Marshes, where the critters live, and kids with pails of clams waving to you from a dock, where they live.
You aim for the narrow opening under the bridge that runs under Lower County Road. Eventually, after a few more gentle twists and turns, you are rewarded by the a sight that certainly should not be unexpected, but somehow is…the place where fresh salt breezes smack you in the face and the water becomes wide, and deep, and suddenly choppy. Nantucket Sound. All yours. Or so it seems for a moment.
But you dare not leave the safety of the slow-moving river in your little craft. You have to turn around and go back.
In another minute.