Well, O’Neill was right about that: you’ll be alone and undisturbed except from the hardiest and most determined hikers. Getting to the ramshackle cabins that once sheltered some of the early 20th century’s literati (e.g., Mary Heaton Vorse, Eugene O’Neill, Harry Kemp, John Dos Passos) involves crossing a moonscape of shifting mountains of sand, stands of scrub pine, and mossy bogs. It’s easy to get lost among the peaks and valleys of soft sand, and exhausting to see your destination in the distance only to have to push through the scrub and weave a path around the many bogs, taking you farther and farther from where you want to go. Don’t walk alone. It’s an alien landscape of sand and wind. Even the Pilgrims had the sense to pull anchor and head for tamer shores.
