A touch of the Mystic

THE clouds above the docks hurried along like freight trains on their way to big towns. A teenage girl selling flowers at the Saturday farmers market in Stonington jumped up and down, trying to generate some body heat against the relentless winds. Produce sellers blew on their hands and tried to interest the few browsers in the foodstuffs that characterize the end of the season: apples, fingerling potatoes, buttercup squash, bread-and-butter pickles.

My wife, Janice, and I sampled some arugula at one stand. It was a wonderful intersection of tender and crunchy, and it left a warm, peppery aftertaste, like cinnamon chewing gum.

As I scribbled in my notebook, trying to get the images down before they evaporated, the arugula seller regarded me suspiciously.

“Are you from the State?” she asked.

One of her friends chimed in, jokingly, “Are you trying to close her down?”

We weren’t the police or the health department -- just non-New Englanders tasting the bittersweet mix of autumn in southeastern Connecticut.

It was no longer shorts-and-T-shirt weather, but the hills beyond nearby Mystic provided compensation: The leaves, acknowledging winter’s advance, had exploded in arboreal pyrotechnics and begun to swirl away like confetti in whirlwinds.

In another sign of autumn: A few miles west, there was plenty of space in the parking lot at Mystic’s historic seaport.

Nautical like no other

THERE are really two Mystics: The original town was founded in the 1600s and was a center for shipbuilding in the age of wooden sailing ships and iron men. Between 1784 and 1919, more than 600 ships were built here on the banks of the Mystic River. But steam replaced sail, and steel replaced wood. The town (now with a population of 4,000) still has a nautical atmosphere, but shipbuilding is largely over.

In 1929, rather than see that era forgotten, three Mystic residents sought to preserve the region’s maritime culture and created the 19-acre Mystic Seaport on Lighthouse Point on the north bank of the Mystic River. Despite the Great Depression, the seaport’s administration was able to acquire historic ships and shipbuilding equipment. They put them together with artifacts of seafaring, libraries, scholars and able presenters. The resulting entity combines elements of a museum and a theme park (but not in the thrill-ride sense) with functioning shipbuilding shops where craftsmen still use 19th century tools.

But the big attraction here is the ships -- the L.A. Dunton, Joseph Conrad and the Charles W. Morgan -- which are tied up in berths around the point. Mystic Seaport is an anachronism in an age of touch-screens and interactive videos. There is nothing virtual about this reality: the noisy boat building in the shops, the tall ships that visitors clamber aboard and the salt cod, its scent carried on the wind.

On the main deck of the L.A. Dunton, a 1921 fishing schooner, a burly guy cleaned and gutted a fresh cod. At one time, the hold below him would have been filled with wet, slippery, smelly salted fish, later to be dried by town residents.

He quickly transformed the cod into the kite shape familiar to anyone who has walked through Portuguese or Italian alleyways. He located the ear bones (who knew cod had ears?), which could be dried and made into jewelry.

The Dunton carried 10 dories -- 12-foot boats that would be swung into the water, carrying a two-man crew and 1,800 feet of line with baited hooks every 6 feet. On a good day, said interpreter Howard W. Davis, a crew might haul up 100 30-pound codfish on those lines.

The 82-year-old Davis has been interpreting for 47 years and is only one of many people who work in the various re-created workshops that crowd the edge of the dock or who demonstrate how the old ships operated.

Fishing was a dangerous business, Davis told us. There were so many ways to lose your life. The dories’ crewmen could get lost in the fog and never make it back to the ship. Ice storms could immobilize, weigh down and sink a ship, which sometimes happened when a captain would chance sailing for home in a storm, rather than heading for milder weather, a delay that might cause his cargo to spoil.

Janice and I went below to the Dunton’s crew quarters. A reproduced menu showed a typical week’s fare. Not surprisingly, most of it was fish, usually the less marketable parts, like “broiled fish heads with pork scraps and onions.”

Accommodations were spare, particularly because there was no officer corps. The captain was the only officer aboard. Crewmen slept in stacks of bunks that were essentially man-sized shelves in a large room.

In contrast to the Dunton, the Joseph Conrad had more fine woodwork and frosted glass than a typical county courthouse. The Conrad, built in Copenhagen in 1882 as a training vessel for the Danish navy, once was the private yacht of George Huntington Hartford, founder of the A&P; grocery chain.

Like the Dunton and Morgan, the Conrad is a tall ship with skyscraper masts that once were draped with sails and populated by crewmen working high above the decks.

On the wharf by the Charles W. Morgan, on the other side of Lighthouse Point, interpreter David Littlefield startled us by suddenly breaking into song. “I’d rather be snug in a New London pub,” he sang, voicing the lament of a whaling ship’s crew, who might be away from home, family and snug pubs for as long as five years.

