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August 14, 1975 - More Ramblings On Fire Island Barrier BeachAugust 14, 1975 The Suffolk Times Page 27A Focus on Nature by Paul Stoutenburgh More Ramblings On Fire Island Barrier Beach It's six in the evening and the sun is still warm and high in the sky. In the background I can hear the surf "sloshing in" only to be reactivated by the next breath in its endless dash against the shore. I'm alone on a barrier beach on Fire Island —to me Paradise Lost could have started here. Yet to others it might be dscribed as a lonely and desolate place. To the south behind the great dune wall the area drops off into what is called a Swale area with bayberry, poison ivy,virginia creeper and beach plum growing. These plants, not as rugged as the dune grass, dusty miller, and sea rocket, can get a foothold in the sand and do their part in holding the island together. Of all these plants mentioned, the dune grass must be put at the top of the list, for it is the savior and builder of our barrier beach. It is through its ability to exist in this harsh environment, hold on and collect the endless wind -blown sand that creates the dunes. As the year goes on and sand is blown and builds up around the stems, the plant is gradually buried. When spring comes the grass sprouts anew from where the sand left off, giving us an accurate record of the dune's age. Each new season's growth is recorded on its roots. Beyond the swale we sometimes have a secondary dune line which protects the wooded or brush area. It is behind here the area is least disturbed and most protected. Because of this the trees and shrubs can get a foothold. The best example of this type climax is to the west, known as the Sunken Forest. Here holly trees a foot and more in diameter grow, vouching for its undisturbed environment. Morning comes with a heavy fog and a brisk southwest wind. By noontime the fog is almost burned off, but it has dampened the boaters' appetite and so will be a quiet day for me. Lunch by myself was nothing to rave about —a can of this —a can of that, yet who could ask for more when you look across the island from our back porch and see a sweeping view of low shrubs and the bay beyond? This is how it must have looked 100 years ago. I feel under the spell of the barrier beach and the outside world seems unim- portant. Even my canned corn, beans and sardines went unnoticed as I watched a pair of barn swallows dart in and out as they relentlessly fed their young under the eaves of the porch. We left the screens off and put up with mosquitoes, flies and gnats until the young left the nest so as not to interfere with the feeding of the young. I put a stake about 10 feet away from the porch in the dune just in back and it was from here the female would scold and keep a close eye on our coming and going. Usually the first time out in the morning she'd call and call until she excited all the other swallows and then in much excitement and chatter they'd swoop and dive about the porch, protesting man's interference. Altogether there must be about five nests about the dune cottage..one in the outdoor shower stall, another under the eaves in the front of the building and the rest on the open THE DUNE STATION on Fire Island National Seashore sits on a sandy beach with a cool and clear Atlantic at its feet. It is here Paul Stoutenburgh, as Ranger Naturalist, interprets the delicate balance of the barrier beach to visitors at the seashore. photo by Paul Stoutenburgh + porch to the west. All are made of mud, of course, which reminds me of one about two miles up the beach which is rather unique. There's an old artesian well from the Coast Guard station that has a high concentration of iron in its water —so much so that the spill area from the well has covered the ground for 10 feet around it with a rusty red color. The swallows have used this rusty mud to make their nest with and the result is a banded nest of standard mud and red colored mud. Quite fashionable, I'd say. When we eat on the back porch each day it seems the parent birds are always close at hand, screaming their objections to our being so close to their young. From dawn to dark they feed. At 9 p.m. they were still feeding as we turned in. Their chirp -chirp puts us to sleep as soon as it is dark. And then at dawn we find the sun looking over the dune outside our window and we're up and out to the sound of the birds again. What a wonderful time of day —the dune grass drips with dew and the world seems fresh and ready for anything. During our early morning walks on the beach terns can usually be seen working along the shore. I'm going to bring my surf pole over to try fishing next week. Fresh bluefish or weakfish would be great. As I'm writing a catbird comes quietly in to pick up scraps (corn and beans) I've tossed in the sand. She's a bit cautious —tilts her head —tries one —likes it and takes three more. Then she flies away, probably to her young somewhere in the maze of beach plums, dune grass, bayberry and poison ivy that spreads before me. Yesterday, a yellow warbler flitted about collecting insects to feed an overgrown cowbird. That somehow turns me off. The idea of the cowbird laying its eggs in other ' birds' nests, particularly when the bird is as small as the yellow warbler and the young, cowbird crowds out the young warblers. But ' in the Master Plan of things, I'm sure it is accepted, and so I have to accept it too.