Jenny Young | Page 19 | Estuary Magazine: For people who care about the Connecticut River

Bald Eagles of the Connecticut River

A Status Report on the Bald Eagle in the Connecticut River Watershed

By John Buck
photograph by Frank Dinardi
sketch by Bruce Macdonald

Dead drifting my canoe along a stretch of the upper Connecticut River a few miles upstream of the Wilder Dam, a flash of white against the dark green pine background revealed the perching spot of an adult Bald Eagle. I had been receiving credible reports of a pair of eagles in the area and wanted to see if I could confirm a nest or at least a territorial pair. Remaining motionless for fear of flushing the bird, I waited in hopes it might reveal a second adult or even a nest. Eagle nests are unusually difficult to spot by themselves, despite measuring as much as six feet in diameter and weighing several hundred pounds.

The upstream breeze counteracted the River’s current allowing me to remain in place for nearly an hour. A second bird never appeared and whether the eagle decided I wasn’t worth the risk of remaining, or it was hungry, or simply wanted to see more of the River, it flew off to the north. With a mighty push of its legs, shaking the pine bough as it released its grip, and a few deep powerful strokes of its six-foot wingspan, the eagle was soon out of sight. Though I had seen many eagles over the years, my feelings of awe and inspiration were just as profound as my first encounter so many years ago. It is no wonder the peoples of the Wampanoag, Pequot, Abenaki, and Quinnipiac, were among the many first Nations to revere the Bald Eagle and place them highly within their tribal rituals and customs.

Ever since the Continental Congress officially adopted the eagle in 1782 as our nation’s national symbol, the species has had a remarkably difficult existence during the past 200 years. Habitat loss due to extensive land clearing and polluted waterways, popular fashion using wild bird feathers, persecution, and later, the introduction of DDT into the food chain resulted in an estimated population of less than 500 nesting pairs in the lower 48 states by the 1960s. And, no nesting pairs were found in the Connecticut River basin as recently as 30 years ago. In fact all of New England was void of nesting Bald Eagles except for some of the coastal and more remote habitats of Maine.

Through public awareness and laws,
habitat quality steadily improved to the
point where eagles could find suitable
nesting and feeding habitat.

Today’s eagle population is a different story. There are an estimated 10,000 nesting pairs in the 48 lower states including at least 50 pairs in the Connecticut River basin. Through public awareness and laws such as the Migratory Bird Treaty ACT (1918), the Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act (1940), the Clean Waters Act (1972), and the Endangered Species Act (1973), habitat quality steadily improved to the point where eagles could find suitable nesting and feeding habitat. These actions and the banning of DDT in 1972 allowed for the growth and resurgence of Bald Eagles throughout the land. So well has the eagle population recovered that it was removed from the federal endangered species list in 2007. This success story is being repeated in the Connecticut River Basin, too.

The lower part of the River was first to experience the eagle’s return. First to have eagles disappear from the state, Massachusetts last recorded nesting eagles in Sandwich in 1905. But from 1982 to 1988 the state undertook an aggressive effort to reestablish a nesting population by importing orphaned eagle chicks from the Great Lakes region of Michigan and neighboring Canada. The transplanting work centered on the Quabbin Reservoir where, during the six-year reintroduction, 41 eaglets were raised to adulthood, and by 1988, Massachusetts had their first nesting eagles in 83 years. Success at Quabbin extended beyond its borders to include 11 pairs along the Connecticut River by 2018. Eagles are a regular sight along the River in Massachusetts. Turner’s Falls (Greenfield) and vicinity has proved popular for nesting eagles. So well have the eagles faired in Massachusetts that the state has proposed the species be down-listed from threatened to a species of special concern.

