October 20, 1977 - A Fall Walk In Orientfocus on nature
by Paul Stoutenburgt
A Fall Walk In Orient
With every weekend filled with storm and
rain, this fall one has to grab a few good
days when you can. One such day came
along last week when the sun came out and
the wind swung to the northwest to bring
cool, clear air —the kind that let's you know
fall is here.
In anticipation of this kind of day, I had
brought along my camera in hopes of get-
ting some good fall pictures. My destination
was Orient State Park, probably the
greatest 'place to get away from it all in
Southold Town. There is no other area that
quite compares with this unique barrier
beach stretching along Gardiners Bay in
what seems to be true wilderness.
Outside of the road that leads to the
parking lot and the modest buildings, there
is little sign of man for two miles or more.
Getting out of the car, I was greeted by a
small flock of juncos, newly arrived from
their breeding grounds up north. These
ground feeders were harbingers of the
coming winter. But for today, the sun shone
bright and clear and there was a warmth
that gave me new spirit as I headed west
along the water's edge.
Off to the southeast lay dreamy Gardiners
Island and to the southwest, Shelter Island
another Island paradise of a different sort.
This beach is a stony one. Each stone has
been worn round and smooth by eons of time
that has worked, tumbled, ground and
polished the stones so they have become like
marbles underfoot. The secret to walking
here was to seek out the sandier wet spots as
close to the edge as possible. Here it was
firmer and nothing could slow me now. I had
a new surge of adrenalin flowing through
my body and each step seemed to spring me
on.
Just past the open section by the con-
cession area there were lingering shore
birds feeding along the water's edge. How
fortunate they have this area to rest and
recuperate before they continue their
migration down to some place in South
America. Some will go as far as Argentina.
Black- bellied plovers, sanderlings and
turnstones took off in front of me, only to
wheel in tight formation around the bend,
land and start feedinja again.
At my feet were a wide variety of shells.
The jingle shells with their translucent
yellow and orange colors caught the af-
ternoon sun and almost seemed to radiate,
accentuating their colors. But of all the
shells on the beach the common boat shell,
quarter deck or the name most people know
them by, the slipper shell was most
prevalent. In some parts of the beach, there
were literally more shells than stones. The
sea had piled them in clusters. This
clustering or sectioning of shells, sand or
stone is quite common along our beaches
and is due to their different weights. It's like
separating the chaff from the grain by
letting the wind blow the chaff away and the
heavier grain getting caught below.
The tide was out and I noticed an off -shore
bar with its accompanying row of seagulls
and beyond it quiet water. All along its edge
were live slipper shells, one on top of the
other, sometimes as many as five or six
clinging piggy back.
Each boat shell is in its lifetime first male
then female. In the chains of attached shells
those at the bottom of the chain are always
females, the upper animals males.
All this reminded me of how good these
are to eat, and so I took time out to pull a
dozen or so off their hosts with my pocket
knife and ate them raw. They have a
delicate taste and to my way of thinking are
superior even to our clams on the half shell.
I'm sure, in time, these choice morsels will
find a place on many a table.
By now I was parallel to the cedars that
are so characteristic of the beach. The dead
ones standing out stark and beautiful in
their silvery gray coat the winds and salt
had given them. They have a special
elegance all their own. The inner red
cedar wood is almost indestructible by the
elements. Stumps, probably over a hundred
years old, lay half buried at the water's
edge. Others were actually out in the bay ten
or twenty feet, vouching for the slow
migration of this spit of land to the north.
In back of these guardians of the beach
was the beach grass dotted with clumps of
seaside goldenrod. It's remarkable how
resistant this plant can be under the stress
and strain of wind and salt. Here and there
were the -lone white blossom tufts of high
tide bush. Soon the flowers will fade and the
air will be filled with down of this season's
bush.
To add to the fall color was poison ivy
changing from its common green to blazing
yellows and reds. It's a handsome plant this
time of year with colorful leaves and
whitish -gray berries. Later when all the
leaves have fallen from the plants, the
berries could be mistaken by the novice for
bayberry that abounds here in the park.
The day had brought many fair weather
fishermen out and boats were working along
the beach. What could they be catching so
close to the shore and on the bottom?
Probably late flounders, fat and firm, ready
for winter's rest. There were two pound nets
along the beach. One with a scarecrow on it
ors ould I say a "scare cormorant ?" At any
rate, it was working as the other net was
lined with black, gawky cormorants. Two or
three were hanging their wings out to dry in
their usual fashion, a sign they had just been
fishing and probably in the net. Seeing they
do not have oil in their feathers, like ducks
and geese, they must resort to drying out
whenever they enter the water.
By now I had reached the ruins of the old
fish factory. Huge round cement discs; six
feet in diameter lay at the edge of the water.
What device had these early fishermen used
these concretions for? Further along was a
massive stone brick and cement foundation
eight feet or so in height. I climbed up this
and surveyed the area, wondering about the
dreams and disappointments of the men
who worked so hard here so long ago. This
was the era of the bunkers, when the bays
were black with huge schools of fish. Seldom
do we see this any more. Oil and fertilizer
were made from these. The counterpart of
this factory is over at Promised Land on the
south shore. But there, too, it has past into
uselessness. The fish just aren't around any
more. Perhaps this is a warning of things to
come if we don't change our thinking.
Natural resources whether they be from
the sea, the land or the air are becoming less
and less. It's time we started to earnestly
think this dilemma out and act intelligently
before it's too late.
(Next time we'll journey back along the
inner bay at Orient.)
SLIPPER SHELL...attached to two strands of
codium shown opened after being pried loose from a
rock. A choice morsel for eating. If you enjoy clams on
the half shell, you will enjoy these.
SILVERY GRAY STUMP...worn by the winds and salt spray has a special elegance that
adds beauty to the loneliness of the sandy beach.
- photos by Paul Stoutenburgh