Stage Harbor Trap Dock

04/08/2021

12/01/2019

This Land is Your Land by Seafire Kids ...
For trappers, past, present and future; an homage to the trap dock. Grateful for the stewardship and to all who have docked here.

11/27/2019

Like every boot, generations of them, that stepped upon this dock in hard sou’west and gentle northwest winds... we, I am part of its storied past. A footnote in centuries of tales that run as deep as the ocean’s tide. Souls of fishermen, shell fishermen, families of fishermen; rum runners, nefarious small-time smugglers, fish buyers and more…

11/21/2019

A little family history

11/18/2019

Russell Kingman
10:12 PM (9 minutes ago)
to me

What is the fate
of the faces
of the stories
the work worn hands
the old men
gone before
I was even born

the women
mothers
children
all of our shared dreams

sheets hanging in the wind

This harbor
is filled with salty tears
of celebration
and joy
of sorrow
and loss

traditions passed down
generations
father to son

languid sailing
downwind
around Monomoy

on a lonely day
you can hear it all in the mistral winds

when the sky turns a strange light
a purple grey
mercury swell
some days
some sunsets
defy any description
flashes of dazzling light
on the the blue black
rolling sunset sea
the sounds
the seasons

the scent of the sea
when spring comes....

but where will the old souls go?
our friends who have
gone to sea
who paved the way for us
This is their place
but where are they now?
where will they stay
once the wrecking ball
swings history
away?

time.....

the bells ring
in the old church tower
a black car
pulls into the road

my throat feels tight

too much

you can't know

you can't make it right

a strange breeze
a sudden gust
whispers of
an ancient soul
you listen
and also
you know

you know
but you can't describe
the feeling
out of time
and life

the mainsail

reaching

engines drumming

planks creaking

I can still see his face
wings would radiate from his eyes
when he smiled
time worn
by the sun
and miles of nets
charts
endless sets
over the horizon
it rises
stories echo
those were the days
the storms
the fog
the summer haze

The hurricane
retold beside
winter fires.........

if you were a young man
you jumped on a boat
for a share
cross the bar
white knuckled
winter
scratched out
a life
on the tides

The Cow Yard
Ryder's Cove
South Beach
Tern Island.....

in town
the tourists live their own dream
in the restaurants,
the resorts
by the sweat
off your brow

hammer and nail......
barely hang on.

was it real?

you were here
with me
and I was with you

hearts pumping blood
shovels
dip nets
piles of fish
mending nets
hauling gear
squid in the rim

bottom paint
fiberglass for days
in your skin

august cookouts
on the outer beach
burgers on the grill
a song drifting out
from a radio
in the heat
hot sand on your feet

wave to your friends on the boats
as they leave the channel
heading south
one more trip

summers
came and went

sewing moments
tending hearts

while the kids......
growing up so fast

where does it go?
who is it for?
It is all for them now

This place...

I saw Fran
just the other day
we talked about mackerel
about
what he had witnessed
felt
seen
the sound
on the docks
in the town
what became of his heart.....
mackerel would stand on their tails
fluttering
in the purse
of his soul

sun
beaming down

engines sounding

My heart
in the wake
of the waters

the superpowers
the long hours
in the thick of it
living it
Drinking hard
to dull a body's pain
tell stories and laugh
Someone just heard
a boat went down in New Bedford
five men
it's an uneasy feeling
you're so close to it

another day comes
sometimes you think it's the same old thing
but it's building
rising
the more of it
the feeling
in you

plugged into these deep waters
and this God Given LIFE!
the glory
of creation
the entire ocean
and all it's meaning
all its teachings
stored under a greasy cap
of a toothless sailor
he has witnessed
the greatness but
he doesn't talk about it

doesn't care to

What could really be said?

It's too big

but dreams end

time.......

is nobody's friend

I can hear the voices
in the ripple
around the moorings
behind the timing of the engines
in the lapping
on the old pilings
beneath the dock
resounding
in the current

upstairs in the building
where still hangs
old sweatshirts
somebody's boots
phone numbers written on the walls
remnants of souls
and boats
and water pumps

you take a moment
to remember .....
each artifact
the key to a great story

the fishermen will never return to this dock
but we leave the old sweatshirt, or slickers hung
on rusty nails
this is where they lived
This will always be their place

a faded black and white photo
thumb tacked to the wall

spare parts
from every time
every boat
spare boots
spare bolts
every crew
every character who ever fished from this pier
is still here

hanging from the rafters

and now where will they go
when it's gone?

Will anyone
even know

what we have done?

In the sky

a gull

screams........

I lived in this town a while
but this Cape
since I was born

every year a little deeper

a little more

it's breaking my heart...
these years
what I have felt
who I have known....
the scenes
the smells
when the clam shacks open.....
suntan lotion
freshly mowed lawns.

the slow grinding down

this place haunted
by greater spirits than me
now my gear hangs on a hook
a silhouette
you can feel me
it's my turn

my heart
on a string

made of light

at the mercy
of this wind

somehow it goes on
where do we all go?

I don't know

here with me
in time

in me
in the wind
the tide
the season
the afternoon sun
the rusty old rake
in the rafters
was mine

and my love...

forever
the sea
this town
this place
the people

one more summer

one more bonfire
one more day

The trap dock
a comforting
other worldly place
a symphony
of what happened
over the years

it can't be replaced.

you never want to leave.....

where will we go?

what else are we?

You keep going
even when you know
you are being erased.....

You come to peace with it

I can hear the old men
and they are laughing!
they're calling to me
in the crisp
fall wind.