Farther downstream, Bald Eagles have experienced similar success. Sharing the story of the eagle’s perilous decline with the other Connecticut River states, Connecticut was fortunate to retain a modest residual population of wintering eagles along its lengthy Long Island coastline, especially at the mouths of major rivers like the Connecticut. But, in 1992, a pair of eagles successfully reared two chicks in Litchfield County. Since then the state’s eagle population has steadily grown to where the state downlisted the eagle population from endangered to threatened in 2010. Connecticut’s eagle population continues to expand and by 2018, state biologists estimated between 50–55 pairs to be residing in the state. Although winter continues to be the best time to view eagles in towns such Haddam and Essex, tributaries of the Connecticut like the Scantic River in Sommersville and Shenipsit Lake in Ellington also support a feeding habitat and potential nesting territories as well as offer viewing opportunities.

Getty Images, Mariusz Stanosz

Vermont and New Hampshire have shared a long and interesting history together. Beginning with the fact that, while New Hampshire was one of the original 13 colonies to form the United States, Vermont (once named New Connecticut) remained as an independent nation from 1777 until 1791 when it was admitted to the union as the 14th state. That subtle but important difference is still played out in many things today including Bald Eagle restoration. The difference is due to the fact that 90 percent of the River between the two states belongs to New Hampshire. The eagles, however, don’t know that, nor do they care. Eagles on both sides of the River hunt the River’s tributaries in both states. The only boundary lines they are concerned with are those established by the eagles themselves. Like so much of the habitat in Massachusetts and Connecticut, reforestation along the upper reaches of the River is, once again, an excellent eagle habitat.

New Hampshire reported its first successful nest in 1988 in the Umbagog National Wildlife Refuge. Though not part of the Connecticut River drainage, the first eagle nest is always significant. As New Hampshire’s eagle population steadily grew other major water bodies began to attract the expanding population including the Connecticut River. From Hinsdale on the Massachusetts line to Northumberland in Coos County, near the Quebec border, eagles have taken advantage of the hundreds miles of unoccupied habitat. New Hampshire officials report over 50 nesting pairs in the state today with nearly a dozen calling the Connecticut River their home.

Vermont, on the other hand, despite its abundant unoccupied habitat, is one of the last states in the lower 48 to have a nesting pair of Bald Eagles. For reasons known only to the eagles, Vermont’s first modern day nesting pair was discovered in Springfield in 2002. As is often the case with new nesting pairs, success often requires more than one season’s attempt. However, nesting success finally occurred with another pair farther upstream in the town of Concord in 2008, and the Springfield pair was eventually successful. With that, Vermont ended a 60-year absence of the species from the state. As with the other three Connecticut River watershed states, Vermont’s repopulation progressed in fits and starts. Today, record numbers of eagle nests and offspring are being reported each year centered on the state’s three major eagle waterbodies (including Lake Champlain and Lake Memphremagog). Vermont wildlife officials report over 30 nesting pairs in the state with nearly a third of them lining the western shore of the River. However, without those first nests along the Connecticut River, the Bald Eagle’s resurgence would have been delayed even further.

A mere 50 years ago there were an estimated 450 nesting pairs of Bald Eagles in the entire continental United States. Today there are that many in New England alone. Whether by human assisted transplant efforts or through natural expansion of populations along the coast of Maine and Long Island Sound, it is clear the Connecticut River has served as a vital destination for Bald Eagle recovery. With continued habitat protection efforts, vigilance towards environmental toxins, and preventing dilution of important legal protections (e.g. Migratory Bird Treaty Act), the upper limits of Bald Eagle occupation in the basin are yet to be seen. There is still much unoccupied habitat within the River basin. Although Bald Eagles are normally quite wary of people, some have shown more tolerance than others and will likely continue to expand in Connecticut and Massachusetts. With so much unclaimed habitat in New Hampshire and Vermont yet to be spoken for, the future for this magnificent species looks very bright along the 410 miles of the Connecticut River.

JOHN BUCK is a fifth generation Vermonter. John’s interest in the natural world was shaped during his early years in rural Orange County at a time when there were more cows than people.

