'Eel Spearing in Setauket' by William Sidney Mount
By John L. Turner
This is part two of a two-part series on a remarkable pair of fish.
The life cycle of the American Eel is a bit more complicated than river herring and consists of six stages: egg, larvae, glass eel, elver, yellow eel, and silver eel.
Mature adults reproduce just once in their lifetime with all the eels emanating from the East Coast unerringly migrating to the Sargasso Sea where mass spawning takes place. (The Sargasso Sea, situated south of Bermuda, has no land borders but is distinct by being bounded by four strong ocean currents, including the Gulf Stream, resulting in quiet waters entrained within the gyre; here masses of sargassum weed abound giving shelter to many marine species including hatchling sea turtles).
Shortly after spawning here the adult eels die. A grown eel releases as many as several million eggs and they hatch within a week. At first the leptocephali don’t look eel-like, being transparent and flattened, described as looking like a willow leaf; they are carried north by the currents, including most notably, the Gulf Stream.
American Eel. Wikipedia photo
After about half a year they metamorphose into “glass eels,” still transparent but shaped like baby eels, and this is the stage, along with the slightly pigmented elver stage, that arrives at the mouths of Long Island’s streams. They wriggle their way up vertical faces and over wet land to make their way into freshwater ponds and lakes (although some spend their adult lives in brackish waters of Long Island’s estuaries).
While living for decades in ponds and lakes they move through a few more color stages, including yellow and silver eels. Here they become fully integrated members of the local food web, feeding on a variety of different aquatic prey while being preyed upon by many other animals including ospreys and baldeagles (stay tuned: June’s “Nature Matters” column!).
Eels are also food for humans (remember one of Long Island’s most famous paintings— William Sidney Mount’s 1845 “Eel Spearing at Setauket”?). Eventually some internal trigger “tells” these decades-old fish to head to the ocean and back to the Sargasso Sea to create a new generation of eels. To assist them in their long journey their bodies change a little — their eyes enlarge as do their pectoral fins.
Eel are managed by the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission (ASMFC), beginning in 2006 with the first species management plan. The Commission sets harvest quotas for all age classes of eels including those to be used as bait and for direct consumption. The news has not been good over the past several decades with eel abundance on the decline and ASMFC currently classifies the eel stock as “depleted.”
Ways to increase abundance? Reduce all causes of eel mortality, especially among younger animals, among adults trying to navigate the perils of turbines at hydroelectric dams and increase opportunities for eels to migrate to freshwater areas where they can survive, becoming mature adults through time.
The Seatuck Environmental Association has been at the forefront of documenting the migratory occurrences of Long Island’s alewives and eels through its signature river herring and eel surveys and has, for decades, been working to protect existing runs while facilitating others. If you want to participate in trying to find new sites of alewife runs or eel migration or document more completely whats’s happening at existing sites, go to Seatuck’s webpage.
In pre-colonial times, before the advent of dams and other obstructions, many, if not all, of Long Island’s streams and rivers likely teemed in Spring with alewives and eels. They, in turn, provided nourishment to many species of wildlife from otters to ospreys to eagles. However, the Long Island of today is a very different place, with so many ecological threads severed or frayed. The reduced abundance of these fish illustrate the pervasive loss of ecological connectivity that has occurred on Long Island in the past few centuries. The good news? Many individuals, organizations, and governmental agencies are working to enhance connectivity here – to reconnect severed ecological threads – through the installation of additional ladders and passageways, and better yet, the removal of more dams, all steps to give these remarkable animals a chance to recover and perhaps even prosper.
I hope you make their acquaintance.
A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
Port Jeff village trustee on her environmental role in crafting village policies
Rebecca Kassay introducing a youth committee at the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization in Rome, Italy, 2016. Photo courtesy of Kassay
Village of Port Jefferson trustee Rebecca Kassay is at the forefront of several environmental initiatives. TBR News Media caught up with her for an exclusive interview to discuss these matters in depth. In this interview, Kassay addresses her early involvement in community organizing, her first term as trustee and her vision for the village and its environment.
What is your background and why did you get involved in local government?
I went to SUNY New Paltz for a degree in environmental studies and a minor in communications and media. During the summers between my semesters there, I interned at Avalon Nature Preserve in Stony Brook. I worked with their three week teen program and, in working with these young people, I saw how excited they became and how engaged they were with their local community and their environment.
Interning over the summers, I began a dialogue with the park director to say, “Hey, wouldn’t it be great if there was a year-round program to engage the youth in this area to do things like habitat restoration, species studies and beach cleanups?” When I graduated from New Paltz, I got a call from the director and she said, “That idea that we’ve been talking about, do you want to give that a shot? Do you want to try to start that program?”
A ribbon-cutting ceremony at the first of four Relic beach cleanup stations in Port Jeff village. Photo courtesy of Kassay
At 21 I was starting my own program at a nonprofit. It was very overwhelming, but we started off strong and just kept building. I ended up working with hundreds of teenagers over the course of seven years at Avalon, engaging with dozens of nonprofits in the area and seeing what their environmental goals were. After working there for seven years, I began asking myself: “What’s next? What is it that I want to continue doing to build upon this experience?”
In 2013 I started a bed and breakfast at my home and it opened in 2014. I essentially had two full-time jobs — one as a Port Jefferson business owner and one working at Avalon Park and Preserve. I decided to hand the program off to someone else at Avalon and just run the bed and breakfast while I figured out where I wanted to take my skill set.
When COVID hit, I coordinated over 40,000 pieces of homemade PPE and comfort care items to frontline workers during the height of the pandemic. Through that, I began talking to local politicians about this effort and in Port Jefferson, someone said, “Hey, why don’t you consider running for office?” That sounded like a pretty cool way to get involved, so I started collecting my signatures. I ran unopposed and have had a really interesting first term.
What ignited your interest in environmental issues?
Back in the 12th grade [at Smithtown High School], I didn’t know what I wanted to do until I took Advanced Placement Environmental Science. It was the first course that I took that seemed to be very practicable. I felt that everybody should be taking this course because it has to do with how we interact with what’s around us. If you are humble enough and you’re willing to frighten yourself with the facts of where we might be going if we just continue on the path of neglecting our relationship with the environment, then it’s something scary to think about.
It’s very apparent to me and others that we need to start making some changes. We need to figure out which changes to make in order to help the Earth continue to exist in a meaningful way.
Climate change is a lens through which we have to view pretty much all of our problems, especially being a portside village. —Rebecca Kassay
What are some of the most pressing environmental issues facing the village of Port Jefferson?
In my view, many of the environmental hazards facing the village stem from climate change, which is something that a lot of people don’t want to talk about. The impacts of climate change are relatively new. It’s really in the past decade or so that we’re starting to see these more frequent and intense storms and more rain from these storms. What everyone has always done in the past is not working anymore. The types of decisions that are being made, the ways decisions are being made — they need to take climate change into account. It’s not going to get any better, it’s just going to continue getting worse.
Climate change is a lens through which we have to view pretty much all of our problems, especially being a portside village. We have a very tight relationship with the water — the harbor and the Long Island Sound. If we don’t start looking at the facts that are being given to us by engineers and scientists, we’re not going to be making the best decisions for Port Jefferson residents, not just today but Port Jefferson residents 20 or 50 years from now.
What are your thoughts on the state of Port Jefferson Harbor?
