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July 20, 2000 - Time and tide flowing in the creekr 6A • The Suffolk Times • July 20, 2000 Time and tide flowing in the creek Memories of our old dock: I built my old dock at the head of our creek when we first moved here over 45 years ago. It was a time when you moved in and out of the creek with the tides. Those were lean years, with little money for extras, so the construction of my dock was a Focus collection of what I was able ON to scrape togeth- NATURE er. Everything by Paul that made up the dock came from Stoutenburgh the trees that grew in our woods or salvaged planks picked up along the Sound or bay after winter's storms. The best trees for pilings are locust trees, for they outlast all others in salt water. In those days you could do just about anything you wanted to with your marsh or waterfront. Today there are rules and regulations that protect those vital resources. Back then all you had to do was go down and mark off the area, put in the pil- ings and attach your catwalk. I must say the word "piling" didn't quite fit the description of the poles we used. Today when you speak of pilings for docks they are uniform in size, straight as an arrow and are CCA- treated to prevent the devastat ing results of boring worms. In time these worms can literally honeycomb any untreated wood. This attack of- ten goes unnoticed until the dock lit- erally crumbles underneath you. Yet, at the head of the creek, little dam- age was done over the years by these boring worms. The locust posts we used were not always the straightest nor was the dock a perfect model of engineering. Two -by -fours and 2 -by- 6s were used for cross members and 2- by -10s for the catwalk. Now, with the passage of time, those upper parts are rotting away while the old locust posts in the water are still, as far as I can see, strong and steady. When it came to putting in the pil- ings for the dock I went and got a pump from C.P. Tuthill, that wonder- ful establishment of plumbing and heating located on the Main Road in Cutchogue. Pret Tuthill is no longer with us but the new owners are doing an excellent job of keeping up that wonderful old landmark. With his pump we jetted down the pilings to where they still stand today. Ye olde swimmin' dock In those early days our kids would go down and swim off the dock at high tide, knowing all too well that if their feet touched the bottom, they would be in the soft ooze of mud, and who knew what might be lurking there. Maybe that's why they learned to swim at such an early age. They never let their feet touch the bottom but would tread water if they weren't swimming. The creek was always a fascinating place to watch what went on around you. There were always mud snails on the bottom, vacuuming and picking Rid them of painful and unsightly varicose veins with ,I INJECTION SCLE.ROTHERAPY Covered by insurance. Lawrence P. Kelly, M.D. BOARD CERTIFIED SURGEON Member, North American Society of Phlebology GENERAL, LAPARASCOPIC AND BREAST SURGERY 13400 Main Road, Mattituck 298 -6310 Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Fiddler crabs are fun to watch running across sand or mud flats. The light - colored ones live in holes In the sand. The darker - bodied ones live in the bog of our creeks. There's still a much larger and much rarer fiddler crab found In the brackish headwaters of most of our creeks. up the debris that filtered down. Occasionally we'd see a blue crab and there'd be a rush for the crab net. These were the proving grounds for the future crabbing events that made up much of the summer's activity. It was a place where in the evening you'd see the night herons gliding in to stalk unsuspecting killies. In those early years we had those stalkers in every creek. They nested in rookeries throughout the north shore. Their flimsy stick nests barely held their eggs. We even had marsh wrens nesting in the tall thatch grass along the creek edge and, like all wrens, they built not just one but three or four of their reed nests but used only one. Today we don't have the night herons or the marsh wrens. We still have muskrats, though their lodges or homes are different from the muskrat lodges associated with fresh water. There the mound is built up much like the beaver's, but smaller. Here in the creeks we don't find those lodges or mounds. What we do find is that the muskrats live in the banks of the creek, their en- . trances always under water. On quiet evenings you could sit down at the dock and often see them moving through the quiet waters, leaving a gentle wake behind, their long rat- like tails trailing. I mentioned earlier that when the tide went out you didn't move in or out of the creek as it was too shallow. It was then that you could see the rid- dled bog edge where fiddler crabs once dug their tunnels. With the pas- sage of time they have eroded into a maze of black honeycomb. Past gen- erations meticulously dug the tunnels by rolling balls of mud and sand up and out of their hideaways. Once out- side, the balls were rolled away from the entrance only to be dissolved with the next high tide. Like all crabs, the female fiddler carries her cluster of eggs beneath her, and when the eggs hatch the young start, like all crabs, a series of molts, each molt letting the crab grow a bit larger. Often we see these little fiddler crabs running