Beaches and Bucket Lists

Slaughter Beach State Park was a pretty grandiose title for what, as far as I could tell, was just a section of beach in someone’s backyard.  I parked my car a block or so away and strolled down a small, sandy trail, eventually finding myself at the edge of the Atlantic.   I checked my watch as I walked; it was important to time this according to the date and the time.  The date was the night of a spring full moon.  The time was related to the tides.  Stepping onto the wet sand, I saw that I was right on time.

The beach was covered with what appeared to be an army of upside-down saucepans or colanders, slowly crawling from the waves onto the shore.  Though they were invisible beneath their shells, I knew that they were walking on spindly, spider-like legs as they began their spawning sessions, the females surrounded by males eager for them to drop their eggs.  This was the spring breeding of the Atlantic horseshoe crabs, which I had wanted to see for a long time and was finally in an opportune position to attend.  I spent an hour or so on the beach, squatting down or lying on my stomach to photograph the crabs, wading out in the surf among them, or just sitting on a rock and watching them putter around like prehistoric wind-up toys.

When the time came to leave, I dried off my feet, put my shoes back on, and headed back to the car, still vaguely feeling like I was trespassing in someone’s yard.  Another one off the list, I thought as I started up the car.

Whenever I find myself in a different part of the country, I start to amass a little bucket list of wildlife experiences I hope to have.  Mostly they involve seeing certain animals in the wild, sometimes engaged in a specific behavior.  On that same trip to the region, I saw ospreys  and bald eagles nesting, observed Delmarva fox squirrels in Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge, and watched wild ponies wade through the salt marshes of Assateauge Island.   On other trips to other regions, I’ve seen other animals… or not seen them, based on how lucky I’ve been.  

There is something very satisfying about seeing a wild animal in an iconic setting, like American alligators in the Everglades, prairie dogs in a Texas meadow, or humpback whales just outside of Boston harbor.  In other searches, I’ve come up short.  No red wolves were to be found when I searched Alligator River, and no matter how many nooks and crannies I poked into in the Sonora, I never did find a Gila monster.

There are so many more memories that I want to have – bison and grizzlies in Yellowstone, California condors sweeping over the Grand Canyon, moose lumbering across a New England backroad. 

I’ve worked in zoos for more of my life than I haven’t, and I love almost every minute of it.  Still, part of the purpose of the zoo is to help species persist in the wild, both through advocacy and support-building among the public, as well as through direct conservation.  There are few moments more powerful than seeing (in a safe, responsible manner that doesn’t interfere with the animal’s behavior) a wild animal in its element, in its natural environment, doing what it does naturally.  The memories these moments impart can last a lifetime.  Every time I have a new one, I’m reminded of why I want to work with wildlife conservation, and how important it is to preserve wild places and wild animals.