos ever. The atmosphere was like a rock concert. A chilly Thursday night at the beach on Cape Cod and there must have been 200 people there. The parking lot was overflowing. It was an experience I won’t soon forget.

Aurora Borealis at Bass Hole in Yarmouth Port, MA

Hurricanes Carol and Edna: New England's Twin Tempests of 1954

New England has had more than its fair share of powerful hurricanes cross its path over the centuries. From as far back as the Great Colonial Hurricane of 1635 to Hurricane Bob in 1991, these forces of nature have scarred and reshaped the region's landscape.

The only saving grace when it comes to such vicious tempests is the fact that they are few and far between. This gives the region ample time to restore and rebuild.

What if that wasn’t the case though? What if a powerful hurricane was nearly immediately followed by another? No, it is not a plot for a new disaster movie. It is something that actually happened in New England. 70 years ago those fears became reality.

This is the story of Hurricane Carol and Hurricane Edna, the twin tempests of 1954.

Busy Atlantic hurricane seasons are common. The years leading up to 1954 were no different. New England had seen a few major storms rampage across the region in the previous few decades.

The Great New England Hurricane of 1938 was a Category 3 that rumbled through the region in September 1938. It carried sustained winds as high as 121mph at Blue Hill in Massachusetts. Blue Hill also recorded the highest wind gust at a whopping 186mph.

The Great Atlantic Hurricane of 1944 was weaker but still extremely dangerous as a strong Category 1 storm. It steamrolled over the east coast in September 1944.

Damage in West Yarmouth, MA after the 1944 hurricane(Public Domain).

After the 1944 storm, the Atlantic waters were relatively quiet. No hurricanes or even tropical storms made landfall in New England. There were still dangerous hurricanes that struck the United States in general. These included Hurricanes Easy(Category 3) and King(Category 4) which devastated Florida within 6 weeks of each other in 1950. There was also Hurricane Able(Category 2) which plowed into Georgia in 1952(and yes it is spelled Able, not Abel).

For the New England region though the decade of relative quiet was quite literally the calm before the storm.

A typical hurricane season runs from June through November with August through October being the peak for development. The Atlantic Hurricane season of 1954 began rather benignly with an unspectacular unnamed tropical storm forming in the last week of May. The first hurricane (Alice) was a Category 2 that struck Texas during the last week of June.

The fact that the first 3 tropical storms had passed only a few hundred miles off of the New England coast was an ominous sign for the second half of the season. The last week of August proved to be the start of something unprecedented.

Hurricane Carol: The First Blow

Hurricane Carol was the first major hurricane of the 1954 Atlantic hurricane season. It originated near the Bahamas on August 25, 1954, and was the third named storm of the season after Alice and Barbara.

Carol rapidly intensified as it moved northward becoming a hurricane on August 27^th. It eventually reached Category 3 status with winds exceeding 120 mph as it passed North Carolina’s Outer Banks. The storm ran parallel to the East Coast eventually making landfall first on Long Island and then in the area around Old Saybrook, Connecticut on August 31.

Beached boats after Carol in Marblehead, MA(Samuel Chamberlain)

The impact on New England was massive. This included wiping out nearly half of the apple, corn, peach, and tomato crops along the southern coast. The hurricane's powerful winds and heavy rainfall caused widespread devastation. More than 3,000 boats and 3,000 automobiles were destroyed in the storm with more than 150,000 people being left without power.

In total Carol claimed 65 lives and caused over $460 million in damage (about $5.4 billion in 2024). More than 150,000 homes and businesses were destroyed or severely damaged. The storm uprooted trees, downed power lines, and disrupted transportation networks. Coastal areas suffered severe erosion, and many boats and ships were damaged or sunk.

WBZ-TV tower in Brighton, MA crushing an automobile.(George Dixon)

Making landfall just after high tide Carol caused massive flooding. New Bedford, Massachusetts saw a storm surge of over 14 feet. The highest recorded wind gust was on Block Island off the coast of Rhode Island. There the wind reached 135mph. More than 20,000 people evacuated Cape Cod ahead of Carol. Even up into Canada’s Quebec province damage from Carol topped $1 million CAD($11.68 million US/$16.07 million CAD in 2024).

