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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