Crabs, Birds & Remarkable People
Author: Eileen Canzian, Journalist for the Baltimore Sun
I’ve done enough Upstream Alliance excursions that I’ve come to expect impressive beauty. Nonetheless, each has been an exceptional experience. As we paddled down the Murderkill River on the first day of the Delaware Bay expedition, I imagined the marshy border, eagles overhead, was little changed from what one would have seen hundreds of years ago. When many of your travel mates are environmental educators, you quickly get answers to the questions that come to mind. What’s the bird with the oddly long bill? Ahhh, so that’s a Dowitcher.
Riding with the current, the six-mile passage to Delaware Bay was gentle. And this time, the bay – often fierce – was gentle, too. (It would save its fury for later.) We arrived at South Bowers Beach with plenty of time to swim and meander after setting up camp. That night after dinner – fresh rockfish tacos! – the clear sky made for perfect conditions to watch droves of male horseshoe crabs inch their way toward the females that lined the beach laying eggs, as they have for some 400 million years. Horseshoe crabs had not previously made me feel so insignificant.
On Day Two, we paddled further south, along the way pulling our boats close enough to shore to observe the extraordinary: dozens of rare Red Knots, newly arrived from the southern tip of South America, attracted by the same horseshoe crabs that had lured us. The birds had a far more compelling reason, of course. They needed to gorge on the eggs until, within two weeks, they would double their weight and have enough fuel to fly another 4,000 miles to the Arctic to breed, and then rest.
As we returned from an eight-mile paddle, the wind picked up and clouds turned dark. But the rain mostly held off as we ate Don’s crab cakes – so very good – and played Horseshoe Crab Trivia, led by game show hostess Erica. We hurried to our tents as the skies opened up around 7 p.m. and the wind roared.
Within an hour, voices were calling from outside to warn us that the sea was threatening havoc. Our tent – yards further inland from where high tide might generally be expected – was likely to be under water very soon.
Rushing out to have a look, I panicked to see our boat was gone. Then I realized a most effective team was moving all the boats to a safer place. They helped us transport our tent, and we then turned our attention to the community effort. The shovel usually reserved for digging the fire pit and latrine now cleared pathways to steer the soon-to-be-rushing water away from other tents – and from the fire. It, too, somehow survived the storm.
After celebration, everyone returned to tents, somehow still dry, for a well deserved sleep.
The final morning, before our short paddle back to the take-out, we stood in a circle to reflect. The trip had featured beautiful scenery, a millions-years-old rite of spring, adventure, and remarkable teamwork. Amid all that, for me a most enduring memory will be the passion and commitment of our companions, especially those who have chosen to use their considerable talents to educate children about the environment. Such important work. A sincere thank you to each of you.
