Duxbury Bogs

As far back as my early 30’s, the landscape somehow awed me. In the morning or afternoon, sun or grey, rain or snow my gaze was always drawn to it whether I was a passenger or the driver. The landscape I’m talking about is on a stretch of Route 3A in Duxbury, near mile marker 21. It sits right along the highway, so close that if you pulled into the breakdown lane you could possibly jump into the water. It is a body of water, a pond with dead trees growing out from beneath it, straight and bare, never changing over the years, maybe. Something about it was dream-like, haunting, shriveled but magical. Whether I was fatigued or hung-over or distracted I would always turn my neck out the window to watch it travel by like I were a passing ghost. I mean, it’s a common thing, like any marker you would encounter I suppose— an old hanging tree, a field with a barn set back, a billboard. You remember them over the years, use them to gauge distance and time. However I always thought, “man, I love this scene. I would love to take a picture of it.” But then it’s gone and you are on your way to work, or the beach or the ferry.

I started working on a job sight in Duxbury back in April, today being November 23. It just so happened that I would pass this scene every morning to work. I kept thinking about the picture I wanted to take. There was no way I was going to pull over into the breakdown lane, hop the guard rail and fire away— too dangerous and time consuming. I kept making mental notes though as if I were planning to track it. Mile marker 21 off Route 3 South and beneath the overpass roads of Elm and East Street. I would turn my phone GPS on to see if the pond came up on it and if so was there a name. I google Earthed the area and saw more ponds, bigger ones around it and lots of cranberry bogs. I saw no streets around the pond, small trails I made out in the picture but nothing concrete.

Well finally, last night, I decided that if I got out of work early, I would try and find this landscape of my imagination. I brought my camera. We got out of work at noon. As I pulled out and on to the highway towards home I still wasn’t convinced I would actually do it and it wasn’t until I approached Exit 11 that I said fuck it— I’ll look around. I won’t commit. I took a circuitous path along local streets navigating towards where I hoped the area would be. My GPS showed nothing— just a blank open space. I came to East Street overpass and just before it was a dirt road with a big metal gate keeping out any would be adventurer. This had to be it. I turned off and parked by the gate. Obviously I wasn’t meant to go in but I sat there and pondered what to do. Fuck it. I got my camera, my jacket and proceeded on foot. It was a wonderful path through pine trees and cranberry bogs and I could hear the highway whizzing with cars. But no pond. I walked a good half mile before I realized it was probably the other way and I turned back, sat in my car and ate my lunch. I walked to the overpass and could see the pond, just as I thought, north. Then I decided to try and drive around a little, the way I came and find a rode that branched off towards the other direction where it might be. I pulled out and as I drove off, I spied out of the corner of my eye what looked to be a parking lot— a scenic view turn off. I turned around, parked and was greeted by a sign that read Duxbury Bogs and there were others walking their dogs along a trail that headed towards my objective. Man was I pumped. It took me all the way to my goal albeit a little different view than I was accustomed too seeing from the highway as here it was set more far off closer to the highway. I was thrilled anyway. I took some pictures and happily called it a day.

The first trail just through the gate

Trees on hill

Cranberry bog and trees

Rounding a corner

View through trees

Cranberries

My view objective

This is the photo that most resembles the roadside image. It is called Golden Reservoir.

Bubbles caught beneath a thin layer of ice