Happiness, and the case of the missing Croc

July 2023

By Jack Farrell

Early June, and all eyes are on the weather forecast this morning as a cold front the previous night swept away the early summer heat wave, leaving behind a cool stretch of days with northeast winds gusting over 30 knots and seas from six to nine feet. No passenger boats will be heading to the islands for two days at least.

The arrival of heavy equipment by barge from New Bedford for the Isles of Shoals breakwater re-construction project is scheduled for early next week, including a 200-ton, 14-foot-wide excavator. The plan is to ground the barge at the swim beach on Star Island and roll the equipment down a ramp off the barge to the shore. The big machines will crawl along the diminutive island track that passes for a road, and rattle out among the rocks to the breakwater. The rose bushes and sumac have been cleared out along the roadside to make room. If the seas calm down, it should all happen on Tuesday.

I was down on the beach yesterday launching a couple of float docks for our neighbor over on Cedar Island. While there I measured the gap between the stone pier and the ledges one more time to make sure a 40-foot-wide barge could actually squeeze in there. I picked a bunch of plastic out of the seaweed at the high tide line as I often do, remembering the night I lost a shoe in the water while going for a clandestine midnight swim. It was one of my favorite sage-green Crocs, a color that is no longer available. I remember feeling an outsized sense of sadness at its loss.

A few weeks ago I was picking up some plumbing supplies to repair winter damage at the hotel and thought to ask Nate the store manager if he knew of anyone who could repair the water-supply lines under the pier at our dock in town. Snaking around under the sagging pilings and along the granite wharf, the system we use to supply off-season water to Star Island was leaking badly from winter freeze ups, with no easy way to blow the water out. “Sure do,” said Nate with a grin. “Meet Glen. He was engineer out there at Star in the ’90s.” Glen put down the copper fittings he was counting and reached out a for a handshake from the other end of the counter.

“Yes, and I was the lighthouse keeper for the Coast Guard at White Island before that,” Glen told me, adding even more to his island credibility. His plumber’s handshake was as firm as a vise. We hit it off right away, and Glen, who turned out to be a hard worker who could talk just as hard, soon got started on the dock. One afternoon, Glen rode out to the Shoals with me. He hadn’t been on the island since he left abruptly years ago after a disagreement with the manager on Memorial Day. I’ve heard both sides of the story, and I think I’m partial to Glen’s version, but the timing of his departure was unfortunate at best.

All the way down the river and across Bigelow Bight, Glen regaled me with Isles of Shoals stories, like the time the crew left the supply boat tied to the stone pier with a falling tide. They returned to find the old wooden boat hanging by the rail, partially torn off the deck. With planking and frame damage, the original Pamela J. Thayer was found to be damaged beyond repair. That same thing almost happened to me once, I admitted.

I was particularly interested in hearing Glen’s take on some of the legends of Star Island, especially the iconic couple, Dave and Edith, who were year-round shepherds of the island for many years.

Dave and Edith kept sheep out there, as well as chickens and pigs. They managed the engineering, repaired the buildings and kept an eye on things through the long winter. Glen talked about taking over when Dave and Edith retired. He said it took him days to clear out the cottage where they had lived for decades. “Dave never threw anything away. He always said that you could never know when you might need something on an island. So, he just kept pretty much everything. It amounted to quite a pile of junk at the end. Edith was like that, too,” said Glen. “And as the years went on, she got a little quirky. It got to the point where she would collect shoes that washed up on the beach, displaying scores of them in a long line along the top of the stone wall behind their cottage. She explained to Glen that you could never know when a shoe’s mate would wash up, too. And then someone would get a free pair of shoes. Dave and Edith’s commitment to the island, to the guests, and especially to the summer workers (affectionately known as “Pelicans”), has elevated them to a well-deserved god-like status with the passing of time.

Halfway across the Bight one day last week in the gleaming Shining Star, I got a call from an old friend. He was in one of his upbeat phases, and was calling to recruit me to participate in a business deal that “will get us on the cover of ‘Business Week.’” If I would come to New York right away he’d explain it all and we could get to work. “Have you got investors?” I inquired. “That’s the easy part,” he said. “This deal will re-invent retail, and I’ll cut you in for 10%. I’ll put you up in the best hotel. Come on down.”

My old friend had made a lot of money over the years, and he might be on to something with this one, too. But I explained that I was pretty committed on the boat for the summer, which was true, and that I had lots to do on the island and on projects at home. “What’s happened to you?” he asked, turning a little sour. “You used to be so adventurous. Don’t tell me you’re satisfied driving your boat out to that little rock of an island all the time?” “Well, for one thing, I really don’t like staying in hotels,” I said, struggling to come up with a credible reason for turning down a chance at fame and fortune. At that moment a humpback whale surfaced just ahead and I slowed the boat to an idle. The humpback arched its back for a deep dive, its distinctive spotted tail rising up above the sparkling water. “And as a matter of fact, I am pretty satisfied.”

I met Dave and Edith, late into their 90’s, at an island meeting. I remember them as seeming happy and content. Dave died a short time later. The last time I saw Edith she was lying face-down on the lawn in front of the hotel in the bright sun. I thought she might have been dead, but it turned out she was only napping. I’m not sure how many pairs of shoes were re-united by Edith’s efforts on the beach, but I know she’d be pleased to learn that while collecting plastic in the seaweed a full year after I lost one of my favorite Crocs, I found it covered in barnacles among the discarded water bottles and bits of fishing gear. The bad part is that I had thrown the remaining shoe away in a cleaning frenzy long before, certain that its mate was lost forever.

Jack was the manager at Star Island for many years. He currently manages major construction and utility projects there and provides all-season boat service to the island (average 250 trips per year) for luggage, food, employees, supplies and guests. He also runs Seacoast Maritime Charters, LLC providing year-round private charter boat service and marine logistics to the general public, now in the Shining Star. He still enjoys cruising in his classic Ted Hood sloop, Aloft, and teaching skiing at Sugarloaf Mountain in Maine.

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