it's really hot
I signed up for a double shift again, so here I am at
7:55 in the morning finishing my French roast coffee from
Bonnie's Bakery and already broiling in the heat. While
we're waiting for Nadine to arrive at the gatehouse, the
south plover warden is slathering on the sunscreen and I'm
listening to the radio. The radio weather forecast predicts
"hazy hot and humid with a chance of thunderstorms". Purple
martins are zipping in and out of the purple martin houses
near the restrooms. Midges are swarming. Nadine arrives,
hands out radios and clipboards and warns us the crazies are
out on days like this. I exchange crazy people stories with
the south plover warden and we head off to our posts.
I don't have far to go but walking from my car to the
beach works up a sweat as if I've run a marathon. I set up
my chair, get the binoculars out of my backpack and start
watching an empty beach. The only sign of human life so far
is a set of footprints from an early morning jogger and
his/her dog. The footprints stretch quite a way onto the
refuge beach. People seem to think it's OK to run and take
their dogs onto the refuge beach early in the morning when
there's no one there to catch them. That's so bogus but what
can I do? I report these things but the joggers never get
tickets.
The tide is going out. Slowly. The water is a pale
silvery blue with hints of pink. The sky is pale gray - very
pale gray. It's hazy but I can still see Mt. Agamenticus to
the north. I'm always amazed that any part of Maine is
visible from here at all ever.
help, i'm being eaten alive by deer flies and midges
People start filling up the beach around 9:00. Most
already know about the beach closure and stay away from the
refuge. A couple of totally oblivious people keep right on
walking even after I speak to them gently so I have to speak
a little more forcefully to get their full attention. Then
they're embarrassed.
I have, however, contacted about 7 million deer flies and
uncountable millions of midges. The flies are chomping on me
like they haven't eaten in their whole lives. When the
breeze picks up they move a little away from me and take
longer between bites. When the breeze dies down, they swarm.
Not only am I hot, I'm bleeding! These aren't even
greenheads (for those not familiar with greenheads - they
are jaws with wings and are on my list of reasons it is
insane to live in Massachusetts -fortunately they are not in
season yet).
The gatehouse radios me to see if everything is OK, and
to verify that the radio works - we're constantly doing
radio checks because the radio reception is highly variable
around there. Oddly my cell phone works fine there but not
in Groton. Go figure. Anyway, I tell Nadine I'm being eaten
alive. She has bug repellent. I trudge back to the gatehouse
and return to my station with a spray can of Deep Woods Off.
It says not to saturate yourself with it and not to keep
applying it, but I seem to have to reapply about every 20
minutes. As I'm typing this my skin smells of Deep Woods
Off.
really really really hot
It keeps getting hotter. A few drops of rain squeeze
themselves out of the clouds but not enough to cool things
off. The beach really starts filling up with people.
Some out of town visitors ask if this is the frontier and
I'm the border guard. They're being funny. When I tell them
about the plovers they are actually pleased that the
government is doing something about federally threatened
species (I love that term - I always picture Newt Gingrich
threatening to put the plovers in orphanages if they don't
shape up).
I see the whale watch boat leave the harbor at 10:25 AM.
By 11:00 I've only spoken to 4 visitors. It's really
quiet.
In the afternoon, I notice people are actually hot enough
to brave swimming. This requires courage you ask? you bet!
The water here is cold. Really cold. I wade in up to my
knees and start to feel my feet go numb. The swimmers dive
in and scream when they hit the water. They don't stay in
long.
least terns
All day least terns are zipping by with fish in their
beaks. There are zillions of them. They are not shy like the
plovers. The least terns will buzz the top of your head. In
fact a pair buzzes my head as I'm looking for something in
my pack. Maybe they want to look themselves up in the bird
book.
There's a colony of about 40 of them on the refuge this
summer. This is excellent news. Last year they didn't nest
on the refuge at all. A bunch of them nested on Crane's
Beach further south. A visitor asks me about the differences
between Crane's Beach and Plum Island. Simple: there's less
beach here. The beaches at Plum Island are really narrow.
Especially after this past winter and spring with lots of
beach erosion. I do my two bit barrier beach explanation and
this woman gets it and asks more questions. It's kind of fun
to talk to someone who is not demanding to know the exact
moment the beach will be open or telling me how stupid the
refuge policies are.
I see the whale watch boat return to the harbor at
2:30PM.
piping plovers
Two piping plovers land a few feet away from me on the
beach. This is the closest I've ever been to them. I can
positively identify them with the naked eye and with
binoculars I can get a really detailed close look. I'm
thrilled. Sometimes it feels weird guarding these little
beasts 'cause I hardly ever see them. They're exactly the
same color as dry sand, really hard to see at all. They tend
to nest toward the southern end of the beach and aren't
really visible even with binoculars from the northern
boundary. When I do get a chance to see them, I get goose
bumps. They almost became extinct because there was a fad to
wear them on hats - yes the entire bird. The millinery trade
nearly wiped out a lot of shore birds.
A pair of piping plovers has nested on the northern end
of the beach outside the refuge. The refuge biological staff
drives up there in their ATVs to check on it. Hey, birds
can't read - they don't know they're supposed to be
someplace else...
Just before my relief comes on duty, a pair of least
terns lands a few feet in front of me. The male feed the
female a fish - like "hey baby, mate with me I've got the
biggest fish on the beach!" They fly off together toward the
south end of the beach.
I hand off the can of Deep Woods Off along with the radio
to my relief, turn in my report at the gatehouse, stop at
Island Steamers for a raspberry slush, and head home. It's
still hot.
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