After a glorious sail
from Great Kills Harbor, New York, we dropped anchor in the anchorage
behind the breakwater at Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey, paying
out about 70 feet of line. The Fall days were getting shorter
and it wouldn't be long before sunset. Bruce and I prepared the
dingy for a trip to shore with Cimon before the sunset. The trip
to shore was uneventful. Cimon did what he had to do and we returned
to the boat. Then Bruce and I began preparing the boat for a night
on the hook.
The anchorage was getting crowded and before long a couple on a small sailboat were driving in and out around the boats in the anchorage looking for a spot to spend the night. They scooted right in front of us, between another sailboat and powerboat that we were so careful about avoiding when we swung with the tide, and proceeded to drop their anchor right over our anchor rode. The people on the powerboat shouted to them that they were too close. I shouted to them that they were dropping their anchor over mine. They shrugged us all off ensuring us that they were neither too close nor over my anchor or line and proceeded to drop their anchor. I complained to my husband that we couldn't even move without driving on top of the other boat to retrieve our anchor. We decided to move after the boats swung in a favorable direction.
In the meantime, a
fellow on one of the other powerboats in the anchorage proceeded
to climb up on top of his cruiser's roof, bagpipes in hand, and
began to play while standing facing the setting sun. Everyone
in the anchorage listened quietly from their cockpits. He finished
with Amazing Grace while the sun disappeared below the
horizon. The other boats responded with cheers, whistles and blasts
of their horns. I don't know whether the piper realized it or
not, but he helped make it a night to remember.
Bruce prepared a fantastic meal as always, and before long it was time to get ready for bed.
All of the boats were still in the same position as when we first got there, all facing the bluffs of the Highlands. There was absolutely no wind.
The Highlands are the highest ground on the Atlantic coast between New York and Key West. The hills, which seem to rise straight up from the water, are dotted with homes peeking through the trees overlooking the bay. At the bottom of the hill near the anchorage there is a small sandy beach which is exposed except at high tide. And the combination of the cliffs, the vegetation that grows there and the stifling humidity gives you the feeling that you're visiting an island in the tropics.
Before bedding down
for the night, Cimon had to make one last visit to shore. It was
about 11:00 p.m. and dark, and I mean dark, can't see your hand
in front of your face dark. We loaded the dog into the dingy and
rode to shore, our electric trolling motor moving us quietly through
the anchorage towards the beach.
It was only an hour past high tide. We pointed our flashlights towards the beach looking for an area to land, there was alot less beach than there was earlier, and finally spotted land. We beached the dingy in the dark and Cimon immediately hopped out into the darkness, his leash held firmly in my hand. I stepped out onto the wet mushy beach and he took me about 30 feet and stopped. Bruce stayed with the dingy.
While I was standing there I noticed the ground moving beneath my feet, literally moving. Then I noticed a strange noise, really two strange noises, a clicking sound and sort of a rubbing sound. I pointed my flashlight straight down to see what I was standing on. Ahhhhh, I let out a bone-chilling scream which sent Bruce running to see what was wrong.
The entire beach was
a writhing mass of life. I'd never seen anything like it. Some
kind of crustacean, like millipedes, were piled up on the beach.
There had to be millions of them, they were several inches think
and crawling all over each other making strange clicking sounds.
I was no longer screaming and we all became thoroughly interesed in what we were witnessing. Apparently these creatures only come out after dark and after high tide. The tide had brought in alot of seaweed and these creatures were feasting on it. By morning there would be no sign of the creatures and no signs of the seaweed -- nature's way of cleaning up after itself. In the morning I did notice little holes in the sand. I had always assumed that little crabs occupied those little holes, now I know differently.
Cimon was as interested in the creatures as we were but more interested in sniffing around than taking care of business. Then finally he did something and we were able to return to the boat.
Interestingly, nobody, not anyone from any of the homes above or from any of the boats in the anchorage seemed at all interested in what was happening on that beach. My scream had to have awakened the dead. I could have been murdered on that beach and no one would have cared.
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Last modified: 19 January 2000