Wind-Swept Isle Elicits Childhood Memories : BLOCK

Circled by waters that never freeze,

Beaten by billow and swept by the breeze,

Lieth the island of Manisses ...

The Traveller mused: “Your Manisses is

Fairy-land off Narragansett shore.

Who ever saw the isle or heard its name before?

--”The Palatine,” John Greenleaf Whittier

There’s something special about this place. Its character remains stubbornly old Yankee; natural beauty, simplicity and integrity set it apart.

Unlike better-known, gridlocked East Coast resorts from Newport, R.I., to Atlantic City, its identity is intact. It may succumb to the forces of nature, but it has yet to succumb to the greed of man.

I visit Block Island every year to gain perspective and to give our children the experience of adventure and exhilaration that this wind-swept isle gave to me as a child. I also come here, I suspect, to revive the once-carefree child inside of me.

The old sea captain who tantalized me with island lore has passed on to another paradise. But his vivid tales of “The Palatine” and its hapless band of Dutch immigrants shipwrecked on Block Island’s shoals in 1738 (the subject of Whittier’s poem) and the stories of resident ghosts and pirate treasures, live on.

Storytelling flourishes among people with a strong sense of their own link with the historical past. And this is particularly true here, where many natives trace their ancestry to Trustrum Dodge and the first families who colonized the island in 1661.

Today a visitor is most likely to find a raconteur among old-timer taxi drivers, who, for a modest sum, can give a tour that is a blend of scenic and historic pleasure.

At its conclusion he will probably have you nodding in enthusiastic agreement that the island’s original Narragansett Indian name, “Manisses,” meaning “island of the Little God,” is far more appropriate.

Around the turn of the century Manisses was an elite summer resort, as much in vogue as Newport. In 1938, a hurricane devastated the island, destroying a thriving fishing industry and many elegant Victorian mansions. The year-round population of 7,000 plummeted to today’s 700.

Nevertheless, signs of revitalization are growing as many once-boarded-up Victorian hotels and inns are restored to their original charm.

The Hotel Manisses, built in 1870, is one fine example. Its 18 rooms, which bear the names of The Palatine and other island shipwrecks, feature exquisitely restored period furnishings, fresh flowers, a decanter with brandy and private bath (uncommon here). Five even have Jacuzzis. Just behind the hotel is an animal farm for children.

Apart from restoration, little has changed on Block Island since the idyllic summer days of my ‘50s childhood. Strict zoning and wildlife laws have preserved the island’s natural beauty and unpretentious, laid-back ambience. There is little here to hustle a child away from discovery or from her dreams.

Absent are high-rises, expensive boutiques and elite clubs. Absent also are traffic lights. A bike is all you need to navigate this small triangle of land, roughly three miles by seven. If you can’t bring a bike, rent one.

A warning: Though still available, mopeds--or any noisy vehicle that shatters the tranquil atmosphere--are frowned upon.

Although some folks fly to the island on a private plane, most use the ferry.

If you are taking the ferry from Point Judith or Newport or Montauk, Long Island, you’ll dock at Old Harbor, which is a picturesque cluster of Victorian hotels, restaurants, nautical shops and galleries, and the island’s only village.

Beyond it stretch rolling hills festooned with wildflowers, a sprinkle of cottages and inns, two historic lighthouses, marshes, natural springs and, amazing for a tiny isle, 365 ponds--”one for every day of the year,” islanders will tell you.

Then of course there are the beaches. Though minus the pebble-free sands of the Caribbean, most of the Block Island beaches are quiet, private sanctuaries. State Beach, just north of Old Harbor, is the only one with a pavilion, bathhouses, snack bar and lifeguard.

Today we prefer Scotch Beach, a peaceful enclave just north of State, reached by a sandy road navigable only by foot or dune buggy.

When you’ve had enough swimming, go farther north to the wildlife sanctuary (one of five on the island) that begins at Satchem Pond and culminates at the abandoned North Light built in 1867 at Sandy Point. The mile-long sand bar, source of hundreds of shipwrecks and island sagas, is also home to thousands of sea gulls.

There the cry of gulls, the thunder of surf and the impressionistic play of light at sunset. The spectacular view can be uplifting. Springtime is nesting season for the gulls.

History buffs will have their day at the Island Cemetery, where 17th-Century tombstones have tales to tell.

One epitaph warns: “As you pass by, pray cast an eye; As you are now, so once was I; as I am now, so must you be; Prepare for death and follow me.”

While the celestial light is upon you, ride out to Mohegan Bluffs, clay cliffs that rise 200 feet above the sea. If you’re adventurous, you can descend the wooden stairway that will lead you to the rocky beach for swimming or surf-casting.

You may choose to end your day, as we did, at New Harbor, a vast marina on the west side of the island that was created by cutting into Great Salt Pond through the sand bar. The ferry from New London, Conn., docks here along with elegant yachts and fishing boats.

As a child, coming here aboard my uncle’s Don-Bo-Jo, we always ended our day at New Harbor. He and his sons were award-winning sports fishermen who would leave at dawn in search of giant bluefin tuna and swordfish, for which Block Island’s waters are renowned.

Now, at dusk, just as back then, the stillness of this serene inlet was broken by the rumble of returning deep-sea fishing boats and talk of the day’s catch.

As we watched them unload, a flock of squawking, ravenous gulls, wings flapping rhythmically in the salt air, swooped down above us to everyone’s delight.

A sense of timelessness pervades, and I know I have reclaimed the child in me.

Gilmore returns to Block Island every summer from her home in McLean, Va., where she is working on a novel.