September 2, 1999 - Destination: Fishers IslandSA • The Suffolk Times • September 2, 1999
Destination: Fishers Island
A good friend of mine invited my
son and me to sail with him to Fishers
Island last week. It would be just for
one night, but if all went well, we'd
have two days of sailing and that
would be just right, for I had to be
back for a Wednesday -night meeting
at the
Hallockville
Museum Farm. Focus
We packed
sleeping bags, ON
food and drink NATURE
and a few good- by Paul
ies to keep our Stoutenburgh
energy up
throughout the
trip. By 8 o'clock we were ready to
head out of Schoolhouse Creek in
New Suffolk. Today this unique little
creek is lined with pleasure boats,
both sail and motor. They're a far cry
from the days of the party boats when
weakfish was king and cars lined the
roadside with anxious fishermen
eager to get aboard their favorite boat
for a day's fishing in Peconic Bay.
It was in those early '30s that party
boats with their spacious sterns for
fishing would line up at Rose's Grove
in such numbers that from a distance
they looked like an invasion fleet in
miniature. Each of the party boats
would have a "chum line" going to
draw the fish in. Shrimp from our
local creeks provided the chum. In
those days you were always guar-
anteed fish.
As we passed along the slips with
their sleeping boats awaiting the week-
end action, we could still see a few of
the old scallop shacks nestled back
under the trees, reminders of another
glorious day when scallops were com-
mon in the bay. It was a time when eel
grass flourished and many of the party
fishing boats would double as scallop -
ers during the off season. It was a time
when baymen prospered and New
Suffolk hummed with activity.
Just before we reached the mouth
of the creek we noticed the ripple of
water made by a school of small
bunkers. These silvery fish are nur-
tured in our local bays and creeks
during the summer months. Then as
we moved along I saw the familiar
burst of water as snappers, baby blue-
fish, charged in trying to catch a meal.
Then the waters would calm down
and once again the familiar ripple of
the school would reform and move
on. This was the proving ground for
the snappers that would grow into the
fierce, aggressive bluefish that would
later cause terror to all that came in
their path.
The sun shone brightly on a
sparkling bay but the wind we were
hoping for was missing. No matter, it
was good to be out in the fresh air
with good companions. Nassau Point,
Jessups, Paradise Point all slipped by,
the only sound being,the continuous
putt -putt of the little
diesel that kept us
moving along at
about six knots.
I perked up as we
entered the channel
between Shelter
Island and the North
Fork for here, jutting
out from the north
shore, is Conkling
Point, a sanctuary for
nesting least terns and
piping plovers. My
binoculars scanned
the beach and I could
see birds there.
Hopefully someday
this will become a
permanent sanctuary
for these endangered
species. Ahead, as we
moved along, we
could see the Shelter
Island ferry scurrying
back and forth
between Greenport
and the island. Still we
had little wind, so we
pushed on using the
motor. Bug Light was
now on our port side
and we were in
Gardiners Bay. We
motored east along
Orient Beach State
Park and passed the "Gut" and then
Plum island. To our south the old
"ruins" stood like a forgotten ship.
Once this early fort was connected to
Gardiners Island by a long sand spit.
Today it's isolated, surrounded by
water.
Our eyes watched for milling terns
over the water, a sign of fish below, but
this was not to be our day for fishing.
Still no wind. We passed Great Gull
Island where the American Museum
of Natural History has a research sta-
tion. The white squares that dot the
island are observation booths where
researchers record the life habits of
these dainty fliers. I remember the
island from years ago when my stu-
dents built a boatload of tern enclo-
sures for the researchers there and
then we took them over. They would
be used to set over a clutch of eggs and
when the tern went into the nest the
door would shut, letting the researcher
grasp the tern and put bands on its legs
for identification. While on the island
the students and I were invited to tour
for them to take over. The cormorant
population has exploded everywhere
and there is concern that these relent-
less underwater feeders are cutting
into our already scarce fish resource.
By now, a little breeze had come up
and we sailed into West Harbor and
dropped anchor.
We ate and drank a toast to our
rather uneventful journey and
watched one of the most spectacular
sunsets one could ask for. Here in the
snug harbor were boats from all along
the eastern seaboard. It was a delight-
ful place to "drop a hook." Night soon
Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
Southold's farthest corner east Is Fishers Island. Here at the Island's west end, we see noto-
rious Race Rock that flashes Its red warning to read your charts carefully, as rocks abound
and currents run swiftly.
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the great gun emplacements and slip
down into the deep powder rooms that
took us back to an era when man
relied on surface guns to ward off the
enemy. The island was originally a
fortification to protect the entrance to
Long Island Sound just as Plum Island
and Fishers Island were also fortified.
Today all that is outmoded and mostly
forgotten. As we passed by we ate
peanuts, leaving a trail of empty
degradable husks behind marking our
path, much like Hansel and Gretel did
as they went through the woods.
Still heading east we passed the
famous "Race" where pleasure boats
and party boats were jigging for blue-
fish and stripers. Further along we'd
pass close to Race Rock with its omi-
nous red flashing light telling us from
here on rocks are everywhere, so read
your chart carefully.
We'd anchor south off Dumpling
Island so my son could explore the
shallows with snorkel and mask. The
island was loaded with roosting cor-
morants in the trees. I couldn't see any
nests but it looked like an ideal spot
closed in with its moon above. Each
found his bunk and settled in.
Occasionally a wave from a passing
boat would rock us but outside of that
I remember nothing but a wondrous
sleep.
Twice I'd get up just to peak my
head out to take in the magic of the
place. A mist had spread over our
watery world. Dew dripped from
every surface. The moon had a circle
of hazy pale yellow about it. Anchor
lights from neighboring boats dotted
the harbor. My second "look -see"
found fog had woven a blanket over
us and was claiming everything in its
name. We were isolated on the water,
wrapped up in a cocoon of fog.
By morning fog still controlled the
day, nothing had changed, we lay in
our bunks content. After a late break-
fast the fog started to lose its grip as
the sun burned through. Then about
10 a.m. it lifted and the real world
once again became part of our lives.
Soon the anchor was up and we were
headed home, content with our stay at
Fishers Island.
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