HomeMy WebLinkAboutOctober 20, 1977 - A Fall Walk In Orientfocus on nature by
Paul Stoutenburgt A
Fall Walk In Orient With
every weekend filled with storm and rain,
this fall one has to grab a few good days
when you can. One such day came along
last week when the sun came out and the
wind swung to the northwest to bring cool,
clear air —the kind that let's you know fall
is here. In
anticipation of this kind of day, I had brought
along my camera in hopes of get- ting
some good fall pictures. My destination was
Orient State Park, probably the greatest '
place to get away from it all in Southold
Town. There is no other area that quite
compares with this unique barrier beach
stretching along Gardiners Bay in what
seems to be true wilderness. Outside
of the road that leads to the parking
lot and the modest buildings, there is
little sign of man for two miles or more. Getting
out of the car, I was greeted by a small
flock of juncos, newly arrived from their
breeding grounds up north. These ground
feeders were harbingers of the coming
winter. But for today, the sun shone bright
and clear and there was a warmth that
gave me new spirit as I headed west along
the water's edge. Off
to the southeast lay dreamy Gardiners Island
and to the southwest, Shelter Island another
Island paradise of a different sort. This
beach is a stony one. Each stone has been
worn round and smooth by eons of time that
has worked, tumbled, ground and polished
the stones so they have become like marbles
underfoot. The secret to walking here
was to seek out the sandier wet spots as close
to the edge as possible. Here it was firmer
and nothing could slow me now. I had a
new surge of adrenalin flowing through my
body and each step seemed to spring me on.
Just
past the open section by the con- cession
area there were lingering shore birds
feeding along the water's edge. How fortunate
they have this area to rest and recuperate
before they continue their migration
down to some place in South America.
Some will go as far as Argentina. Black-
bellied plovers, sanderlings and turnstones
took off in front of me, only to wheel
in tight formation around the bend, land
and start feedinja again. At
my feet were a wide variety of shells. The
jingle shells with their translucent yellow
and orange colors caught the af- ternoon
sun and almost seemed to radiate, accentuating
their colors. But of all the shells
on the beach the common boat shell, quarter
deck or the name most people know them
by, the slipper shell was most prevalent.
In some parts of the beach, there were
literally more shells than stones. The sea
had piled them in clusters. This clustering
or sectioning of shells, sand or stone
is quite common along our beaches and
is due to their different weights. It's like separating
the chaff from the grain by letting
the wind blow the chaff away and the heavier
grain getting caught below. The
tide was out and I noticed an off -shore bar
with its accompanying row of seagulls and
beyond it quiet water. All along its edge were
live slipper shells, one on top of the other,
sometimes as many as five or six clinging
piggy back. Each
boat shell is in its lifetime first male then
female. In the chains of attached shells those
at the bottom of the chain are always females,
the upper animals males. All
this reminded me of how good these are
to eat, and so I took time out to pull a dozen
or so off their hosts with my pocket knife
and ate them raw. They have a delicate
taste and to my way of thinking are superior
even to our clams on the half shell. I'
m sure, in time, these choice morsels will find
a place on many a table. By
now I was parallel to the cedars that are
so characteristic of the beach. The dead ones
standing out stark and beautiful in their
silvery gray coat the winds and salt had
given them. They have a special elegance
all their own. The inner red cedar
wood is almost indestructible by the elements.
Stumps, probably over a hundred years
old, lay half buried at the water's edge.
Others were actually out in the bay ten or
twenty feet, vouching for the slow migration
of this spit of land to the north. In
back of these guardians of the beach was
the beach grass dotted with clumps of seaside
goldenrod. It's remarkable how resistant
this plant can be under the stress and
strain of wind and salt. Here and there were
the -lone white blossom tufts of high tide
bush. Soon the flowers will fade and the air
will be filled with down of this season's bush.
To
add to the fall color was poison ivy changing
from its common green to blazing yellows
and reds. It's a handsome plant this time
of year with colorful leaves and whitish -
gray berries. Later when all the leaves
have fallen from the plants, the berries
could be mistaken by the novice for bayberry
that abounds here in the park. The
day had brought many fair weather fishermen
out and boats were working along the
beach. What could they be catching so close
to the shore and on the bottom? Probably
late flounders, fat and firm, ready for
winter's rest. There were two pound nets along
the beach. One with a scarecrow on it ors
ould I say a "scare cormorant ?" At any rate,
it was working as the other net was lined
with black, gawky cormorants. Two or three
were hanging their wings out to dry in their
usual fashion, a sign they had just been fishing
and probably in the net. Seeing they do
not have oil in their feathers, like ducks and
geese, they must resort to drying out whenever
they enter the water. By
now I had reached the ruins of the old fish
factory. Huge round cement discs; six feet
in diameter lay at the edge of the water. What
device had these early fishermen used these
concretions for? Further along was a massive
stone brick and cement foundation eight
feet or so in height. I climbed up this and
surveyed the area, wondering about the dreams
and disappointments of the men who
worked so hard here so long ago. This was
the era of the bunkers, when the bays were
black with huge schools of fish. Seldom do
we see this any more. Oil and fertilizer were
made from these. The counterpart of this
factory is over at Promised Land on the south
shore. But there, too, it has past into uselessness.
The fish just aren't around any more.
Perhaps this is a warning of things to come
if we don't change our thinking. Natural
resources whether they be from the
sea, the land or the air are becoming less and
less. It's time we started to earnestly think
this dilemma out and act intelligently before
it's too late. Next
time we'll journey back along the inner
bay at Orient.)
SLIPPERSHELL...
attached to
two
strands
of
codium
shown
opened after