The next morning some of us are up at 4:30AM.
Its been raining hard all night and the looming clouds overhead are still dark with moisture and the prospects of yet another rainstorm.
Although most of the camp is still asleep, many GE&S participants are crawling out of their cabins and into a caravan of cars for a short ride to nearby Reed’s Beach and the prospects of a mass spawning.
On the way, we rub our eyes, sip carafes of warm coffee, and share anecdotes while bouncing along the back roads of rural
New Jersey.
One young lady tells the story of a memorable day at nearby
Higbee Beach – a well-known birding spot in the
Cape May area.
She had gone there to view some of the local shorebirds and while walking along the beach she began to notice that nobody was wearing any clothes (unbeknownst to her,
Higbee Beach was, at that time, a nude sunbathing beach).
She figured, “What the heck,” and continued down the beach keeping her eyes peeled for various species of feathered friends.
The day was hot, she was sweaty, and so she finally decided “When in
Rome….”
She doffed all her clothes at the far end of the beach and leaped into the water to cool down.
While splashing in the surf, a man happened to walk down the beach…a very naked man…and sat down next to her clothes.
He waited (“Oh boy, a new recruit,” he may have been thinking to himself.)!
The young lady, now embarrassed, stayed in the water as long as she could – her skin taking on the consistency of a well-seasoned prune.
The naked man did not leave (I’m no authority, but perhaps perpetually nude people are more patient than the rest of us).
Finally, now completely chilled, the young lady decided to exit the water and pick up her clothes (first exchanging greetings with the man as is only proper when two naked strangers meet each other for the first time on a
New Jersey beach
).
After a few pleasantries (“Hi, you new here?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Would you be interested in playing a game of volleyball?”
“No, not really – thanks anyway.”) she retired behind an appropriately placed sand dune where she quickly re-robed.
She never did see the birds she had come for, but I think she would agree that there is a lot of interesting wildlife along the beaches of the
Garden State.
Upon our arrival at Reed’s Beach we discover an incalculable army of seagulls overhead - squawking like crazy.
The gulls, like us, are awaiting the arrival of the horseshoe crabs and all their eggs.
Although it’s mid-May the beach is a cold and windy expanse of sand filled with black and white bodies bobbing and weaving along the shoreline.
Gulls are dancing along the edge of the waves fighting for territory or guarding the precious tiny plots they have secured in anticipation of arriving crabs.
Birds are also bobbing just beyond the wave line as long strands of seaweed ebb and flow across the surface.
To the dismay of the birds, and the small group of crab-ologists watching this morning, there is not a single horseshoe crab in sight on this vast and lonely beach.
Part of the beach is cordoned off with long lines of yellow rope.
Behind this artificial and presumably temporary barrier is a most prominent sign:
Please stop here. Please view shorebirds from the designated viewing area. This is an important shorebird feeding and resting area during May and June. Shorebirds stop in Delaware Bay to regain weight before continuing their migration north to Arctic nesting grounds. They must feed almost constantly to survive, migrate and rest. This is a critical shorebird beach. Please help protect it. Harassing shorebirds is illegal and subject to prosecution and fines under NJSA23:2A-6,10.
Along with all the legal dictates there are illustrations of four shorebirds including the Red Knot, Ruddy Turnstone, Sanderling, and Semi-palmated Sandpiper.
We wait…patiently…for the crabs to surface.
But this is not to be their day.
The surf is rough, the morning is rougher, and the conditions are less than ideal for crabs to spawn.
Consequently, they remained in the protective waters of
Delaware Bay.
Perhaps their yearly pilgrimage over the centuries has imbued them with a bit of knowledge – a bit of knowledge far superior to the early morning remnants possessed by the dozen of us wrapped in coats and shielded from the offshore winds whipping across the water.
In many ways, they were far wiser than we.
We return to our cabins, grab our gear, and head back to The Wetlands Institute.
After breakfast we are guided through a rapid series of workshops on horseshoe crab management, environmental concerns, and shoreline configurations in
Delaware Bay.
We gather up a vast collection of maps, diagrams, posters, CDs, LAL vials, brochures, horseshoe crab molts and other classroom materials.
Business cards are exchanged, e-mails are traded, and goodbyes are said.
Like the crabs we learned about this weekend; we all migrate to another place, another shore.
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