May 25, 1989 - An Ancient and Magical Mating Game' B16 The Suffolk Times • May 25, 1989
An Ancient and Magical Mating Game
By Paul Stoutenburah
Come with Barbara and me to a ritual
almost as old as time itself. It's
performed best when the moon is full
and the world of spring has started with
new life and greenery. Unfortunately,
today in some places it no longer
endures for modern man has destroyed
its actors through careless destruction of
their habitat.
We went to the creek where as kids
we spent many a day swimming. The
channel was deep there for it rushed past
two sandy points of land. It made an
ideal place to run and jump into the
cool, clear water that drew us like
magnets. It was those carefree days of
youth that passed without the slightest
thought of a schedule and summers were
meant for boyhood adventures of all
sorts. It was a time when blowfish were
so abundant that a bucket of them could
be caught off the end of any dock along
the bay. A piece of string, a small hook
and bait — whatever you had from
clams to squashed mussels, from bought
squid or worms to a piece of candy or
bubble gum. We even jigged for them
just by lowering a bare hook, then
picking it up and snagging those big,
beautiful green -eyed dirigible- shaped
blowfish.
When you got your squirming fish up
on the dock, it would first belch out
mouthfuls of water and then proceed to
pump itself up with air. We'd pick them
up and scratch their bellies until they
became as round as a baseball and
almost as hard. Then, in boyish
ignorance, we would often bounce them
on the dock where they sometimes
would veer overboard, only to deflate
and swim away apparently unaffected by
the harsh treatment of young boys.
Fishing Years Ago
But that's not the real story I have to
tell. I first became acquainted with this
orgy of horseshoe crab renewal when I
was very young and the weakfish were
running in our creek. As dusk came over
the land I would trail along behind my
dad down to the "point" near our home.
Our adventure as kids started when the
dim light of the kerosene lamp threw a
glow of wonder around its small circle
of light. At that time it seemed to be
the center of the world for my young
mind.
Within that glow would be fatherly
images dressed in old clothes and shiny
wet boots. Then there would be the
whirling hand lines that would go round
and round until they were let go and
Focus on
Nature
disappeared into the darkness. There'd be
an interval of time that gave you an
inkling of how far out the line had
traveled before you heard it "plunk" in
the water. Then the line would be drawn
tight and the waiting process would
begin.
It was during this waiting time we
kids would search the beach for the
annual arrival of the horseshoe crabs
that seemed to come from nowhere to
lay their eggs in the shallow waters. It
is this ancient pilgrimage that I took
Barbara to witness.
I'd put a new flash attachment on my
camera and wanted to see if I could
capture this dramatic scene on film. We
left the house about nine o'clock and
only found a few small males patrolling
the water just off the spot where I'd seen
them years before. I was disappointed
but the tide was not yet full. Everything
else was perfect. The moon was rising
with its orange -yellow glow that would
change later on our return and flood the
quiet, glassy waters with a new and
sparkling light.
Second Trip Successful
Our early effort was not wasted for the
magic of the night as we walked along
the lonely beach in the full moon
seemed to awaken even in our bodies
some old and ancient feelings. Was it
the moon that helped trigger the urge in
these denizens of the deep? Was it the
"spring tides" that cause their roamings
of the high beach, or could it be the
warming of the waters that plays such
an important role in awakening so many
dwellers of the deep?
Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
HORSESHOE CRABS —Each year about this time horseshoe crabs
come to our shores to lay their eggs and then disappear for another
year.
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At home we read while the hours
slipped by until it was time again to go.
We wanted to hit flood tide. By now the
countryside was asleep and few cars were
on the road as we made our way toward
the moonlit creek that from ancient
times had lured the horseshoe crabs to
its shores. By now the moon was high
and smothered the land in its new and
mystic light. As we walked toward the
beach, the sweet smell of blossoms
filled the air. We were walking into an
enchanted land, hoping to witness one
of nature's strange yet wonderful
happenings. There wasn't the slightest
ripple on the mirrored water where a
ribbon of a thousand silvery steps led
across the boy toward the moon. The
spring tide had brought the waters well
past the normal high -tide range. The
stage was set.
Crabs Everywhere
Walking along the bay toward the
mouth of the creek you could see small,
male horseshoe crabs scurrying along
the beachfront, presumably in pursuit of
something. Then, as we turned around
the point, for four - hundred feet we could
see and actually hear the event we had
come to observe. Horseshoe crabs were
everywhere. Small males rushing about,
huge females half -buried in the soft sand
with piggyback males trailing behind
and a frenzy of activity wherever you
looked. The water seemed to boil with
excitement and bubbles began to cover
the surface.
Under the female small, aqua - colored
eggs were being deposited in the sand
and males were fertilizing them. In
some orgies we could see five, six,
sometimes even 10 anxious males
climbing and rushing over the
submerged female, trying to get into the
act. The mass of moving crabs would
sometimes bulge right out of the water
and you could hear their shells grinding
as they moved about.
All this activity was performed in the
high -tide area where nature's nursery
would warm the eggs and ready them for
hatching later. Then, in one month,
when the spring tide, egged on by
another full moon, will once again flood
the area, the young hatchlings will be
free to make their way into a new and
beckoning world.
We stood there in awe, witnesses to
this moonlight spectacle that has been
going on for over 200 million years.
We talked in whispers. "It's time to
go," I said. The next day the only sign
of this primeval visit would be a few
tracks left in the sand.
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