Icebergs cracking up in Antarctica, global hacking, robo-calls, a certain U.S. President: not a lot of reason for optimism lately, but in Aquinnah there is finally something to cheer about. It’s the Philbin boardwalk.

Philbin boardwalk: a plain name like the Gay Head light. Low key. No donor’s name or product endorsement. Forget your clever High Line.

The boardwalk is 360 feet long and straight as an arrow. Graceful and floating 30 inches high. Other boardwalks get swamped by drifts of sand. This one’s above it all and meticulously designed. Instead of driving timber stakes into the fragile wetlands, there are clever butterfly pin supports bracing it, and since it’s raised, water can migrate underneath it. It’s not your standard three feet wide, but five. Wide enough for a wheelchair or for a couple to walk hand in hand. Less a schlep, more a promenade.

Most other Vineyard boardwalks are pine or cedar. Philbin is a rich brown mahogany which means it’s longer lasting, won’t splinter, will age gracefully, and like most of us, turn gray over time. The boardwalk is exquisitely sensitive to its surroundings and provides the long, diminishing perspective. While the posts are concealed underneath, there’s nothing apologetic about it. And the toe rails provide just the right touch. “Like a Japanese garden,” said Sarah Thulin. “ It fits in with its environment. It just works.”

This is not the product of any Boardwalk Empire or boardroom, but rather an army of the determined: Ms. Thulin, who chaired the Philbin Beach boardwalk committee, Adam Wilson at town hall who handled the bidding process, Jay Smalley and Frank Perez at public works. Can’t forget Todd Vanderhoop who did the brush cutting, committeemen Tom Murphy and Larry Holht, Chris Alley for the survey and design work, the engineers Schofield, Barbini and Hoehn, the selectmen and townspeople of Aquinnah who put up the $85,000, Cottle’s for — what else — lumber. And of course, there’s Steve Ewing of Aquamarine Dock Builders. “This one’s the longest straight boardwalks I’ve ever built,” Steve said. He also admitted: “At first I didn’t want the job. It was April, my busy season, but I’ve always liked doing jobs for the general public.”

Such a transcendent experience — to be 30 inches above terra not so always firma as you walk to the beach. You feel elevated. You are, for that matter. Maybe it’s because there’s this whole different perspective from a whole new angle, looking down into a habitat of wetlands. Rather than dodging poison ivy and thorny fox grapevines, you become lost in a world of beach roses and grass, clumps of heath, sedge, clethra and viburnum. You wonder what the red and purple berries would taste like, but they’re probably poisonous. So instead you take a picture of a plant with tiny fragrant creamy flowers. Thanks to the miracle of smartphones, you later identify it as a sweet pepperbush.

Of course, some beachgoers see the glass as half-empty. ”Nothing should spoil our wetlands,” one middle-aged woman complained. A few others argued they’d miss the view from the old path at the top of the hill. “It was dramatic and spectacular,” a man pointed out. A 10-year old boy said he’d miss jumping down the old dune and rolling down the sand. But they are a distinct minority and are free to trudge up the old path any time they feel nostalgic. It’s still open.

Everybody else in Aquinnah seems ecstatic. Superlatives abound. “It’s easier on the knees, easier on the environment, the greatest thing since sliced bread, this series of sliced boards,” declared Mache Seibel.

“I was astonished!” said Julia Kempelman, whose dog Gwen, a five-year old Scottish border collie, expressed her enthusiasm by diving off the boardwalk into the wetlands below.

Taking it all in, another woman exclaimed: “I am thrilled and proud of everyone who made this happen.” Another woman said, “Terrific!” Another described it as “a pathway to heaven.”

Ian Campbell, age eight, was struck by “the good texture of the wood.”

Mike, age 10, said: “It’s so much shorter!”

Taylor and Sarah Ives stood midway on the boardwalk. “I have a special feeling toward the old path. Taylor proposed to me on it,” Sarah said with a grin, pointing in its direction. “And I’m pregnant now, on this new path.”

Mitzi Pratt noted the boardwalk “completely changes the approach to the beach. Instead of trudging up the sand dune and being rewarded by that first glimpse of the ocean and the happy descent to it, this way is not all about the beach. The struggle through burning sand can make the water all the more delicious but the pace on smooth wood boards over marsh grasses can be meditative and serene. And we have a choice!”

Some, however, were losing their choices. Over the years, as the old path grew steeper and steeper, it had been growing harder, even impossible, for older beachgoers, to make the climb. Many had to give up entirely. “It was just too strenuous,” a woman in her 70s acknowledged. Another woman carrying a baby, gazed out at a cloudless sky and said: “My parents couldn’t make it and now they can.”

Then there is Allen Polsby. Since 1955, he had walked to Philbin Beach, but in 2014 he developed back trouble and was unable to negotiate the path. “The sand was soft and deep and we thought we’re not going to be able to keep on doing this,” his wife Gail remarked. Three Philbinless years went by. “For years, it was our favorite place to walk and when I heard about the new boardwalk, I said, you know I think he can make it with his walker,” she added.

So they decided to brave the new boardwalk. Allen found the toe railing on each side of the walk reassuring. “Psychologically you feel protected by them,” he explained. “You can’t go over the edge.”Finally, they made it to Philbin Beach. I never thought I’d return,”Allen said. “It was awesome.”

Allen is not alone. Last Sunday, on a perfect beach day, a man who looked to be in his eighties, paused halfway up the boardwalk. “I never thought I’d live to see the day,” he said. “To see Philbin again.”

Ted Sutton lives in Newton and Aquinnah.