Salt marshes are stinky.
I mean... it's not rank. Salt marshes have a mucky, lively smell, the way salt water has that distinct tang.
I'm being totally candid (that's the general theme of this, if you hadn't noticed) but... I didn't say that they weren't beautiful.
This morning, I got up far before the sun decided to roll out of bed. I was at the refuge at 5 am to shadow the bird survey the seasonal biotech is working on. I wouldn't say I helped, because when it comes to birds I know that they have wings, but really that's about it.
Though watching the sun colour the sky pink and then blue as it crept into the sky was beyond worth struggling out of bed at four am. I spent four hours mucking around in the marsh, but I saw unreal prettiness- I'm sure some may not believe there's anything pretty in a marsh, but really.
The marsh hugs the beach, and as we left the shore to entered the vegetated wetland, I saw a side of the east coast I had never seen before. Tiny crabs scurried away from my footsteps as I clumsily moved through the grass, vegetation swayed in the breeze and under the weight of tiny singbirds. I am getting better at traversing the landacape, I've learned to walk on the hearts of the grasses, they're like little islands in the mud.
While we were out we heard rail clappers, willets, sea side swallows, sharp tails, black skimmers, and my personal favorite, the red winged blackbird, among a few others. To survey, we would trudge through to a designated point and stand for five minutes. Binoculars in hand, you watch and you really listen. I've never done this before, but teasing apart the chorus of bird calls is like dissecting a symphony. It's a delicate process, demanding a keen ear and quiet body.
This I enjoyed, and I really believe that if it weren't for the mosquitos, marshes and swamps would be among the most perfect places in the world. Even the sloshing sound of our footsteps sound as rhythmic as drumbeats, a steady suction of the earth around our feet.
Of course, I fell in. But after you resign yourself to getting wet, everything is just a little more enjoyable; sure, its always my right foot that falls in and its a little obnoxious, but that's nothing in comparision to the gradient of green on the floor. There's a soft, fine grass that grows in these areas, and by the root its colouring is a deep, dark green, almost as dark as the saturated earth. It gets lighter and lighter, turning a faint green yellow at the tips, as if it's trying to blend with the sky. This grass looks unreal, the way high definition television does when you're watching those nature shows.
Yes, the world is that bright, the colours are in fact that vivid. Yes, the multitude of creatures living in the microcosm of the mud is that extreme.
Incomparable to any sky I've seen is the one that brought the storm this morning. We were a mile down the beach when I saw the lightning. Deciding to squeeze one more survey in, I watched as the clouds shadowed overhead while the biotech watched the birds.
They were almost purple, and the storm itself was a well defined column of mist and rain. We ended the survey thirty seconds early, just as the first drops hit my face. It picked up quickly, until the fat drops had completely soaked my right side. I didn't even mind, because what can you do?
The grey bay waters seemed to glitter under the impact of the rain. It was lovely, even as the rain slapped my face like an irritable toddler, I was awed by the texture of the water and the pink sky. I guess today I was looking for all of the beauty I could find, and it was there- in the fluid cries of the blackbird and the accented conversation of the clappers and in the way the rain was swallowed by the bay. Anything can be lovely if you look.
I mean... it's not rank. Salt marshes have a mucky, lively smell, the way salt water has that distinct tang.
I'm being totally candid (that's the general theme of this, if you hadn't noticed) but... I didn't say that they weren't beautiful.
This morning, I got up far before the sun decided to roll out of bed. I was at the refuge at 5 am to shadow the bird survey the seasonal biotech is working on. I wouldn't say I helped, because when it comes to birds I know that they have wings, but really that's about it.
Though watching the sun colour the sky pink and then blue as it crept into the sky was beyond worth struggling out of bed at four am. I spent four hours mucking around in the marsh, but I saw unreal prettiness- I'm sure some may not believe there's anything pretty in a marsh, but really.
The marsh hugs the beach, and as we left the shore to entered the vegetated wetland, I saw a side of the east coast I had never seen before. Tiny crabs scurried away from my footsteps as I clumsily moved through the grass, vegetation swayed in the breeze and under the weight of tiny singbirds. I am getting better at traversing the landacape, I've learned to walk on the hearts of the grasses, they're like little islands in the mud.
While we were out we heard rail clappers, willets, sea side swallows, sharp tails, black skimmers, and my personal favorite, the red winged blackbird, among a few others. To survey, we would trudge through to a designated point and stand for five minutes. Binoculars in hand, you watch and you really listen. I've never done this before, but teasing apart the chorus of bird calls is like dissecting a symphony. It's a delicate process, demanding a keen ear and quiet body.
This I enjoyed, and I really believe that if it weren't for the mosquitos, marshes and swamps would be among the most perfect places in the world. Even the sloshing sound of our footsteps sound as rhythmic as drumbeats, a steady suction of the earth around our feet.
Of course, I fell in. But after you resign yourself to getting wet, everything is just a little more enjoyable; sure, its always my right foot that falls in and its a little obnoxious, but that's nothing in comparision to the gradient of green on the floor. There's a soft, fine grass that grows in these areas, and by the root its colouring is a deep, dark green, almost as dark as the saturated earth. It gets lighter and lighter, turning a faint green yellow at the tips, as if it's trying to blend with the sky. This grass looks unreal, the way high definition television does when you're watching those nature shows.
Yes, the world is that bright, the colours are in fact that vivid. Yes, the multitude of creatures living in the microcosm of the mud is that extreme.
Incomparable to any sky I've seen is the one that brought the storm this morning. We were a mile down the beach when I saw the lightning. Deciding to squeeze one more survey in, I watched as the clouds shadowed overhead while the biotech watched the birds.
They were almost purple, and the storm itself was a well defined column of mist and rain. We ended the survey thirty seconds early, just as the first drops hit my face. It picked up quickly, until the fat drops had completely soaked my right side. I didn't even mind, because what can you do?
The grey bay waters seemed to glitter under the impact of the rain. It was lovely, even as the rain slapped my face like an irritable toddler, I was awed by the texture of the water and the pink sky. I guess today I was looking for all of the beauty I could find, and it was there- in the fluid cries of the blackbird and the accented conversation of the clappers and in the way the rain was swallowed by the bay. Anything can be lovely if you look.
No comments:
Post a Comment