“Such is a glimpse of the Fire Island barrier, but what an infinitude remains, unlearned, unseen!” (Robert Cushman Murphy, “August on Fire Island” American Museum of Natural History pamphlet, 1950)
We had left a car at Lashley Landing after the building manager Tom at Rogers Beach suggested it would be the better place to leave a car and for take out. We then drove 9-10 miles down Dune Rd. all the way to our starting point.
It was a foggy morning at Ponquogue Bridge. Maria and I parked the car and began unloading kayaks and gear. A couple with heavy Russian accents were readying their fishing gear for striped bass as we readied the kayaks on the western side of the parking area under the bridge.
You going fish in those? he asked, pointing to the kayaks.
No, I returned. Just paddling. Question marks do appear over people’s heads sometimes. I promise.
Luck to you, he said shaking his head side to side. He was worried about our safety.
I guess it’s a fair reflection about the efficacy of so much time given to paddling with no return of food or money. My Russian-American fisherman goes to the bay to enjoy the respite from work, neighborhood, and spend some time with his partner outside of cleaning, meals, TV, lawns, bills, and other such chores. I wanted to ask him if the goal was fish or reflection, but the language barrier would keep us from meeting at this far point of teleology. For myself, I guess I’m still looking for threads to weave into a fabric, an artifact, a myth to drape around my shoulders. Murphy’s note about what is “unlearned, unseen” on Fire Island is about what people ignore, pass by, don’t notice or avoid. I guess I’m trying to pay attention, pass into, notice, and encounter and to do so, means I have to take up a new story, a new vantage point while drawing from the best of the old stories passed down.
Today’s trip was going to be far less turbulent and edgy than the last, in Shinnecock Bay and a mild, cooler day, and water depth for most of the trip stayed between 2-3 ft deep. That’s not to say there wasn’t a lot to see, but we did end up dragging the kayaks more than a few times until we got into the Quogue Canal. The eelgrass beds covered huge swaths of the shallows.
The birds were abundant: sanderlings, lesser egrets, and a heron every now and then. Least terns dipping and scooping breakfast and an osprey catching a good-sized menhaden.
We stayed to the south near the barrier land and found a channel around Lanes Island. I noted later on the computer the rectangular grid of trenching.
Salt marsh ditching became prevalent in the US as Public Works Programs in the 1930’s and was largely an attempt to combat mosquito-bourne illnesses (Koch & Gobler, 2010). Local agencies trench the marshes to drain them and reduce habitat for mosquitoes. However, not surprisingly, it also reduces habitat and food for crabs and fingerlings. Next to erosion control and coastal processes, trenching for mosquitoes may be one of the more controversial changes to the area and is currently thought to act as conduits for pollutants to enter our local bays.
Duck blinds also dotted the islands and marsh areas. The above blind offered a nice perch for an osprey who stared us down as we rounded the island. It was four days before full moon so female horseshoe crabs were beginning to find the shallows along the shoreline to lay their eggs and scuttled “across the floors of silent seas” (apologies to T.S. Eliot).
We saw only one with a small male attached.
Last year when I was helping with a horseshoe crab count, I saw one female with 3 males attached, where the satellite makes make sure they too get a chance to fertilize the eggs when laid. Horseshoe crabs are one of the oddest creatures you’ll come across on the night shores of Long Island in late May to September. They generally breed during high tides of the new and full moons. And yes, as a species, they have been around since before dinosaurs (some suggest over 450 million years). Through the summer you’ll find dead ones and molted carapaces washed up on the shores and in the marshes. They’re harmless and in that strange/alien way, cute.
We paddled close to the southern shoreline but had to be careful off and on about hitting shallow water. I was amazed by the bravery of one intrepid boater flying in to Dockers Waterside Marina and Restaurant as the dredged channel was marked but a thin line to thread at his speed. Clearly, he had a hankering for some lunch.
The bay narrows at Penniman Creek to the north and signs warn boaters about the 5 mph speed limit and no wake zone. A couple of kayakers with fishing poles floated around the sign in the middle of the creek. Not far into the canal a local police boat sat in wait of violators. We smiled and waved at him as we slowly paddled by. I’ll try to keep the wake down officer, I through out as an icebreaker. He laughed enough to let us know he’s not just his job.
Entering Quogue Canal in kayaks is a little surreal. It was dug in 1895 to connect Quantuck and Shinnecock Bays. Around the same time, the train line made its way here and wealthy New Yorkers began to buy up property. By the time we passed the Quogue Field Club, the canal narrowed to bulkheads and mansions. We took the right side to cross under Post Lane bridge and the current was strong.
This time of the year was still a bit early for those returning to their summer homes, so the only folks around were the landscape people keeping green lawn green and topiary … uhhh … “topiaried”? Of all the kayaking I’ve done to this point, this waterway was the first I felt I didn’t belong. Yes, even the one boat or two that passed observed the 5 mph speed limit and didn’t crowd us in the canal. But between docks and bulkheads a kayaker should not stop.
The canal opens up to Quantuck Bay, fed in part by the wetlands of Quogue Wildlife Refuge to the north. The bay is small and was home that day to a flock of jetskiers, cutting swiftly one way or the other and flying off the wakes of their species. Murmuration describes the way large flocks of some species of birds seem to move in unison. These folks did not imitate that movement. It was a random, chaotic course they set. Perhaps there was alcohol involved, but I should not judge.
Quantuck Bay narrows to the west to the canal again and not far into this section is the Beach Lane draw bridge. It’s a busy lane as Rogers Beach is just across the bridge and is one of the larger beach areas around.
Clearly in the past, folks did not observe proper use of the area as the Village of Quogue made it abundantly clear. Under Article 1: Access and Use of Quogue Canal:
Maria and I thought it best paddle on into Moneybogue Bay, which for the day’s trip seemed aptly named and made our way past Reedy Island, a small collection of trees on an upland area. We pushed on below the Jessup Lane Bridge to the west which has its draw bridge over to the north side so we headed to the south side to avoid any larger boats.
Just past the Jessup Lane bridge to the south is a small beach with a bulkhead to keep erosion from a large parking lot. 
We had stopped for a protein bar and water and to make sure about how far it was to Lashley Landing, about 1 mile. We were guessing the parking was for the Swordfish Beach Club and since it was around 1PM, no one would mind our resting. Within five minutes, a middle-aged guy and his middle-aged dog came to the edge of the bulkhead and proceeded with a series of questions and awkwardness that said to us we shouldn’t be here.
It was a quick paddle to Lashley Landing, though the road and parking are on the bay side where it is called Picket Point Road. Picket Point is a gorgeous little marsh area reaching out into Moriches Bay. The landing area is just west and the trail to the parking area is short. No one else was parked there, but it seems the kind of area that you’d need to be told where it is.
Maria took some time to wander the marsh where she feels more at home than with humans–just one of the reasons I like paddling with her. She pointed out to me the mutualism between the ribbed mussels and Spartina alterniflora. The mussels take up nitrogen and release it into marsh sediments which helps with Spartina growth which provides predator and heat cover for the mussels.
She went deeper into the marsh following a willet and other birds with foreign calls. I told here to go and find out what they are. I would stand watch.
I did.
PS Any of the above pictures worth a damn are Maria’s.