I know that the Setauket Harbor Task Force does a wonderful job. It may sound like they’re just in Setauket, but they also steward the Port Jefferson Harbor. They do a wonderful job monitoring the harbor’s water quality and make great efforts to identify solutions and put them into place. I think that the harbor itself is doing fairly well thanks to these environmental groups.
There are some issues. I myself have a sailboat and I’ve become more acquainted over the past few years in how boaters can affect the water. I’m really glad that we have a free pump-out boat in our harbor that will empty your boat’s sewage tanks for free. You just have to call them and the boat will come over because boaters’ sewage can have a very negative effect on our harbor. However, the water quality itself seems to be quite good.
What is the village doing to comply with new DEC guidelines regulating stormwater runoff into harbors and bays?
I can’t speak to the absolute current status of them, but I know that the village is very aware of the upcoming regulations and is looking closely to see what is the best pathway forward to meeting them.
Has the village considered adding rain gardens?
The village was granted funding for three rain gardens and those rain gardens are in front of village hall, the village center and the DPW planning department uptown. Those are great examples of the types of plants you would put in rain gardens. I personally think they are very beautiful and they can really help to retain stormwater, especially on individuals’ properties. It’s a beautiful addition, as opposed to this very expensive cistern in the ground that you might have to put in to retain your stormwater. And it’s also great for the environment.
You have prioritized planting trees throughout the village. What will these new trees do for overall environmental quality?
Trustee Rebecca Kassay holding 300 tree and shrub saplings from the Saratoga Tree Nursery, which were distributed and planted as part of the village’s Arbor Day celebration. Photo courtesy of Kassay
There are so many reasons we are pushing to plant more trees. The presence of trees helps in the absorption of stormwater. Large trees will lower the general temperatures in the area where you have a critical mass of trees, so homeowners will spend less fuel and less money on air conditioning in the summer and even heating in the winter because trees can block wind coming off the harbor.
For folks who are not as in love with the environment as myself and many others, they should know that planting more trees statistically increases property values. To have these larger legacy trees on your property gives the property itself and the neighborhood a greater sense of being established.
Trees are a staple in the ecosystem, providing a habitat for birds, pollinators and critters of all sorts, and these species are beautiful. I joke and say that the reason I bought my house in particular is because it has a beautiful oak on the front corner. I really love being the steward of that oak. It was there way before I was born and I think it will be there after I pass. It’s an honor to have the responsibility of taking care of the property that it lives on.
This month, the Six Acre Park Committee will present to the Board of Trustees. Can you provide readers a preview of that?
Absolutely. The committee has found consensus in agreeing on a mini arboretum-like park [at Highlands Boulevard], planted a bit more densely and focusing mainly on native species of trees. These are the species of trees and shrubs that have been evolving in this area for eons, so the local and migratory wildlife rely on these species. These are our oaks, these are our tulip poplars, these are the species that were here before people started moving in, harvesting timber and building homes and roads.
The concept is to give back to nature. Instead of taking trees down to build a parking lot or a development project, we’re actually putting the forest back. Not only is it going to be aesthetically beautiful, it will also be something valuable for wildlife and for wildlife lovers. If you go for a walk through this park, there will be a walking path throughout it. It’s a chance to bathe in nature and observe the beauty of what’s around you.
What can residents do to help improve environmental quality?
Trustee Rebecca Kassay (bottom-left) with a group of gardeners and volunteers at the newly established Beach Street Community Garden. Photo courtesy of Kassay
I think the village government has a great opportunity to set the precedent for our residents and say, “This is a village that prioritizes environmental efforts.” I am working to be a strong voice to keep that in the conversation so that whatever we’re looking at, we’re considering how this may affect the environment and to see if there are any opportunities to have a positive effect on the environment.
As far as residents go, I’m delighted in starting our first community garden in Port Jefferson village. I’ve also been working on these Arbor Day efforts. I pushed to start the committee on the Six Acre Park. Through creating all of these venues, I’m looking to tap back into my community organizing background and have it not just be the government taking action, but the government engaging its residents in being a part of that action. When someone feels that they are a part of something, they’re much more likely to follow through, to feel proud of it and talk to other people about it.
Do you believe the village is on the right track in terms of environmental quality?
I think that the village and the Town [of Brookhaven] and Long Island and the nation and the world still have a lot of work to be done. As far as getting closer to considering the environment in every decision-making process, I don’t think the village is any more ahead or behind any of our neighboring municipalities. I would love to help the Village of Port Jeff get put on the map as an environmentally minded village, a village that takes this into account.
Again, every decision has to be a balance, but I think the environment has to be a higher priority in most decision-making processes because I see the window of opportunity closing to start pulling ourselves out of a direction that will negatively affect Port Jefferson residents, Long Islanders and people across the globe. It’s these local actions that can have a big impact.
Trustee Rebecca Kassay with the members of the Six Acre Park Committee at their first meeting in 2021. Photo courtesy of Kassay
Is there anything else you would like to say to our readers?
I am very cognizant of the fact that we are not the only ones experiencing flooding or a decrease in tree coverage or any other environmental issue. I’ve started reaching out to nonprofits, to other villages, to people at different levels of government, asking to learn from their experiences so that we can move more efficiently in our local efforts here. To me, it’s very important to not try to reinvent the wheel every time you want to do something.
This networking has been very helpful both in refining concepts that we might want to put into place in Port Jefferson and also in bringing funding into the village so that these aren’t taxpayer-supported projects but grant-supported projects. If we can start a great project and bring in a lot of grant money, then it’s just a win-win across the board.
Also, one of my goals is to open peoples’ eyes to the miracles of nature on their own streets and in their own yards. We often think of nature as something to visit in state or national parklands, when in reality a relationship with, and a stewardship of, urban and suburban nature is equally profound and important. Far beyond the increasingly evident practicality of environmentalism, there’s a great joy to be embraced.
I work to help folks see nature as an asset, as something to enjoy and protect, instead of the current narrative that often paints nature as inconvenient or consciously in opposition to humanity.
Ironically, despite the narrative that environmentally minded actions or solutions are burdensome, there are often significant taxpayer cost savings in the long run. Taxpayers benefit when inevitable environmental issues are initially addressed with a long-term solution, instead of a series of Band-Aids which eventually fail and must be replaced by that same long-term solution.
Above, alewives at Woodhull Dam in Riverhead. Photo by Byron Young
By John L. Turner
This is part one of a two-part series on a remarkable pair of fish.
Each Spring, driven by impulses and guided by signals not fully understood, they migrate to Long Island to create the next generation. But unlike red-winged blackbirds, with their bright red shoulder patches and reedlike konk-a-ree calls, or Spring Peepers with their distinctive “sleigh bell” calls ringing from recharge basins and wetlands around Long Island, these migrating animals arrive quietly, their arrival and presence unknown to almost all Long Islanders. And while we may not be aware of their arrival, many other animals like bald eagles, ospreys, otters and great blue herons certainly do.
What animals might they be? Fish — or more precisely alewives (Alosa pseudoharengus) [meaning false herring], a species of river herring, and American Eel (Anguilla rostrata), one of nineteen species of snakelike fish with a worldwide distribution. Alewives return as adults to Long Island waterways, ranging from 9-12 inches long, while eels arrive as “babies,” just several months removed from their birth in the open ocean. Alewives are a shimmering silver in color with a distinctive dark spot behind the gill cover and are almost indistinguishable from their cousin, the blueback herring. When small, eel are translucent, gaining pigment as they mature.
