The arctic breath of Boreas, god of winter, sweeps in on a frozen wind. It hangs in the air like crystals from the Great White North. Jagged ice floes creak and groan their way onto Gurnet Road, pushing up and over the street from all sides, making it nearly impassable. The "road" is the only traverse along Duxbury Beach, Massachusetts. The sands of this peninsula, a narrow, 10-kilometer-long barrier beach 65 km southeast of Boston, are nowhere in sight. They're buried under the two meters of snow that have fallen this January. More ice and snow obscure the entrance to the Powder Point, or Gurnet, Bridge, which crosses Duxbury Bay and leads to the beach. The 1892 bridge is a teeth-rattling washboard as we bump across it in Norman Smith's truck, then crunch-slide down Gurnet Road.
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