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August 15, 1996 - An Illuminating Snorkel in the SoundIBA • The Suffolk Times • August 15, 1996 An Illuminating Snorkel in the Sound I haven't been snorkeling in the sound recently but with the hot and humid weather, I thought it about time to give it a try. I knew that with the southwest wind it would mean calm weather on the sound. This, coupled with the low tide in the morning, spelled ideal conditions for my underwater visit to this rocky part of our East End that extends along most of our sound shore. Sure enough, the tide was just right — low — and the water clear. Things couldn't have been better for what I wanted to do. Under water, familiar objects came into view but what are those round moving objects on the sandy bottom? I went down and picked one up and knew immediately it was a hermit crab. Then there was another and even another. The last one was in a small whelk shell. Hermit crabs have no shell of their own but have to find a discarded moon snail or whelk shell to call their tempo- rary home. It's temporary because as the hermit crab grows, he has to find a larger shell to accompany his growing body. I dove down close to get a better look at one of them as it stopped and stared at me: big eyes, out on the end of stalks, long fine feelers and large stubby claws in front. Everything else was tucked neat- ly inside the shell. On the outside of the shell was a sort of grayish -brown moss covering that blended in well with the sandy bottom. I'd collect two of these hermit crabs for the saltwater aquarium my daughter keeps for her students. How pleasant and peaceful it was' just swimming along, head under water, breathing through my snorkel. My weight belt was fashioned so I'd just barely float and when I dove down I re- quired little effort. At one place through the green -glass water, I saw a winding track in the sand. I followed its snakelike path for 20 feet or more until I came upon its marker: a whelk. I dove down and picked it up — a channel whelk with its big foot extended for plowing along the bottom. I touched the extended mass and it slowly retracted into its shell, until only its operculum or trap door cover was exposed. Now it could withstand the attacks of most any predator. It was sealed up tight. I thought of taking it home, making a bit of scungilli salad, but one wouldn't be enough and so I let it drop to the bottom. Seaweed Sways in Rhythm Now the sandy bottom changes to stones and boulders covered with a shag- gy assortment of seaweeds (algae) all swaying with the rhythm of the sea. I dove down and inspected them closely. Irish moss I knew from years ago when teach- ing a class of outdoor enthu- siasts. We had collected it and made a sort of vanilla pudding from its extract. If seen in just the right light, there is an iridescent blue reflection from what seems like sequins scattered amongst its leaves; otherwise it is sometimes green, sometimes brown. it has a strong "hold fast" that attaches it to the rocks and I've often grabbed handfuls of it to hold on to a rock when I needed support. There was also sea lettuce, the same as we have in our creeks and bays but not as large. Here the delicate green tissue -paper leaves are ripped off by the surf and cur- rent of the sound before they have a chance to grow into the big sheets we're so used to seeing in our slow- moving waters. There were many other seaweeds of various colors and shapes — some red- dish, some brown, some almost black, others almond - colored — all waving and all attached to the floor below me. The bottom looked, from a distance, like a carpeted fairyland. Along the side of some of the rocks were tiny bergall fish feeding. These little creatures hardly ever venture far from the rocks with their cov- ering of seaweed that gives them protec- tion. Most are killi -size, others will grow four to five, even six inches long. Their whole life is spent scavenging minute particles from around their rocky fortresses. Slowly my feet would work back and forth as I floated on the surface of the water. My vision was of a guest being Focus on Nature by Paul Stoutenburgh 75 Years Ago Aug. 15, 1921 Block Party Planneds The block party, which is on Main Street, Greenport, on Saturday, Aug. 20, to raise funds for a memorial for the men of Greenport who served in the World War, promises to be a great success. All plans and arrangements are progressing wonderfully. Greenport is waking up, and the enthusiasm is intense. The Board of Trustees has pledged its hearty cooperation and has given its consent to holding the party on Main Street, between the Lipman block and Center Street. The block will be closed to traffic after 7 o'clock Saturday evening and any cars wishing to pass through the ropes wilt be requested to pay for the privilege. 