Photo by John Turner
These species are diadromous fish, “dia” meaning “through or across” and “dromous” meaning ”running,” a reference to the migratory habit of these fish moving between the two worlds they inhabit as part of their life cycle — freshwater and saltwater. Alewives and other river herring develop and mature in the salty waters of the North Atlantic, moving into freshwater systems to spawn, while eel typically develop in freshwater and spawn in salt water, in the famous stretch of the mid-Atlantic Ocean known as the Sargasso Sea.
To be more specific, biologists segregate diadromous fish into two other categories: anadromous fish like alewives, other river herring such as American Shad, striped bass, and salmon which mature in salt water but move upstream (“ana” meaning upward) to spawn in freshwater, and catadromous fish (“cat” meaning downward) such as American Eel which develops in freshwater but moves downstream to spawn in salt water.
Schools of alewives, three to four years old, seek out the freshwater stream of their birth, apparently finding their natal stream by its unique and distinctive chemical scent, although fishery biologists are not sure of the precise mechanism they use that allows them to find their way. Once these river herring find suitable habitat they spawn, depositing from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of eggs, and the adults soon leave to head back to the ocean. The eggs left behind hatch and the young develop over many weeks before, in mid-summer, heading out to open water too.
Cued by warming waters silvery, shimmering schools of alewives (and smaller numbers of their cousin, blueback herring) arrive in Spring — typically from late March to early May — congregating en masse at the mouths of many streams around Long Island. They then move inland and the “run” has begun! (For a wonderful account of alewife runs and their importance to colonial America, I encourage you to find a copy of The Run by John Hay, published in 1959).
A fish ladder on the North Shore. Photo by John Turner
Several hundred years ago the days of “alewife runs” were a time of great excitement for local residents as the fish provided them with an abundance of food at a critical time of year, but also as food for swine, and fertilizer for crops, most notably for “fish corn,” the practice of burying a piece of a fish (often the head) under the planted corn kernel. The rotting fish provided nutrients and minerals to the corn stalk as it grew, a practice originating with Native Americans.
Alewife runs were so important that some of the earliest wildlife laws in the United States were enacted to protect them. A very early law, passed in 1709 in Massachusetts stated: “That no wears [weirs], hedges, fishgarths, kiddles, or other disturbance or encumbrance shall be set, erected or made, on or across any river, to the stopping, obstructing, or straightening of the natural or usual course and the passage of the fish in their seasons, or spring of the year, without the approbiation and allowance first had and obtained from the general sessions of the peace in the same county”. Another law, adopted several decades later in 1741, related directly to the fish: “to prevent the destruction of the fish called alewives, and other fish.”
Their original abundance, especially when contrasted with current levels, was marveled at. John Waldman, a fisheries biologist whose book Running Silver, a wonderful treatise on migratory fish, has noted this abundance by numerous historical references. One account, from 1634, notes: “Alewives came up to the fresh rivers to spawn in such multitudes it is almost incredible, pressing up such shallow waters as will scarce permit them to swim.” Another quote nearly one hundred years later in 1728, noting alewife abundance in Virginia, says: “In a word, it is unbelievable, indeed, undescribable, as also incomprehensible, what quantity is found there. One must behold oneself.” The abundance of alewives today is a tiny and pale shadow of what once existed.
Unfortunately, many obstacles confront alewives and eels today on Long Island as they attempt to move upstream to spawn — not the aforementioned weirs, fishgarths, and kiddles of old, but dams, dams, and more dams (also other structures like poorly designed road and railroad culverts).
Constructed to channel water for the operation of sawmills, grist mills, and woolen mills, and to create impoundments for growing cranberries and harvesting ice, these dams and culverts have almost entirely foreclosed the ability of these fish to pass unimpeded in streams here. The stream at North Sea, Alewife Brook, draining Big Fresh Pond and emptying into North Sea Harbor is one of the very few remaining free-flowing, unimpeded streams remaining on Long Island (and one of the best places to visit to see alewife runs).
The response to solve the dam problem has been the construction of fish ladders or ramps on and around the obstacles. Fish ladders and rock ramps, angled so the fish can make it from the lower stream section to the higher water levels in the upstream impoundment, has proven to be an alternative and somewhat effective strategy for river herring to gain access to spawning areas. To assist eels, pegged boards or tangled rope netting have been deployed which the young eels can wriggle up.
Fish ladder (on right) and eel passage (on left) on the Peconic River. Photo by John Turner
Ladders and ramps have been placed on the main stems of the Peconic and Carmans Rivers, as well as the Swan River in East Patchogue, Massapequa Creek in Massapequa, and another at Betty Allen Park in Huntington. Two important ladders (due to the amount of freshwater the ladders will access) are being constructed — one on the Woodhull Dam in Riverhead providing access to an entire tributary of the Peconic River and another at the base of Mill Pond in Rockville Centre. A ladder is in the planning stage for Bellmore Creek which is expected to be installed in 2023.
A more effective but more controversial solution is dam removal. In many places in the United States dams have been removed but on Long Island this has not been the case as pond-side homeowners fear the loss of their physical and visual access to the water.
One possible area of success is at West Brook within Bayard Cutting Arboretum in Oakdale where the Seatuck Environmental Association has been advocating for the State Parks to not reconstruct the concrete dam that failed on the stream. The dam failure has opened up more than a mile long stretch of West Brook that heretofore was not accessible for migratory fish.
*Part two of this series will appear in the issue of May 12.
A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
Melissa Cohen with her children Andrew and Alice Turner.
Photo courtesy of Alan Turner
Port Jefferson will likely be greener at this time next year, thanks to the efforts of 59 first graders at Edna Louise Spear Elementary School, their families and village trustees.
As a part of what Trustee Rebecca Kassay hopes will be an annual tradition, first graders will hear a talk in their class this Friday, April 29, on National Arbor Day, by Heather Lynch, IACS endowed chair of Ecology & Evolution at Stony Brook University. At that point, the students will also get coupons for free saplings of white oak, red spruce or winterberry shrubs.
The students and their families can plant the trees or shrubs in their backyards if they have space and clearance or at the Port Jefferson Country Club. The trees planted at the country club will not interfere with any golf games or other activities.
“We want to help foster that relationship between our young, upcoming stewards of Port Jefferson and the natural environment,” said Kassay, who spearheaded the project.
Planting trees will help offset losses incurred during storms and as some of the older trees die.
While sharing games like bird bingo, Lynch also hopes to speak with first graders about the role that native plants can play on Long Island.
“Planting trees is like a gift to their future selves,” said Lynch, who also described the effort as “paying it forward.” She hopes first graders see the role they play in Port Jefferson history by planting trees that will grow as they do and that will become a part of their enduring legacy.
While first grade students will receive saplings for free as a part of the project, Port Jefferson residents can also buy them for $1 at the farmers market on Sunday, May 8, while supplies last.
Kassay is describing the purchase for residents as a “dollar and a dream.”
Planting these trees will strengthen the ecology of the area, providing homes and food sources for local birds and insects and reducing runoff, Lynch added.
The trustees will invite the first graders, as well as community members, to help plant the tree nursery at the country club on Thursday, May 5, between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m., with a rain date of May 6. Residents can park at the country club and follow signage from The Turn restaurant to the tree nursery beyond the driving range.
Family response
For several families in Port Jefferson, this kind of effort validates their commitment and interest in the village.
Nadine and Richard Wilches moved to Port Jefferson last year with their 9-year old son Lucas and their 7-year old daughter Cecilia.
“One of the reasons we moved to Port Jefferson is to experience a closer-knit community that includes taking care of the environment,” Nadine Wilches said. “Planting this tree will be a learning experience.”