John received his BS and MS degrees in Wildlife Biology at University of Vermont. Following graduation, John was hired by the Vermont Fish and Wildlife Department as a founding staff member of the Department’s new wildlife habitat management program for private and public lands. Throughout his 39-year career, John managed habitat conservation projects. Until his recent retirement, John focused on threatened and endangered species and conservation of their respective habitats.
In his new career, along with his family, John runs a small organic bird-friendly maple syrup operation in Washington, Vermont. When not working the woods, John sings in the baritone section with the Burlington-based choral group Solaris Vocal Ensemble and with the Vermont Symphony Chorus.

American folklore has it that Benjamin Franklin suggested to the Continental Congress that the Wild Turkey be selected for the national symbol instead of the Bald Eagle. While that suggestion cannot be substantiated, he did offer in a 1784 letter to his daughter that the turkey is a far more respectable bird as indicated by its cunning and bravery. Franklin went on to describe the eagle as having a “low moral character” for its reputation as a thief and a bully. Though the turkey is all of what Benjamin Franklin described it as, I turned my canoe for the Vermont shore thinking how different history might have been had the Founders chosen anything but the Bald Eagle.

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Paddling Home From School

Text and photos by Emily Dixon

A dreamed of trip becomes a reality— paddling down our Connecticut River

I know the mouth of the Connecticut River well. My commute between my parents’ houses was faster by water than car, crossing the channel from North Cove in Essex to head to the protected Lord’s Cove in Old Lyme. I grew up with osprey squawks, an occasional swimming deer, and telling the tide by the directions of the boats in the mooring fields. Years later at Smith College, I often saw the Connecticut River while biking, watching the ice flows in February with huge tree trunks fouling the pilings in April. I often thought about paddling my way downstream from college to home. There was never enough time until, five years later, the trip finally materialized.

This past summer, I canoed from Northampton, Massachusetts, to Long Island Sound with my partner, Connor O’Neill. We used The Connecticut River Boating Guide: Source to Sea by John Sinton, Elizabeth Farnsworth, and Wendy Sinton for our route and daily map. It fit perfectly into a gallon Ziploc and was perched on a dry bag throughout the trip. The trip was 92.5 miles, and we added a few slight detours to round it up to a 100 miler. This is my diary:

Day 1
Elwell Recreation Area → Brunelle’s Marina
Mileage: 7 miles

Elwell Recreation Area in Northampton, Massachusetts, in our trusty, blue 16’ Old Town fiberglass canoe, Mudbug, a common nickname for our favorite seafood snack, crawfish. After triple checking gear and finding the 35 perfect stow positions for various dry bags, we set off. With all our food and 20 liters of water, the gunnels seemed dangerously close to the wave tops at the protected boat launch. After a beautiful and uneventful short paddle, we arrived at Brunelle’s Marina.

Day 2
Brunelle’s Marina → Holyoke Rows
Mileage: 7.5 miles

Initially, excited to read in the guide books about the power company providing a shuttle service to paddlers to circumvent the Holyoke Dam. When our ride came in the morning, we chatted and decided that we would regret not doing the portage on foot. We pulled out at South Hadley Canoe Club and carried all of our equipment the one mile through Hadley to launch at Beachgrounds Park. While resting our tired backs at the South Hadley Public Library, we were offered a ride, which we also turned down. A little stubbornness got us a long way on this portage. The canoe over our heads was light as a feather compared to the heavy dry bags digging into our shoulders. After launching in the shallow water below the dam, we had a quick paddle to the community rowing and paddling organization, Holyoke Rows, to camp for the night. This was well timed because big thunderstorms rolled through that afternoon. We set up our tent on the club’s open porch and rode out the storms by cooking good food and napping in the hammock.

