Sunrise on the Sound

I am currently recovering from my dissertation defense, which happened last week. It was a success, which means that I have more work to do revising the written document (yes, more writing, and more analyses too), but also that my time in this part of the world is running to a visible end. It's a strange thing, spending seven years of my life working towards a single goal, a single day of talking and one (albeit very long) document, and then to be declared finished with this part of my life.

Anyway. There's a lot more philosphical ramblings to be written, but the point of it all is to say that each time I go out into the field it is with the sense that maybe this is the last time at this site, and with the absolute knowledge that this has been the last year I would see the seasons unfold here. This morning I woke up at 4:45 to do a collection, because the tide was early. Earlier than the sunrise, in fact, which meant that I drove all the way in darkness, not seeing even the start of the sunrise until I pulled into the parking lot at the beach. The darkness also meant it was chilly on the beach, so I was out in long sleeves with a hand-knit headband for the first time since May.

I couldn't find my headlamp this morning (no, it's not in the mess in the trunk of the car, I'd moved it to my purse and left it at home), so I was glad to see the rapid lightening of the sky. Crepidula fornicata are pretty conspicuous on this beach -- larger than most other shells, and at this time of year attached to large clumps of Codium fragile (dead man's fingers or spongeweed, an invasive species of algae). The algae grow on the snails themselves or on the cobbles with the snails, and by this late in the season it serves as a sort of sail that gets caught in a current and drags the snails up from the deeper water and onto shore. (here's a great blog post from Jarrett Byrnes with some more details of this dragging effect.) But even though the snails are easy enough to find, doing it in the pitch-black is a royal pain.

I also found lots of whelk shells in the dawn light, and many of them had C. plana inside, so it was overall a successful collecting trip. And if this was my final morning at this site, it was a beautful one. This is why I get up at 5 a.m. on the weekend when all I want to do is sleep.

The site right about ten minutes after my arrival, with the sky just beginning to lighten.

Beautiful colors reflected on the deep blue Sound.

After an hour, the light had progressed to grey morning colors.

After an hour, right at sunrise.

The sun finally peeks over the horizon and the cloud cover.
I wish my camera could capture the brilliant red-orange of the sun and sky.

Snail survey (and a horseshoe crab)

Well, obviously it's been a while. This is mostly because I've been writing a lot and that's not really good inspiration for a) writing more for fun or b) writing about things that you (presumably not a member of my committee, given the odds) want to read.

In brief, since my last post I got a paper accepted (more on that when it's actually out), and have been frantically trying to finish up my dissertation.

Today I went out in the field for the first time in 4 weeks. I know this because apparently it is a supermoon again, and the moon sure was beautiful as I was driving to the field this morning. I didn't really have to go out, but I wanted to -- and as I'm not sure how many more times I'll get in the field while I'm in my present location, I'm glad I did. Plus, I got some more C. fornicata babies for a last-ditch attempt at an experiment.

There were lots of birds out today, and this horseshoe crab that found herself stranded well above the tide line. She has dug into the sand to keep her undersides (especially her book gills) damp.

Large female horseshoe crab, with my hand to scale.
She's decorated with a Crepidula fornicata and some barnacles.

I also found all of the common intertidal snails that exist at this site. The only species I didn't see (alive, anyway) were the two large whelks and the moonsnail. Those three are all predators that live subtidally and bury in sand -- it's very, very rare to spot them crusing around in the mornings, though I see their empty (or reclaimed) shells all the time.

In addition to the three species of Crepidula discussed in the last post, I turned up these guys:

Lots of Litorina saxatilis (rough periwinkles) on some rocks. These guys give live birth to their babies (viviparity). They're common all over both sides of the Atlantic, and in Europe are being heavily studied to understand how new species form. Because they disperse so little, populations of snails seem to have genetically adapted to different habitats they live in (ecotypes).

Contrast those little guys with the snail on the left in this photo. This is L. littorea, and it's shown up on the blog before. It is the common periwinkle, introduced from Europe, and has planktonic larvae. Because of those larvae, its populations are much more mixed than the ones of L. saxatilus. The snail on the right is Nucella lapillus, first appearing on the blog here. I don't usually see them at this site but I know they are there, because I often find their vase-shaped egg capsules attached to the underside of empty C. fornicata shells.

Ilyanassa obsoleta, the mud snail. Incredibly common here and very good at getting in my shoes. They make appearances on the blog more often than not, I think, because they're really everywhere.

Here's hoping I get out in the field again this season -- it's been very light this year, with not even much lab work. My office makes me crazy. But either way, it was a good morning and worth dragging myself out of bed.