Cecilia, who is in first grade at Edna Louise Spear school, shared some of her awareness of trees.
Without trees, “there would be no air,” Cecilia said. “The tree eats carbon dioxide. We eat the opposite, which is air, so the tree does the opposite.”
Cecilia has learned some of what she knows about trees from the work her brother Lucas is doing on photosynthesis in his class.
Lucas was born on Earth Day and also appreciates the connection to preserving the planet, the mother said.
Wilches added that the family tries to be cautious about their carbon footprint and has a hybrid car and an electric car.
She appreciates that the school and the village are “reinforcing our home values around the environment.”
If Cecilia could ask a tree a question, she would want to know if it hurts a tree when it loses its leaves.
First grader Andrew Turner appreciates how trees provide a home for animals. He will join the group planting saplings at the country club, and wants to know how long it takes a tree to grow.
Andrew, who likes woodpeckers and who currently wants to be a paleontologist like his father, Alan Turner at Stony Brook University, enjoys jumping in leaf piles in the fall.
“The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago, and the second best time is today.”
— Rebecca Kassay
Andrew’s mother Melissa Cohen, who is a graduate program coordinator in Ecology & Evolution at Stony Brook University, said she appreciates how this effort will help children in the school develop an understanding of trees and the benefits they bring to the community.
Longer term, Lynch, Kassay and others hope the first graders who participate in this effort develop a connection to the trees they plant.
“We envision these kids growing up with their trees,” Lynch said. “It would be amazing if the kids could all take pictures with their trees now and we can [see] them taking pictures when they graduate high school as a rite of passage.”
Kassay said these trees offer numerous benefits, including lowering heating costs from the shade they produce, increasing property values and stabilizing the soil by soaking up runoff from storms.
“The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago, and the second best time is today,” Kassay said.
Lee Koppelman, sitting, in April 2018, was presented with a replica of the sign that marks a nature preserve dedicated in his honor by former Brookhaven Councilwoman Valerie Cartright, state Assemblyman Steve Englebright and Brookhaven Supervisor Ed Romaine. Photo from 2018 by Alex Petroski
After the passing of Lee Koppelman, Suffolk County’s first regional planning board director, he is remembered fondly by those who knew him and his considerable work.
File photo/TBR News Media
Koppelman, of South Setauket, died on March 21, at age 94, at Stony Brook University Hospital.
“Lee Koppelman was a true pioneer whose comprehensive vision for sustainable development on Long Island was well ahead of his time and laid the foundation for countless initiatives we are still pursuing to this day,” said County Executive Steve Bellone (D) in a statement. “Lee’s push, against political backlash, to preserve open space, manage coastal erosion and improve water quality has had a lasting impact that spans generations.”
Bellone added, “As a county, we continue to pull his ideas ‘off the drawing board,’ with more than 20,000 acres of open space and farmland being preserved, as well as continued investments into downtown sewering, water quality improvements and public transit corridors.”
Before his illustrious career, Koppelman was born in Harlem on May 19, 1927. He grew up in Astoria and graduated from Bryant High School in Queens. His parents owned greenhouses in addition to a flower shop in Manhattan.
Koppelman was a Navy veteran who joined in 1945. He held a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering from City College of New York and a master’s degree from Pratt Institute. He also earned a doctorate in public administration from New York University.
After he was married, Koppelman and his wife, Connie, moved to Hauppauge, where the planner, then president of the Hauppauge Civic Association, would play an instrumental role in the development of the Hauppauge Industrial Park.
In 1960 the Koppelmans moved to Smithtown and in the late 1980s to East Setauket. In 2014, he and his wife moved to Jefferson Ferry’s independent living in South Setauket. According to his son Keith, Koppelman designed and built his homes in Hauppauge, Smithtown and East Setauket.
Koppelman served as the first Suffolk County regional planning board director for 28 years, from 1960 to 1988, and also served as the executive director of the Nassau-Suffolk Regional Planning Board from 1965 to 2006. He was an early advocate for preserving open space and was responsible for drawing up Suffolk’s first comprehensive master plan in 1970.
In an article by historian Noel Gish posted to the Stony Brook University website, he described Koppelman as “a planning gymnast, contorting and twisting his way through the development of the post-World War II period on Long Island.”
In addition to his accomplishments in his planning career, Koppelman was a professor emeritus at Stony Brook University, where he taught until last semester, according to his son. In 1988, he was appointed director of the Center for Regional Policy Studies at the school. The center handles research projects including governmental productivity, strategic economic planning and environmental planning.
“Lee Koppelman was a true pioneer whose comprehensive vision for sustainable development on Long Island was well ahead of his time and laid the foundation for countless initiatives we are still pursuing to this day.”
— Steve Bellone
According to his profile on the university’s website, his focus was “the environmental policy aspects of regional planning and has been specifically directed toward coastal zone management.”
Among his accomplishments listed on the SBU website, he was project manager for research “including coastal regional planning, comprehensive water management, shoreline erosion practices and related studies.” He was also involved “in the development of synthesis techniques for relating coastal zone science into the regional planning process.”
Leonie Huddy, distinguished professor and chair of the Department of Political Science, said Koppelman was “a leading member of the Stony Brook Political Science Department for over five decades and trained generations of local and regional leaders and policy analysts. He will be sorely missed.”
Koppelman also served as executive director of the Long Island Regional Planning Board and was chairman emeritus of the Town of Brookhaven Open Space and Farmland Acquisition Advisory Committee.
A 46-acre parcel of woodlands near the Stony Brook campus was named after him during a ceremony in April of 2018. Now known as Lee E. Koppelman Nature Preserve, the property east of Nicolls Road and south of the university has been owned by the Town of Brookhaven for nearly 50 years and was used as passive open space.
Brookhaven Town Supervisor Ed Romaine (R), who was a county legislator in the 1980s, said in a phone interview he worked closely with Koppelman during his time in the Legislature working on open space acquisitions in Suffolk County. Romaine was able to get one of the largest acquisitions with the former Havens Estate in Center Moriches. The acquisition included 263 acres of land, now known as Terrell River County Park, that sits from Montauk Highway south to Moriches Bay. He also worked with Koppelman on other acquisitions.
In later years, Koppelman hired Romaine, a former full-time teacher, to teach a graduate course at SBU in 2005. He described Koppelman as gifted and intelligent. He said the two may not have always agreed on matters, “but I always thought his heart was in the right place.”
“I thought he was a visionary, and people say, ‘Well, what does it mean to be a visionary or to have vision,” Romaine said. “Well, vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others. He made quite visible to us the possibility of things that we should be working on as a county in terms of farmland acquisition, preservation, where development should take place.”
Romaine said he counts himself among others who “are beginning to see that his vision was for the, most part, the correct vision for the future of Long Island, and we regret those things where past leaders did not have the same vision — it was invisible to them to see what he was saying, what his vision was.”
The town supervisor said many would visit Koppelman’s office at SBU to seek advice.
Lee Koppelman in a recent photo from Jefferson Ferry where he lived.
“He was a guy with a tremendous amount of knowledge,” Romaine said. “He will be missed for a long time, and his contributions will go on long after his passing, so I have nothing but absolute praise for Lee Koppelman and his efforts to make sure that Long Island was somewhat more rational than it is today.”
State Assemblyman Steve Englebright (D-Setauket) said Koppelman was a superb administrator who knew how to surround himself with expert master planners. He said Koppelman and the planners “reflected a sense of mission and a sense of strength,” and he leaves behind a great legacy.
