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Date: November 13, 2008 at 23:43:27
From: merch, [68.99.170.108]
Subject: a night in november


Green Hill at Dusk

I spent a lot of time searching here and there last night.

One of my first stops was Green Hill. There was barely enough wind on the water to define the moon fueled tide line a couple hundred yards off the beach. The only breaking waves I could find were those right on the beach. The swell had a noticeable and almost sickly, lack of energy to it. I imagined that these were once mighty waves that traveled thousands of miles across the Atlantic. They did this only to die as miserable little lumps of water on the shore of this beach in southern Rhode Island. I might have over thought that one a bit.

The rocks at Green Hill are not unique, but at the same time they are. They are of all different sizes and larger boulders appear to be almost randomly placed along the stretch. They are dark brown from exposure to the sea and covered in a thin green coating of growth. It’s the only place I have noticed this kind of green growth on rocks in RI. The rocks on these bars do not appear to have been properly sifted like the ones at deep hole and other locations along the shore. Maybe these bars are not as old as the bars at Matunuck which is made up of smaller, more consistently sized stones. Regardless, there is a definite series of well defined bars and troughs along this stretch. Maybe it’s still immature and developing, each passing wave and storm slowly grinding them down. Water is one of the most patient stone carvers. It takes it’s time, but eventually gets things the way it wants them. It’s hard to imagine that these rocky shoals are constantly evolving, but they are all the time. Like a river in a way.

Green Hill served as the resting place for a couple hundred common eiders this evening. The males of this family of ducks are easily distinguished by there bright white backs, flanked by dark black wings and their heads appear to be topped with little black caps. There were an equal number of females mixed throughout displaying their more subdued, complete covering of dark brown feathers. I always found it interesting that the bodies of most male ducks have been painted with such dramatic coloring while the females are left with a more natural appearance. I wonder what led to this evolution. The females must have had less to prove over the generations. The gulls were around and perfectly content harassing the ducks.

There were other sights along this beach and not all were natural. One which I found quite interesting was a quote that some thoughtful graffiti artist had painted. It is written on an old cement something or other stranded along the high side of the beach near the dunes. It reads:

“You are not here to make a living. You are here to enable the world, to live more amply with greater vision and finer spirit of hope and achievement, you are here to enrich the world and you impoverish yourself if you forget this errand” ~Woodrow Wilson~

I usually find quotes corny, but I liked that one.

My trip that evening led me to lots of places, next of which was Moonstone Beach. By the time I got there it was further into dusk. The moon to the east and the setting sun to the west put on quite a visual display. I looked both ways then moved on. The last time I was there the breach to Carr Pond was open. This time it was closed.

I found my way to the back at Potters where the resident bass have begun to move in for the winter. This is where I bumped into an exceedingly nice gentleman who liked to chat. He was one of those genuinely excited, love-to-fish and everything fishy types. I couldn’t help but like him. He had the right energy but seemed a little wound up in theories and procedural type fishing. I said good luck to him and his friend then moved on.

I arrived at the State Pier in Jerusalem for the turn of the outgoing. There is something relaxing about the unrelenting hum of the diesels across the pond at the commercial docks. I sat there for a while.

I found my way to Quonny. My first stop was the inside. It was quiet and still, more so than any Quonny I’ve ever experienced before. The moon was bright enough to discern colors in objects. There were a few soft distant splashes and a couple of gulls that wouldn’t shut up. A dog barked on the north side of the pond and that calmed their squawking for a bit. I headed out front for the turn which came early and came low. The tide never did seem to rise to its full potential last night.

The night led me to Deep Hole around low tide. It was the only place that had a sea on it all night. I wonder why the almost nonexistent sea along the entire south shore seemed to concentrate all of its energy at the bars at Deep Hole. I’ll have to remember that. I must have walked that bar halfway to the center wall at Galilee. I felt kind of strange being that far out surrounded by nothing but still water, leaving the soft break well behind me. It’s a different feeling than when you’re on a boat or even standing in an active surf. I felt out of place, but not uncomfortable. On these bars I’m usually kept busy bracing for breaking waves and placing my lure where I want it. The quiet sea gave me a chance to appreciate exactly where I was out on that bar last night. There were a couple of other fisherman out there with me as well. One inching his way toward Block Island up to his chest in the water. He was hucking an overgrown eel at the moon. And the other, apparently content not getting his feet wet, stood on the dry stones of the overexposed bar. Deep Hole had its pants down last night. Way down.

The night finally brought me to Middlebridge where the moonlight over the bridge had cast a shadow into the water. This natural shadow was being utilized by the locals.

Ever wonder why you always find fish where you find Herons? I do. They are surf fisherman as well. The best I’ve ever encountered.


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