Another interpreter stood in one of the Morgan’s whaleboats, describing the detection, pursuit and slaying of whales. He recounted in graphic detail the “Nantucket sleigh ride” that followed the successful thrust of a harpoon and the death throes of a captured whale. Most whales managed to escape after shaking loose the harpoons.

Littlefield moved to the Morgan itself and sang more songs as we boarded. The ship, built in 1841, is America’s only remaining wooden whaling ship. Both the Morgan and the Dunton are national historic landmarks.

We went below, to the Morgan’s low-ceilinged “blubber room,” where the whale fat was heated and refined into lubricants and lamp oil. And when we emerged, there was Davis again, talking about the uses of whale oil and fielding inquiries of varying sophistication, never once chiding anyone for asking silly questions. On a summer weekend, Davis would have been surrounded by crowds. But on a crisp autumn Saturday, we had him nearly to ourselves.

And almost the same was true of the S&P; Oyster Co. in downtown Mystic, a mile or so from the seaport, where we took our lunch break. We sat at a corner table with a view on two sides of the quiet, misty river. Most of the trees along its banks were tardy in their color change, but a few had turned to cinnamon and turmeric shades.

As we dined on fried oysters, fried clams with the bellies and Rhode Island clam chowder, which is like Manhattan chowder minus the tomato, we were entertained by the operation of the town’s drawbridge, adjacent to the restaurant. A bascule (from the French for “seesaw”) design, its operation depends on two 230-ton counterweights that hang ominously above the pedestrian walkways on either side of Main Street.

At the shrill toot of a whistle, pedestrians scurried off, barricades came down to block approaching cars and the bridge deck started to lift. As it went up, the counterweights descended until they were about 3 feet above the walkways and the bridge deck was vertical. The boats that had been waiting chugged through the open passage.

The cooperage, the smithy

BACK at the seaport, we visited some of the village’s many workshops. In one, boat builders were crafting a dory, carefully bending wood to fit its curved lines. In the cooperage, interpreters explained the craft of barrel-making. Then the sulfurous smell of a coal fire led us to the ship smithy, where a glowing mound of coal in a brick furnace sprouted flames as the blacksmith tugged on a line that worked a big overhead bellows. He heated an iron rod in the fire until it glowed cherry red, then hammered it into shape as it cooled.

In another building, armored warriors stood stoically with Indians (both Asian and American) and ship owners’ wives. Many, perhaps in recognition of the divine forces that control a sailor’s fate, seemed to be beseeching heaven. They were retired figureheads, wooden pensioners now no longer feeling the sting of salt spray in their faces.

There is enough at Mystic Seaport to keep a visitor occupied for days, but autumn here had other attractions for us. B.F. Clyde’s specialty is pressing cider, just as it has done every fall since 1898. The white frame building out in the countryside, a few miles inland, is about the size of a country schoolhouse.

Inside, workers gathered around an 1898 steam engine -- the warmest spot in an otherwise chilly room -- and waited to transform 25 bushels of apples into 75-plus gallons of cider. The apples used vary through the harvest season. Earlier-ripening apples tend to be more tart and produce a lighter-colored cider.

The engine operated remarkably quietly: The loudest sound was the slap of the belts as they distributed the engine’s power among several pulleys up in the ceiling. It was a scene from a schoolbook discussion of the 19th century Industrial Revolution.

People had been crowded in for the next pressing, and at 3 p.m. it was show time. Levers were pushed, and the room was filled with a low rumble -- unseen apples rolling around in the attic. The lower room filled with the unmistakable smell of apples as a mound of the crushed fruit started to grow on a layer of cloth under the mouth of a wide pipe.

Workers leveled it off with hoes, forming it into a 4-foot square about 6 inches deep. They halted the flow of crushed apples, folded the cloth around the mash like an envelope, added another layer of cloth and repeated the process twice more.

Then they swung the whole table around and positioned it under a press. There was a clanking, and the press descended inexorably, like something Indiana Jones would narrowly escape from. (It exerts a force of 100 tons per square inch.) Juice started to trickle, then gush, out. It collected first in a tub under the press but was pumped into a modern stainless-steel tank for further processing. Some of it would become nonalcoholic sweet cider; some would be allowed to ferment into hard cider; and some would be blended with other juices to make flavored apple wines. The squashed apple remains would end up as food for cattle.

Aquarium with beluga

IN Mystic, you can’t stay away from the sea for long, and the Mystic Aquarium provides a look at it from another angle.

White beluga whales, 8 to 15 feet long, propelled themselves around a big tank with up and down thrusts of their triangular tails. They swam often on their sides, mugging for the audience. Sometimes they made an odd quacking sound, but when food appeared, they gave excited squeaks that sounded like “yee-haw.” The sound of their breath through their blowholes -- and you can get close enough to hear it -- is like the heaving of an exhausted horse.