Day 3
Holyoke Rows → King’s Island
Mileage: 15.5 miles

Waking up to a clear sky, we launched Mudbug under the watchful eye of a beaver building his home under the floating dock. North of Springfield, Massachusetts, we spotted three large creatures hopping on the west bank of the River. As we paddled closer, we realized, to our delight, that the creatures were actually a family of bald eagles. We slipped by silently in our canoe, mesmerized by their beauty, size, and comedic antics. As we approached the Route I-91 bridge, we stuck to the east bank of the River knowing the breached dam, and subsequently the Enfield rapids, were ahead. The water picked up speed making its way around the initial structure of the old dam. Thinking we were safely below the dam and had avoided a second portage, we celebrated and moved confidently back into the middle of the River. Our revery was interrupted by the increasing low roar of falling water. We paddled furiously back to the safety of the east bank in time to navigate Mudbug over an eight inch drop. We breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the breached dam was now actually behind us; ahead lay King’s Island.

The campsite was located on the northeast side of the island. After setting up camp on one of the two tent platforms constructed with the help of the sports retailer, REI, we paddled to some smaller islands located close by. The smaller islands provided a great place to float in the current and drip dry in the setting sun.

Day 4
King’s Island → Island North of Route 291
Mileage: 13 miles

As we made our way south, the River widened; the water was fast and crystal clear. We paddled atop fields of eelgrass and hidden fish darting between the blades. Making our way closer and closer to Hartford, we decided to take a brief detour up the Farmington River for a midday hot dog at Bart’s. After struggling against the current, a hot dog loaded with sauerkraut and a tall root beer were a welcomed prize. We set up camp on an unnamed island located north of the Bissell Bridge. The island became quite busy with people fishing, jet skiers, and kids running around, all enjoying the River at sunset.

Day 5
Island N of Route 291 → River Highlands Park
Mileage: 17.5 miles

We started out early knowing we had many miles ahead of us. We were joined by the Hartford Riverfront Rowing Club as they rowed north and we paddled south. Filling up with potable water at the Hartford boat house, we stopped and enjoyed a breakfast snack with bustling Hartford in the background. South of Hartford, the scenery became more industrial with infrastructure for old barge traffic and a faint odor from local landfills. Reaching Crows Point, near the Glastonbury Boathouse, the River was wild once again, hosting lots of enthusiastic water skiers. By the time we reached River Highlands we were exhausted. After a lovely dinner on a riverside picnic table, we fell asleep while several owls hooted nearby.

Day 6
River Highlands → Chapman Pond
Mileage: 20.5 miles

Setting off in early morning fog, we were accompanied by great blue herons hunting for breakfast along the bank. They leapfrogged downriver as we glided past. As the day progressed and the River got deeper and wider, motorboat and jet ski traffic increased. We tied up our boat at the Blue Oar in Haddam, Connecticut, for a well earned hamburger.
Our boat was the smallest and dirtiest on the dock. As we entered the restaurant, it became clear by our appearance (and our smell) that we had been traveling for some time.

After waving goodbye, we continued past the Goodspeed Opera House on the eastern shore. The entrance to Chapman Pond was barely discernible behind a group of small islands covered by small motorboats. As we passed through the narrow entrance, the pond opened up before us. We noticed a small break in the bank’s brush indicating a campsite nearby. A short walk up the hill were two tent platforms in an open wooded area with views of the pond below. After setting up camp, we paddled back out for a refreshing River swim and boat wash. A slight breeze at the site made for a wonderfully bug free night.