“In the years in which sprawl was a menace, every morning, there was Lee Koppelman and his cadre of top-flight planners who offered another vision for Long Island and made a difference, and enabled us to really bring thought into the experience of what appeared to be a daily exercise in chaos on the roadways and in the hallways where approvals for construction were being granted,” Englebright said. “He was a breath of fresh air.”
Englebright said Koppelman’s legacy will continue.
“The expectation, which is really built on of his legacy, is that we will plan, we will reason and we will make thoughtful decisions regarding our land use and natural resource uses,” Englebright said.
Koppelman is survived by his wife, Connie; four children Lesli, Claudia, Laurel and Keith; and three grandchildren Ezra, Ora and Dara. A funeral was held Thursday, March 24, at Shalom Memorial Chapels in Smithtown.
“We shared our father’s time and attention with the entire community of Long Island,” Keith Koppelman said in an email. “We have always been and will remain incredibly proud of him. Working for a rational future for Long Island did take him away from us at times, but now we have reminders of him everywhere we travel on the Island.”
“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it; the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.” — Andrew Wyeth
Not sure if planetary scientists can explain why, when the earth was forming, it became tilted about 23.5 degrees off a perfect perpendicular axis to its orbital plane around the Sun. However, they can offer an unequivocal statement of fact that this planetary quirk is the reason for the portfolio of seasons we enjoy. And now, as has been often true for more than four and one-half billion years, when the planetary axis that runs through the North Pole points away from the Sun, the Northern Hemisphere receives weaker, more obtuse rays of sunshine, resulting in the colder temperatures of winter.
Today, as they have for millenia, countless number of plants and animals have responded in their own species-specific ways to survive this most challenging of seasons.
A discussion about the pervasive effects of winter on nature cannot happen without talking about another word that begins with the letter “w” and ends in an “r” — water. Water, or more particularly the fact that it becomes ice at 32 degrees, has had profound impacts in shaping the response of organisms to winter. As water becomes ice, it’s no longer available to plants, making winter, in effect, a five to six month long drought. The response of deciduous trees to no available water? To shed their leaves that are water loss structures and become dormant. How do evergreen or coniferous trees, which obviously keep their leaves, tolerate the winter’s loss of available water? Their small leaves with waxy coatings are highly effective at retarding water loss. They simply use little water in the winter.
How else does ice affect species? Ducks, geese and swans that depend upon open freshwater ponds and lakes to feed need to move in the event their ponds freeze over. Same with kingfishers and other fish-eating birds. This “freezing over” occurs because ice, by rare virtue of being less dense than liquid water, floats on the surface of the surface of the pond or lake, rather than freezing at the bottom which would happen if ice were denser than water, which is the norm with so many other liquids. This unusual, almost unique, attribute — of solid water (ice) being lighter than liquid water — has played a hard to overstate role in allowing for life on earth to evolve and flourish, for if ice were denser the entire waterbody would freeze solid to the detriment of everything living in it.
Unlike immobile species such as trees, mobile species (i.e. animals that fly!) adapt to winter by simply leaving it behind, winging to warmer climates where they can continue to feed (some species living a perpetual summer existence!). Such is the case with dozens of bird, bat, and insect species that migrate vast distances to find climates and associated food supplies to their liking.
For example, ospreys depart from northern latitudes because the fish they depend upon are unavailable, either because they can’t access them due to ice or because salt-water fish move into deeper water where they cannot be caught, forcing ospreys to move to habitats within climates where food is available. Insect-eating songbirds move off too but in their case because of the disappearance of available insects.
Mobile species that don’t migrate employ a variety of other strategies to survive the winter. A perhaps most well-known — but relatively rare — strategy is hibernation. Hibernating mammals species adapt to winter by so reducing their energy and water needs they can tide over from autumn to spring.
The woodchuck (aka groundhog) is the best known hibernator. Curled in an underground den, a hibernating woodchuck’s heart beat drops from about 100 beats per minute to four to five and its body temperature more than half, from about 99 degrees to 38-40 degrees. Bats that don’t leave for warmer climates also hibernate. All hibernating species depend upon stores of fat, built up from continued feeding in the autumn, as the energy source to make it through winter.
Just below hibernation is torpor, a physiological state in which the animal’s metabolism, heart and breathing rates are reduced but which still allows it to be alert enough to react to danger. Chipmunks (and bears) are well known examples and speaking of chipmunks — they illustrate another common practice of many animals to make it through the winter — storing up food in winter larder. Beavers do the same by bringing leaf-laden branches underwater, a wet refrigerator of sorts, where food is safely ensconced.
Regulated hypothermia is yet another adaptation to surviving winter. In this case, the animal reduces its temperature while sleeping, enabling it to reduce the amount of heat lost to the air overnight. Black-capped chickadees are a well-known example. During the winter chickadees drop their temperature each night from about 108 degrees to the mid-90’s by employing this practice. They also seek sheltered places like tree cavities (another reason to let dead trees stand if they pose no safety risk) and dense vegetation where they can stay warmer.
Cold blooded animals such as reptiles and amphibians make it through winter by experiencing their own form of hibernation — an activity known as brumation. Like with warm blooded animals, brumating reptiles and amphibians significantly reduce their heart, breathing and general metabolic rates. Some species, like diamondback terrapins, are spared the full brunt of winter by brumating in the muddy bottoms of bays, harbors, and river mouths where the temperature never drops below freezing. Not so with the wood frog, a wide ranging amphibian that in March emerges to explosively breed in woodland vernal pools around Long Island.
Wood frogs are known to freeze solid, becoming ‘frogsicles’ during the winter and getting as close as a live animal can get to being dead. As autumn slides into winter, wood frogs undergo a several-step physiological process whereby water is pulled out of cells and is stored between them. This movement of water from inside the cell to sites between the cells occurs because water stored within the cell, if frozen, would form sharp ice crystals, likely puncturing cell membranes, thereby destroying the cell.
The frog’s metabolism, breathing, and heartbeat stop and the frog remains in a state of animated suspension for many weeks. Come the Spring though, and this very dead looking frog slowly comes back to life, none worse for the wear. It becomes active and vibrant, soon filling small wetlands with its quacking duck calls.
For the lover of nature and the outdoors there are gifts of winter: clear night skies; falling snow and geometric snowflakes; frost patterns on windows; sledding and hot chocolate (or for some adults mulled apple cider spiked with a little spirit!); no leaves to hide bird nests or tree buds, like those of American Beech, which Henry David Thoreau called “the spears of Spring”; the dried stalks of countless wildflowers; the “pen and ink” quality of landscapes; the presence of snowy owls and snow buntings at the beach; or the arrival of many types of ducks and geese. Winter is not an absence of summer; it is a season complete and whole to itself.
Perhaps this article won’t serve to change your thinking if you’re among the crowd of people who find winter to be their least favorite season. Still, winter illustrates so clearly and compellingly the fine-tuned lives of so many plants and animals, each unique to this time of cold, lives that have developed, over eons of time, countless strategies to make it through the unrelenting cold and sparse food supplies of the winter season.
A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
If you’re attracted to birds then you’re also very aware of how they can elicit reactions. Watching an Osprey dive into the bay with talons flaring and pulling away with a wriggling fish, creates head-nodding awe. A Scarlet Tanager or Baltimore Oriole flitting among oak flowers in the dappled sunlight of a Spring forest produces a breathtaking wow. There’s one bird, however, that elicits a different response —whenever I see one it automatically puts a smile on my face, often followed by a verbal “hello little fella” response. The species? The Black-capped Chickadee.
