January 12, 1989 - Focus on Nature: Ice Challenges Winter WildlifeM
Focus on Nature: Ice Challenges Winter Wildlife
By Paul Stoutenburgh
The cold snap we had last week surely let
you know who's in charge of the outdoors
and, as they always say, there's not too much
you can do about it. At least today we're us-
ually forewarned of what's coming. By
watching the weather channel and the path
of the jet stream, one could pretty well tell
we were in for a real old -time cold snap.
Seems to me, though, that the cold years ago
lasted longer and froze things up more than
today. My grandson has been hoping for ice
to try out new skates his uncle gave him for
Christmas, but just about the time it freezes
hard enough to skate, it rains or thaws.
When the temperature drops to five and 10
degrees and the northwest winds howl at 15-
20 mph, the best place to see this winter
rampage is over on the North Shore, partic-
ularly where there are rocks. We don't have
the rocky outcroppings here on Long Island
that they have along Connecticut and Rhode
Island shorefronts where rugged bedrock
comes right to the surface. Rather, the rocks
we have along the North Shore are glacier
boulders of all sizes and sorts left here when
the great glaciers retreated sore 10- 15,000
years ago. Proof of their glacial journey is
the roundness that comes from the grinding
of the glacial till as it moved southward. It
came out of that frozen vastness only to stop
here and then retreat, forming Long Island.
Through aeons of time, erosion has washed
away the sand and debris, leaving the stones
and rocks we associate with the North Shore.
Cold Wind Paints Shoreline
During the summer the ocean beach of the
South Shore is fanned by the warm moist
southwest winds of the ocean but during the
winter the northwest winds tear at the North
Shore causing dramatic erosion each year.
When it's here you'll see winter's icy spray
paint and plaster the rocks into shapes of
roundness. The area becomes a fairyland of
white even though not a flake of snow has fal-
len.
This winter ice makes it difficult for ducks
so they depart for open water further out or
a rip where the moving tide won't let the sea
ice form. The faster the tide rip, the less
likely you'll have ice, for they are turbulent
and ever-changing, bringing up warm water
to replace the chilled surface water.
It's into the deep offshore churning areas
and toward these tide rips that ducks head
when ice is forming in the cold shallow ar-
eas. Of course, there has to be a food supply
on the bottom or the ducks will leave and
seek out feeding grounds somewhere else.
Winter Ducks Easily Identified
Many of our winter ducks are quite hand-
some and easily identified. The little black
and white ones we see in our creeks and bays
are the bufflcheads, or as the hunters might
call them, butterballs. The male red -
breasted merganser in his handsome black -
and -white coat is easily recognized. Larger
than the bufflehead, it has a long thin pencil-
like bill that distinguishes it from most other
ducks. The female is a drab bird with a red-
dish head and brownish -grey sides. These
divers are sometimes called shelldrakes by
the locals.
Our three scoters are less colorful but
with a pair of binoculars easily recognized.
The surf scoter has a white patch on the back
of its head, giving it the local name skunk -
head. It also has a very gaudy orangish bill.
The white - winged scoter can easily be rec-
ognized in flight by its white wing patch. The
most difficult to identify is the black scoter
that is entirely black. Scoters are big birds
and continually diving for food along the bot-
tom. There are others but if you can get to
know these few, you'll be well on your way
to identifying most of our winter ducks found
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Our ocean beaches along the South Shore miss the chilling northwest winds of winter. Not so
for the North Shore where single -digit temperatures blown from across the Sound create a
frozen spray that covers all it can reach in a mantle of white. —Paul Stoutenburgh Photo
in our bays here on the East End.
One never tires of watching our waterfowl
whether on the ocean, bay or inland pond
Already some ducks are showing off in ex
otic mating rituals. We just watched a red -
breasted merganser the other day bobbing
its head up and down with its bill raised high
to the sky in some mysterious courtship dis-
play. To us it was most comical.
A friend called last week telling me he had
seen six Harlequin ducks off the rocks at
Plum Island. This is what all birders look for
in the winter. It's the highlight of the season
to see these visitors from the far, far north.
Many a season goes by when we never see
one. Most agree that the Harlequin along
with the wood duck are the most spectacu-
lar of waterfowl in color. It is a small duck
that is usually associated with swift waters
and rocky shores, even in its nesting grounds
in far north Labrador and Greenland, where
the parents choose the rush of turbulent
streams to bring up their young.
Around here the place to see them is at
Montauk, Orient and other rocky rough wa-
ter spots. It's a duck I remember from my
youth when I used to thumb through that
wonderous volume called Birds of America.
I can still see Plate 19 with its wintry paint-
ing of Harlequins and Eiders by Fuertes. It's
just such remembrances that have kindled
my interest and I hope yours too in the world
around us.
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THE SOUTHAMPTON PRESS / JANUARY 12, 1989
What Happens'
Collection of Robert Long Poetry
Explores Role of the Individual
By Allen Planz
This marvelous poem ends quietly when he
In What Happens, Robert Long's new col-
buys a velveteen jacket from a courteous
lection of poetry (Galileo Press, $9.95), the
street vendor and tries it on. "People walked
poet engages the major themes of his work:
by. I had my gloves between my teeth/
trauma, loss, the inexhaustible mystery of
"Whaddya think," I said. "Looks good," he
life and language, various rites of passage,
said.
and the meaning of the individual in society.
But, you say, come on! "Windexed "?
