Natural Rhythm

One of the best things about living in a place, or going to it very frequently, is the pleasure of learning it. It is cliche to say that all places have their own rhythms, but it's true. We are on St Simons Island now, where the rhythms of all things here are tied to the moon and the tides that are dictated by it. It's nearly June, a bit early for the mating and migratory seasons of the crabs and rays and stinging jellies, so the pier is not so full as it will be in another few weeks, and there are more swimmers than we'll see in August, when the wind-shoved waters and tides become filled with jellyfish as hurricane season really kicks in. Yesterday we walked to the village and went out on the pier to watch the creatures that the fishermen were hauling in, and while we were there, a man caught a nearly five foot Bullnose ray. We didn't see any other rays (their migration from their breeding areas isn't due for another eight weeks), and I was surprised to see how our attitude about catching them changes in relation to how abundant they are. I began to understand in a way that I hadn't before, the conservationist's heart. And since we have been spending a lot of time lately at Hobcaw Barony, the value of conservation has been on our minds. All three of us said our silent prayers that the ray would get loose; we crossed our fingers, held our thumbs. We knew that the fisherman would haul it up and chop it to bits for shark bait, and that would be just the wrong fate for such a graceful creature. (Bram would argue that it would be a sorry demise for two graceful creatures.) As the ray slipped loose and swam away, we all smiled.
There were a few people crabbing, with little success, and most of what was being caught by those not yet fishing for sharks were mostly small spade fish. We walked the beach and saw only a few hermit crabs (I guess it isn't time for them yet,either), some conch shell casings, millions of sea roaches (ugh) and a positively irridescent glass snake. It isn't actually a snake, but a legless lizard, or Eastern Glass Lizard so I don't have to add it to my official snake count. And we came across one big fat Cannonball Jelly about the size of a four year old's head. Mercifully, the Canonball isn't a stinging jelly. This photo was actually taken on Huntington Beach, NC.