I stopped at Plum Island
Coffee Roasters, which despite its name is not on Plum
Island, this morning on the way to the refuge figuring I
was going to need hot coffee (hah! little did I know!). I
even called the gatehouse to say I was running late. The
boatyard -- have I said before that the aforementioned
coffee shop is in the boat yard? -- was very busy but
less crowded than it had been a week or two ago. More
boats in the water. Fewer boats on land being worked on.
I think the reason the boat yard seemed less crowded was
mostly that the whale watch boat was in the water. Man, I
want to be on a boat. But not today. Today I do not want
to be on a boat.
Equipped with coffee, binoculars,
and warm clothing I drove over to the refuge listening to
a
story on NPR about how
wearing red enhances men's chances of winning at sports.
Hmm, but is red any warmer than, say, blue? Does this
have anything to do with why red cars get more speeding
tickets? Has the coffee woken me up yet?
On the beach with coffee in hand, I
watch two guys fishing. One is wearing a green jacket and
shorts. The other guy is wearing a red jacket and normal
looking waders, that is, not shorts. The wind is coming
in off the water and the waves are huge. I do not want to
be on a boat today at all. I'm not even sure I want to be
on the beach. I drink the coffee really fast so I can
enjoy it before it gets cold. The trouble with that
strategy is that once I've consumed the coffee, the cup
is no longer useful as a hand warmer.
The waves are very big. Really most
sincerely big. I definitely do not want to be on a boat
today. The guy in the green
jacket pulls in a striped bass too small to keep. He
throws it back. The guy in the red jacket hasn't had a
nibble. Four black bellied plovers forage in the wrack. I
shiver despite my winter jacket. I regret having left my
ear muffs in the car. I notice there are no boats out on
the water. Plenty of people fishing from shore for
stripers but nobody fishing from boats. No lobster boats.
No whate watch boat. No Coast Guard assets. No any kind
of boats. Cormorants seem to be the best at flying into
the wind and the tree swallow seems to do worst at it.
I walk back and forth, moving just
to keep warm. I yawn while facing into the wind. Big
mistake. I get a mouthful of wrack along with the sand.
It tastes salty. Like salty dried grass -- which it is
along with seaweed and pieces of shell and oak leaves
(yes, oak leaves) and whatever all else. At least there's
no dead muskrat mixed in with it this time. I can't even
imagine what dead muskrat would taste like. No plastic
toy boats either. I spit it all out -- not into the wind!
It takes several tries to get my mouth feeling like it's
no longer stuff ed with sandy , salty straw. I turn
sideways and get an earful of sand. At least that's just
sand.
The guy in the green jacket has a
big striper on the line. It's putting up quite a fight.
The striper is pulling the guy into the closed area. I
don't want to interrupt the guy when he's tryiing to land
such a big fish. There are no piping plovers around and
the black bellieds don't seem bothered by this. I watch
the guy land the fish and only then walk over to him and
remind him of the beach closure. He jokes that he
wondered if I'd shoot him for going in there. I tell him
they don't give us guns. I tell him I've never seen a
striper this close and he gives me a better look at it.
Then, to my surprise he asks where the piping plovers
nest and all sorts of other questions about them. I tell
him their whole little life cycle. He puts the fish up by
his bait cooler and resumes fishing.
A visitor asks me if I'm with the
guy in the green jacket. She wants to know why he is
wearing shorts. She is wearing flip flops -- no socks.
Why don't her toes freeze? I explain that no, I am not
with the guy in the green jacket , rather I am the plover
warden. "They make you come out here in this weather?"
"Nobody's making me. I love piping plovers." Then she
wants to know if it's warmer on the other side of the
dunes. Meanwhile, the guy in the red jacket still hasn't
had a nibble. A lone sail boat appears on the horizon --
the only one all morning. The barefoot visitor leaves.
The striped bass thrashes in the sand. Some least terns
fly by -- the first I've seen this season. I wonder if
they'll nest on the refuge this year. The guy in the red
jacket never does catch anything. Evidently wearing red
does not enhance a man's chances of winning versus a
striped bass.
I thaw out in the gatehouse for a
few minutes before heading back to Plum Island Coffee
Roasters for another cup of hot java. It's at least 10
degrees warmer in Newburyport than on the island but I'm
still shivering. I blast the heat in the car the whole
way home.