The second stanza of "First Day of Spring"
'Slat" "Big Deal" indeed (to say nothing of
begins:
"Whaddya Say "). In another poem Mr. Long
Everything goes by so quickly! The first
says "Kerpow and schlock are our favorite
stanza's
words." Is this another instance of imitation
Already as ancient as any high school
folk or pop art? How about punk poetry?
history,
(The Long Island School of Punk poetry 1977 -
And sudden absences like those leave sud-
1981 never flourished much east of Speonk af-
den holes.
ter its founder, Gaynor Ngronsky, was shot
When I got cracked in the nose with a base-
in the Yaphank minimall in a mob - related
ball bat
corporate takeover). Yuppie quop? Dogge-
Playing grammar school softball,
rel? Who talks like that? Well, speaking
strictly from this end of our seasonal service
I saw angels, Lyndon B. Johnson, and doe-
economy, I do, but not in print. Only in post -
tors
capitalist, post- modernist America can a na-
For the next three years, until my nose
tive son like Bob Long, former chef, former
Stopped bleeding and started breathing
adolescent, have the audacity of genius to
again.
talk like that, in poetry.
You could say my nose went on strike.
And deliver it in a stand -up, conversational
Now it veers toward Portugal
tone that is his claim on his generation, that
extends, as William Carolos Williams put it,
No matter when I'm headed. I'm talking
the domain of the sayable, and thus fulfills
About my generation, or re- generation.
the oldest of modernist tenets: make it new.
I saw my best hand- patched jeans
The use of conversational devices amounts
Hit the heap, then reappear, miraculously,
not to experiment but to augmentation of
On angels walking down Main Street.
form, like rhyme, stanza, meter —a kind of
That last stanza, with its play on the op-
eloquence, rather than rhetoric, achieved by
ening of Ginsberg's Howl, emphasizes that
an insistence on common elocution and spon-
something mysterious passes from genera -
taneous improvisation. Mr. Long is quite
tion to generation, endures and survives but
aware of this. The poem "Saying One Thing"
cannot be anticipated.
is composed entirely of cliches. Cliches en-
Expect the unexpected. That's the first
compass a stock emotion in memorable
thing about What Happens. The "sudden ab-
rhythm; that's why we use them. Roll out a
sences" in these well ordered poems are the
list of cliches and you have a recipe for in-
occasion for a confrontation with reality,
surrection, or a force against ritual suicide,
from which is won a new meaning to exper-
as if saying one thing and meaning another
ience, however provisional.
is next to glossolia in hip elegance.
For the most part, these poems investigate
Another ambitious poem, "Time and its
those pauses in the quotidian in which we find
Double," succeeds where Antonin Artaud
our bearing and take stock and, in this poet's
failed in Theatre and its Double, by refusing
case, start talking. "Anything can happen,"
to distinguish between catharsis and con -
he says in the title poem. At such a pause,
sumption, eschewing both for decorum. Dy-
the poet's fluency can cause him to "hear the
Ian Thomas said we must find a substitute
slap of water on fiberglass, wood," or see
for time and followed Coleridge who said he
"two egrets fold into march grass," or ob-
found it in delirium. In an age when so many
serve "If Long Island is the lobster claw Ad-
poets, like John Ashberry and others of the
junct to the malformed body/ of the Mid
early New York School of poetry, struggled
Atlantic States, I'm sitting on the periphery
to defeat meaning, it's refreshing to see a
/ of a minuscule barnacle about to close on
poet assume their posture and pursue it.
Gardiner's Island," which causes him to cat -
There are poems in this volume that defy
alogue the effects of hurricanes thereabout.
classification and even quotation by sheer
These pauses occur throughout the poems,
force of meaningfulness finely felt through -
too, as asides, divigations, catalogues, etc.
out the poem. Among these are "Elegy for
that move the themes along obliqueley, to-
Grandfather," "Montauk Point," "It's Not
gether with puns, witticisms, non sequiturs,
the Heat, It's the Stupidity," "Somewhere on
jokey quips (but no jokes), and especially
the Coast of Maine," and "Chelsea." Mr.
misquotations, mis- hearings, qualifying ap-
Long writes equally well of Manhattan and
positives applied to a sentence, say, that
the East End, the landscape he calls "exur-
meanders through several lines from one
bia," of which he is the fond pastoralist de-
stanza to another, followed by another, syn-
spite its dangers. His talent is strengthened
tactically abrupt but cadenced flawlessly. A
by the union of his love of language and his
poem may begin calmly:
love of life.
Last night, in a dream, a woman
American poetry promised, beginning with
Called on the phone to ask if I'd like to
Whitman's installation of the muse in the
order
kitchen, to unite people and objects, objects
A case of instance rice pilaf. Today
and land, the sacred made real, and Mr:
I'm "taking in" the September sun
Long's contribution to that reality is the land -
On an afternoon so mirror -like and bluish
gape of exurbia as home and heartland. And
It seems Windexed,
his vision is to bring to this perception the
—from "Littoral Landscape"
enactment of perception. Here things are "so
Or less sedately
shifty
The Hell's Angels live one block up from
here
They acquire a permanence.
And the blat of their hogs fills the morning
An enthusiastic Malemute comes bounding
As I stand here on your front steps
out of a bush.
Still wearing the dinner jacket I wore last
And I have a minor heart attack.
night,
Earlier, I had washed my car with a hose,
At the big-deal opening where we drank
Then sat staring, thinking of you.
champagne
The mailman's coming down the road now
And bumped into a lot of other people in
in his red white and blue jeep. Here he is."
tuxedoes,
Sequins, furs, and so on...
Allen Plans is a poet who lives in Sag Har-
-From East Ninth Street
bor. He is the author of seven books of poetry.
11 �. ► I IT 11 • 1 Ar
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