Sense of wonder in the field: Salt marsh majesty
It’s 4:30 a.m., and I’ve already completed the hardest task of the day… getting out of bed. I pour myself a strong cup of coffee. Guessing the amount I’ll need for the day is my second biggest challenge. The purple hue of the sky that signals morning to all is in full swing. It’s 5:00 a.m., and I’m on my way to the field. The workday has begun.
That first whiff of salt marsh does more to wake me up than any amount of caffeine. By the time I’ve gotten my waders on and my gear all together, the first rays of light begin coloring the sky. The salt marsh looks like a mythical world between worlds. A beautiful purgatory with rainbow puddles and, on a cool morning, low hanging mist. We walk the same deer trails we did the day before, for as resilient as the marsh is, it is just as sensitive.
Now the symphony of bird songs begins to play. The faint whistles and whispers of yellowlegs and sandpipers create the bass. The sharp-tailed sparrows come in with their hisses and skishes like cymbals on a drum set. This is our cue.
We put up our mist nets — visible only by the yellow poles that hold them up. Now we join the music, crashing through the grass, clapping offbeat and out of tune… flushing the birds toward the net. The rest of the choir stops. We’ve caught our bird.
The band continues soon after, but it sounds incomplete — or maybe we just aren’t paying attention to it, our attention now focused on the bird we have in hand. This one piece of the entire choir… without it, it doesn’t sound the same. We band it with care, we collect our data, give it our love, and let it go.
In that brief moment from when the bird leaves our hands to when it sings again, it feels like the whole marsh has stopped and every creature watches us with an icy stare. The world holds it breath. And then our bird sings again, and the marsh returns to its blissful song.
These sharp-tailed sparrows were my ambassadors to the salt marsh. To be honest, before I worked at Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge, I was less than thrilled to work in one. But I discovered a new world! The salt marsh is very much a purgatory between the ocean and land; an ecosystem nestled between ecosystems. It is the connective tissue. So much life exists in this ecosystem that it is hard to describe it in something as short as this blog entry.
Once you’ve been shown the majesty of the marsh, it will hold you forever. As is the way of most natural lands… but there is a dire situation unfolding in the marsh. The saltmarsh sparrow (a type of sharp-tailed sparrow) is in rapid decline. Our brief disturbance to the marsh’s symphony is necessary to protect these birds. Sea-level rise is waterlogging nests that are built on the ground; and as we disconnect further from our collective sense of wonder, the marsh pays the price.
I encourage you to go out at the crack of dawn. Just stand on the side of the road by a marsh. Take a big sniff of that marshy smell… really breathe it in — don’t shy away from it. See those rainbow puddles. Just observe the sunrise over the marsh. Watch the deer move in the distance. Then, just as there is enough light to see, close your eyes. Close your eyes and listen. Even if you don’t hear anything at first, keep listening. You’ll hear the whispers of shorebirds and the hisses and skishes of sparrows… and you will find that majesty of the salt marsh so many of us have overlooked.
This blog is part of a series celebrating 50 years of conservation at Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge by reflecting on the legacy of the famed conservationist, and following her lead of exploring how conservation professionals balance their sense of wonder for the natural world with their fieldwork, research and conservation actions, and where the two seemingly opposing concepts converge.
Gavin Shwahla is a naturalist, photographer, and filmmaker. After graduating Paul Smith’s College in May 2019, Gavin spent the summer at Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge as the Avian Monitoring Intern. His days were split between surveying endangered piping plovers and least terns on the beaches, and collecting demographic data on saltmarsh sparrows as a part of the Saltmarsh Habitat & Avian Research Program (SHARP). This born and raised “beach bum” quickly fell in love with the refuge, which led him to produce The Plover Protectors — a short film that chronicles the day-to-day challenges of two plover biologists at the refuge. Gavin resides in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey (for now) where he is pursuing his creative career as a nature photographer and environmental filmmaker through Gavin Wild Visuals. You can view his art at www.gavinwild.com and follow @gavinwildvisuals on Facebook and Instagram to support his mission to “re-wild the soul of the world” through art and entertainment!
The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and partners along the Atlantic Coast aim to turn the tide for saltmarsh sparrow. We are increasing our efforts to protect and restore marshes on our wildlife refuges, collaborate with researchers, and help states and landowners conserve the saltmarsh sparrow. United, quick and decisive action will give this bird a chance.
