By Joe Reynolds
Just a little over a week before the start of spring, and I was out for a long walk on a late winter March day. Under a partly cloudy sky the air temperature hit 54°F with a stiff westerly breeze.
New York City in the background of North Beach at Sandy Hook The northern area of the Sandy Hook peninsula is known to many people as North Beach, and it was from here that I started my walk. I am not sure exactly why, but this beach sure makes a nice place to go beachcombing after winter with the backdrop of New York City's soaring skyline starring you down. There are always tons of unusual and unique shells covering the edge of the beach. I spotted a good variety of shells of different colors and sizes from clams, crabs, whelks, and moon snails. I even uncovered a few empty skate egg cases, which are always good finds.
Coney Island in the distance from Sandy Hook The truth is though, I was not out looking for shells or egg cases so much as trying to clear my mind of the devastation that an 8.9 magnitude earthquake and subsequent tsunami could do to the people of Japan. The wreckage, ruin and loss of life (which continues), from multiple disasters (environmental, economic, and nuclear) was difficult for me to take in. I was heartbroken. The more I watched the news on TV and thought about it, the deeper those tragic images were burrowing in my mind.
Another view of Mid-town I guess I was not alone. Lots of folks were pulling into the parking lots around the hook to enjoy the day and clear their minds too. Fortunately, Mother Nature did not disappoint. What a wonderful day it was!
An adult American Oystercatcher recently seen at Sandy Hook for the first-time this year The thin edge of the sandy beach was alive, as only it could be during a mid-afternoon on a late winter day. On an ebbing tide, a Great Blue Heron passed overhead. I knew it was a Great Blue Heron from its size. There are not many birds that are about 4-feet tall with a 72-inch wingspan. With wings beating slow and steady, it was a Great Blue flying northward towards Staten island. Perhaps to one of the small islands on the eastern side of Staten Island where there is an active nesting colony of egrets and herons. Usually around March wading birds, such as the Great Blue Heron and the Great and Snowy egrets, return to nesting sites around the bay.
As I walked the beach I spotted my first American Oystercatcher of the season. I had a good look with binoculars. This solitary bird might have just flown in from as close as Barnegat Bay or as far as Florida. I walked as close as I could to the oystercatcher. It stood silently at first, just looking at me like I was some weird dude. Then the bird had enough of me and walked to the shallows to forage for clams, small crabs, worms, or other food in company with a massive flock of gulls. There is safety in numbers.
A quick flying male Red-breasted Merganser Just beyond the oystercatcher was a raft of winter water birds. There were Longtails and Red-breasted Mergansers. This might be the last time I see these birds. Within a few weeks they will be migrating north to Canada to nest and start another generation. First, though, these birds must feed, mostly on small fish, to gain enough strength for the journey ahead.
Recently installed rope fencing at Sandy Hook to protect nesting shorebirds from too much human disturbance As I trudged back, I noticed that volunteers had recently installed the string fencing that will protect the endangered Piping Plover while it nests on the dunes. Soon this little 7-inch bird will be returning to the ocean shores of New York and New Jersey to start another generation here, as they have for thousands of years, but only in the last dozen with the backdrop of New York City's soaring skyline starring them down. While the little birds nest and feeds beside the edge of the water, the plovers will be harassed in some way or another this summer by people enjoying a day at the beach. Thank goodness for the volunteers that take time out to install these modest rope fences next to the dunes. It is really the only unyielding protection the shorebirds get from human disorder.
A greater disorder goes on right now half a world away in Japan. Sitting on the beach with my back to civilization, I appreciate the calmness that this side of the ocean provides. I recognize, however, how fierce the water can be.
As folks reach out and come together to provide rescue and comfort in Japan, we find the compassion in each other. No one ever knows what they can really do. Perhaps one simple thing we can do is to ask ourselves what are we doing to prevent a tragedy like this from happening again?
Perhaps the horrendous disaster in Japan will result worldwide to a greater understanding of what can sensibly be done on our shores and what cannot be done. Is it really wise to try to control nature or is it best to work with nature. Is it really smart and sustainable to build and over-build near and all along the edge of an unpredictable coast. 
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