Astronaut Trail Shell Club

Monday, April 11, 2016

Trip Report September 2015

Note: We are headed back to Eleuthera for a week around Memorial Day. If you think you might like to join us, contact Jim Cordy at 321-452-5736 or corshell@cfl.rr.com.

I love the Bahamas in September. The water is warm, but the air isn’t as hot as in high summer. The skies tend to be spectacular, which makes for lovely photographs. Just before this last trip, Tropical Storm Ida had petered out. It had been a very mellow storm season.

On the first day, Winding Bay was choppy. Even Jim found no cones there. I snorkeled a wee bit in Tarpum Bay, but it was a tiny bit sloppy and the vis was bad.

On the second day, conditions in Gov's Harbour were spectacular. The water was as clear as could be. The silt had settled from the day before and the sand trails were outstanding. I found whole archipelagos of Xenophora conchyliophora and witnessed orgies of big Chicoreus florifer. I saw a young bull shark and a spotted eagle ray. I swam hard for four hours without stopping. It was fabulous.

The weather was just as gorgeous down at Millar's, but the coral reef had been destroyed. All those big brain corals bleached. Piles of dead sea fans in the wrack. I didn't see many other living gorgonians out there either. Even the fire coral was bleached. The various fan worms and Christmas tree worms were so screwed up, they didn’t retract when I got close to them. Don’t know if the bleaching was the intentional work of fishermen or some kind of hapless contamination by cruise ships, but it was awful. I don’t know if I can face going back to that beach. Talk about the heartbreak of the commons.

At Glass Window Bridge, the Atlantic surf was kickin'. Water coming through in big gushes. The blowhole was going like gangbusters. Super cool!

At Half Sound Bay, waves aren’t an issue. The tide was the highest ever, flooding over that concrete bench where we all sit to put on our fins and where I usually sit to eat my lunch.

The tide was so high that there wasn't much by way of interior beaches. I found a nice king helmet which I passed along to Brian Taylor. But mostly I was poking around looking at topography and the high tide.

Back in Tarpum Bay the waves were splashing the seawall and the street was soaked in places.

At Islandia, we could see waves breaking on the offshore reef, but there wasn't much slop coming in so the swimming was okay. Underwater visibility, however, was rotten. No matter. I had a lovely walk down the beach. Gorgeous light and colors, perfect air temp.

One of these magical late afternoons on an outside Bahamian beach that I wish would last forever.

Back in Tarpum Bay, the waves were getting livelier. Hurricane Joaquin was offshore and even hundreds of miles away, even on the back side of the island he was stirring up a mess.

I take hurricanes very seriously. My son was starting Tulane when Katrina took a bead on New Orleans. Lost contact with him for three very unpleasant days. I saw New Orleans six weeks after the storm, the stuff of bad dreams, that, and all too real. Irene and Sandy were no picnic. I took an oceanography course on hurricanes with Jim Tait at Southern Connecticut State University not so long ago. I know too much about hurricanes and their impacts to shrug off a gnarly one that might be heading my way.

Whatever emergency facilities they have in Tarpum Bay, I am sure they are limited. Not fair for a foreigner to take up the space. Best to get out of the way. I cut my trip short. But I was plenty worried about Ethel, her family and all the islanders, not to mention Jim and Brian who had opted to stay.

Crooked Island, San Salvador, Long Island and Acklins had the stuffing knocked out of them. Ppeople lost their homes and livelihoods.

Eleuthera was spared. The Tarpum Bay seawall held. Over the phone, Jim told me that the Queen’s highway was heaped with seaweed, which would have been a sight to see.

Still and all, would I go back to the Bahamas in September? Yes, the beauty is irresistible. But September is a long way off and June is just over the horizon. Before long it will be time to pull my snorkeling gear out of the attic.

And again: We are headed back to Eleuthera for a week around Memorial Day. If you think you might like to join us, contact Jim Cordy at 321-452-5736 or corshell@cfl.rr.com.

Monday, August 3, 2015

Glorious Glass Window

Looking down at the Atlantic Side of Glass Window Bridge. (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

We have our favorite spots on Eleuthera, and for the most part these are places we are likely to find one or more particular species of shell-bearing mollusk. Millar’s for helmets, Winding Bay for cones. We stop at a spot between Governor’s Harbor and Hatchet Bay for lace murex. At Islandica Beach, on the sandy bottom behind and between the patch reefs, sunrise tellin valves splay like butterflies. Some finds are guaranteed: Volvarina jimcordii at Sweetings Pond, Dunni murex in the pond across from the hardware store. At other sites we know the odds are pretty good: for carrier shells in Tarpum Bay, sometimes giant tellins at Half Sound Bay. And always there are surprises.

As there are countless gorgeous beaches on Eleuthera, we try to hit at least one new site every trip. If the spot proves fruitful, it goes into the rotation. Otherwise we might not come back. Jaw-dropping beauty is not enough, usually, usually.

Tom Ball Standing on Glass Window Bridge, Camera Pointed South. (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

Me, Ellen, on Glass Window Bridge, Camera Pointed North. (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

One exception to this is Glass Window. We’ll almost always drive up there, the northernmost point we hit. Everyone should see it at least once. We can’t get to the Atlantic side to snorkel, the cliffs are high and the water is deep and often rough. But the back side, the west side, the gorgeous shallow sea, is easily accessible. Finding shells there is hit or miss. High water waves drive organisms through the gap, so this is a spot where you might find various species of tritons. You might find ANYTHING. Once I found the pristine skull of a juvenile frigate bird in the weedy wrack line of the beach. But you are just as likely to not find anything at all in the way of memorable shells.

