Category Archives: Travel

A Lighthouse Lover’s Guide to Cape Cod

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Chatham Light on a clear summer day, the white tower and red‑roofed Coast Guard station standing against blue sky and green trees, with visitors gathered out front.

Cape Cod’s Mighty Sentinels 

Nobska Light- Photo credit Linda Whitcomb

Some people are real lighthouse folks. They love them. Lighthouses have a mystique about them — they represent our relationship with the sea. They stand as guardians for sailors and provide a path of safety to snug harbors. They warn ships away from dangerous shoals.

If you’re one of those lighthouse people, this post is for you.

Cape Cod, with its hook into the Atlantic Ocean, presented a multitude of hazards. In response, we built lighthouses — lots of lighthouses — beacons to guide sailors home.

Today on Cape Cod you can visit eleven of these mighty sentinels. Not all allow interior tours, but all can be admired from the outside. I’ve started out many times to visit them all, but somehow I always run out of time or get sidetracked.

How many have you made it to?

Nobska Light (Falmouth/Woods Hole)

Nobska Light has watched over Vineyard Sound since 1829. Its original 30‑foot stone tower and whale‑oil lamp guided mariners through the tricky currents between Woods Hole and Falmouth. Over the years it evolved from a simple coastal beacon into one of Cape Cod’s most beloved landmarks. With its white tower, keeper’s house, and sweeping views toward Martha’s Vineyard, Nobska remains a place where history and beauty meet the sea.

Chatham Light (Chatham)

Chatham Light stands watch over one of the most dramatic stretches of coastline on Cape Cod, where shifting sands and powerful Atlantic surf have challenged sailors for generations. First lit in 1808, the station has evolved through storms, erosion, and countless rescues, yet it remains a steadfast symbol of the Coast Guard’s presence on the Cape. With its crisp white tower overlooking the restless waters of Chatham Bar, this lighthouse feels alive — a place where history, danger, and beauty meet at the edge of the sea. Even from the outside, you sense the weight of its duty and the stories it has seen.

Stage Harbor Light (Chatham)

Stage Harbor Light sits quietly along the shoreline, a weathered sentinel overlooking the calm waters of Chatham’s southern coast. Built in 1880, it once guided fishing boats and coastal schooners through the harbor’s shifting channels, but today it stands retired, its lantern long dark. Yet the lighthouse still carries a certain grace — the kind that comes from decades of salt air, storms, and sun. Seen from the beach or by boat, Stage Harbor Light feels like a glimpse into an older Cape Cod, a place where time slows and the past lingers in the wind.

Nauset Light (Eastham)

Nauset Light is the lighthouse everyone recognizes — the bold red‑and‑white tower perched above the Atlantic, famous from the Cape Cod Potato Chips bag but even more striking in person. First built in 1877 and moved inland in 1996 to escape relentless erosion, it stands today as a symbol of the Cape’s constant dance with the sea. The surf below is never quiet, the wind never still, and Nauset feels like it’s holding its ground with quiet determination. Whether you catch it at sunrise or under a bright summer sky, this lighthouse carries the spirit of Eastham’s rugged coastline in every line of its silhouette.

Three Sisters Lighthouses (Eastham)

The Three Sisters are unlike any other lights on Cape Cod — three small, weathered wooden towers set inland among the pines, quietly telling the story of a coastline that has shifted and reshaped itself over centuries. Built in the 1830s to guide mariners past Eastham’s treacherous outer bars, the original trio once stood proudly along the shore, their three lights forming a distinctive pattern at sea. As erosion claimed the bluff, the Sisters were moved, retired, and eventually restored, now standing together like old friends who have seen much and endured more. Visiting them feels less like seeing a lighthouse and more like stepping into a chapter of Cape Cod’s past that refuses to be forgotten.

