The clam before the storm: Coastal Cultural Experience
by Claire Garfield
The only thing that disturbed the still and silent water of North Sea Harbor, aside from some very eager Coastal Cultural Experience students, was a lone fisherman trudging through the sediment in search of clams. Despite their unassuming appearance, clams and other filter-feeding bivalves have played an integral role in Long Island’s natural and cultural history.
When the first Europeans stepped foot on Long Island at Conscious Point, they used the water around them for food and other practicalities of everyday life in the 1640s; however, just like the college students that call Stony Brook Southampton home now, they wanted something familiar to eat. Lobsters, a delicacy now, were too unfamiliar to be palatable, but shellfish like clams, oysters, and mussels were reminiscent enough of home and therefore acceptable. Life in a new place is always tricky though and the early Long Island settlers wasted nothing of the shellfish they found. After eating the organism, the shells were ground up and used to whitewash homes.
Bivalves are still important in Long Island waters. They’re great cleaners, in fact, since the decline of clam populations in the Great South Bay from 1976 to 2005, time to filter the bay has increased from 3 days to 90 days [1]! Luckily, communities like Southampton recognize the importance of balancing cultivating and protecting the bivalves of North Sea Harbor. Within the harbor lies a protected area where clams are left undisturbed. Nearby are floating barrels for mussels that pop to the surface when the mussels are ready. The Southampton Conservation board works along international organizations like the Nature Conservancy to protect vital habitat. Despite a decline in bivalves in the past, people of the South Fork seem committed to conservation and a better future for our filter-feeding friends is in sight! A great impetus for us is how tasty they are as we were treated to a fish fry made from local seafood!
1. Bretsch, Kurt. Long Island Marine Habitats, lecture 3.
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| Figure 1. A sunset treated us as we enjoyed our fish fry complete with some local bivalves. Source: Claire Garfield |
The Trials of the Terrapin
by Brandy Jones
As we paddled through North Sea Harbor, we took in the overcast afternoon, feeling the increasing chill to the air as it swept away the final day of summer. Crossing into Fish Cove, a fellow Semester by the Sea student spotted what may have been the head of a diamondback terrapin turtle. As the only species of turtle in North America that lives in brackish environments, meaning a mixture of salt and freshwater, the diamondback can be found occupying coastal salt marshes, bays, coves, estuaries, and tidal creeks [1]. While our class discussion only touched on the terrapin turtle briefly, mentioning their petite size and usual habitats, it sparked an interest in me as we failed to spot any others while kayaking. Were the terrapins yet another species being over harvested in Long Island, or were they simply hiding from us?
Diamondback terrapin turtles have been a source of protein for hundreds of years. During the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, terrapin soup was considered a gourmet food and the unregulated capture of these animals decreased the population drastically in New York [1]. While the people of the early 20th century began to recognize the decrease of diamondback terrapins, it was not until 1990 that regulations were put into place to protect them [2]. Fast forward to today: terrapins not only face problems such as climate change, rising sea levels introducing inhabitable levels of salt into their homes, death by boats or cars while finding a spot to nest, predation, and pollution, they also fall victim to drowning in crab traps placed throughout Long Island [3].
Crab trap deaths of diamondback terrapins are one of the leading causes of their population decline. Organizations such as The Nature Conservancy and the Seatuck Environmental Association have teamed up with the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (NYS DEC) in order to implement ways to reduce terrapin death by both crab traps as well as the capture and sale for human consumption. Thanks to their efforts, 2018 will be the first year that terrapins are prohibited from being directly captured anywhere in New York State, as well as the first year that the NYS DEC requires all crab traps placed in densely terrapin populated areas to contain Turtle Excluder Devices (TED’s) which will prevent them from swimming into these traps, but still allow for crabs to enter [2].
As I think about all of the wonderful creatures we have seen during our classes and field trips thus far, I feel hopeful that more and more young people like myself and the rest of the Semester by the Sea students will be able to see and learn about keeping our wildlife safe. With these changes, hopefully the subsequent classes will find more of the diamondback terrapin turtles during their kayak trips.