about the entrance of the adults' holes. There are three species of fiddler crabs: the dark- colored mud crab; the lighter - colored sand crab; and a rarely seen species that can grow two to three times the size of an ordinary fiddler crab. This extra -large fiddler crab, as you would expect, has a much larger burrow and is usually found at the head of the creek where the water is more brackish. Although low tide put a damper on getting in and out of the creek, it often revealed sights not seen when the tide was high. One of these sights we all remember was the upwelling of fresh water that gushed up through the muddy bottom, which we called our artesian well. Years ago when farmers had cattle, they often pastured them near or on the salt marsh and, know- ing the need for fresh water for their cattle, they sank barrels along the creek edge to capture this valuable resource. I found proof positive of their use of this device just recently when Barbara and I kayaked up the headwaters of Downs Creek. There we found one of the old barrels still functioning as a supplier of fresh water. Long gone were the cattle but the old oak barrel could still be seen. This phenomenon of fresh water upwelling is quite common all along our bays and creek edges. Probably many of you have experienced the sensation of running into these cold upwellings when swimming. It's our surplus groundwater that seeps out all along our shores. The average temperature of our groundwater is about 50 degrees — enough to startle you as you nonchalantly swim about. `... we found one of the old barrels still functioning as a supplier of fresh water.' 6A • The Suffolk Times • July 20, 2000 Time and tide flowing in the tree Memories of our old dock: I built my old dock at the head of it creek when we first moved here ter 45 years ago. It was a time when )u moved in and out of the creek ith the tides. Those were lean years, ith little money for extras, so the instruction of my dock was a collection of what I was able to scrape togeth- er. Everything that made up the dock came from the trees that Focus ON NATURE by Paul Stoutpnburgh grew in our woods or salvaged planks picked up along the Sound or bay after winter's storms. The best trees for pilings are locust trees, for they outlast all others in salt water. In those days you could do just about anything you wanted to with your marsh or waterfront. Today there are rules and regulations that protect those vital resources. Back then all you had to do was go down and mark off the area, put in the pil- ings and attach your catwalk. I must say the word "piling" didn't quite fit the description of the poles we used. Today when you speak of pilings for docks they are uniform in size, straight as an arrow and are CCA- treated to prevent the devastat. ing results of boring worms. In time these worms can literally honeycomb any untreated wood. This attack of- ten goes unnoticed until the dock lit- erally crumbles underneath you. Yet, Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Fiddler crabs are fun to watch running across sand or mud flats. The light - colored ones live In holes in the sand. The darker- bodied ones live In the bog of our creeks. There's still a much larger and much rarer fiddler crab found In the brackish headwaters of most of our creeks. at the head of the creek, little dam- age was done over the years by these boring worms. The locust posts we used were not always the straightest nor was the dock a perfect model of engineering. Two -by -fours and 2 -by- 6s were used for cross members and 2- by -10s for the catwalk. Now, with the passage of time, those upper parts are rotting away while the old locust posts in the water are still, as far as I can see, strong and steady. When it came to putting in the pil- ings for the dock I went and got a pump from C.P. Tuthill, that wonder- ful establishment of plumbing and heating located on the Main Road in Cutchogue. Pret Tuthill is no longer with us but the new owners are doing an excellent job of keeping up that wonderful old landmark. With his pump we jetted down the pilings to where they still stand today. Ye olde swimmin' dock In those early days our kids would go down and swim off the dock at high tide, knowing all too well that if their feet touched the bottom, they would be in the soft ooze of mud, and who knew what might be lurking there. Maybe that's why they learned to swim at such an early age. They never let their feet touch the bottom but would tread water if they weren't swimming. The creek was always a fascinating place to watch what went on around you. There were always mud snails on the bottom, vacuuming and picking up the debris that filtered down. Occasionally we'd see a blue crab and there'd be a rush for the crab net. These were the proving grounds for the future crabbing events that made up much of the summer's activity. It was a place where in the evening you'd see the night herons gliding in to stalk unsuspecting killies. In those early years we had those stalkers in every creek. They nested in rookeries throughout the north shore. Their flimsy stick nests barely held their ... we f eggs. We even had one of marsh wrens nesting in the tall thatch grass barrel along the creek edge functic and, like all wrens, they built not just one but a supp three or four of their fresh u reed nests but used only one. Today we don't have the night