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September 14, 2000 - Pursuing the pleasures of early fall6A • The Suffolk Times • September 14, 2000 Pursuin I'm out in the garden and I just saw a great blue heron glide by headed for the pond. Now that's a welcome addition for sure. But then, I wonder what's going to happen to the little turtles that I've seen down there. Great blue herons are not too particular about what they eat, whether it be Focus a fish, a frog, a ON mouse or even a turtle, provided NATURE they are small by Paul enough. And this Stoutenburgh year I have a good hatch of young turtles in the pond, so do I go down and scare the great blue heron away? Or do I leave him to enjoy the spoils of the pond? I wonder if it is the same great blue we saw yesterday when Barbara and I walked down to the dock just before the sun set. We could see it stalking killies in the flooded marsh. It was one of those magical moments when there wasn't a breath of wind and the surface of the water took on a mirrored look. All the boats lay limp at their moorings: We could see ripples from schools of baby bunkers swimming with their mouths wide open, filtering out the nutrients that our creeks provide. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for.the nutrients in the creek waters. Then we'd see the snappers breaking water, as they chased some unfortunate prey. Snappers have been quite good this year. A friend of mine brought a mess down and smoked them the other day. The smoker's been waiting all year to show its worth. The fish turned out beautifully, not only in looks but in taste. He had left the heads on the snappers so when we put them on the racks and smoked them, they were a picture of metallic Rold with a smoky fragrance. the pleasures Mrolf early fall Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh As kids we would find these baby blowfish or "swell - bellies" in our seine nets as we dragged for spearing for bait to go snapper fishing. They were fun to watch and play with. Snappers bring back wonderful mem- ories. Probably it's where many of us learned to fish when we were young. It was an easy task to go down to the creek in the latter part of August and early September. First you would take a seine net and get the bait for those fast, action - packed snappers. You'd go in the chilly water up to your waist to make a haul with the rickety old cotton seine net that had its share of wear and tear. Someone would hold the other end of the net on shore and you would tiptoe your way out and around and back to shore. When the net was hauled up on the beach, it would be bristling with sil- versides or spearing, all thrashing about. In amongst them you'd find killies, baby flounders, pipefish and occasional- ly a baby weakfish and maybe, the best of all, a baby blowfish. They were the fun things that would puff of golf -ball size when you held them in your hand and scratched their bellies. (Some called them swell bellies.) We kids would toss them back and forth like a miniature ball. If you held one underwater it would fill up with water rather than air, a pret- ty good defense against any predator who tried to eat it. Once you got the bait, it was time to try your luck at fishing. In those early days you would take an old bamboo pole and, with a long, straight - shanked snapper hook attached to its line, you were ready for the business of fishing. Just how to hook the bait on the hook was your own choice. I always put the hook in the mouth, out the gills, and then I'd hook it into the tail of the spearing. Right from shore you could cast your baited line into your special spot where you knew the snappers would be wait- ing. When you caught one it would come flying out, over your head, and land up on the beach. You'd drop your pole and as quick as you could, pounce on it, get the hook out and start all over lagain with a new shiner on your hook. From where we sat on the dock, we could tell fall was in the air because the high thatch grass has now produced its seed heads that will ripen, fall to the water and become part of the detritus that makes our creeks the nutrient fac- tories they are. Some will sprout but only where they can find an open area. Every little opening acts as an oasis for a seed or a rhizome to sprout and make another blade of grass to add to this over- expanding mass of green. The marsh is turning to a colorful golden brown. We can just start to see its change in color. The water runs clear by the dock and if we look closely we can see the stalking of a blue crab that's playing its part in the web of life found in our creek. The sky was clear and a big half - moon was already halfway up its climb. The gnats were out trying their best to bother us, but there was just too much splendor about to give them but an occasional swat. We enjoyed outselves so much that late afternoon that we decided to try it again the next day, but this time we'd take one of the little boats at the dock and row about to enjoy the pleasures farther out. Barbara was a good sport and said she'd row as I still have diffi- culty maneuvering, especially in a boat. If you've ever tried to get into a little six -foot dinghy that's tipsy, you'll appre- ciate our plight as we tried to step in eracefully but to no avail. Graceful it wasn't. We grabbed onto the supports of the dock, held onto the boat and slowly low- ered ourselves into place. (Barbara's note: Paul is being very kind not to mention it but as I type this I have to add, I didn't make it! The boat slowly moved away from the dock and left me — you guessed it — between the two with half of me in the warm, muddy water, the other half in the boat. Yet it wouldn't ruin our day; it only added to it! How we lauehed at ourselves!) once we were out away from the dock, things settled down to pure enjoyment. At least it was for me, as Barbara was rowing. We slowly worked our way up the creek, looking at the changes that had taken place through the years. It seemed everyone has a dock and a boat in front of their place and those that don't have waterfront have their boats moored here and there along the creek. Again we could see the snapping of the bunkers as they worked their way through the water. We finally got to the mouth of the creek where we landed and got out, again not too gracefully, from the little dinghy. We then took a walk along the beach and found the familiar fiddler holes with their little rolled -up balls of sand that the crabs have dug out of their burrows. The fiddler crabs we were seeing were the sand fiddlers, which are light colored and have a pur- plish -blue tint to them. When winter comes they will hibernate deep down in their tunnels until the warmth of spring sets them free once again. We walked along above the high tide mark, where we found all the familiar beach plants we had seen a few weeks ago at Montauk plus the wiry salicornia or glasswort, which I had to nibble to check on its salty taste. We also found that plant that hugs the sand like a table doily, called seaside spurge. It's often overlooked, as all the other plants tower above it. Then there's the ever - present seaside goldenrod that is now just starting to break through with' its plumes of yellow. The weather was so perfect we had to sit down on the warm sand and enjoy the sun and the late- afternoon breeze. It was just heavenly. We felt like teenagers lying on the beach bask- ing in the sun. It was a day to rem it'em- ber, and remember we will for s part of this wonderful world found on the 6A • The Suffolk Times • September 14, 2000 Pursuin I'm out in the garden and I just saw a great blue heron glide by headed for the pond. Now that's a welcome addition for sure. But then, I wonder what's going to happen to the little turtles that I've seen down there. Great blue herons are not too particular about what they eat, whether it be Focus a fish, a frog, a ON mouse or even a turtle, provided NATURE they are small by Paul enough. And this Stoutenburgh year I have a good hatch of young turtles in the pond, so do I go down and scare the great blue heron away? Or do I leave him to enjoy the spoils of the pond? I wonder if it is the same great blue we saw yesterday when Barbara and I walked down to the dock just before the sun set. We could see it stalking killies in the flooded marsh. It was one of those magical moments when there wasn't a breath of wind and the surface of the water took on a mirrored look. All the boats lay limp at their moorings: We could see ripples from schools of baby bunkers swimming with their mouths wide open, filtering out the nutrients that our creeks provide. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for.the nutrients in the creek waters. Then we'd see the snappers breaking water, as they chased some unfortunate prey. Snappers have been quite good this year. A friend of mine brought a mess down and smoked them the other day. The smoker's been waiting all year to show its worth. The fish turned out beautifully, not only in looks but in taste. He had left the heads on the snappers so when we put them on the racks and smoked them, they were a picture of metallic Rold with a smoky fragrance. the pleasures Mrolf early fall Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh As kids we would find these baby blowfish or "swell - bellies" in our seine nets as we dragged for spearing for bait to go snapper fishing. They were fun to watch and play with. Snappers bring back wonderful mem- ories. Probably it's where many of us learned to fish when we were young. It was an easy task to go down to the creek in the latter part of August and early September. First you would take a seine net and get the bait for those fast, action - packed snappers. You'd go in the chilly water up to your waist to make a haul with the rickety old cotton seine net that had its share of wear and tear. Someone would hold the other end of the net on shore and you would tiptoe your way out and around and back to shore. When the net was hauled up on the beach, it would be bristling with sil- versides or spearing, all thrashing about. In amongst them you'd find killies, baby flounders, pipefish and occasional- ly a baby weakfish and maybe, the best of all, a baby blowfish. They were the fun things that would puff of golf -ball size when you held them in your hand and scratched their bellies. (Some called them swell bellies.) We kids would toss them back and forth like a miniature ball. If you held one underwater it would fill up with water rather than air, a pret- ty good defense against any predator who tried to eat it. Once you got the bait, it was time to try your luck at fishing. In those early days you would take an old bamboo pole and, with a long, straight - shanked snapper hook attached to its line, you were ready for the business of fishing. Just how to hook the bait on the hook was your own choice. I always put the hook in the mouth, out the gills, and then I'd hook it into the tail of the spearing. Right from shore you could cast your baited line into your special spot where you knew the snappers would be wait- ing. When you caught one it would come flying out, over your head, and land up on the