Highland Light (Truro)

Highland Light is the grand old sentinel of Cape Cod — the tallest, oldest, and perhaps most storied lighthouse on the peninsula. First lit in 1797 and rebuilt in 1857, it has watched centuries of ships pass along the treacherous “Backside” of the Cape, where deep ocean swells meet steep bluffs. In 1996, the entire tower was moved 450 feet inland to escape the relentless erosion that threatened to send it over the cliff, a dramatic reminder of how fragile this coastline can be. Standing beside Highland Light, you feel the sweep of history and the raw power of the Atlantic all at once. It’s a place where the past feels close, the horizon feels endless, and the lighthouse seems to hold its ground with quiet, unwavering dignity.

Race Point Light (Provincetown)

Race Point Light sits at the edge of Provincetown where the Cape feels wild and wide open, a place where sand, sea, and sky stretch out in every direction. First lit in 1816, it guided ships along the outer arm of the Cape, where strong currents and shifting sandbars made navigation treacherous. Reaching the lighthouse today often means a long walk through soft dunes, the wind in your face and the Atlantic roaring nearby — and that journey is part of its magic. When you finally arrive, Race Point Light feels both remote and welcoming, a sturdy white tower standing against the elements with quiet resilience. It’s one of those places where you can hear your own thoughts and feel the full sweep of Cape Cod’s untamed beauty.

Wood End Light (Provincetown)

Wood End Light sits at the quiet edge of Provincetown, where the land thins into sand flats and tidal marshes before giving way to open water. Built in 1872, it guided ships past the tricky currents at the mouth of Cape Cod Bay, standing as a steady companion to Race Point and Long Point. To reach it, you cross the breakwater — a long granite path that disappears under high tide and feels almost otherworldly when the wind is calm and the harbor is still. When you arrive, Wood End Light feels peaceful and solitary, a simple white tower keeping watch over the shifting tides and the wide, empty horizon. It’s one of those places where the Cape feels both remote and deeply familiar.

Long Point Light (Provincetown)

Long Point Light sits at the very tip of Cape Cod, where Provincetown’s sandy arm curls into the bay like a protective hook. Built in 1875, it guided ships past the harbor entrance and the shifting shoals that once made this stretch of water notoriously tricky. Reaching it today feels like traveling to the end of the world — a quiet walk across sand flats, gulls wheeling overhead, and the town shrinking behind you until all that’s left is sky, tide, and the steady white tower ahead. Long Point Light has a lonely beauty to it, a sense of isolation that’s peaceful rather than stark. It’s the kind of place where you can stand for a moment and feel the full sweep of the Cape’s geography, the curve of land meeting the open bay, and the lighthouse holding its solitary post with quiet grace.

Sandy Neck Light (Barnstable)

Sandy Neck Light stands at the entrance to Barnstable Harbor, a quiet, dignified beacon tucked along one of the Cape’s longest and most beautiful barrier beaches. Built in 1857, it once guided schooners and fishing boats through the harbor’s narrow channel, but today it serves mostly as a picturesque landmark — privately owned, lovingly maintained, and best viewed from the water or the long, winding trail behind the dunes. There’s a peacefulness to Sandy Neck Light, a sense of calm that comes from its distance from the bustle of town. With the salt marsh stretching behind it and the harbor opening before it, the lighthouse feels like a gentle reminder of the Cape’s quieter side, where tides move slowly and the past lingers in the breeze.

Bass River Light (West Dennis)

Bass River Light is one of Cape Cod’s quiet treasures — a small, graceful lighthouse tucked beside the Lighthouse Inn in West Dennis, still shining each night as a private beacon. Built in 1855, it once guided vessels along the busy Bass River channel, its light reflecting off calm waters and salt marshes that haven’t changed much in more than a century. Today it feels almost like a secret, a lighthouse you stumble upon rather than seek out, with the inn’s white buildings and the river’s gentle tide giving it a peaceful, timeless charm. Bass River Light may not be as famous as some of the Cape’s larger towers, but it carries a lovely intimacy — a reminder that even the quieter corners of Cape Cod have stories worth telling.