50 Years Ago Aug. 16, 1946 For Sale: At Southold —On the water, modern bunga- low, three bedrooms, fireplace, excellent furnishings, approximately one acre of land, immediate occupancy. Owner will sacrifice at $8,500. Uncle Sam Buys Spuds: Thanks to several mil- lions of thirsty Americans, Uncle Sam can pay up to $2.10 a hundred pounds for potatoes, sell them for half that amount or less, and still realize a 700 to 800 percent profit on the deal. Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh HERMIT CRAB The borrowed shell of our hermit crab is only a temporary home, for as it grows it must leave its cramped quarters and find a larger one. Usually these borrowed shells are discarded moon or whelk shells. This photo shows the crab at twice its actual size. shown through an underwater garden. Every once in a while I'd see a big, and sometimes not so big, spider crab walk- ing along on its long legs and awkward - looking long claws. They inspect every bit of seaweed in hopes of finding a morsel to eat. Further along I'd see two, one on top of the other. I'd interrupted their mating game. I almost fell embar- rassed and moved away. Alongside a big rock off shore, I dove down and looked under a glacial erratic and saw a cavelike opening. I'd have to come up for air but descend again for a closer look. While I was there, a small lobster came to the entrance to chal- lenge me. What courage! His claws were in front of him, his little eyes look- ing out on those long tubes and extra - long feelers out in front inspecting, tast- ing or is it smelling the situation? I wished him well and came up for air, clinging to the side of the rock as I gained my breath. I dove again and went around the rock to meet up with a blacker - than -black blackfish. He wanted no part of me and so with speed that resembled being shot out of a cannon, he was off and disap- peared into the green. All along I saw small particles floating in the water. They looked like some sort of plankton. It almost looked like some fine snow falling. I swam on. Then I came across a long strand of monofilament fish line. I followed it to its sinker and hooks. Then there was another one. I followed it. Then I saw a rock crab hopelessly tangled in this almost invisible monofilament. I picked it up and tried to untangle it. Round and round it was wound. Slowly I got it loose and let it float to the bottom. It seemed half dead. I gathered the monofilament up and put it in my bag. It gave me dark thoughts of the multitude of lines, lost lobster pots and lost fish nets that lie at the bottom of the sea throughout the world trapping the innocent. Such death traps to so many unknowns. Along the shore small bluefish (snap- pers) swam by in long lines. I jabbed at them and like an explosion, they burst away. Their reflexes were already in tune for the life ahead of them. School after school moved by, their silvery sides glis- tening in the shallow waters. I came to a boulder that acted as a perch for eight or 10 common terns on top. These birds were resting after for- aging at sea. Many were young. I lifted my face just enough to see them. They were all panting, their mouths wide open. It was hot and they were suffering from the heat. They looked down at me but didn't fly. Was I some sort of seal or unknown fish? I moved in even closer toward them. I was only 10 feet away and I could see metal bands on some of their legs. Per- haps they were banded by Helen Hayes' group out on Gull Island off our East End. It is one of the largest research tern colonies on the eastern seaboard. I was in the water for two hours and had said I'd get back for lunch at 12:30. It was a dreamy day that took little effort and yet once again opened my eyes to the wonderful world below the sound, not in Bermuda, not in Hawaii, but in our own backyard. `The bottom looked, from a distance, like a . carpeted fairyland.' The explanation lies in the heavy excise tax on beverage alcohol, around $16 per gallon, 180 proof. Modern distil- leries can transform 100 pounds of spuds into almost a gal- lon of alcohol, or so say those who are supposed to know something about it. Apparently most of the potato alcohol goes into blended rye whiskey; smaller amounts are used for the manufacture of vodka, which is to the potato what apple jack is to the apple, and for bourbon and gin. 25 Years Ago Aug. 12, 1971 Port Hearing Set: The Greenport Village Board of Trustees announced that the long- sought informational hearing on a proposed commercial port development will be held Aug. 23 at Greenport High School. Calling the informational hearing a "preliminary" meet- ing, Mayor George Hubbard explained that "this may be the start of many more meetings" to determine whether to bring commercial shipping into Greenport. • The Shelter Island Town Board passed a formal resolu- tion opposing the development of Greenport Harbor as an industrial port at a meeting Tuesday. The resolution cited "pollution of waters adjacent to the Town of Shelter Island" and "disruption of the present recreational traffic of the entire vicinity."