August 09, 1990 - The Swat Team Takes to the SeaC10 The Suffolk Times • August ,9,, .1.990
The Swat Team Takes to the Sea
By Paul Stoutenburah
It was one of those rare summer
nights when the cicadas and katydids
were telling us the next day was going
to be hot. The sun was well on its way
to bed and the coolness of the evening
made us come alive with an urge to do
something before the magic of it all dis-
appeared. It made me think we should
be out on the water but this year we had
not put our sailboat in because we were
busy traveling about and its preparation
and launching just didn't fit into our
plans. But then my son has a boat and I
thought perhaps we could borrow that.
It was such a perfect evening we'd
have to share it with someone. We'll
ask the kids to go. A few spur- of -the-
moment plans were suggested and soon
my daughter and her husband and their
two kids were in the back of the pickup
heading for the boat tied up on a moor-
ing in one of the many unique creeks
we have here on the East End.
Excitement ran high. Unplanned out-
ings always seem to stimulate everyone
no matter what the age. The tide was
almost flood and a white, almost -full
moon shown in the still day -lit sky.
Our outing would not be long — two
hours at the most. But that was fine for
the sun had just about that much time.
By now the wind had dropped and only a
bare ripple etched the mirrored surface of
the water.
Our young grandson, Robby, kept
asking about fishing as this pastime is
what going on boats is all about to
him. "We'll give it a try," I said, as we
rode out to the white hull moored qui-
Focus on
Nature
edy in front of us. There were the usual
parental orders — "Sit down, Robby."
"Wait 'til the boat stops moving." —
and usual chatter between young and old
related to getting aboard. Somehow we
all climbed on the Chelsea Marie and
prepared to take off.
Greenheads Descend
It was no time before the greenhead
flies descended upon us but with two
young grandchildren mounting the fly
swatters that were kept handy they were
well under control. Greenhead flies can
Five quite a bite as they seek that all -
important ingredient, blood, to nourish
their eggs. The wetlands around our
creeks are the breeding spots for these
devils of irritation. Yet only the females
bite; the males are content with the nec-
tar and juices of plants.
Once the female has satisfied her re-
quirements for blood, whether it be your
backside or some animal, she'll lay her
eggs on the stems of a plant in a
marshy area. In a week or 10 days the
eggs will hatch and the larvae will drop
into the mud where they'll spend the
winter foraging for food, only to emerge
in the spring or summer to continue
their tormented cycle.
Another species from the marsh gives
my cow a hard time for every once in a
while she'll stop her lazy grazing out in
the pasture and run hellbent for the
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GREENHEAD —If you are on the beach or in one of our many creeks
on the East End when it's hot and dry, the chances are you'll be
targeted by a greenhead fly.
barn. It's then I know she's been bitten
or there is something buzzing around
her. Greenheads are most prevalent
when the weather is hot and dry,
making it the ideal time for hatching.
There's no better time to see a salt
marsh than at floodtide late in the after-
noon. The low light of that late sun
seems to intensify the green of the salt
marsh grasses and the fresh new water
from the high tide adds a purity that has
to be seen to be realized. It was just
such a late afternoon that we quietly
made our way out into the bay with
only an occasional "There's one" and an
anxious young arm would swing and
sometimes hit its mark. If Sara scored a
hit, she'd very delicately pick it up and
drop it overboard. Of course, Robby
couldn't be bothered. He was off look-
ing for another victim.
Drifting Lazily
By now most of the busy summer
boaters had turned in. There were a few
sailboats drifting lazily about but not
much else. We'd try trolling for snapper
blues but, seeing few indicator birds,
our hopes weren't running too high.
After all, wasn't it more fun to investi-
gate the bunks and galley below? The
kids seemed to think so.
The sun set in a ball of red, and a
cool evening breeze sprang up. Twice
Peg thought she had a fish but each
time we failed to see one as she reeled
in the empty line.
It was such an ideal evening that
speed and the noise of the engine would
have broken the spell; so we idled all
the way home. Lights started to twinkle
around the perimeter as they were turned
on and I'm sure the usual TV sets came
into action. "Can I steer ?" came an in-
quiry which, of course, couldn't be re-
fused. And so, with a light across the
bay to guide him, we had a new young
captain take over the helm on our way
back. It's the simple things that years
later we all recall. It's these
cornerstones that make the person and
give us our goals and direction.
The two inlet buoys that mark the
channel were soon left behind. By now
the moon had built a silvery ladder
across the rippled water. I think we were
all a bit moon struck. We tied up and
got in the dinghy, then headed toward
the dock.
Each time I rowed, the whirl around
the oar whipped up a phosphorescent
green glow. They were the comb jellies
we see when we're swimming during
the daylight hours. They are harmless
and have no stingers but young eyes
were fascinated by them. This was a
new and true adventure for them. For
those of us whose years are slipping by
and yet still have a sense of wonder, it
proved to be a special night for us as
well.
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