herons or the marsh I We still have muskrats, though their lodges or homes are different from the muskrat lodges associated with fresh water. There the mound is built up much like the beaver's, but smaller. Here in the creeks we don't find those lodges or mounds. What we do find is that the muskrats live in the banks of the creek, their en- trances always under water. On quiet evenings you could sit down at the dock and often see them moving through the quiet waters, leaving a gentle wake behind, their long rat- like tails trailing. I mentioned earlier that when the tide went out you didn't move in or out of the creek as it was too shallow. It was then that you could see the rid- dled bog edge where fiddler crabs once dug their tunnels. With the pas- sage of time they have eroded into a maze of black honeycomb. Past gen- erations meticulously dug the tunnels by rolling balls of mud and sand up and out of their hideaways. Once out- side, the balls were rolled away from the entrance only to be dissolved with the next high tide. Like all crabs, the female fiddler carries her cluster of eggs beneath her, and when the eggs hatch the young start, like all crabs, a series of molts, each molt letting the crab grow a bit larger. Often we see these little fiddler crabs running about the entrance of the adults' holes. There are three species of fiddler crabs: the dark - colored mud crab; the lighter - colored sand crab; and a rarely seen species that can grow two nmmw� to three times the size ►und of an ordinary fiddler crab. This extra -large :he old fiddler crab, as you still Would expect, has a much larger burrow rtin and is usually found at • g CL's the head of the creek .ter of where the water is ater.' more brackish. Although low tide put a damper on getting in and out of the creek, it often revealed sights not seen when the tide was high. One of these sights we all remember was the upwelling of fresh water that gushed up through the muddy bottom, which we called our artesian well. Years ago when farmers had cattle, they often pastured them near or on the salt marsh and, know- ing the need for fresh water for their cattle, they sank barrels along the creek edge to capture this valuable resource. I found proof positive of their use of this device just recently when Barbara and I kayaked up the headwaters of Downs Creek. There we found one of the old barrels still functioning as a supplier of fresh' water. Long gone were the cattle but the old oak barrel could still be seen. This phenomenon of fresh water upwelling is quite common all along our bays and creek edges. Probably many of you have experienced the sensation of running into these cold upwellings when swimming. It's our surplus groundwater that seeps out all along our shores. The average temperature of our groundwater is about 50 degrees - enough to startle you as you nonchalantly swim about. 6A • The Suffolk Times • July 20, 2000 Time and tide flowing in the tree Memories of our old dock: I built my old dock at the head of it creek when we first moved here ter 45 years ago. It was a time when )u moved in and out of the creek ith the tides. Those were lean years, ith little money for extras, so the instruction of my dock was a collection of what I was able to scrape togeth- er. Everything that made up the dock came from the trees that Focus ON NATURE by Paul Stoutpnburgh grew in our woods or salvaged planks picked up along the Sound or bay after winter's storms. The best trees for pilings are locust trees, for they outlast all others in salt water. In those days you could do just about anything you wanted to with your marsh or waterfront. Today there are rules and regulations that protect those vital resources. Back then all you had to do was go down and mark off the area, put in the pil- ings and attach your catwalk. I must say the word "piling" didn't quite fit the description of the poles we used. Today when you speak of pilings for docks they are uniform in size, straight as an arrow and are CCA- treated to prevent the devastat. ing results of boring worms. In time these worms can literally honeycomb any untreated wood. This attack of- ten goes unnoticed until the dock lit- erally crumbles underneath you. Yet, Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Fiddler crabs are fun to watch running across sand or mud flats. The light - colored ones live In holes in the sand. The darker- bodied ones live In the bog of our creeks. There's still a much larger and much rarer fiddler crab found In the brackish headwaters of most of our creeks. at the head of the creek, little dam- age was done over the years by these boring worms. The locust posts we used were not always the straightest nor was the dock a perfect model of engineering. Two -by -fours and 2 -by- 6s were used for cross members and 2- by -10s for the catwalk. Now, with the passage of time, those upper parts are rotting away while the old locust posts in the water are still, as far as I can see, strong and steady. When it came to putting in the pil- ings for the dock I went and got a pump from C.P. Tuthill, that wonder- ful establishment of plumbing and heating located on the Main Road in Cutchogue. Pret Tuthill is no longer with us but the new owners are doing an excellent job of keeping up that wonderful old landmark. With his pump we jetted down the pilings to where they still stand today. Ye olde