Day 7
Chapman Pond → Long Island Sound
Mileage: 14.5 miles

Waking up with several people fishing in the pond, we made our way south observing many osprey along the way. As we neared Gillette Castle, the ferry was dutifully making its trips back and forth across the River amongst fish leaping out of the water. We turned east into Selden Creek, following the marshy waters and enjoying the peaceful respite from motorboat wakes. A brief stop in downtown Essex, where we fueled on our first coffee in a week, gave us the push we needed to make it to the sound. We battled large waves near the gas dock on the east bank at the railroad bridge before tucking into the end of the Lieutenant River for the final stretch through the marsh creeks leading to the Sound. We passed crabbers and paddle boarders along the twists and turns before the current picked up and soon we were in the Sound. We were amazed at how shallow the water was at Griswold Point and ceremoniously dipped our last smoked pepperoni stick into the water for a celebratory bite, our journey having come to a close.
……………………………………………………

The paddle down the River displayed the wide range of life the River supports, from abundant wildlife to the industrial Springfield skyline to happy shrieks emanating from the rides at Six Flags. This trip would not have been possible without the help and support of our parents. Collectively, they took care of our dog, drove us to our launch, stored our gear, and towed us back from the Sound. The food was plentiful from homemade cookies to mid-trip burgers, and the finale on the grill; we are grateful.

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The Estuary’s Most [un]Wanted Plant is Under Water

Lily Pad? Guess Again.
It’s the Invasive Water Chestnut.

By Judy Preston
Photography by Jody Dole

The aquatic plant known as Trapa natans has the unfortunate common name of water chestnut, leading people who are first hearing about it to think that it may well be a bonus source of that good appetizer, with a strip of bacon wrapped around it.

But the reality is, this non-native species is an aggressive rooted aquatic plant with floating leaf rosettes and a central submerged cord that can extend up to 16 feet, enabling it to form a dense mat on the water’s surface. By July, plants produce a whorl of seeds (nuts) below the water’s surface that detach and sink once mature. Seeds have been shown to remain viable for up to twelve years, underscoring the threat of long-term establishment once this plant takes hold.

Hadlyme resident Humphrey Tyler surrounded by water chestnut plants removed by volunteers last summer from Connecticut River’s Selden Cove.

This invasive species has gradually been moving down the Connecticut River from several large concentrations in Massachusetts. In 2011, a baseline effort to locate, map, and remove occurrences in the Connecticut River estuary was funded by the US Fish and Wildlife Service, working with the Connecticut River Estuary Regional Planning Agency (subsequently RiverCOG) in Essex. Several large populations have been located in the estuary, including in Salmon Cove, Selden Cove, and even on the Connecticut River mainstem.

Early detection and control is essential to controlling Water Chestnut; extensive infestations in Lake Champlain in Vermont, and the Hudson River estuary in New York make it unlikely that complete eradication will be possible in those waters. Our estuary abounds with largely intact fresh, brackish, and saltwater tidal wetlands that are essential habitat for a concentration of resident and migratory bird and fish species. Water Chestnut has the potential to fundamentally alter the ability of the Connecticut River estuary ecosystem to continue to support the biological, economic, and social amenities that have been its hallmark.

Friends of Whalebone Cove President Diana Fiske, in blue kayak on right, helped organize more than 30 volunteers in kayaks, canoes, and motor boats...who spent more than 125 hours last summer pulling thousands of water chestnut plants out of Selden Cove.

In 2018, after the discovery of large concentrations of another aquatic invasive plant, Hydrilla, in the Connecticut River north of Middletown, an email list serve was formalized to help conservationists problem solve about how to protect the Connecticut River and its many coves and marshes. It will take the persistence, resources, and energy of many people to stem the tide of these plants in the estuary—and the entire watershed.

Hadlyme resident Joe Standart empties a bag of water chestnut plants removed by volunteers of the Hadlyme conservation group Friends of Whalebone Cove.

If you think you have found either of these plants, or are interested in helping join the effort to keep it out of the Connecticut River estuary, please contact Judy Preston ( judy.preston@uconn.edu), Margot Burns (mburns@rivercog.org), or Friends of Whalebone Cove (fowchadlyme@gmail.com).

Judy Preston works for the Long Island Sound Study and CT Sea Grant at UConn’s Avery Point campus in Groton. She lives in Old Saybrook.