Inside the aquarium’s main hall, a big cylinder of water held a dozen jellyfish slowly pumping their way up and down, a restful scene, like a natural lava lamp. Smaller tanks held a multiplicity of sea-dwelling species. And, of course, there was a sea lion show, in which four slippery fellows demonstrated how well they have trained their humans to give them fish.

Our final trip was to the Mashantucket Pequot Museum north of Stonington. Away from the coast, the country leaves displayed more color than the ones in town. The trees in town were just starting to turn, but the hills around the museum were filled with vivid reds and golds. Big red maple leaves fluttered like thousands of Canadian flags.

The museum is on the grounds of Foxwoods, a gaming resort the Pequots developed in 1983 with the help of federal legislation. It springs out of the forest, as one Mystic resident described it, like the Emerald City in the Land of Oz.

The museum’s main attraction is its reproduction of a 16th century Pequot coastal village populated by dozens of sculpted figures, representing Pequot daily life -- the nursing of infants, the hunting of game, the defense of the tribe against others, even the eating of succotash.

With audio guides pressed firmly to our ears, we walked from wigwam to wigwam learning about the Pequots. Although they were not great in number, they became the dominant traders of the area, allying with Dutch merchants to develop a trade triangle of Pequot wampum beads, furs from northern tribes and the European goods (tools, cooking pots and cloth) that the Pequots desired.

Judging from the number of cars in the casino parking lot, they’re still pretty good at business.

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Drop anchor

GETTING THERE:

From LAX, US Airways, United, Southwest, Northwest, Delta, Continental and American offer connecting flights (change of plane) to Providence, R.I., about 50 miles from Mystic, Conn. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $198.

To Hartford, Conn., America West, US Airways, United, Northwest, Delta, American and Southwest offer connecting flights. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $218. Hartford is 55 miles from Mystic.

WHERE TO STAY:

Mermaid Inn of Mystic, 2 Broadway Ave., Mystic, CT 06355; (860) 536-6223, www.mermaidinnofmystic.com. An 1843 homestead made into a B&B; by people who love to cook, decorate and spoil their guests with comfy accommodations and exquisite snacks. Doubles from $185.

Foxwoods Resort Casino, 39 Norwich Westerly Road, Mashantucket, CT 06338; (800) FOXWOODS (369-9663), www.foxwoods.com. There are three hotels at the casino, about 20 minutes from Mystic. Doubles $125-$325.

Inn at Mystic, 3 Williams Ave. (junction of routes 1 and 27), Mystic, CT 06355; (860) 536-9604, www.innatmystic.com. Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall honeymooned at this hilltop mansion with a commanding view of the harbor. Doubles $115-$295.

WHERE TO EAT:

Kitchen Little, 81 1/2 Greenmanville Ave., Mystic, CT 06355; (860) 536-2122. This little breakfast and lunch place pumps out terrific egg dishes. Typical breakfast about $12. Cash only.

S&P; Oyster Co., 1 Holmes St., Mystic, CT 06355; (860) 536-2674, www.sp-oyster.com. Chowders, fried clams, draft beer, river and drawbridge view. Entrees from $9.

The Fisherman Restaurant, 937 Groton Long Point Road, Noank, CT 06340; (860) 536-1717, www.fishermanrestaurant.com. Eat hearty New England seafood while you watch the waves splash against the shore. Entrees from $15.

WHAT TO DO:

Mystic Seaport, 75 Greenmanville Ave., Mystic, CT 06355; (860) 572-0711, www.mysticseaport.org. Open 9 a.m.-5 p.m. April-October, 10 a.m.-4 p.m. November-March. This place is rich with seafaring history. Admission $17 adults; $12 children 6-17, free 5 and younger.

Mystic Aquarium & Institute for Exploration, 55 Coogan Blvd., Mystic, CT 06355; (860) 572-5955, www.mysticaquarium.org. A big tank allows viewing of whales and other sea critters from above and below. Educational and entertaining. Admission $17.50 adults, $12.50 children 3-17, free 2 and younger.

B.F. Clyde’s Cider Mill, 129 N. Stonington Road, Mystic, CT 06355; (860) 536-3354. Beginning in August each year, Clyde’s allows the public to watch apples being pressed into cider using century-old equipment. Call for times. Free.

Mashantucket Pequot Museum & Research Center, 110 Pequot Trail, Mashantucket, CT 06339; (800) 411-9671, www.pequotmuseum.org. Shares grounds with the Foxwoods casino but is difficult to find; watch signs closely. Insights into the lives of Native Americans of the Northeast. Open 10 a.m.4 p.m. Admission $15 adults, $10 children 6-16, free 5 and younger.

TO LEARN MORE:

Connecticut East, 32 Huntington St., New London, CT 06320; (800) TO-ENJOY (863-6569), www.mysticmore.com.

For fall foliage information, Yankee magazine is a good source, www.yankeemagazine.com/foliage/index.php.

-- Jerry V. Haines