The Red Cross Civil Defense team was on hand immediately after gathering the data used above. It would take months, perhaps in some cases years, to fully recover from Hurricane Carol. Unfortunately, New England had less than two weeks of calm.

Hurricane Edna: The Second Strike

On September 2^nd, a mere 24 hours after the remnants of Hurricane Carol passed north into the Arctic Ocean, a new storm was forming. Hurricane Edna formed east of Barbados.

Carol had traveled parallel to the United States east coast, and Edna traveled parallel to Carol’s path just slightly more eastward. Edna rapidly gained strength, becoming a Category 3 hurricane with peak winds of 125 mph by September 8^th.

How would New England prepare for a second powerful hurricane in a matter of weeks? At first, there was thought they wouldn’t have to. Some forecasters in New England weather offices were putting out a theory as late as September 9^th that Hurricane Edna would drift in the Atlantic before ultimately fizzling out. The hundreds of thousands of New Englanders still cleaning up Carol’s mess, some still without power, hoped that to be the case. Sadly, it was not.

Boston Globe, September 11, 1954

When it slammed into New England in the morning on September 11, 1954, Hurricane Edna compounded the devastation left by Carol, affecting much of the same areas still recovering.

The eye of the storm passed near Martha’s Vineyard bringing a brief eerie calm to Cape Cod. When it ramped back up Edna ended up being strong, but not as strong as Carol. A small bit of luck had Edna not making landfall at the time of high tide, sparing some weary coastal areas from a true double-dip of damage.

Though slightly less catastrophic Edna still packed a punch. Edna brought torrential rain, leading to severe flooding in many areas. Rivers and streams overflowed, inundating homes and businesses. The top wind gust of 120mph occurred on Martha’s Vineyard close to the eye of the storm. Many homes, businesses, and boats damaged by Carol were finished off by Edna.

Edna resulted in 20 fatalities and caused an estimated $42 million in damage (about $419 million in 2024). While the storm's damage was less severe than Carol’s, it added to the cumulative impact on New England’s infrastructure and economy. Though not as severe as Carol in Southern New England, Edna would end up being the costliest hurricane in the history of Maine. President Dwight Eisenhower called parts of the state a ‘disaster area.’

The Red Cross returned to the area while thousands of telephone and electrical workers poured into the affected towns to get amenities back up and running. According to New England Telephone & Telegraph, more than 260,000 homes were left without telephone service after Edna. This was actually 10,000 more homes than Hurricane Carol.

The back-to-back hurricanes of 1954 left a profound mark on New England. Carol and Edna caused extensive damage to the fishing industry, with numerous boats destroyed and fishing infrastructure damaged. The tourism sector also suffered. Summer ostensibly came to an end with the approach of Carol as people fled. Any hope of a return of summer after was dashed with many summer homes and tourist facilities being damaged or destroyed.

The combined storm surges and heavy rainfall led to severe beach erosion and changes in coastal landscapes. Carol and Edna highlighted the need for better disaster preparedness and response mechanisms. Communities in New England, including those on Cape Cod where 95% had been without power during Edna, invested in improved infrastructure. This included stronger seawalls and better drainage systems, to mitigate the impact of future storms.

The names of both storms, Carol and Edna, were retired from tropical naming. A bit of good that came from the 1954 storms was the United States government devoting research to start the National Hurricane Research Project. This later became known as the National Hurricane Research Laboratory and is a permanent institution within the Weather Bureau.

In the 70 years since the double header of Hurricanes Carol and Edna things have been relatively quiet on the storm front in New England.

Hurricane Donna in 1960 was a strong Category 1 when it made landfall in Connecticut, even reaching a peak wind gust of 140mph at the Blue Hill Observatory.

Hurricane Gloria in 1985 was also a Category 1 storm when it hit New England. Rehoboth, Massachusetts reported a tornado and a wind gust of 120mph.