Works Cited
1. “Diamondback Terrapin – Watchable Wildlife”. Official Web Page of the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation, https://www.dec.ny.gov/animals/59652.html
2. LoBue, Carl. “Good News for NY Diamondback Terrapins!” Fire Island and Beyond, 2018 March 16, https://http://fireislandandbeyond.com/good-news-for-ny-diamondback-terrapins/ 3. “Long Island Diamondback Terrapin Protection Project”. Huntington-Oyster Bay Audubon Society, https://www.hobaudubon.org/diamondback-terrapin-protection-project.asp
Never Fight with a Pregnant Woman—A Brief History of Conscience Point, NY
by Courtney Stuart
This Friday’s “class” involved kayaking around Conscience Point in Long Island’s North Sea Harbor. Although the trip may have been slightly challenging for some of our beginner kayakers, it was nothing compared to the journey made by a small band of English colonists who first arrived at this very site in the summer of 1640. Despite the plan to head further west along the island, the pilgrims’ restless journey was cut short thanks to one very weary passenger, an eight-and-a-half-month pregnant woman. On what was planned to be a quick stop along the way, the exhausted and assuredly sick woman disembarked the vessel and could not be convinced to return—claiming that her conscience told her this is where they must stay. Her husband and the rest of the vessel’s members, knowing full well not to fight with an angry pregnant woman, agreed to stay and make this their new settlement.
The pilgrims, unfamiliar with their newly settled environment, learned an important lesson from the Shinnecock Indians who had been living in the area for centuries. That lesson was the difference between living alongside the water and living on top of it. As the Native Americans had probably learned the hard way, living on top of the water and facing the constant threat of coastal flooding was not ideal. Rather, it was best to build slightly inland, while still maintaining a close relationship with the seas. The remnants of this lesson can still be seen in the North Sea today, the original Conscience Point and surrounding marshes are undeveloped and wild. In contrast, modern houses, docks, and boats fill the opposite coastline, creating a stark juxtaposition between the two sides of this small bay.
As for Conscience Point today, it is now part of a 60-acre national wildlife sanctuary managed by the Long Island National Wildlife Refuge Complex. The sanctuary serves as a refuge for maritime grasslands, woodlands, and salt marshes, as well as the wildlife associated with these habitats—osprey, terrapin turtles, heron, fish, warblers, and the various shellfish that live within the protective habitat of the submerged vegetation [1]. An unforeseen stopping point for Pilgrims has become a crucial component of the modern coastline’s wetland network—known by Long Islanders as the Cow Neck Complex—which comprises over 300 acres of land and exposed tidal flats. The complex is partially owned by the Nature Conservancy, a global non-profit organization that has been dedicated to the protecting both the natural environment since 1951 [2]
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Figure 1. My Coastal Cultural Experience classmates enjoying a beautiful day and an exciting lecture in our outdoor “classroom”—right on the water of Long Island’s North Sea Harbor.
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1. “Conscience Point – U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.” Official Web Page of the U S Fish and Wildlife Service, 19 June 2018, www.fws.gov/refuge/conscience_point/.
2. “Who We Are.” The Nature Conservancy, www.nature.org/en-us/.
Easthampton Baymen’s Association
The greatest in theby nation
by Emily Richters
Cleverly coined, Bonackers, named after Accabonac Harbor, were the fishing families. These are the families that made a living off of what the bay provided. Anything living in it was game. From eel, to fish, to even clams and snapping turtles, all depending on the season [3]. Since the 1950’s, the Baymen’s Association is a fishermen’s organization that plays an active role in politics, kind of like a Union [3].
The Baymen’s lives depend on the waters. Since the 50s, it has been getting harder and harder for fishermen to get by. This has a lot to do with pollution, climate change and the environmental regulations in response to it. [1] Many fishermen came from a generations-long line of baymen, but because of the great dying off and the push back against fishing, these lines have ended. Fathers discouraging their sons to take up the family businesses, they saw no future for it anymore [1].
In 1992, the New York Sportfishing Federation pushed to make striped bass, the “Money Fish,” wanted the state to make them gamefish only. The East Hampton Town Baymen’s Association organized a civil disobedience protest at Indian Wells Beach [2]. Many participated, including Billy Joel, in picking bass from a haul seine in protest. Many were also arrested for doing so. Billy Joel even wrote a song, “Downeaster Alexa,” about a bayman who could no longer run his bass fishery due to state regulations [2].
Bonackers and fishermen today are still struggling to make a living. There once was thousands fishing and making a living off the bays, but now there are only a few left. This has largely got to do with environmental regulations killing the fishing industry. The fishing industry is one of the more important ones in the world. Tara Rider says that 80% of the world’s main source of protein is from fish. The waters give us life. But there has got to be a balance. Although it is important for fish to live in healthy waters and within healthy populations, one has got to think about the lives of the fishermen and the groups of people that they are feeding.
