November 30, 1989 - A Howling Hawk From the Northwest014 The Suffolk Times • November 30, 1989
A Howling Hawk From the Northwest
By Paul Stoutenburah
That was some change in the weather
we had last week and the wind that ac-
companied it was the most drag atic I've
seen and heard since the Last turricane
passed through. I was watching the "Art
of the Western World" series on televi-
sion when I heard this tremendous roar.
It could have been a truck or even a far -
off train. It was so strange and com-
pelling that I got up to see what it was
and was dumbfounded to find it was the
wind howling in the trees above. That
was no ordinary howl but a wind that
had gusts of 60 -70 mph. I turned the
spotlight on that floods our backyard
and rain, limbs, nuts and leaves were
being hurled across the lawn as the trees
bent under the weight of the wind press-
ing in from above. I believe we were on
the edge of a tornado.
Dramatic changes in temperature were
occurring and our 50- degree weather was
on its way down to the freezing mark as
a huge cold mass pushed in from
Canada. All that night the wind tore
through the treetops. It was a real
winter storm. I hoped it wasn't an
indicator of weather to come.
The following day the wind kept up
and poured out of the northwest. Leaves
once anchored were swept across the
open spots and piled in the bushes,
fence rows and behind buildings. 'I knew
this wind would be a moving force in
relation to the water in our bays and
creeks. It would be one of those days
that the water would be literally blown
out, leaving the flats and shore lines
drastically exposed. It would be a good
time for exploring this new -found terri-
tory. I might check some of my favorite
spots for oysters, soft clams and maybe
a few hard clams thrown in.
All was lined up for an outing with
hip boots, clam rake and my old wire
basket. The temperature hovered around
30 degrees so that meant extra bundling
up. Each came out of its particular hid-
ing place: the boots from the garage,
the gloves from their special drawer in
the shop, sweaters and jacket from the
closet and a new warm down - quilted hat
I'd picked up at a special sale during the
summer for just such an occasion.
Old Hickory, Too
My tide clock said it would be low
about one or two. Just as I bundled up
and headed out the door the dog got up
and came towards me. "You wouldn't
leave me home ?" his big sad eyes pro-
claimed. I was planning to but I'm
afraid I melted under his stare. "Okay,
let's go. Get into the truck." And Hick-
� Planning
A holiday
Party?
Let
Little Joe's
elp!
Focus on
Nature
ory, our old dog, alive with new vigor
was soon down the path waiting at the
truck. There was no holding him now.
As I drove down the road alongside
the creek I could see the tide had dropped
well below normal and the shoreline
was extended 30 or more feet out into
the water and soft mud. It was going to
be a good day for exploring around the
creek. My first stop was in a cove
where I thought there should be some
soft clams. And sure enough, with the
tide so far out, it exposed the shore with
the characteristic holes in the sand
where these succulent shellfish lived
below.
There is a technique in digging soft
clams because of their soft shells as the
name implies. If you're not careful
you'll break them and, of course, then
they'll be worthless for they'll be full
of sand and shell. The trick is to dig a
large hole just at the edge of where you
want to get your clams and then let the
sides cave in, exposing them. I did this
and sure enough there they were with
their long syphons still extended to the
surface. It is these syphons that squirt
water up as you pass by that give them
another, less delicate name.
It was cold but the rubber gloves I
had on protected my hands and soon I
was using my hands more than the rake.
The hole got bigger and bigger and
more and more clams kept falling from
the sides; it was somewhat like picking
potatoes. I soon had a mess, washed
them off thoroughly and proceeded
along the edge. I tried working this
new -found edge with my rake, picking
up a few hard clams here and there, but I
wasn't having too much luck. I did pull
up a small dogfish who moved
sluggishly on the cold mud. I'd
disturbed him from his winter's sleep.
The adults are usually found in old cans,
under logs and small dugouts in the
sand or mud where they wait patiently
for some fish or crab to swim by. I'm
told they defend their nesting site like a
tiger and, once the eggs are laid, stand
by until the young are able to swim
free.
Seagulls and Spider Crabs
Then came a few spider crabs. These
long - legged, odd - looking crabs also
were sluggish in movement for they,
too, were- in the mud asleep for the
Photo by Paul Stoutenburgt
HERRING GULL —As winter moves in and as things start to freeze up,
feeding becomes difficult for all our bird population. Here a gull waits his
turn to feed on leftovers.
winter. I'd leave them for the seagulls
that eyed my work from across the way.
Spider crabs, by the way, are one of the
predators of small clams and scallops
and so I felt it was all right to leave
them for the gulls to feed on. I even got
a small whelk as I scratched along the
edges with my rake.
Now I'd try for some oysters. When I
was a kid our creeks had oysters all
along their banks. Today there'; only a
sprinkling of them left. It's too had for
in those days you could pick a bucketful
in 10 minutes. It's remarkable how our
world has changed through the years.
All the time I was out the wind roared
THE BEST CHINESE FOOD ON THE NORTH FORK
Closing December 3rd
(aftr dinner)
We would like to thank all our loyal custom-
ers for theirpatronage during the year. Happy
Holidays... see you in March 19901
Main Road, Southold • 765 -3555 I
and bent the now -brown thatch grass
almost to the ground. In great gusts the
wind would create rolling waves of
grass. Small waves in the water would
have their tops blown off and my
glasses would soon become coated with
spray. The wind tore at my clothes and
my long - handled clam rake acted like a
weather vane, twisting in the gusts al-
most out of my hand.
The dog sniffed all along the
shoreline leaving his usual dog sign
saying "I've been here" on a bit of grass
or bush. The wind worked over his long
soft hair almost as if some giant hand
was brushing it. Every once in a while
he'd walk the water's edge, look out at a
small flock of bufflehead that were
feeding and stare in some sort of trance.
Perhaps he was sensing some long -past
history of instincts where his ancestors
were used for retrieving ducks, but then
that was another age.
I got a few oysters. Just enough for a
taste. The water ran out of my eyes; the
wind drove and tried to tell me to go
home. It was a wild and beautiful world,
one few ever have the privilege of wit-
nessing. By now the sun was starting to
set and what once were billowing white
clouds took on a mud -grey look of cold
winter. I thought of the great blue heron
I'd seen as I came down the road. He
stood knee -deep in water out of the wind
under the protection of a bank. The wa-
ter was too muddy and he'd have to go
without food tonight. A chill ran
through me. It was time to h-eAo (I Jttg.,