Black-capped Chickadees are the definition of cute. They’re active, vocal, and small, have an extensive and distinctive black throat bib, and a head fitted with a black cap (the species part of the scientific name Poecile atricapilla means “the black hair of the head” and Poecile is Greek for pied — a reference to the two tone look of the bird — grey on top, white on the bottom). Given the distinctiveness of their plumage they are not likely to be confused with any other bird here on Long Island.
A black-capped chickadee at Elizabeth Morton National Refuge. Photo by John Turner
Chickadees are animated birds, often flitting around in both trees and shrubs, probing the recesses of bark, amidst leaves, and along branches for prey, often vocalizing their well-known onomatopoeic “chick-a-dee” call (or their ‘hey sweetie’ whistle) as they move about. They are quite adept at finding prey and due to special muscles and tendons in their legs are able to hang upside down to probe for food on the underside of leaves and branches.
In wintertime chickadees form mixed species flocks with other songbirds including Tufted Titmice, Downy Woodpecker, both White-breasted and Red-breasted Nuthatches, Ruby-crowned and Golden-crowned Kinglets, and Brown Creeper. These flocks move systematically through a woodland seeking food. By flocking this time of year with other species chickadees can feed more efficiently since there are more eyes to discern predators (Eastern Screech-Owls and Sharp-shinned Hawks eat chickadees) and to find food.
Wait you say, maybe more eyes helps spot predators but don’t the other birds in the flock mean direct competition for food at a time of year when food supplies are at a yearly low? Wouldn’t this competition for food outweigh the benefit of being able to more easily see predators? Actually no. Ecologists who have studied this find these birds feed in different parts of the tree — nuthatches and creepers on the main trunk, the chickadees and titmice on larger branches, and kinglets on the smaller side branches. By doing this — a concept ecologists call “niche partitioning” — they are able to divvy up a common resource in a way that reduces or eliminates competition between them. Ecological elegance.
Chickadees, being small animals that live in harsh climates where the temperature in the winter routinely drops well below freezing (in fact in northern Canada and Alaska they may experience night-time temperatures as low as -50 degrees!!), have, not surprisingly, evolved a number of behavioral and physiological adaptations to increase their likelihood of surviving the cold.
At night they seek out cavities or dense vegetation where winds are blocked or reduced, resulting in slower heat loss (bent tail feathers are a telltale sign of this cavity nesting habit — look for crooked tail feathers with the chickadees visiting your feeders). Studies have documented a 50% reduction in heat loss in cavity roosting birds as compared to those which roost in more open situations. On rare occasion, chickadees huddle together in cavities, further reducing heat loss. They also tuck their bill and front part of their head (and the unfeathered eye) into their shoulder feathers to reduce heat loss from these unfeathered areas.
Perhaps the most remarkable adaptation — called regulated hypothermia — allows for chickadees to reduce their body temperature and metabolism, an effective strategy for reducing their heat loss at night; by lowering their body temperature from 108 degrees (they are hot-blooded!) to the mid-to-low 90’s overnight, chickadees can reduce the amount of energy they burn during the night by 20-25% — perhaps the difference between life and death. To help stay warm chickadees intentionally shiver through the night, burning the fat they were able build during the day from feeding. So, while they’re very cute, chickadees are also tough creatures!
About a decade ago I watched a pair of chickadees excavate a nesting cavity in a dead grey birch. Chickadees have small bills and are not able to excavate cavities in live wood, depending instead on soft, rotting wood like the birch they were working on. The tree was located about ten feet from the edge of a paved bike trail in the Massapequa Preserve but the birds didn’t seem to mind the traffic.
I watched the industrious pair work to excavate the cavity, dutifully carrying the wood chips away in their bills, flying some distance from the nest site before spreading the chips (presumably to make it impossible for any nest predator to cue in to the nesting location from the chips). I monitored the progress of the nest and the success of the fledglings over the next couple of weeks; I’m not sure of the total but on several occasions I saw three young birds together.
There are six other chickadee species found in North America. The Carolina Chickadee is the chickadee of the southeastern United States, breeding as far north as southern New Jersey where it is displaced by the Black-capped (there are numerous reports of the two species interbreeding, resulting in hybrids). In the west there’s the Mountain Chickadee and along the Pacific Coast the beautiful Chestnut-backed Chickadee. The Mexican Chickadee barely enters the United States in southeastern Arizona.
In the far north we have the Gray-headed Chickadee and the Boreal Chickadee; the Boreal Chickadee has a large range across Canada dipping down into the United States. It breeds in the Adirondacks so New York has two resident chickadee species. Titmice, of which Long Island has the Tufted Titmouse, are close cousins to the chickadees. In Europe and Asia there are many more chickadee and titmice species. The Black-capped Chickadee is the state bird of Massachusetts and Maine.
If you wish to experience Black-capped Chickadees up close and personal, plan a winter trip to the Elizabeth Morton National Wildlife Refuge in Noyac. Here, a population of tame chickadees, along with Tufted Titmice and White-breasted and Red-breasted Nuthatches, will land in your hand if it’s filled with unsalted sunflower seeds (they don’t eat millet and some of the other ingredients in commercial bird feed).
If you get there early you may have several birds lined up waiting to land in your seed-filled hand waiting not so patiently to grab a seed. I’ve had two species of birds land on my hand at one time, assessing which seed to take, one of which is almost always a chickadee. Some birds flit to a spot nearby to hammer open the seed while others fly farther away to cache it for a future meal. Chickadees, you see, have very good spatial memories and can remember where they’ve hidden hundreds of food items. (If you end up with a lot of unused seed please take it home for another trip rather than dumping it along the trail where it could attract unwanted animals).
Being able to watch these wild, free-flying, but trusting birds a mere arm’s length away is an absolute joy — children love it and it is a great way for them to connect with wildlife and nature. I hope you feel the tickling of tiny chickadee feet on your outstretched hand sometime this winter, thereby making the acquaintance of these avian ambassadors. Bet they put a smile on your face too.
A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
Moths are drawn to bright lights because they confuse its navigational systems. Pixabay photo
By John L. Turner
“For an increasing proportion of the Earth’s surface, the darkest conditions of night no longer occur”
— The Ecological Consequences of Artificial Night Lighting
In 1884 William Dutcher, a well-known New York based ornithologist, published notes on a phenomenon which was receiving a lot of attention by avian conservationists of that time — night-time migrating birds, mostly songbirds of many species, crashing into lighthouses including the Fire Island lighthouse, especially on foggy and cloudy nights. Dutcher recognized, as did many others, the birds were attracted to the bright light of the lighthouse with often fatal consequences. It was one of the first accounts to document what we now know to be a much larger, multi-faceted issue —the negative affects of light pollution.
Today the directed light of lighthouses has been supplemented by the direct and diffused light of countless shopping centers and other commercial complexes, high-rise buildings, homes, airport ceilometers, sports stadiums, communication towers, street lighting, even the annual 9-11 paired tribute that send two powerful beacons of light into the night-time sky of southern Manhattan each September 11th.
Well-lit urban areas have then become traps for many birds as they become entrained within the cities’ collective mesmerizing glow. Like the birds that were victims of collisions with lighthouses, the effects can be just as devastating for these birds today.