Closing Thoughts

Cape Cod’s lighthouses are more than landmarks — they’re storytellers. Each one has weathered storms, guided sailors, and stood watch over generations of coastal life. Whether you’ve visited one or all eleven, each lighthouse offers its own moment of connection with the sea and the history of the Cape.

Note: Most of the photos were taken from the internet. If I was able to give a photo credit I have done so. Many thanks to the talented photgraphers that captured these images.

National Geographic’s 7 Natural Wonders of America

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Wide view of the Grand Canyon showing layered red, orange, and tan rock formations under a clear blue sky. A green tree frames the right side, and sunlight highlights the canyon’s depth and geological details.”

Photo Credit Deb Neumann

What Wonders Await When You Dare to Explore

National Geographic has named seven Natural Wonders of America. It made me pause for a moment and ask myself: Have I explored any of them? As it turns out, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience many of these extraordinary places firsthand.

On the South Rim, Grand Canyon 2008

1. The Grand Canyon — “The Big Ditch”

This destination of a lifetime cannot be fully described. It can be photographed, painted, and praised by poets, but nothing prepares you for the awe of seeing it in person — whether for the first time or the fifth. Eighteen miles wide and over a mile deep, its scale is almost more than the mind can grasp.

I’ve seen it. I’ve stood at the edge and felt that dizzying thrill of peering into the vastness. It takes your breath away every single time.

2. Coastal Redwoods

I have not yet explored the giant sequoias and redwood forests that stretch along the misty northern California coast. I’ve seen enormous trees in other places — including the sprawling banyan trees of Hawaiʻi — but a trip to California’s Redwood forests still waits on my list.

3. Niagara Falls

Truly one of the Wonders of America, Niagara Falls straddles the border between Canada and the USA — a cathedral carved by water and time. The Maid of the Mist heroically plunges into the wild waters at the base of the falls, where the world becomes wind and spray. Down there, the air itself is alive, whipped into motion by the thunderous plunge of millions of gallons of water. Gusts rise and swirl like invisible wings, tugging at your clothes and reminding you that nature still knows how to roar.

If this sounds like I’ve been there, it’s because I have. I’ve seen and felt the power of the falls up close and personal. It is truly a Natural Wonder and one not to be missed.

4. Appalachian Mountains

The Appalachian Mountains stretch roughly 2,000 miles from Alabama to Canada. I grew up in the Adirondack Park, on the shores of Lake George, never realizing that the mountains around me were part of a story far older and wider than my childhood. The Appalachians form a quiet backbone across the eastern states — through the soft Berkshires, the misty Catskills, the deep greens of the Smokies, and the sharp granite of the White Mountains.

The Appalachian Trail threads through many of these ranges, a long wandering line that eventually reaches Maine. When you grow up surrounded by mountains, you don’t always see them as wonders. They’re just there — the shape of your horizon, the backdrop of your summers, the steady presence behind every memory. Only later do you understand that you were living inside an ancient world without ever needing to look for it.

People travel from all over to experience these unspoiled mountain parks. But I grew up in them.

 

5. The Everglades

The Everglades is a slow — very slow — moving river in subtropical Florida. It’s a mix of fresh and salt water and home to an astonishing diversity of wildlife: wading birds with enormous wingspans, prehistoric reptiles like alligators and crocodiles, and rare creatures such as sea turtles, the Miami-blue butterfly, and the elusive Florida panther.

What most people don’t realize is that the Everglades is not just a national park — this ecosystem covers one-third of the entire state. It encompasses nine distinct habitats, from mangroves to sawgrass prairies.

Today, the Everglades faces threats from invasive species like Burmese pythons, which thrive in the warm climate and have no natural predators. Still, I’ve been there. I love it — even in the heat and humidity — and I would go back in a heartbeat. It’s wild and beautiful.

