Journal of a Sabbatical

June 7, 2001

least terns

Today's bird sightings:
Plum Island
northern mockingbird (2)
double-crested cormorant (6)
least tern (37)
common tern (15)
herring gull (9)
ring billed gull (3)
common loon (3)
piping plover (1)
purple martin (1)

Today's Reading: Unbeaten Tracks in Japan by Isabella Bird, Summer from the Journals of Henry David Thoreau edited by H.G.O. Blake, Sand Dunes and Salt Marshes by Charles Wendell Townsend, Books and Habits by Lafcadio Hearn

Today's Starting Pitcher: Tim Wakefield

Visitors: 2. One nice, one not. Piping plovers seen: 1. Chicks should be hatching around now, but I didn't get a chance to talk to the biological staff today, though I could see their ATVs in the distance way south of where I am. The one piping plover I saw was an adult, possibly the female whose mate got killed by a crow. I'm guessing that because this bird is clearly alone and very close to the site of the doomed nest. It's standing stock still between two herring gulls on wet sand. On dry sand it would be invisible. The gulls show no interest in it. Maybe they are only interested in eating chicks. At this moment, they're standing stock still too, staring into the waves. The two gulls and the plover stay that way in a little tableaux for several minutes. I miss the breakup of the tableaux when I'm distracted by a very loud pair of least terns.

The least tern pair fly low over the water. One, the male I presume, is carrying some kind of bait fish in its beak. They fly up over the wrack and land in the dry sand near where the doomed plover nest was. The one with the fish offers it to the other. She (I assume it's she) accepts and eats the fish. They fly up in short hops, then sit together on the sand behind a log and a big pile of seaweed. I keep trying to find them again with the binoculars but soon give up when least terns in singles and pairs and flocks of 10 or 12 start appearing.

Suddenly there are least terns all over the place. Everywhere I look, least terns. I sure hope this means they're nesting here. I mention that to a guy fishing on the northern (open) part of the beach who's come over to chat about the plovers. He says he hopes so too because they are so good at driving off mammalian predators. This leads to talk of the coyotes and whether anybody has seen them on the refuge this year. I haven't, and I find it hard to believe that all three of them, the litter of pups from year before last, (or was that only last year?) could all establish territories in such a small space. I'm sure they're still around, unfortunately, but they've gotten more secretive and nocturnal like coyotes are supposed to be.

Beach heath (also called poverty grass although it's not a grass) is in bloom all over the dunes, a sure sign of summer. The patches of yellow bring out the highlights of the sand too. It's just such a pretty day.

It's been an easy day until the very end of the shift when I stop a visitor who has entered the closed area along the water line. She's indignant and informs me the beach is public at the low tide line. I tell her this is federal property and the beach is closed to the mean low tide line. She argues that in all her 35 years living there no one has ever told her that, but finally turns and leaves. As I'm leaving I notice out of the corner of my eye that she's noticed my leaving and turned around. The radio doesn't work and there's no law enforcement coverage on at the moment so there's not much I can do. I tell Rick at the gatehouse and he suggests I tell headquarters.

I drive up to headquarters and just explain that I don't want to leave without telling someone that it looks like the trespasser I had deterred is coming back. That's being all I can do, I take off for other commitments.

I can't shake off the feeling that whatever we do to try to save the piping plover will not be enough. The pressures on the beaches from human settlement are so intense that I'm afraid all beach nesting birds are doomed. They'll maybe survive on remote islands but not so close to civilization. The pit of my stomach sinks at the thought of life without piping plovers and least terns (to name two beach nesters already in trouble).

This reminds me about an article I read in Tuesday's Boston Globe about beach erosion and about how PI residents want to bring in sand and do a beach renourishment project and take other desperate measures like seawalls and groins to protect their property rather than planting beach grass and other sand loving plants to catch the sand and let the sand circulate normally. I guess if my house was that close to the water I'd be worried too. Most of these houses were built before very much was known about sand circulation on barrier beaches, so it's hard to be critical. On the other hand I see new buildings going up both here and on Salisbury Beach and I have to wonder if people have learned much from the storms of this winter and winters past.

My mood worsens as I drive back into town along the river and see a For Sale sign on a very narrow strip of land next to the Merrimack. I can't imagine building a house there - it would have to be on stilts like the one house further east that's built in the river. One less spot for wintering ducks and brant. People gradually nudge out all the natural beauty they've come here to enjoy. Without any sense of irony at all.

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