Artificial lighting near the shore can cause sea turtle hatchlings to become disoriented and wander inland, where they often die of dehydration or predation. Pixabay photo
Night lighting, in all its myriad forms, not only negatively affects birds but many other animals. A notable example involves sea turtle hatchlings which are attracted to light (a phenomenon called positive phototaxis). To prevent them from moving inland, drawn by the light of street lights and motels, several southeastern states have enacted regulations requiring lights to be as low to the ground as possible and to be shielded.
Other animal groups are affected too. This includes other reptiles, some amphibians, a variety of mammals (including us humans!), fish, some marine invertebrates, and numerous insects, most notably moths and beetles. Even plants can be negatively affected by night lighting!
Many plants and animals, including humans have circadian rhythms which help them to regulate activity and sleep cycles through the production of certain hormones. These hormones are vital to certain life functions such as reproduction, resting/sleep, and migration. In humans a key hormone affected by light is melatonin which plays a significant role in restful sleep and may help to build muscle and body strength by helping the body to generate Human Growth Hormone (HGH); it also may have tumor fighting properties. Unfortunately, too much night light suppresses manufacture of melatonin which, in turn, can cause adverse health impacts including, possibly, several types of human cancer.
Perhaps no other animal is more associated with lighting — being attracted to it and affected by it — than moths (think of those fluttering around your porch and patio lights). I vividly remember a bird tour I led to western Texas many years ago. We met an entomologist while birding in a campground who mentioned he was going “blacklighting” that night and invited the tour participants along.
By the time we arrived later, surrounded by pitch blackness, he had set up the light trap. It consisted simply of a white bed sheet hung from a thin wooden frame with various types of battery operated lights including black lights (those that emit UV wavelengths) radiating and illuminating the sheet. It was nothing short of remarkable.
Scores upon scores of different moth species sat on the brightly illuminated sheet — some small and drab, other small ones colorful, a bunch of medium sized moths of every color and hue and then the stars — the large, several inch long, colorful moths. The diversity of body shapes matched the diversity of colors. We had a few silk moths, many “underwing” moths belonging to the genus Catocala (a genus of moths found on Long Island — quite attractive!), and hawk moths. And there was no shortage of other non-moth insects, bugs and beetles of all sorts, and many emerald green lacewings.
Moths play a critical role in local food webs — as pollinators and food for birds, bats and other animals. Unfortunately, moths that get entrained in lights can result in them losing valuable time to feed which can affect health and reproductive success or cause them to perish directly, resulting in their being removed from the local food web.
As mentioned with the feeding and reproduction of moths, sublethal health effects of too much illumination at night is an underappreciated concern and is likely more pervasive than we realize. For example, artificially high light levels at night are known to discourage some amphibians from eating or mating and can adversely affect the reproductive success of fireflies. These species aren’t being killed directly, as with the bird and sea turtle examples, but their longterm fitness and abundance may suffer.
Another victim of excessive night lights was the topic of the December column of Nature Matters— the night sky and the “Milky Way.” Tens of millions of Americans, those who live in urban areas, can no longer see the Milky Way. According to one estimate, one out every three inhabitants of planet Earth cannot see the Milky Way, including 80% of Americans and nearly 60% of Europeans. We are being bathed in an ever expanding “sky glow” at the expense of seeing star’s planets and the Milky Way.
Fortunately, governments have moved to address the issue. A number of local municipalities on Long Island, including the Town of Brookhaven, have enacted exterior lighting standards designed to minimize light spillage into the sky and surrounding areas. New York City may soon move to enact legislation and there is ongoing discussion about state legislation that would mandate “lights out” in urban areas.
Let’s close the discussion on two excerpted quotes:
Taken from the book referenced in the quote at the beginning of the article: “So let us be reminded, as we light the world to suit our needs and whims, that doing so may come at the expense of other living beings, some of whom detect subtle gradations of light to which we are blind, and for whom the night is home.”
And if the effects of light pollution on animals isn’t your thing but art is — keep in mind this excerpt from the website of the International Dark-Sky Association “Van Gogh painted his famous ‘Starry Night’ in Saint Rémy, France, in 1889. Now, the Milky Way can no longer be seen from there. If he were alive today, would he still be inspired to paint ‘Starry Night’?”
If either or both of these excerpts resonate with you and you wonder what you can do to contribute to a more fully dark night here’s some ideas: use outdoor lighting judiciously (don’t leave it on all night), install timers or motion detectors, use bulbs with “warmer” wavelengths, install only fully shielded outdoor lighting fixtures, and shut window blinds and curtains to reduce light “bleeding” outside (this also helps to keep heat in during the winter!).
Essentially light only what, when, and how much you need, nothing more. If you take these steps you’ll help countless animals, perhaps your health, and you’ll see the beloved Milky Way just a little bit brighter.
A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
If you’re like most people you’ve always had at least a mild interest in the constellations of the night sky and may have even taken a crack at identifying some of the constellations in the Northern Hemisphere. Well, here’s MY crack at providing a method for you to learn some of the constellations and other night objects during the winter season when the sky is clearer and generally contains less atmospheric moisture.
A future column will be devoted to learning the Summer constellations.
A great jumping off point to learn the winter constellations and sky objects is the constellation of Orion (the Hunter), perhaps the most conspicuous constellation of all. Orion is hard to miss with its three prominent stars in a line forming the hunter’s belt and the four prominent stars that form its shoulders and knees.
Above the belt and to its left, forming Orion’s right shoulder, is Betelguese (pronounced beetle juice), a red giant (and it does look reddish) which is estimated to be about 400 times the size of our sun and 3,000 times as bright! Forming the hunter’s left knee is Rigel, another bright star, but unlike Betelguese it burns a bright blue-white. Orion’s right arm is holding an identifiable club and his left arm is holding a shield to fend off Taurus the Bull which is next door.
Pixabay photo
The three straight-in-line belt stars of Orion hold his sword, which “hangs” from the central belt star. This area is rich in star formation and your binoculars (and if you don’t have binoculars remember the holiday season is coming) will show a fuzzy cloud, the result of the collective light of the stars in the region. The Great Nebula is situated here.
If you follow the three stars of the belt to your left (east) and down you’ll soon arrive at the brightest star in the heavens — Sirius, the Dog Star located in the constellation of Canis Major, the Big Dog. It is almost twice as bright as the next brightest star, Canopus, a star of the Southern Hemisphere. Sirius means “blazing” in Greek, an apt description given its luminosity.
Use the three belt stars of Orion heading in the opposite direction and you’ll head toward Taurus the Bull; continue in a line and you’ll come to a group of tightly packed bright stars — the “Pleiades” which looks like a tiny Big Dipper for which it is occasionally mistaken. The Pleiades star cluster (also known as the Seven Sisters, although the seventh star is hard to see) is the logo of Subaru, the car manufacturer, something you can confirm the next time you pull up to a Subaru at a light.
Below and to the left of the Pleaides you’ll see another reddish star — Aldebaran, which is the eye of the Bull, as it is rushing toward Orion. A little above and to the right of this red star is another star cluster — The Hyades. This is the closest star cluster to the Earth, a mere 150 light years away (that’s still pretty far at 900 trillion miles away for those who are curious) meaning the light you see emanating from these stars began their travel across the vast expanse of space in 1871.
Taurus has two other fascinating objects — the Crab and Horsehead Nebulas; the former is barely visible with 10x binoculars while the latter (which indeed looks like the head of a raging stallion facing left) requires much more powerful instruments. The Crab Nebula is thought to be the remains of a supernova that exploded back in 1054, an event that Chinese astronomers made note of (some reports suggest that the supernova was 500 million times as bright as our sun during its explosion).
