Worlds Apart

Temperature in the low 20's, another blizzard in the forecast, of course this was a great morning to walk the beach on the outer Cape.  There was one other lonely car in the parking lot.  I pulled on my hooded parka awkwardly while sitting in the front seat and made sure I had notebook, pen, camera and binoculars at the ready.  Much of this checking of gear admittedly was a form of procrastination. Who really wants to walk the beach in such ghastly weather?

Coast Guard Beach mid-February

The path down to the shore was a glaze of ice, packed solid by other intrepid walkers after previous snows.  So many of us are drawn to see the pounding spray of surf even on the worst of days.  I stepped carefully trying for patches of untrodden snow to insure traction.

The first bird of the day was a scraggly crow who greeted me rudely with hoarse gravelly caws from the roof of the old Coast Guard storage building.  I didn't feel welcome.

I burst unexpectedly onto the beach from the narrow eroded path between the dunes and surprised a coyote (actually a coywolf common on the Cape these days) who was trotting down the shore in my direction.  He stopped, stiffened and startled.  We stared eye to eye for a brief moment.  He turned abruptly and bounded back the way he had come, invisible in the dunes within seconds.  We clearly come from different worlds, I out of my cozy living room with a gas-fireplace and he always in this cold, unforgiving wildness.

Coast Guard Beach mid-February

The winter beach has a bruised and battered look, well-earned through harsh nor'easters.  The relentless storm-driven breakers have done their work this season.  The clinging dune grasses have lost a few more feet to the sea.  Waves are creeping slowly toward the old Coast Guard station.

Eroding dunes in front of the old Coast Guard Station

Walking was easy, the sand packed hard and partly frozen, the footing unusually firm.  I concentrated on quick strides in the attempt to keep warm and reached the southern end of the spit in a short half hour.  The appearance here has changed markedly from the summer.  The southern one-third of the spit has been over-washed in the surges of recent storms and looks fragile and forlorn.

Sanderlings mining the flats    February

But there is life on this desolate sandscape.  Delicate sanderlings were pecking at the surf in their hurried way.  They are loyal to these frigid sand flats through all the cold months.  Somehow they survive.  I stopped for a quick picture, despite the chilling wind.

Hesitant killdeer on the frozen marsh

I returned on the inside of the spit along the frozen edge of the marsh.  Here I met a lone killdeer who looked lost and bewildered on this Cape imitation of tundra.  He was hesitant to go as if curious about the world I had come from.

Northern harrier on the prowl

Further on, a northern harrier glided over the sparse dune grasses.  He paid no attention to me as I fumbled to focus my camera.  I was hoping that he didn't have a searching eye on the innocent killdeer.  But he seemed to already have something within his claws.

I hurried back to the car ahead of the approaching afternoon storm.  The wind had become narrow and biting.  Having briefly visited the harsh winter world of coywolf and bird, I was thankful that I could return to a cup of steaming hot chocolate in front of the fire.



  

        

The Perilous Plight of Piping Plovers

Why all the fuss over these cute little birds?   

I photographed a number of these fellows last spring on Hardings Beach in Chatham upon their arrival from the south.  Since then I have listened to both preservationists, beach-goers, and off-road vehicle (ORV) owners voice their varied opinions.  One frequently hears how plover meat tastes quite good, like chicken.  It's quite a lively debate.

Hardings Beach 4/3/14 

The piping plover is designated as a "threatened species" on Cape Cod.  

Shore birds were first stressed in the 19th and early 20th century by hunters who collected feathers for sale in fashion markets.  When beaches became very popular for humans to visit in the 40's and 50's, plovers were especially stressed as we gradually took over their natural breeding grounds.  Their numbers dropped and their survival became threatened.

The National Seashore, the National Fish and Wildlife Service and many of the towns on the Cape are going out of their way to preserve these birds.  Nesting sites are protected during the breeding season from the time shallow nests are scraped in the sand until hatched chicks can take to the air. This is an inconvenience to beach-goers and ORVs who want access to the beaches.  ORV restrictions can stretch from May through July.  

The coloring of these birds makes them very difficult to see, even if you are looking carefully.  The nests and eggs are even more difficult to spot.  Sand-colored eggs take about a month to hatch. Chicks do not take to the air for about a month after hatching.  During the period when chicks scurry up and down the beach to feed, they are extremely vulnerable.  In addition, chicks burn precious energy to avoid beach walkers and ORVs.  For these reasons breeding areas are roped off and vehicle travel is prohibited during critical periods.

Plovers are very well camouflaged in a beach environment.  Hardings Beach 4/3/14

Why are we going to so much trouble to save these little guys?  

"Threatened species" are legally protected under the Endangered Species Act of 1973.   The purpose of the act is "to halt and reverse the trend toward species extinction, whatever the cost."  But why are we so concerned about species extinction?  Biologists (e.g. Harvard's Edward O. Wilson) estimate that the rate of global species extinction is 1,000 to 10,000 times the background rate.  The background rate is defined as the rate of species loss before the influence of man.  We (humans) are the cause of the greatest rate of species extinction since the time of the die-out of the dinosaurs, 65 million years ago.

My barber raises a question about species loss.  

During a recent visit to get my thinning and graying hair trimmed at our local barbershop in Brewster, I got into a discussion about these plovers.  My barber is very astute.  He informed me without hesitation that we are in the middle of a mass extinction event.  He implied that because we are losing so many species each year, perhaps we are expending too much effort to save these particular little guys.

Piping plover pondering my presence in his/her potential breeding area.  Hardings Beach 3/29/14  

This raises a practical question.  Should we look at the big picture of species extinction? Presumably we have a limited number of resources that can be devoted to saving species.  Maybe we could save more species by using the funds devoted to plovers on Cape Cod to instead preserve the Amazon rain forest.  I assume species are disappearing more quickly in places like the Amazon basin as opposed to Cape Cod.  Diverting funds to slow species extinction in a different part of the world would certainly be welcomed by Cape Codders who wish to drive their ORVs with more abandon on Cape beaches.

Let's save the plovers.  

The above argument is an easy cop-out.  Shouldn't we try to control our local environment as best we can?  We have much less control over ecosystems in other parts of the world.  So I am for the protection of the piping plover here on our beaches.

Secondly, what would the vacationers say if they learned that we are sacrificing this cute species to please beach-goers and ORV drivers who don't wish to be inconvenienced by restrictions?  I don't think this would help to enhance the public perception of our "pristine" Cape Cod.  At this point, images of plovers have become iconic on the Cape.

Finally, our presence on Cape beaches initially stressed the plover breeding habitat.  Don't we owe it to these birds to do what we can to insure their survival as a species?  We can't be so arrogant to think that our species is more important than theirs.  (Or are we?)