beach. You'd drop your pole and as quick as you could, pounce on it, get the hook out and start all over lagain with a new shiner on your hook. From where we sat on the dock, we could tell fall was in the air because the high thatch grass has now produced its seed heads that will ripen, fall to the water and become part of the detritus that makes our creeks the nutrient fac- tories they are. Some will sprout but only where they can find an open area. Every little opening acts as an oasis for a seed or a rhizome to sprout and make another blade of grass to add to this over- expanding mass of green. The marsh is turning to a colorful golden brown. We can just start to see its change in color. The water runs clear by the dock and if we look closely we can see the stalking of a blue crab that's playing its part in the web of life found in our creek. The sky was clear and a big half - moon was already halfway up its climb. The gnats were out trying their best to bother us, but there was just too much splendor about to give them but an occasional swat. We enjoyed outselves so much that late afternoon that we decided to try it again the next day, but this time we'd take one of the little boats at the dock and row about to enjoy the pleasures farther out. Barbara was a good sport and said she'd row as I still have diffi- culty maneuvering, especially in a boat. If you've ever tried to get into a little six -foot dinghy that's tipsy, you'll appre- ciate our plight as we tried to step in eracefully but to no avail. Graceful it wasn't. We grabbed onto the supports of the dock, held onto the boat and slowly low- ered ourselves into place. (Barbara's note: Paul is being very kind not to mention it but as I type this I have to add, I didn't make it! The boat slowly moved away from the dock and left me — you guessed it — between the two with half of me in the warm, muddy water, the other half in the boat. Yet it wouldn't ruin our day; it only added to it! How we lauehed at ourselves!) once we were out away from the dock, things settled down to pure enjoyment. At least it was for me, as Barbara was rowing. We slowly worked our way up the creek, looking at the changes that had taken place through the years. It seemed everyone has a dock and a boat in front of their place and those that don't have waterfront have their boats moored here and there along the creek. Again we could see the snapping of the bunkers as they worked their way through the water. We finally got to the mouth of the creek where we landed and got out, again not too gracefully, from the little dinghy. We then took a walk along the beach and found the familiar fiddler holes with their little rolled -up balls of sand that the crabs have dug out of their burrows. The fiddler crabs we were seeing were the sand fiddlers, which are light colored and have a pur- plish -blue tint to them. When winter comes they will hibernate deep down in their tunnels until the warmth of spring sets them free once again. We walked along above the high tide mark, where we found all the familiar beach plants we had seen a few weeks ago at Montauk plus the wiry salicornia or glasswort, which I had to nibble to check on its salty taste. We also found that plant that hugs the sand like a table doily, called seaside spurge. It's often overlooked, as all the other plants tower above it. Then there's the ever - present seaside goldenrod that is now just starting to break through with' its plumes of yellow. The weather was so perfect we had to sit down on the warm sand and enjoy the sun and the late- afternoon breeze. It was just heavenly. We felt like teenagers lying on the beach bask- ing in the sun. It was a day to rem it'em- ber, and remember we will for s part of this wonderful world found on the 6A • The Suffolk Times • September 14, 2000 Pursuin I'm out in the garden and I just saw a great blue heron glide by headed for the pond. Now that's a welcome addition for sure. But then, I wonder what's going to happen to the little turtles that I've seen down there. Great blue herons are not too particular about what they eat, whether it be Focus a fish, a frog, a ON mouse or even a turtle, provided NATURE they are small by Paul enough. And this Stoutenburgh year I have a good hatch of young turtles in the pond, so do I go down and scare the great blue heron away? Or do I leave him to enjoy the spoils of the pond? I wonder if it is the same great blue we saw yesterday when Barbara and I walked down to the dock just before the sun set. We could see it stalking killies in the flooded marsh. It was one of those magical moments when there wasn't a breath of wind and the surface of the water took on a mirrored look. All the boats lay limp at their moorings: We could see ripples from schools of baby bunkers swimming with their mouths wide open, filtering out the nutrients that our creeks provide. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for.the nutrients in the creek waters. Then we'd see the snappers breaking water, as they chased some unfortunate prey. Snappers have been quite good this year. A friend of mine brought a mess down and smoked them the other day. The smoker's been waiting all year to show its worth. The fish turned out beautifully, not only in looks but in taste. He had left the heads on the snappers so when we put them on the racks and smoked them, they were a picture of metallic Rold with a smoky fragrance. the pleasures Mrolf early fall Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh As kids we would find these baby blowfish or "swell - bellies" in our seine nets as we dragged for spearing for bait to go snapper fishing. They were fun to watch and play with. Snappers bring back wonderful mem- ories. Probably it's where many of us learned to fish when we were young. It was an easy task to go down to the creek in the latter part of August and early September. First you would take a seine net and get the bait for those fast, action - packed snappers. You'd go in the chilly water up to your waist to make a haul with the rickety old cotton seine net that had its share of wear and tear. Someone would hold the other end of the net on shore and you would tiptoe your way out and around and back to shore. When the net was hauled up on the beach, it would be bristling with sil- versides or spearing, all thrashing about. In amongst them you'd find killies, baby flounders, pipefish and occasional- ly a baby weakfish and maybe, the best of all, a baby blowfish. They were the fun things that would puff of golf -ball size when you held them in your hand and scratched their bellies. (Some called them swell bellies.) We kids would toss them back and forth like a miniature ball. If you held one underwater it would fill up with water rather than air, a pret- ty good defense against any predator who tried to eat it. Once you got the bait, it was time to try your luck at fishing. In those early days you would take an old bamboo pole and, with a long, straight - shanked snapper hook attached to its line, you were ready for the business of fishing. Just how to hook the bait on the hook was your own choice. I always put the hook in the mouth, out the gills, and then I'd hook it into the tail of the spearing. Right from shore you could cast your baited line into your special spot where you knew the snappers would be wait- ing. When you caught one it would come flying out, over your head, and land up on the beach. You'd drop your pole and as quick as you could, pounce on it, get the hook out and start all over lagain with a new shiner on your hook. From where we sat on the dock, we could tell fall was in the air because the high thatch grass has now produced its seed heads that will ripen, fall to the water and become part of the detritus that makes our creeks the nutrient fac- tories they are. Some will sprout but only where they can find an open area. Every little opening acts as an oasis for a seed or a rhizome to sprout and make another blade of grass to add to this over- expanding mass of green. The marsh is turning to a colorful golden brown. We can just start to see its change in color. The water runs clear by the dock and if we look closely we can see the stalking of a blue crab that's playing its part in the web of life found in our creek. The sky was clear and a big half - moon was already halfway up its climb. The gnats were out trying their best to bother us, but there was just too much splendor about to give them but an occasional swat. We enjoyed outselves so much that late afternoon that we decided to try it again the next day, but this time we'd take one of the little boats at the dock and row about to enjoy the pleasures farther out. Barbara was a good sport and said she'd row as I still have diffi- culty maneuvering, especially in a boat. If you've ever tried to get into a little six -foot dinghy that's tipsy, you'll appre- ciate our plight as we tried to step in eracefully but to no avail. Graceful it wasn't. We grabbed onto the supports of the dock, held onto the boat and slowly low- ered ourselves into place. (Barbara's note: Paul is being very kind not to mention it but as I type this I have to add, I didn't make it! The boat slowly moved away from the dock and left me — you guessed it — between the two with half of me in the warm, muddy water, the other half in the boat. Yet it wouldn't ruin our day; it only added to it! How we lauehed at ourselves!) once we were out away from the dock, things settled down to pure enjoyment. At least it was for me, as Barbara was rowing. We slowly worked our way up the creek, looking at the changes that had taken place through the years. It seemed everyone has a dock and a boat in front of their place and those that don't have waterfront have their boats moored here and there along the creek. Again we could see the snapping of the bunkers as they worked their way through the water. We finally got to the mouth of the creek where we landed and got out, again not too gracefully, from the little dinghy. We then took a walk along the beach and found the familiar fiddler holes with their little rolled -up balls of sand that the crabs have dug out of their burrows. The fiddler crabs we were seeing were the sand fiddlers, which are light colored and have a pur- plish -blue tint to them. When winter comes they will hibernate deep down in their tunnels until the warmth of spring sets them free once again. We walked along above the high tide mark, where we found all the familiar beach plants we had seen a few weeks ago at Montauk plus the wiry salicornia or glasswort, which I had to nibble to check on its salty taste. We also found that plant that hugs the sand like a table doily, called seaside spurge. It's often overlooked, as all the other plants tower above it. Then there's the ever - present seaside goldenrod that is now just starting to break through with' its plumes of yellow. The weather was so perfect we had to sit down on the warm sand and enjoy the sun and the late- afternoon breeze. It was just heavenly. We felt like teenagers lying on the beach bask- ing in the sun. It was a day to rem it'em- ber, and remember we will for s part of this wonderful world found on the