swimmin' dock In those early days our kids would go down and swim off the dock at high tide, knowing all too well that if their feet touched the bottom, they would be in the soft ooze of mud, and who knew what might be lurking there. Maybe that's why they learned to swim at such an early age. They never let their feet touch the bottom but would tread water if they weren't swimming. The creek was always a fascinating place to watch what went on around you. There were always mud snails on the bottom, vacuuming and picking up the debris that filtered down. Occasionally we'd see a blue crab and there'd be a rush for the crab net. These were the proving grounds for the future crabbing events that made up much of the summer's activity. It was a place where in the evening you'd see the night herons gliding in to stalk unsuspecting killies. In those early years we had those stalkers in every creek. They nested in rookeries throughout the north shore. Their flimsy stick nests barely held their ... we f eggs. We even had one of marsh wrens nesting in the tall thatch grass barrel along the creek edge functic and, like all wrens, they built not just one but a supp three or four of their fresh u reed nests but used only one. Today we don't have the night herons or the marsh I We still have muskrats, though their lodges or homes are different from the muskrat lodges associated with fresh water. There the mound is built up much like the beaver's, but smaller. Here in the creeks we don't find those lodges or mounds. What we do find is that the muskrats live in the banks of the creek, their en- trances always under water. On quiet evenings you could sit down at the dock and often see them moving through the quiet waters, leaving a gentle wake behind, their long rat- like tails trailing. I mentioned earlier that when the tide went out you didn't move in or out of the creek as it was too shallow. It was then that you could see the rid- dled bog edge where fiddler crabs once dug their tunnels. With the pas- sage of time they have eroded into a maze of black honeycomb. Past gen- erations meticulously dug the tunnels by rolling balls of mud and sand up and out of their hideaways. Once out- side, the balls were rolled away from the entrance only to be dissolved with the next high tide. Like all crabs, the female fiddler carries her cluster of eggs beneath her, and when the eggs hatch the young start, like all crabs, a series of molts, each molt letting the crab grow a bit larger. Often we see these little fiddler crabs running about the entrance of the adults' holes. There are three species of fiddler crabs: the dark - colored mud crab; the lighter - colored sand crab; and a rarely seen species that can grow two nmmw� to three times the size ►und of an ordinary fiddler crab. This extra -large :he old fiddler crab, as you still Would expect, has a much larger burrow rtin and is usually found at • g CL's the head of the creek .ter of where the water is ater.' more brackish. Although low tide put a damper on getting in and out of the creek, it often revealed sights not seen when the tide was high. One of these sights we all remember was the upwelling of fresh water that gushed up through the muddy bottom, which we called our artesian well. Years ago when farmers had cattle, they often pastured them near or on the salt marsh and, know- ing the need for fresh water for their cattle, they sank barrels along the creek edge to capture this valuable resource. I found proof positive of their use of this device just recently when Barbara and I kayaked up the headwaters of Downs Creek. There we found one of the old barrels still functioning as a supplier of fresh' water. Long gone were the cattle but the old oak barrel could still be seen. This phenomenon of fresh water upwelling is quite common all along our bays and creek edges. Probably many of you have experienced the sensation of running into these cold upwellings when swimming. It's our surplus groundwater that seeps out all along our shores. The average temperature of our groundwater is about 50 degrees - enough to startle you as you nonchalantly swim about. 6A • The Suffolk Times • July 20, 2000 Time and tide flowing in the tree Memories of our old dock: I built my old dock at the head of it creek when we first moved here ter 45 years ago. It was a time when )u moved in and out of the creek ith the tides. Those were lean years, ith little money for extras, so the instruction of my dock was a collection of what I was able to scrape togeth- er. Everything that made up the dock came from the trees that Focus ON NATURE by Paul Stoutpnburgh grew in our woods or salvaged planks picked up along the Sound or bay after winter's storms. The best trees for pilings are locust trees, for they outlast all others in salt water. In those days you could do just about anything you wanted to with your marsh or waterfront. Today there are rules and regulations that protect those vital resources. Back then all you had to do was go down and mark off the area, put in the pil- ings and attach your catwalk. I must say the word "piling" didn't quite fit the description of the poles we used. Today when you speak of pilings for docks they are uniform in size, straight as an arrow and are CCA- treated to prevent the devastat. ing results of boring worms. In time these worms can literally honeycomb any untreated wood. This