A Look Back at the Final Leg of my 27 Mile Journey

This is the final installment in a series of posts and videos about my 27 mile surfcasting journey along Cape Cod's Great Beach. Click here to read part #3, click here to read part #2 and click here to read part #1.

Ryan Collins

The sky was pitch black and I had never seen the Atlantic so calm. It lapped against the shoreline as if it were a gentle trout pond.

Things are much different in this spot during hurricanes and winter Nor ‘Easters. Monstrous waves and ice cold winds regularly pound this section of beach.

Could there be some fish out there? So far it had been an uneventful trip fishing-wise.

My only action had been a few missed hits several miles to the south earlier in the morning while fishing somewhere in Truro.

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I only saw my own footprints on this lonely stretch of beach.

I had 8 miles to go until I reached my finishing point at Race Point Lighthouse. It was going to be a long and cold night.

Not long into my walk I saw headlights over my left shoulder. There was a truck driving on the beach (the first I had seen all trip) and the truck was coming right at me. I was curious who it was so I stopped and waited for them.

It wound up being a young gentleman who works as a Ranger for the National Seashore.​ He asked where I was coming from, and was quite surprised when I told him I had walked here from Eastham. We chatted about how Henry David Throreau completed a similar walk and how he himself, the National Seashore Ranger, also hoped to complete the walk at some point.

Before saying goodbye the Ranger reminded me that there is no camping allowed on the National Seashore. I could walk and fish but I could not setup a tent, start a fire etc. I nodded in agreement and continued on my way into the darkness.

I was tired and my legs were feeling heavy. I also had a full load of gear on my back which didn't help. On this section of the beach there would be no access to water or easy way for Shane or my Dad to reach me if I needed help. 

The arrows depict the last leg of my journey. On this section of coastline, there's no easy way to access the beach.

It did not take long for me to notice that in certain spots and during certain conditions (such as high tide + a storm) it would be possible to get pinned between the raging ocean and steep cliffs behind me.

Fortunately for me I visited these spots during low tide and with picture perfect, flat calm conditions. Nevertheless I thought about what it would be like getting stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

I continued casting and walking, and taking a break to sit down every so often.

For the first time all trip I began to really notice the weight of my pack. I ate some of my food and drank some of my water, which helped to lessen the weight of the pack ever so slightly. 

Somewhere in Provincetown I encountered a fire with people gathered round.

This was the first fire I had seen all trip and it appeared the people had used a very small path through the dunes to access the beach. It sounded like they were having a jolly old good time and it was obvious they had no clue I was walking right by them.

Then I felt something mysterious on my left cheek. I swatted at whatever it was with both hands, unintentionally slapping myself in the face. ​Now it was stuck on my headlamp. What the heck is going on?

One of the men by the fire jumped up from his beach chair and ran to the opposite side of the fire. The man was very excited as he reached down and removed a fishing pole from a sand spike. 

It was at this moment I realized I had been "clotheslined"​ by their mono-filament fishing line. I whipped my head around, which released the line from my headlamp, and quickly resumed a brisk walk.

​I turned around to see the man place the rod back in the sand spike. For all he knew, he had just missed a take from a large striped bass!

The night was a long one, and despite encountering millions of sand eels and bait fish in tidal pools around an island of sand somewhere south of Race Point, I had still not caught a striper.

After reaching Race Point beach I decided to spend the rest of the night huddled behind a piece of drift wood. A light, but very cold and damp easterly wind was sweeping up the beach. I was exhausted.

I lingered in a half awake/half asleep state of consciousness. I shivered a little bit. 5 hours later I felt the first warm rays of sunshine on my face.

It was the happiest I have been to see the sun in quite some time. It felt as if the rays of sun were pumping raw energy directly into my bloodstream. I felt good to go.

As the sky grew brighter I looked around the spot where I had spent the night.

The old Race Point Coast Guard Station stood nearby.

However my finishing point at Race Point Lighthouse was still 2 miles away.

I had some hiking left to do. Not long after sunrise I set off to the north, casting and retrieving as I went. Still the fish eluded me.​

I heard from another angler that bluefish had been caught the day before, but that none had been caught yet today. I wanted to catch a big fish to cap off this journey, but it didn't seem as if that was going to happen.

At this moment I had walked for 25 miles without catching a fish.

However the wind had shifted and was blowing onshore with more authority. It was predicted to pick up and get quite rough later that night.​

I started pondering the idea of trying for a big fish during the strong winds and big surf which was sure to follow.

I bumped into My Fishing Cape Codder Peter Attanasio Jr. and his kayak friends and family on the beach just south of Race Point Lighthouse. It was nice to meet such friendly people and it was fun chatting about the journey. 

Peter and his buddies helped direct me to the dune path which would take me to the lighthouse. My mom, dad, sister and Shane were planning on meeting me there. They would travel 2 miles through sand and dunes using my dad's truck and 4 wheel drive to reach the lighthouse

My final view of the Atlantic, before entering the dunes of the Province Lands.

The dunes of the Province Lands are some of the most gorgeous works of nature I have ever seen. Thousands of years of wind and water had shifted and molded the malleable sand lands on which I stood. Waves of sand rolled in every direction. 

Race Point Lighthouse (bottom left) is surrounded by waves of sand. Image courtesy of Google Earth.

I wound my way through the dunes, passing by acres of eel grass and a flock of chirping terns.

I could see the lighthouse in the distance. I was almost there.​

My mother, Kathy, walked the final few hundred yards with me. 

A few years ago my mom received a lung cancer diagnosis. ​The day after I finished this walk, my mom's doctors informed her that she was cancer free. It was an honor to have her walk the last couple hundred yards by my side.

It was also great to see my sister Katelyn who lives out in New York City, but has Cape sand and salt in her blood. And of course there was my dad Jake, who is always helping me with these adventures. ​

Last but certainly not least was new friend Shane Uriot​. I cannot wait to share with you the film/documentary of this trip, which Shane has already begun work on.

It felt great to finish the trek!

However I had just walked and fished 27 miles of coastline without catching anything. The wind had shifted, and I decided I would not stop fishing until I caught a big boy.​

By sunrise the next day the waves were crashing and the wind was roaring. The sea had changed from a gentle "pond" into an angry force to be reckoned with.

I was short on sleep but it didn't matter. The crashing waves and pounding surf provided me with all the energy I would need.

To my utter amazement the big fish had showed up. They had moved into an area which I thought might produce in these rough conditions.

After catching that fish I knew the journey had come to an end. I remember feeling so satisfied and so fortunate, to have had everything work out so well. 

Walking and fishing what turned out be more than 30 miles of coastline was a life adventure, and I cannot wait until the next journey. If I learned anything at all it would be that all things are possible.

That leaves nothing out.

Sometime this winter Shane and I will share with you a film/documentary of this memorable trip. ​Stay tuned for more details, and thank you for following along with this journey!

Tight lines and take care,

Ryan​