Over the horizon.
As the sun sets

11/18/2019

Russell Kingman
10:12 PM (9 minutes ago)
to me

What is the fate
of the faces
of the stories
the work worn hands
the old men
gone before
I was even born

the women
mothers
children
all of our shared dreams

sheets hanging in the wind

This harbor
is filled with salty tears
of celebration
and joy
of sorrow
and loss

traditions passed down
generations
father to son

languid sailing
downwind
around Monomoy

on a lonely day
you can hear it all in the mistral winds

when the sky turns a strange light
a purple grey
mercury swell
some days
some sunsets
defy any description
flashes of dazzling light
on the the blue black
rolling sunset sea
the sounds
the seasons

the scent of the sea
when spring comes....

but where will the old souls go?
our friends who have
gone to sea
who paved the way for us
This is their place
but where are they now?
where will they stay
once the wrecking ball
swings history
away?

time.....

the bells ring
in the old church tower
a black car
pulls into the road

my throat feels tight

too much

you can't know

you can't make it right

a strange breeze
a sudden gust
whispers of
an ancient soul
you listen
and also
you know

you know
but you can't describe
the feeling
out of time
and life

the mainsail

reaching

engines drumming

planks creaking

I can still see his face
wings would radiate from his eyes
when he smiled
time worn
by the sun
and miles of nets
charts
endless sets
over the horizon
it rises
stories echo
those were the days
the storms
the fog
the summer haze

The hurricane
retold beside
winter fires.........

if you were a young man
you jumped on a boat
for a share
cross the bar
white knuckled
winter
scratched out
a life
on the tides

The Cow Yard
Ryder's Cove
South Beach
Tern Island.....

in town
the tourists live their own dream
in the restaurants,
the resorts
by the sweat
off your brow

hammer and nail......
barely hang on.

was it real?

you were here
with me
and I was with you

hearts pumping blood
shovels
dip nets
piles of fish
mending nets
hauling gear
squid in the rim

bottom paint
fiberglass for days
in your skin

august cookouts
on the outer beach
burgers on the grill
a song drifting out
from a radio
in the heat
hot sand on your feet

wave to your friends on the boats
as they leave the channel
heading south
one more trip

summers
came and went

sewing moments
tending hearts

while the kids......
growing up so fast

where does it go?
who is it for?
It is all for them now

This place...

I saw Fran
just the other day
we talked about mackerel
about
what he had witnessed
felt
seen
the sound
on the docks
in the town
what became of his heart.....
mackerel would stand on their tails
fluttering
in the purse
of his soul

sun
beaming down

engines sounding

My heart
in the wake
of the waters

the superpowers
the long hours
in the thick of it
living it
Drinking hard
to dull a body's pain
tell stories and laugh
Someone just heard
a boat went down in New Bedford
five men
it's an uneasy feeling
you're so close to it

another day comes
sometimes you think it's the same old thing
but it's building
rising
the more of it
the feeling
in you

plugged into these deep waters
and this God Given LIFE!
the glory
of creation
the entire ocean
and all it's meaning
all its teachings
stored under a greasy cap
of a toothless sailor
he has witnessed
the greatness but
he doesn't talk about it

doesn't care to

What could really be said?

It's too big

but dreams end

time.......

is nobody's friend

I can hear the voices
in the ripple
around the moorings
behind the timing of the engines
in the lapping
on the old pilings
beneath the dock
resounding
in the current

upstairs in the building
where still hangs
old sweatshirts
somebody's boots
phone numbers written on the walls
remnants of souls
and boats
and water pumps

you take a moment
to remember .....
each artifact
the key to a great story

the fishermen will never return to this dock
but we leave the old sweatshirt, or slickers hung
on rusty nails
this is where they lived
This will always be their place

a faded black and white photo
thumb tacked to the wall

spare parts
from every time
every boat
spare boots
spare bolts
every crew
every character who ever fished from this pier
is still here

hanging from the rafters

and now where will they go
when it's gone?

Will anyone
even know

what we have done?

In the sky

a gull

screams........

I lived in this town a while
but this Cape
since I was born

every year a little deeper

a little more

it's breaking my heart...
these years
what I have felt
who I have known....
the scenes
the smells
when the clam shacks open.....
suntan lotion
freshly mowed lawns.

the slow grinding down

this place haunted
by greater spirits than me
now my gear hangs on a hook
a silhouette
you can feel me
it's my turn

my heart
on a string

made of light

at the mercy
of this wind

somehow it goes on
where do we all go?

I don't know

here with me
in time

in me
in the wind
the tide
the season
the afternoon sun
the rusty old rake
in the rafters
was mine

and my love...

forever
the sea
this town
this place
the people

one more summer

one more bonfire
one more day

The trap dock
a comforting
other worldly place
a symphony
of what happened
over the years

it can't be replaced.

you never want to leave.....

where will we go?

what else are we?

You keep going
even when you know
you are being erased.....

You come to peace with it

I can hear the old men
and they are laughing!
they're calling to me
in the crisp
fall wind.

Over the horizon.
As the sun sets

01/26/2019

Ernie Eldredge in “The Who” at Stage Harbor Trap Dock. Trap boat Who Cares a Jesse built 28-ft. wooden boat held together at the end of its life by many years of accumulated butterfish scales and squid ink. Photo: Richard Cooper Kelsey.

01/21/2019

A view heading east down Champlain Road. Trap docks are to the right. Check out the oyster shells.

01/19/2019

A view of the trap dock before Fred Powell built his dock next door. The dock next door now owned by SHYC. This building here was moved to Fred’s dock in the early 1960s . The Eldredge family built a 2-story structure that sits there today.

12/11/2018

Went through the Chatham Historical Society/Atwood House archives.