One of 10 cartloads of water chestnut plants removed from Lyme’s Selden Cove last summer.

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Cleaning up the Connecticut River JUNK

Confronting an Ongoing Challenge
Part I of River Cleanup Series

Following a recent major storm, a 500-gallon propane tank floated down the Connecticut River and mushed into the sand just north of Calves Island in Old Lyme, Connecticut. It arrived at high tide and was stuck there for some days. People who ventured near departed quickly after getting a whiff of the propane gas leaking from the tank. A police boat approached the itinerant tank and backed off. An inflatable fireboat came, sniffed, and also backed off. Finally, experts in handling such matters snared the tank and hauled it away.

“White River Junction” had been stenciled on the tank’s side in large block letters. There are a dozen dams between White River Junction, Vermont, and Old Lyme, Connecticut. Had this tank made its way over these dams, bouncing and bobbing the 187 miles almost to the River’s mouth? Someone who might have known the answer is David Wordell. As a young man, Wordell had navigated the Connecticut River in a small boat in August 1953, powered by a 5 HP Scott-Atwater outboard on a five-day round trip from Essex, Connecticut, to Holyoke, Massachusetts. Since then, Mr. Wordell has spent over 50 years boating and exploring every tributary of the beautiful Connecticut River as far north as Hadley, Massachusetts.

In 1968, David, an officer of the Southeastern Connecticut Regional Planning Agency, was appointed as their representative to the newly created Eastern Connecticut Resource Conservation and Development Area, Inc., which was nationally sponsored by the US Soil Conservation & Stabilization Service, a division of the US Department of Agriculture. In 1970, he was elected SCRPA’s president, serving until 1984.

A marine chart used by Wordell to record dumpsites along the river.

A page from Wordell’s pollution log book.

During the summer of 1981, David and his childhood exploring friend, James Bullock, traveled once again by boat to Wethersfield (CT) Cove. On marine charts, they recorded over a dozen dump sites polluting the water of this beautiful scenic River. Convincing Eastern Connecticut RC&D to take on this lofty, multi-year project, Wordell conceived and orchestrated a clean-up of the dumpsites that were unattractive and leeching petrochemicals and other contaminants into the River. He wrote letters to the mayor or selectman of every town that had junk on the River’s banks and to companies that were contributing to the mess. Boy Scouts volunteered to clean up 400 acres along the Glastonbury shoreline filling 5 large dump trucks with debris.

Wordell enlisted the support of the Soil Conservation & Stabilization Service. He testified before both houses of Congress. He took title to over 2 dozen junk cars, cars that had been abandoned, even some that had been ditched during prohibition (VIN numbers, Vehicle Identification Numbers, had not yet been implemented) in order to turn them over to a recycling center. He wrote homeowners seeking permission to remove junk from their riverside property. He even persuaded the Connecticut National Guard to bring their large equipment to remove many old, half-buried automobiles. Some clean-up efforts required use of the US Army’s 16-wheel drive vehicles to avoid getting stuck on the sandy beach.

Connecticut National Guardsmen and the 16-wheel drive vehicles.

In 1982, Mr. Wordell helped to establish the New England Resource, Conservation & Development Council and became its 1st president. Having helped clean up the banks of the River in Connecticut, he then influenced the RC&D Councils bordering the rest of the 410-mile Connecticut River in Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire to do the same, which took another two years to accomplish.

Mr. Wordell was the recipient of the Governor’s Distinguished Service Award, given in January of 1984, honoring his service and achievement in the preservation of the Connecticut River and his contributions to the RC&D.

David Wordell is a living testament to what one determined, dedicated individual can do in his or her spare time. At the time, Wordell was teaching mathematics at a regional middle school. Previously, he had been an engineer perfecting the top speeds of the first atom-powered submarines at General Dynamics’ Electric Boat Division in Groton, Connecticut. Today, he and his wife, Lois, manage a small farm in Salem, Connecticut, that is home to their registered Haflinger horses and Romney sheep; their farm also houses a museum of antique carriages and sleighs restored to mint condition (www.ransomfarm.com).