Old Faithful Erupts6. Yellowstone National Park

Another of my favorite places. When you realize you are walking, hiking, and driving inside the caldera of an enormous volcano, it can boggle the mind. Hot springs, bubbling mud pots, steaming geysers — everywhere you turn, you’re surrounded by nature’s raw power.

And then there’s the wildlife: deer, elk, bison, pronghorn, wolves, bears, coyotes, and foxes. If you love wild creatures, you are in the right place.

 

I’ve been to Yellowstone, and even after a week of exploring, I only scratched the surface of its wonders.

7. Hawaiʻi Volcanoes

I love all the places on National Geographic’s list, but Hawaiʻi’s volcanoes hold a special place in my heart. From Haleakalā — the House of the Sun — to Hawaiʻi Volcanoes National Park with the very active Kīlauea, these landscapes take my breath away.

Haleakalā is a beautiful moonscape of ochre and red cinder cones. Often a shifting layer of clouds lies between you and the valley floor.

Kīlauea erupted almost continuously for 35 years, reshaping the island with lava flows and glowing lakes of molten rock. I’ve missed most of her dramatic displays — she’s been quiet during my visits — but I’ve walked through a lava tube and seen the red glow from the crater. Maybe someday Pele will show herself when I’m there.

A Grateful Journey

And that’s the list, according to National Geographic. Writing about these places has been a wonderful trip down memory lane. I have so much to be thankful for — to have visited so many of America’s most wondrous landscapes.

Egret, Florida

 

Tropical Fish in Rhode Island?

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A brightly colored tropical fish with a white body, yellow fins, and bold black stripes swims near a textured coral-covered rock inside an aquarium.

🌊 A Warm‑Water Surprise in Little Rhody

Here’s a coastal New England tidbit that still amazes me. Every summer, the Gulf Stream sometimes swings close enough to the Rhode Island shoreline to deliver tropical fish into shallow coves. Yes — tropical fish. In Rhode Island!

Warm eddies peel off the Gulf Stream and drift north, carrying tiny Caribbean and Florida fish larvae with them. When one of these warm rings brushes the coast, those little travelers suddenly find themselves in New England. For a few weeks each summer, places like Jamestown’s protected coves can feel more like Key Largo than Narragansett Bay.

🌅 Beavertail: The Coastline I Did Know

I’ve spent time at Beavertail State Park, with its dramatic cliffs, pounding surf, and that steadfast lighthouse watching over the rocks. It’s one of the most striking pieces of coastline in Rhode Island — beautiful, rugged, and loud with the sound of water hitting stone.

But Beavertail is also a reminder of why I never made that tropical‑fish dive. The shoreline there is rough, exposed, and prone to rip currents. Even as a diver, I remember looking at those rocks and thinking, Where would you even get in safely? It’s a place built for sightseeing and storm watching, not for slipping quietly beneath the surface.

That contrast — the wildness of Beavertail versus the calm, sheltered coves just a few miles away — underscores how close I came to experiencing something extraordinary.

🤿 The Dive I Never Quite Made

Back in the 1970s, when I was scuba diving, the stories sounded almost unbelievable: a shallow, easy‑entry spot in Jamestown where warm water pooled and bright tropical fish appeared out of nowhere. Some divers even collected them for home aquariums, since the fish wouldn’t survive once fall temperatures dropped.

These tiny tropical visitors even have a nickname: Gulf Stream orphans. It’s a sweet, slightly melancholy name for fish that drift hundreds of miles off course and end up in Rhode Island for a short summer stay.

I planned that dive more than once. I wanted to see it for myself — to slip into warm water in New England and find a flash of Caribbean color swimming past. But work, schedules, and life kept interfering. It became one of those small regrets that stays with you: knowing there was a pocket of warm, tropical magic hiding in Rhode Island, and I never quite made it there.

 

🌡️ A Rare Event That’s Becoming More Common

And here’s the part that feels almost bittersweet: it’s more common now than it was back then. As the ocean has warmed, tropical and subtropical fish are appearing farther north, more frequently, and in greater numbers. What was once a rare Gulf Stream surprise has become a regular summer occurrence.