Hurricane Bob in 1991 was a Category 2 when it made landfall in Rhode Island. This storm has been the closest in terms of strength in New England since Hurricane Carol.

Hurricane Bob's track in 1991(NWS Boston)

Besides an array of near-misses and weaker tropical disturbances, it has been few and far between when it comes to hurricanes in New England. This fact only amplifies how unique and deadly the twin storms of 1954 were. Lives were lost, property was destroyed, and parts of the environment were permanently changed.

Thankfully events like major hurricanes striking so closely after one another are a part of the ‘once every hundred years’ occurrences. Though as it has been 70 years since Carol and Edna the ‘hundred years’ continues to draw closer. 

Hurricane Lee, Cape Cod, MA 4K

In My Footsteps: 4K New England - Fort Phoenix, Fairhaven, MA

In Their Footsteps: Cape Cod History - The Great Colonial Hurricane, Anthony Thacher, and Yarmouth

     There are some events that shape and change people and history. Natural disasters, especially those of tremendous magnitude have a tendency to change the area they strike after the fact. Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, and more ravage the Earth leaving death and destruction in their wake. Along coastal areas the hurricane/typhoon is often the natural disaster that causes the most damage.

     There have been many deadly hurricanes whose names bring back horrible memories to those who lived through them. Katrina in 2005, Maria in 2017, the Galveston, Texas Hurricane in 1900, and Florida’s Okeechobee Hurricane in 1928, are among the costliest storms to ever hit America. In the New England area the list of famed storms is far less deadly due to the cooler ocean waters. The most recognizable names like Bob in 1991, Gloria in 1985, and Carol in 1954 did their share of damage yet were not as deadly as the southern storms.

   

      However, centuries ago, during the infancy of European colonization of America, a major hurricane struck New England. This storm changed the landscape. It changed the lives of countless colonists and Native Americans. It decimated a family and gave rise to one of Cape Cod’s original settlements. The storm was the Great Colonial Hurricane of 1635. This is the story of the storm and how its effects are still felt today.

     Though the storm itself occurred in 1635 the story begins in 1589. It was in this year, in the village of Queen Camel in Somersetshire County, England that Anthony Thacher was born. After receiving a good education Thacher became curate at St. Edmunds Church in Salisbury, where his brother Peter was the minister, in 1624. By that point the first of the Pilgrims had left England for America due to the perceived religious persecution. This had not changed in the years after and eventually would cause Thacher to travel the same route as the others.

     In July 1634 Thacher’s wife Mary died after roughly 15 years of marriage. He was remarried to Elizabeth Jones in February 1635. Shortly thereafter on April 6, 1635 he boarded the 220-ton ship James with Elizabeth, her father, and four of his five children, along with his brother Peter’s son Thomas. Anthony Thacher was listed in the registry as a tailor, likely to disguise his true relationship with the church. The vessel departed England and arrived in Boston in June.

     Thacher started his time in America in Newbury working alongside his cousin John Avery. However after much pleading from its citizens Avery decided to move south to Marblehead to establish a church there. Thacher and his family decided to join him in starting the church.

     In late August 1635 the entire entourage, except for Anthony’s nephew Thomas, boarded a vessel called the Watch and Wait. Thomas, who had a bad premonition about the ship, decided to travel to Marblehead by land. In total 23 people left Ipswich on the ship which would soon collide with an historic storm.

     What would become known later as the ‘Great Colonial Hurricane’ first formed during the last week of August narrowly avoiding the Jamestown Settlement in Virginia. As the storm headed northeast it quickly gained strength until eventually topping out at what today would be a high Category 3 to low Category 4 hurricane. It is estimated by National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) that the storm took a path similar to Bob in August 1991.

     On August 26, 1635 the storm crossed near Providence, Rhode Island just after 6am with wind speeds hovering around 130mph. The storm surge was estimated at 14 feet there with many Natives being swept out to sea with their homes. It plowed through Boston near 7:30 as it began to lose some strength. Governor of Plymouth William Bradford noted seas as high as 20-feet above normal as the hurricane barreled through the area. It was as the storm exited to the Atlantic just north of Boston that it met up with the Watch and Wait and Anthony Thacher. With winds still topping 105mph the storm crashed into the vessel east of Gloucester driving it onto a small, rocky island. 

