Thoreau made three trips to Cape Cod but structured the ten chapters of this book according to the course of his first visit, when he and a companion walked the length of it from Cohasset to Provincetown. However, he brings in reminiscences of his later trips, as well as of some developments he heard of. For much of their expedition, they stayed on the Atlantic side; it was Thoreau’s aim, as he writes in the book’s opening, “to get a better view than I had yet had of the ocean, which, we are told, covers more than two-thirds of the globe, but of which a man who lives a few miles inland may never see any trace, more than of another world.”

The result is an odd travelog, mixed with historical and philosophical digressions and told with dry Yankee humor. It opens, though, in a way that seems calculated to put off readers, at least those who weren’t meant to be his readers. The choice of Cohasset as the starting point was dictated by headlines of the wreck of an emigrant-laden brig from Ireland, with the loss of almost all passengers. Thoreau, the ambulance chaser? He observes the wreckage washing ashore and the funeral for the bodies recovered so far, yet seems detached. He admits as much: “It is the individual and the private that demands our sympathy,” then muses in transcendentalist fashion that they sailed to a new land, but without setting foot on it, “had been cast upon some shore further west.”

It fascinated me then how this transcendentalist was anchored in the this-ness of the world. He keenly observes people and, even more so, wildlife and plants. From his description, this thin spit of sand hosted a teeming multitude of cod, mackerel, whales, stormy petrels, gulls, frogs, and turtles, along with a sparse human population, most of the males among them spending more time aboard a boat than at home. As I read, I suspected that the ratio of humans to other forms of animals had been reversed. It wouldn’t have surprised Thoreau. As he resignedly writes at the book’s close, “the time must come when this coast will be a place of resort. . . . But this shore will never be more attractive than it is now.” ( )

This collection of essays on Cape Cod shows the unique stretch of Massachusetts land before it was a tourist attraction. Thoreau, often with a friend, took four trips out to Cape Cod and this collects some history, humor, and tales of the people he met on his journeys.

Cape Cod was published in 1865, a few years after Thoreau died. Its origin as essays is apparent, as its rather roughly cobbled together. The edition I read, from the 1950s with an introduction by Henry Beston of The Outermost House fame, includes notes from Henry Beston and others to explain some of the references, helpfully (?) give updates on census records for the towns mentioned, yet doesn't translate the Greek or Latin passages. I was also rather confused about a couple of times the editors decided to take out some of Thoreau's originally writing and move it to the back in an appendix. I would've liked an introduction that said less about the Cape and more about the way the book was put together, but that's not Thoreau's fault. His observations at times were very funny and memorable, but it's more a collection of vignettes that will be more or less interesting for each reader. Recommended for Thoreau completists and Cape Cod enthusiasts. ( )

An extremely enjoyable read, though I felt as if I dipped into it periodcally, rather than a straight through reading. Considering the only other Thoreau I read was the highly confusing to my high school brain essay on Civil Disobdience (it might resonant more now...), this was truly delightful. I had a sense of how little the Cape has changed in some ways, the shore and the ocean remain the same, even as it is full of strip malls and over built houses. It reminded me of how lovely it can be.

This book collects essays Thoreau wrote on several trips to Cape Cod and was published after his death. Thoreau's great journeys were rarely far from his home in Concord, and yet the descriptions of every day detail are as if he'd traveled around the world. No more so than his writing about Cape Cod which after a century and a half of time passed sounds like it could've been a journey to Mars. The writing is beautiful whether he's describing a shipwreck, beachcombing, or the people who populate the sand-covered villages. ( )

This includes Thoreau's funniest, and his most plangent writing: plangent, early in "The Shipwreck," where he witnessed the fairly common wreck of a square-rigger from Europe, this one from Ireland. I do conflate this shipwreck with the one that took the life--and the great MS on Garibaldi-- of Margaret Fuller. That would, of course, have been later in the century.
Because the storm had shut down the Provincetown ferry from Boston, Thoreau took a train to Cape Cod, and on the way, at Cohasset on the South Shore there was a shipwreck (the St John from Galway, Ireland), with bodies washed ashore, and awaiting relatives trying to identify them. A touching, resonant scene, among Thoreau's finest writing. "I witnessed no signs of grief, but there was a sober dispatch of business which was affecting."
On the other hand, the Wellfleet Oysterman is hilarious. Thoreau and his companion find a cottage willing to put them up for the night. But not knowing their character, the landlord with such chance guests locked them in their room. This common practice was done. When breakfast was prepared, Thoreau observed the landlord spitting on the fire near the eggs; his companion thought it was nearer the oatmeal. Each, of course, chose his preference according to their conflicting observations. ( )