If the Little Prince had lived on a Cay instead of an Asteroid, this'd be the one! (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

Even so, it is one of my favorite spots and always provides a memorable snorkel. There are beautiful little islands here, tiny cays no bigger than a two-car garage that loom up out of the water like a Roger Dean illustration on an old Yes album cover. And even in the heat, the water here is refreshing and feels almost effervescent.

Tom scans for shells. (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

Close to Glass Window is a field of boulders and rubble on the sandy bottom. And here and in the weeds are fish and other creatures. Even if the species are things we have seen elsewhere, at Glass Window many of the organisms seem to have brighter colors, as if they have to live up to the splendor of the setting.

The color of this giant anemone, Condylactis gigantea, is so bright that it verges on lurid! (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

There are rocks to flip and I am sure I could find good shells if I had the patience to look for them, but Glass Window always feels like such a splendid adventure that I can't settle down and apply myself methodically. Distractions abound. The sandy patches, for example, are a good place to watch courting reef squid changing their appearance. They are light colored one minute, dark the next, setting into a handsome arrangement of stripes or maybe some spots, putting those chromatophores to work.

Sepioteuthis sepioidea

Anytime I see any kind of cephalopod, I always have to stop whatever else I might be doing.

Squid, in particular, are spectacular. (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

Close to the shore are weed beds and in these I found Aplysia dactylomela. I hadn't seen one in years, not since I was last on Exuma. I guess I just wasn't looking in the right place. Probably I have been swimming right over them. They do look like a weedy mussel bed on the move.

Aplysia dactylomela (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

Spotted sea hares bring to mind the best line that I have ever read in a field guide:

“Some of us feel that you haven’t lived until you have performed the ritual of picking up a 450-g (1-lb.) specimen to feel its Jello-like consistency and watch its harmless purple defense secretion run down your hands.”

- Eugene H. Kaplan

Peterson Field Guides

Southeastern and Caribbean Seashores

Thus motivated:

This sea hare wasn't very big and I didn't lift it out of the water,
just gently held it for a second so I was rewarded with the kool-aid colored dye display.
Just a tourist being a pest. (All photos © Ellen Bulger)

We will be heading back to Eleuthera in September. If you think you might like to join us, drop me or Jim Cordy an email.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Winding Bay & the Quest for the Cone Formerly Known as Abbotti

Note:

Jim Cordy will lead an Astronaut Trail Shell Club trip to Eleuthera in 2015 June 11 - 18th.

This trip is open to non-members.

You can contact Jim by phone at 321-452-5736 or email him at corshell@cfl.rr.com

Conus, with their simple and streamlined architecture, are the art deco shells of the snail world They fascinate without the rococo frills of a Murex or Spondylus. A cone shell’s structural appeal is subtle, even if some species throw out all the stops where markings are concerned. They are never plentiful in the Bahamas and the pleasure of finding one is accentuated when you roll it back and forth on your palm. This is one centered damn shell. Evolution does some goofy problem solving, but there is nothing goofy about a cone.

And as far as behavior goes, what’s cooler than a snail that hunts with venomous darts? The vast majority of cone species are harmless but the mystique of the venom, of the danger, adds a touch of dark glamour. On yeah, you think, this baby is deadly, a ruthless predator... of worms!

And so we love them, the cones.

The cone to score on Eleuthera is Abbott’s. The many color variations are why, despite a taxonomic downgrade, the shells remain appealing to collectors. But it is a trick to find one. It takes persistence. It takes some effort. Abbott’s cones live along the front-side reefs on the eastern side of Eleuthera, the Atlantic side.

We find them in Winding Bay.

It’s a bit of a hike along the beach to get to the spot where we make our base of operations. We try to pare down what we carry: snorkeling gear, mesh bags, beach towels, cameras, sunglasses, hats, water, a sandwich & a granola bar or two. One year George Dick brought out some Cuban cigars, but you know, just the necessities!

It’s a bit of a maze, the route we swim to reach the close reef in the middle of the bay where the cones are. Jim scouts the hard bottom along the reef, looking under stones and rubble (putting them back where he found them, as every sheller should). Full disclosure: it takes a knack to find the cones. I’ve gotten maybe four of them over a half dozen visits. I am easily distracted. I do a bit of shell hunting and I take photos and just generally poke around for an hour or two. When I swim in for a break and lunch, Jim keeps hunting, working for his shells.

Back on land, I swap out my mask for hat and sunglasses. I hang my gear on a fallen tree, bare wood bleached white by the sun. After a tuna sandwich and a thick slice of the best pineapple of my life, I go for a hike south down towards the entrance to Half Sound Bay. This is one of my favorite beach hikes in all the world. There are outcrops of rocks and small cliffs that form small bays. When the tide is up, the climbing is just interesting enough to be fun.

I poke around under the trees to see what recent storms have washed up: hawser anacondas, pieces of hull, glass bottles, buoys and, of course, plastic trash from a hundred nations. On one trip, Joanne Mann got a dark green glass fishing float the size of a duckpin bowling ball. I was so jealous! Then I found one of my own with the netting still attached, dangling from the branch of a mangrove. Awesome.

Back in the water, I don’t even try to look for cones during my afternoon swim. I’m lazy. But just noodling around, I have found nice chanks and queen conches, including the pineapple-yellow job that ended up on the cover of American Conchologist Magazine.

The colors have faded, but ah, the sculpture!

I watch triggerfish feeding in the shallows, rolling themselves sideways to feed in water no deeper than the length of my hand. They slip in and out with the surge of the waves, playing what looks to be a dangerous game for their supper. Eventually, reluctantly, I head back to the beach...

The afternoon shadows lengthen and we gather up our gear and our shells and head back to the car.

Back at Tarpum Bay, we can put the cones into a small plastic tank for a photo op. Their soft bodies are maraschino cherry red and look like taffy.

Tomorrow another beach, another adventure.