Beavertail State Park

Author's Comments

The wind at Beavertail does not let up. Even on a still summer morning there is movement in the air, and the rocks themselves seem to remember every storm they have ever absorbed. This is the southern tip of Conanicut Island, the place where Narragansett Bay finally gives up and becomes the Atlantic, and the geology here reads like a record of that long argument. The rocks tilt and split in long parallel lines, the kind of structure that does interesting things to a wide lens at low angles. I come for two different photographs. The first is morning, east-facing, when the sun lifts over the open ocean and the rocks go briefly amber before settling into their usual gray. A long exposure smooths the surf into something closer to fog, and the layered stone holds the frame. The second is the lighthouse at sunset, when the white tower picks up the last warm light and the sky behind it goes through every color the season allows. The 1749 keeper's site has watched a lot of these. A word about the surf. Rogue waves at Beavertail are not a rumor. I have watched them come in on days that looked manageable from the parking lot, and the rocks are slick in ways that are not always visible. Stay back farther than you think you need to, especially after a storm offshore. The photograph is not worth the risk and the photograph from a safer position is usually better anyway. Winter here is severe and extraordinary, and if you can stand the cold, the light in January has a clarity that summer never quite matches.

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