The ocean I dove in during the 1970s is not the same ocean we swim in today.

 

🌴 A Brief Visit From the Tropics

For a short moment each year, the Gulf Stream reaches out and brushes New England, leaving behind a handful of tropical fish as proof — a reminder of how dynamic, surprising, and ever‑changing our coastline really is. And every time I see the Beavertail lighthouse, I think of the dive I never took, and the warm‑water visitors I never met.

Beavertail Lighthouse on a calm day

 

 

The Whales of Massachusetts Bay

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wo whales surface in open water, one lifting its tail as it dives, with a large cruise ship and a smaller boat in the distance.

Everyone knows the humpback whales. I’ve chased them from Massachusetts to Hawaii to Alaska. They’re the show‑stoppers — the whales that arch their backs, lift their flukes high, breach like acrobats, and bring their calves right alongside the boats. Sometimes it feels like they’re watching us instead of the other way around. But as dramatic as humpbacks are, they aren’t the first whales to arrive each year. Whale season is opened by a very special group.

The Right Whales Come First

Right whales were named because whalers once considered them the “right” whales to hunt. Their massive heads were filled with valuable whale oil, and they floated when killed — a grim history that left us with a name we still use today.

These whales begin arriving in Cape Cod Bay as early as November, though January is more typical. The wind off the bay is still cold. The days are gray and dreary. The bright summer skies are months away, and the whale‑watch boats are still in dry dock. If you want to see right whales, you watch from shore. No close‑ups. No flukes. Just patience, binoculars, and the hope of spotting that distinctive V‑shaped blow.

Right whales exhale through two blowholes, creating a perfect V in the air — just like we exhale through two nostrils. It’s one of the easiest ways to identify them from land.

A Critically Endangered Visitor

These whales are critically endangered, and seeing them arrive is always an exciting moment. The current estimate is fewer than 350 North Atlantic right whales left, with only around 70 breeding females. And here in Massachusetts, we sit right on their annual migration path.

My 2011 Right‑Whale Day

Back in 2011, on a cold and blustery April day, I took a ride to the Cape just for something to do. The rangers at the National Seashore welcome center were buzzing — reports were coming in that right whales were visible from shore. Of course I had to check it out.

Sure enough, they were traveling along the shoreline in twos and threes. I stood on the sand watching for the blows, watching one pair pass on and another arrive, like a conveyor belt of whales moving steadily along the coast. It’s not a trip I take every year, but I’m grateful I got to witness that spectacle at least once.

Then Come the Humpbacks

As the weather warms, the humpbacks begin to arrive. They bring their calves, and you often get to see a mother and baby traveling together. The calves don’t look small — except next to mom. She teaches her young how to breach, feed, and survive. These are the whales we follow with the whale‑watch fleet.

Breaching Whale

On a whale watch, you can almost always count on humpbacks, but you might also spot fin whales, minke whales, and if you’re very lucky, a sei whale.

If You’ve Never Been on a Whale Watch

• Bring a sweatshirt or hoodie — it gets chilly on the water

• Binoculars aren’t required, but they’re fun if you have them

• If you’re prone to motion sickness, take your Dramamine

• Watch for bubble feeding, breaching, and flipper slaps

• A naturalist will help identify whales and sea life

• You might see Atlantic white‑sided dolphins

• You may spot an ocean sunfish

• Lots of birds near the surface often means whales are feeding

• And more and more often these days, you may see a great white shark. The seal population has exploded, and the sharks follow their food. Sightings from whale‑watch boats do happen — usually just a fin slicing the surface or a quick shadow near a seal colony.

I find the ocean relaxing, sprinkled with moments of excitement when a whale appears.

Thar she blows.

 

From Sand Dunes to Shark Apps

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Old Cape Cod, just as Patti Page imagined it — dunes, salty air, and a quiet stretch of shoreline that still remembers how things used to be.