attack of- ten goes unnoticed until the dock lit- erally crumbles underneath you. Yet, Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Fiddler crabs are fun to watch running across sand or mud flats. The light - colored ones live In holes in the sand. The darker- bodied ones live In the bog of our creeks. There's still a much larger and much rarer fiddler crab found In the brackish headwaters of most of our creeks. at the head of the creek, little dam- age was done over the years by these boring worms. The locust posts we used were not always the straightest nor was the dock a perfect model of engineering. Two -by -fours and 2 -by- 6s were used for cross members and 2- by -10s for the catwalk. Now, with the passage of time, those upper parts are rotting away while the old locust posts in the water are still, as far as I can see, strong and steady. When it came to putting in the pil- ings for the dock I went and got a pump from C.P. Tuthill, that wonder- ful establishment of plumbing and heating located on the Main Road in Cutchogue. Pret Tuthill is no longer with us but the new owners are doing an excellent job of keeping up that wonderful old landmark. With his pump we jetted down the pilings to where they still stand today. Ye olde swimmin' dock In those early days our kids would go down and swim off the dock at high tide, knowing all too well that if their feet touched the bottom, they would be in the soft ooze of mud, and who knew what might be lurking there. Maybe that's why they learned to swim at such an early age. They never let their feet touch the bottom but would tread water if they weren't swimming. The creek was always a fascinating place to watch what went on around you. There were always mud snails on the bottom, vacuuming and picking up the debris that filtered down. Occasionally we'd see a blue crab and there'd be a rush for the crab net. These were the proving grounds for the future crabbing events that made up much of the summer's activity. It was a place where in the evening you'd see the night herons gliding in to stalk unsuspecting killies. In those early years we had those stalkers in every creek. They nested in rookeries throughout the north shore. Their flimsy stick nests barely held their ... we f eggs. We even had one of marsh wrens nesting in the tall thatch grass barrel along the creek edge functic and, like all wrens, they built not just one but a supp three or four of their fresh u reed nests but used only one. Today we don't have the night herons or the marsh I We still have muskrats, though their lodges or homes are different from the muskrat lodges associated with fresh water. There the mound is built up much like the beaver's, but smaller. Here in the creeks we don't find those lodges or mounds. What we do find is that the muskrats live in the banks of the creek, their en- trances always under water. On quiet evenings you could sit down at the dock and often see them moving through the quiet waters, leaving a gentle wake behind, their long rat- like tails trailing. I mentioned earlier that when the tide went out you didn't move in or out of the creek as it was too shallow. It was then that you could see the rid- dled bog edge where fiddler crabs once dug their tunnels. With the pas- sage of time they have eroded into a maze of black honeycomb. Past gen- erations meticulously dug the tunnels by rolling balls of mud and sand up and out of their hideaways. Once out- side, the balls were rolled away from the entrance only to be dissolved with the next high tide. Like all crabs, the female fiddler carries her cluster of eggs beneath her, and when the eggs hatch the young start, like all crabs, a series of molts, each molt letting the crab grow a bit larger. Often we see these little fiddler crabs running about the entrance of the adults' holes. There are three species of fiddler crabs: the dark - colored mud crab; the lighter - colored sand crab; and a rarely seen species that can grow two nmmw� to three times the size ►und of an ordinary fiddler crab. This extra -large :he old fiddler crab, as you still Would expect, has a much larger burrow rtin and is usually found at • g CL's the head of the creek .ter of where the water is ater.' more brackish. Although low tide put a damper on getting in and out of the creek, it often revealed sights not seen when the tide was high. One of these sights we all remember was the upwelling of fresh water that gushed up through the muddy bottom, which we called our artesian well. Years ago when farmers had cattle, they often pastured them near or on the salt marsh and, know- ing the need for fresh water for their cattle, they sank barrels along the creek edge to capture this valuable resource. I found proof positive of their use of this device just recently when Barbara and I kayaked up the headwaters of Downs Creek. There we found one of the old barrels still functioning as a supplier of fresh' water. Long gone were the cattle but the old oak barrel could still be seen. This phenomenon of fresh water upwelling is quite common all along our bays and creek edges. Probably many of you have experienced the sensation of running into these cold upwellings when swimming. It's our surplus groundwater that seeps out all along our shores. The average temperature of our groundwater is about 50 degrees - enough to startle you as you nonchalantly swim about.