September 12, 1991 - A Sojourn to the Sands of MontaukC8 The Suffolk Times • September 12, 1991
A Sojourn to the Sands of Montauk
By Paul Stoutenburah
I could hear the surf faintly from our
campsite as the great sea spent its end-
less energy along the beach past the
great dune barrier to our south. We'd
been camping at Montauk and I was
taking an early morning walk. The sun
had risen on a clear, cool morning
typical of September. There wasn't a
cloud in the sky. As I emerged from our
tent I was amazed to find my bare feet
dry as I walked through the grass;
usually Montauk's weather carries a
heavy dew each morning. I'd walk
through the sleeping campsites to the
john and then out to the beach that lured
me.
The camp was still asleep with only
one or two bleary-eyed men groping for
their fishing tackle in hopes of getting a
few blues they thought might be run-
ning along the beach. They'd already
missed the best part of the day for fish-
ing.
Cutting through the dune walk to the
ocean beach the noise of the surf
became more prominent. Now I could
hear the individual waves crashing on
the beach, their charges never ending.
The rugged dune grass now had its tall
seed heads telling me the end of summer
was near at hand. This rugged dune
grass has the ability to keep growing
even though the drifting sands swirl
about and try to bury it. This is their
role in creating dunes that protect the
entire south shore of our island. Here
the dunes are 15 feet tall.
The Fruit of the Rose
The squat - shaped rose hips from the
Focus on
Nature
rosa rugosa rose shown red -orange and I
was tempted to pick one and taste its
puckery fruit. In olden days a bucket of
these on a long sea voyage could have
prevented scurvy, for they are rich in vi-
tamin C. The beach was almost de-
serted, the exception being a few scat-
tered surf fishermen, who endlessly
reeled in and tossed out their silvery
lines. Outside of them, there were only
the gulls scouring the bathing beach
where some untidy vacationer had left a
few potato chips or perhaps a discarded
sandwich.
My bare feet immediately felt the
coolness of the sand. The upper beach
was now out of reach of the great ocean,
last passing over it when Hurricane Bob
tried to tear away the dunes a few weeks
ago. Since then it had played its endless
game a hundred feet at the sea edge
where I was walking. Here the tide
dropped and left a new and unblemished
beach where only water had left its
mark.
Now my feet felt the firmness of
moist, packed sand. It was easier walk-
ing. The charging surf lay six feet down
a sloping, smooth beach. There were no
traces of man. I could have been walk-
ing on a beach that the Indians once
tread. There were tiny holes everywhere,
almost like those that some clams
make. But no, these were air holes, and
if you watched the receding surf closely,
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Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
ROSE HIPS —These reddish - orange fruits follow the flowers of the
salt -spray rose found along our shores. They are rich in vitamin C and
are often used in making jams and jellies.
you could see them bubbling up. As the
water settles around the grains of sand,
little air pockets are pushed out in these
central openings, giving the beach a
dimpled effect.
Sparkling Morning Ocean
There were also footprints of the last
receding wave as the tide went out.
From the very top to the now churning
surf there were tiny raised ridges of sand
left by the last wave. Here and there a
bit of seaweed or bits of lost and forgot-
ten flotsam lay high and dry. I walked
toward the sun, the sea sparkling ahead
of me with its golden pathway leading
across the sea to the horizon on my
right. A far -off fishing boat was the
only object I saw on the entire ocean
before me.
Then to my left, over the pines in the
background, came a darting figure of a
hawk. It dropped down behind the dunes
but I new it would soon appear, for it
was heading right for me. I stood mo-
tionless in hopes of getting a full view
of it, but it must have seen something
and swerved, coming up over the dune
to my left. On and on it came, pumping
effortlessly low, over and out to sea.
This is the start of hawk migration time
and the barrier beach of our south shore
is one of their favorite routes.
I thought it was a Coopers hawk for
it seemed a bit larger than a sharpie.
The sun was against me as it darted over
the water and I almost lost it in the
darkness of the sea. But no, up it flew
above the horizon, chasing a small
white bird I saw dart to one side and
escape. On it drove now, again
temporarily lost over the dark ocean.
But again it rose, this time in pursuit of
a small flock of shorebirds. They too
wheeled and moved as one; the hawk
flew on. I lost it in the offshore haze of
water and distance. Evidently there were
no weaklings in that flock, but I'm
sure, sooner or later, breakfast will
come to that determined predator on his
way south.
Our Magnificent Beach
I sat on the beach, drinking in the
wonder of this magnificent area that
runs from Montauk Point practically to
the Narrows of New York, a hundred
miles away. Few beaches can rival these
endless sheets of pure sand and sea. As I
became mesmerized by the sea and the
exhilaration around me, a flock of
sanderlings, those tiny shorebirds that
run up and down the beach pursuing
each wave, settled near me. There were
about 25 of them, all busy poking with
their sewing - machinelike bills for
worms or tiny crustaceans that live in
the turbulence of the moving sand and
surf.
They had already been to the far north
tundra and nested and were now heading
south for their winter vacation in the
Caribbean and parts of South America.
What difficulties they encounter could
probably fill a book. Each year their
survival, like so many others, becomes
more and more of a narrowing game.
Will our world someday turn into one
of only starlings and gulls, the
scavengers of man? My concern is real,
but for now I am enjoying the spoils of
camping at Montauk.
Join 4 -H 11
Suffolk County 4 -H programs are
open to kids ages five to 19. Kids can
learn about food and nutrition; ani-
mal science; human development
and family studies; gardening; lead-
ership development and more
through hands -on projects. To find
out more about joining a club or or-
ganizing one, call Cornell Coopera-
tive Extension at 727 -7850.