The likely path of the Great Colonial Hurricane. (Harvard Forest Archives/Brian R. Hall)

     The wind and waves dashed the vessel to pieces. Before his very eyes Anthony Thacher watched as his cousin John Avery and his six children drowned. For a time Thacher’s family clung to the rocks, however the crashing waves eventually pulled all of his children out to sea as well. Anthony and his wife Elizabeth managed to hold on. They were the only survivors.

     All told according to NOAA the Great Colonial Hurricane was likely the most intense storm north of the Carolinas in recorded history. The storm surge above 14-feet in Providence was topped by a surge above 20-feet at the head of Buzzards Bay. Thousands of trees were downed in its path, and many buildings were destroyed and people washed away in Providence, Plymouth, Boston, Bourne and more. It was said that the damage from the hurricane was still evident decades later.

Thacher Island in Rockport.

     Anthony and Elizabeth survived for two days on the rocky island before being rescued by a passing vessel. The island was given to them as consolation with Anthony initially naming it ‘Thacher’s Woe.’ Years late it was named Thacher Island in commemoration of the couple’s immense loss. The death of the children diminished their desire to remain on the North Shore and when an opportunity arose to leave they took it.

     On January 7, 1639 the Plymouth Court granted a large tract of land on Cape Cod to Anthony Thacher, Thomas Howes, and John Crow. Formerly referred to as ‘Mattacheeset’ it was henceforth known as Yarmouth. Technically the lands given included the future town of Dennis as well. Thacher settled in the area later that year near the marshland of present-day Yarmouth Port just north of Rt. 6A.

     Not long after arriving Thacher became Town Clerk and Town Treasurer of Yarmouth, both positions he held until his death. After the horrific loss of four children during the Great Colonial Hurricane Thacher had three children with Elizabeth. In 1664 Anthony had a home built for his son John upon his marriage. This home sat at the corner of present-day Thacher Street and Thacher Shore Road. It was moved in 1680 to its current location at the corner of Route 6A and Thacher Street across from the Yarmouth Port Post Office.

The home Anthony Thacher had built for his son John now at 240 Rt. 6A Yarmouth Port.

     Anthony Thacher remained of major importance in Yarmouth and its affairs throughout his life. His exact date of death is not known, though it is between June 30-August 22, 1667. Thacher died at the likely age of 78. He was buried on his land near the marsh in Yarmouth Port. His grave was never marked with a stone. His wife Elizabeth died only a few months later.

     In 1905 a stone tablet was erected near the site of Anthony Thacher’s homestead. Three years later in 1908 the Thacher family gave the Town of Yarmouth Thacher Shore Road which was purported to have been the old Colonial road built along and over some of Anthony’s property. Thacher Island in Rockport became a popular tourist destination with its twin lighthouses. The current lighthouses were built in 1861 and it is accessible by boat or kayak from the shore.

     Through immense suffering and sadness Anthony Thacher persevered and helped to found the town of Yarmouth. He came face to face with the strongest hurricane these parts has ever seen and did not allow it to define him. The Great Colonial Hurricane of 1635 did tremendous damage yet also shaped and changed New England in its aftermath. It led to the formation of a Cape Cod town and serves as a tale of destruction and redemption not only for the New England area affected but for Anthony Thacher himself as well.

For more about the story of the Great Colonial Hurricane check 

out: NOAA.gov - Storm Tides 

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My first eBook in 10 years, In Their Footsteps, featuring the interesting stories of Cape Cod's history, is on sale at Amazon.com. 

View my previous blog posts: In Their Footsteps: Cape Cod History - Cape Cod and the Telephone

In Their Footsteps: Cape Cod History - The Cape's Conservation Story

Photo Prints available here: Smug Mug.com

Be sure to check out my website: Christopher Setterlund.com