In the middle of this nebula, in the aftermath of this cataclysmic explosion, exists a neutron star. Neutron stars are incredibly dense objects and in the “really, really hard to believe they’re real category” please note that a square inch of neutron star material is thought to weigh about 3 billion tons; yes that’s billion with a “b.” Taken from a Wikipedia account regarding neutron stars: “A neutron star is so dense that one teaspoon of its material would have a mass about 900 times the mass of the Great Pyramid of Giza.”This is one of many bizarre features existing in the Universe in which we live!
On especially clear nights, when sufficiently dark, if you look above Orion (just above Betelguese) you might notice a diffuse, irregularly shaped band of white that runs across the sky. This “milky” band is the light of tens of billions of stars that collectively make up the Milky Way Galaxy, the galaxy in which our Solar System resides. If you imagine the galaxy as being shaped like a pinwheel with slender arms, our solar system is situated about half way out on one of the arms. Scan the Milky Way with your binoculars and you’ll be instantly overwhelmed by the sheer and blinding number of stars, varying pinpricks of light in the velvety blackness.
When I last looked at the Milky Way, a couple of days ago, it reminded me of our most humble place in the universal ethos and of a famous line by the poet Robinson Jeffers: “There is nothing like astronomy to pull the stuff out of man, His stupid dreams and red-rooster importance: let him count the star-swirls”.
A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
John Turner, center, with participants of this year's Nighthawk Watch. Photo by Thomas Drysdale
By John L. Turner
At dusk on Oct. 6 volunteers with the Four Harbors Audubon Society (4HAS), a local chapter of the National Audubon Society, concluded their fifth year of conducting the Nighthawk Watch and as like the previous four years, this year’s tally brought new wrinkles to the unfolding story of nighthawk migration.
1,819 Common Nighthawks were seen this year at the Stone Bridge Nighthawk Watch, located at the southern end of Frank Melville Memorial Park in Setauket. The season started off slow but picked up in the latter third, similar to what happened in 2019; the 2021 total is less than the previous four year totals of: 2,046 in 2017, 2,018 in 2,018, 2,757 in 2019, and 2,245 in 2020.
You might reasonably ask: Why establish the Stone Bridge Nighthawk Watch to count Common Nighthawks, a species related to the more familiar Whip-poor-will?
Well, first of all its fun and entertaining and great camaraderie developed among the regular participants. Nighthawks are quite distinctive in flight and can be downright mesmerizing to watch when they’re in active feeding mode, erratically darting to and fro in pursuit of aerial insects with their white wing blazes flashing.
A nighthawk spotted during the 4HAS’s annual watch this year. Photo by John Heidecker
Second, the watch provides an educational opportunity by allowing members of 4HAS to engage with people walking by, informing them about the status of nighthawks, the threats they and other birds face, and wildlife and environmental issues generally. In this way nighthawks can provide the opportunity for a broader discussion about conservation, the condition and fate of the planet and all its member species.
Third, it’s our hope that as the years pass, we’ll assemble a useful set of data, an additional source of information, that can help researchers develop a more complete picture about nighthawk population trends.
We know that the current picture is a troubled one for nighthawks and other birds, like swallows, swifts, and flycatchers that feed on aerial insects (these insect-eating birds are referred to as aerial insectivores).
The continent-wide Annual Breeding Bird survey documented a two-percent decline in nighthawks from 1966 through 2010, resulting in a 60% decline in overall number nighthawk numbers; this means for every ten nighthawks there were in 1965, there are four today. The main culprit? A reduction in the amount of aerial insects such as gnats, midges, beetles and bugs, moths, and mosquitoes.
This reduction has been noticed by a lot of people at least as evidenced by anecdotal stories. Mine includes two: Growing up in Smithtown in the 1960’s I remember, when driving any significant distance on Long Island, my father needed to clean the windshield with wiper fluid every once in a while to remove the countless smudges caused by hundreds of insects colliding with the windshield. Today, I can drive all day around Long Island without the need to do the same.
The second is the significant reduction in the number of moths and other night-flying insects attracted to the lights of local ball fields. I vividly remember watching, in the 1960’s and ’70’s many nighthawks zooming around the lights at Maple Avenue Park during night softball games, feeding on moths. Not so today, with significantly fewer moths and other insects attracted to the ball-field lights. For example, in three visits over the past decade in the month of September to night games at the stadium where the Long Island Ducks play,I’ve seen a total of one nighthawk.
Another cause is loss of breeding habitat, involving two types — natural areas being converted to agriculture, shopping centers, and housing and loss of suitable rooftops. This latter “breeding habitat” illustrates the habit of nighthawks nesting in urban areas using gravel rooftops which mimic the natural and open substrates they often nest on in natural settings. Unfortunately, gravel roofs are being replaced by sealed rubber roofs which do not provide nighthawks with suitable nesting substrate.
A nighthawk spotted during the 4HAS’s annual watch this year. Photo by John Heidecker
Being dependent on aerial insects, nighthawks leave the northern hemisphere, as temperatures cool and insects decline and ultimately disappear, to overwinter in South America, especially in and around the Amazon River basin and the adjacent Cerrado savanna/grassland region to the southeast. Generally, fall-migrating nighthawks in North America head southeast, leaving the continent either by crossing the Gulf of Mexico or heading south through Florida and passing over the Caribbean to South America.
For reasons that are not clear, nighthawks from the western United States and Canada head southeast too, rather than what appears to be the shorter route of heading directly south, staying over land through Mexico and Central America. The nighthawks that fly over us at the Watch are birds heading more directly south coming from New England and eastern Canada and generally continuing south to join other nighthawks in Florida before continuing on. Some though, appear to shortcut the southbound journey by venturing out over the Atlantic Ocean.
The 2021 daily totals of nighthawks generally followed numbers from past years with more nighthawks passing by during the first half of the count period. The top daily tally was 169 birds, occurring on Sept. 12 and we had six nights with one hundred or more birds. We had only one evening with no nighthawks — the day when the remnants of Hurricane Ida passed through Long Island.
We saw many other interesting things besides flitting nighthawks while spending 41 days standing on the Stone Bridge — beautiful sunsets and sometimes dramatic and foreboding skies; many clouds, some shaped like animals; one rainbow; the planets of Venus, Jupiter (and the four Galilean moons), and Saturn all seen through a 60x birding scope; several Bald Eagles including a low-flying white-headed adult; many Ospreys and other birds-of-prey; flights of Great Blue Herons and American and Snowy Egrets; a steady stream of Double-crested Cormorants almost always heading from the northeast to the southwest; a daily rush of blackbird flocks that plunged into the protective reeds of Conscience Bay; a daily dose of a pair of kingfishers; occasional songbirds flitting about in nearby trees; and on most nights when dusk settled over the ponds, a few Red and Brown Bats ceaselessly swooping in erratic loops, lines and circles over the surface of the pond.
So, if you already possess your 2022 calendar, circle Aug. 27, the date we’ll return to the Stone Bridge to once again watch the daily aerial ballets of Common Nighthawks. As always, they’ll be urged by instinct to move south, passing over Long Island, through the southeastern United States to cross the equator, where they’ll spend many months feeding in the balmy skies of South America, enjoying their “perpetual summer” existence.
A resident of Setauket, John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
When I last looked at the Milky Way, a couple of days ago, it reminded me of our most humble place in the universal ethos and of a famous line by the poet Robinson Jeffers: “There is nothing like astronomy to pull the stuff out of man, His stupid dreams and red-rooster importance: let him count the star-swirls”.
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