Old Cape Cod: From Sand Dunes to Shark Apps

If you’re fond of sand dunes and salty air,

Quaint little villages here and there…

You’re sure to fall in love with old Cape Cod.

Patti Page sang those words in 1957, and the song didn’t just become a hit — it reshaped the Cape’s identity. That gentle, dreamy portrait of a sleepy peninsula helped launch Cape Cod into the national imagination. Tourists followed, then developers, and before long those “quaint little villages” gave way to strip malls, big‑box stores, and summer traffic that can test the patience of a saint.

But one thing never changed: the beaches. Crowded or not, they’re still the Cape’s heartbeat. And if we take a little walk through time, we can see just how much this place has transformed since Patti Page made musical history.

A Peninsula Born of Ice

Cape Cod is a hooked, sandy arm stretching 65 miles into the Atlantic — the leftover handiwork of the last Ice Age. It’s narrow in some places, wide in others, bordered by Cape Cod Bay, Buzzards Bay, and the waters of Vineyard and Nantucket Sounds. For centuries, life here revolved around the sea.

Nantucket, in particular, was once the whaling capital of the world. From the late 1600s through the mid‑1800s, whaling was its lifeblood. But as regulations tightened and the industry declined, Nantucket reinvented itself as a quiet retreat for the wealthy — a transformation that still defines the island today.

Preserving the Cape

On the mainland, conservation took center stage. In 1961, the federal government created the Cape Cod National Seashore, protecting miles of shoreline from development. Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge followed, safeguarding critical habitat for birds and marine life.

Then came a turning point: In 1972, the Marine Mammal Protection Act granted federal protection to seals.

That’s when the Cape’s story took a dramatic turn.

The Return of the Great Whites

As the seal population exploded, so did interest from a very different kind of visitor. In 1975, the blockbuster Jaws gave the world a fictional taste of shark‑infused terror — but it also foreshadowed reality. Over the next few decades, great white sharks began returning to Cape waters in growing numbers, drawn by the booming seal colonies.

The shift became undeniable on September 15, 2018, when Arthur Medici, a 26‑year‑old from Revere, was fatally attacked while boogie boarding at Newcomb Hollow Beach. It was the first deadly shark attack in Massachusetts since 1936, and it marked the beginning of what many now call the new Cape Cod.

Today, great whites are summer regulars. We have:

  • Spotter planes and research boats
  • Electronic shark‑detection buoys
  • Beach warnings near seal haul‑outs
  • And yes — an app for that. The Sharktivity app lets you track shark sightings in real time.

Even whale‑watch boats report seeing sharks, and whenever a whale carcass washes ashore, you can bet the great whites will arrive shortly after.

And they’re not alone. In 2025, a fisherman off Mashpee reported the Cape’s first confirmed tiger shark sighting. Offshore charter captains share videos of sharks stealing fish right off the line. There’s even shark cage diving now — something once associated only with South Africa or Australia.

A Personal Note: The Cape’s Own Shark Celebrity

The Cape has its own celebrity in Dr. Greg Skomal, author, marine biologist, and the face of modern shark research in Massachusetts. He’s been a champion of the great white’s return and a pioneer in tagging and tracking them. You’ve probably seen him on Discovery Channel’s Shark Week, leaning over the bow of a boat with a tagging pole in hand.

I’ve had the privilege of meeting him and hearing several of his presentations. He’s charming, funny, and completely approachable — the kind of scientist who makes you feel like you’re part of the adventure. The sharks couldn’t ask for a better advocate.

Is This Still “Old Cape Cod”?

Somehow, the Cape feels less like Patti Page’s quiet seaside escape and more like a place where nature has reclaimed its throne. The dunes and salty air are still here, but the cast of characters has changed. Tourists still flock to the beaches — but so do apex predators.

Cape Cod isn’t sleepy anymore. It’s wild, unpredictable, and very much alive.

And maybe that’s part of its magic.