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| The East Hampton baymen association and supporters protesting state conservation laws in 1992. On the left is Billy Joel [1]. |
Citations
1. Drumm , Russell. “Recalling the Striped Bass War, 20 Years On.” The East Hampton Star, easthamptonstar.com/?q=Lead-article/2012628/Recalling-Striped-Bass-War-20-Years.
2. LeDUFF, CHARLIE. “Last Days Of the Baymen.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 20 Apr. 1997, www.nytimes.com/1997/04/20/nyregion/last-days-of-the-baymen.html.e
3. Smithsonian. “East Hampton.” Smithsonian Folklife Festival, Smithsonian, 2004, festival.si.edu/2004/water-ways/east-hampton/smithsonian.
An alewife is an unassuming little fish. A little bigger than your forearm, its flank is a shining silver, with dorsal and tail fins of a contrasting dark gray. It spends its adult life in the ocean, but returns to brackish streams several times over its life to spawn all along the eastern coast of North America. In spring, they pack in by the thousands, leaping and frothing masses.
In September, Fish Cove is calm and peaceful, with only the occasional silverside or menhaden breaking the surface. We drift with the wind, linked kayak-to-kayak to a dying tree with branches that brush the surface of the water. Alewives, Tara tells us, were once a massive fishery; but, like many before them, humans pulled them out of the water at unsustainable numbers. Population crash. Catch moratoria. Species of Concern listing with the U.S. National Marine Fisheries service. And so they limp along, slowly rebuilding their numbers, serving as food for many of the predators in the area.
I think about the first alewife that arrives at one of these brackish streams for the breeding season. Nosing its way into unfamiliar, or perhaps familiar, waters, driven by instinct that has called it so far. It is alone, genetics having gifted – or cursed – it with an altered sense of timing. Perhaps the silver scales catch in the light, a bright beacon to any with an eye to see it. And suddenly, it is plucked from its home, gasping, thrashing in talons that pierce its flesh. Perhaps in its last moments, it is still aware enough as the talons turn it to face forward, still aware enough to see the landscape flying below it, a sight no living fish has seen.
Osprey are fishers; indeed, one of their their names is “fishhawk,” and they have earned it. They are one of the many predators of alewives, and, as is often the case, one of the many species affected by reckless human behavior. In the 1940s, 50s, 60s, osprey suffered through high exposures of DDT, the “miracle” insecticide. The result: eggshells so thin that they shattered when parents attempted to incubate them, a devastating blow to their populations. Only when Rachel Carson cried out in alarm at the silent spring did humanity take notice. DDT is now banned nearly worldwide, and osprey populations have rebounded, once more able to feast on alewives and other fish on the eastern seaboard. Their curious habit of turning an unfortunate fish to face forward makes it more aerodynamic. Every shred of energy must be saved when working the waters.
I think about the alewife and the osprey, prey and predator, both affected by humans in different ways. They are the lucky survivors, plucked from the edge of extinction. There are those that were not as fortunate. How many species must be driven to the edge, to tumble over or be saved in their eleventh hour, before we will learn?
Our Futures in Sustainability
by Flynn DeLany
Sustainability arose from the earlier environmentalism movement of the mid 20th century. After the Great Depression and World War II, people started to leave their homes and towns. People started to have the extended time off allowing vacation time. They took the opportunity of the vacation time to take a road trip, go camping, see the natural beauty America has to offer. This new appreciation of the land they have been living on gave birth to the environmentalism movement in order for the people to protect what they are finally seeing with their own eyes. The movement of environmentalism flowed and carried through the years picking up ideas of conservation, preservation, environmental policy, and many more. These all combine to establish a new movement of the 21st century that encompasses all of the new ideas and values to save the planet, Sustainability.
Sustainability means just as it reads, with this ideology we are attempting to sustain the environment. As you can imagine, sustainability impacted many of us students in some way as we chose our degree to encompass marine science. We want to help save, protect, and manage on of the most important ecosystems on the planet. These thoughts continued as we sat around the campfire at the end of the day on Friday. Dr. Rider discussed a conference that she and some other Stony Brook faculty will be attending this upcoming week. She is going to a conference to open a discussion about coastal people’s resiliency. She’s was telling us this because she’s going to be missing class but most importantly that our future careers in the marine science field are going to be part of the sustainability of the marine ecosystem. We are going to be a piece of a larger puzzle, a network of people to work towards a sustainable future. As the fire of that night was put out, we were left with a greater question; how are our plans for our futures going to fit into the larger collective of sustainability?