David Wordell has produced the definitive documentary of Selden Island. Estuary plans to feature more of Wordell’s work in future issues.

A US Army truck hauls away an old automobile.

Ed Note: This is the first of a multi-part series dealing with the cleanup of the Connecticut River, especially the actions resulting from the Clean Water Act of 1972. This cleanup of chemicals, industrial waste, water treatment runoff, and other pollutants is a remarkable story of what is possible when confronting an ongoing challenge. It is also a story of how vigilance and effort today can maintain what’s good, improve what needs improving, and open the doors for thousands more to enjoy the natural wonders of this worthy River.

The Shad Spirit

By Erik Hesselberg

Artwork and objects courtesy of the Connecticut River Museum. Shad Shack painting by Janette Boothby. Photography by Jody Dole. Shad Drawing from Getty Images, gyro

On a fly by day or a gill net by night, when the shad run, we fish!

Early on an April morning, a cold mist lies over the Connecticut River. When the sun breaks through and the mist rises, there is shimmering on the water. Regularly, for a brief moment, the modern melds into the timeless and across the expanse of marshes and blue water you see the silver flash and hear the blare of a diesel horn from the Old Lyme Draw every time an Amtrak train speeds along the old truss railroad bridge. You imagine some of the busy commuters on their way between Boston and New York looking up from their laptops to refresh themselves with a view of the tidal creeks and coves and the wide River meeting the waters of Long Island Sound beyond. The sleeping yachts are still wrapped in their white plastic cocoons for the winter. Marking the shore in the distance stands Lynde Point Lighthouse, and beyond, Saybrook Outer Light.

The brackish water of the wide estuary is warming past 40 degrees Fahrenheit. In front yards, yellow forsythia has appeared, and clusters of yellow daffodils push up. The season has begun, and the shad are running. Where marsh becomes damp woods, you can still see here and there among the bare branches the fresh white blossoms of a small tree above the fiddlehead ferns and green shoots of skunk cabbage. This is a species of Amelanchier, the shadbush, given this homely name by the early English settlers because it flowers about the same time huge schools of shad return from the ocean and swim up New England tidal rivers.

A dirt road full of potholes leads down by an abandoned power station to an old stone wharf with weathered wooded slips along one side. Powerboats are predominant, but once at Ferry Dock, as this wharf is known, you see the remnants of a fishing fleet—a 40-foot trawler, a few lobster boats, and several flat-bottomed, open skiffs about 20 feet long. Back from the water among the fishermen’s cottages is Ted’s Bait Shop, owned by Ted Lemelin, who used to take one of the long skiffs out at night to set his drift nets for the spring shad fishing. Ted is a hard guy to know, but one night in May, he agreed to take me out fishing with him.

There has been shad fishing on the Connecticut River—more or less this kind of laying out of carefully arrange weirs or barriers—for thousands of years. River Indians called the first full moon in March the Shad Moon. (Today, on the Connecticut River shad season runs from April 1 to June 15.) Taking his cue from Native belief, Connecticut poet John G.C. Brainard in 1824 wrote “The Shad Spirit,” telling of a spirit guide in the form of a great bird who appeared in early spring to lead the fish schools up the coast to the mouth of the Connecticut River:

To fair Connecticut’s northernmost source,
O’er sand-bars rapids and falls,
The Shad Spirit holds its onward course,
With the flocks with his whistle calls.

The broad estuary between Saybrook and Old Lyme bristled with fishing piers. From the piers haul-seining crews worked nets a quarter mile long. A thousand or even two thousand fish in a single sweep of the net was not uncommon. Shad was so plentiful it was used as fertilizer or shipped to the slave-worked sugar plantations of the Caribbean. However, with the steamboat the fresh catch could be packed on ice and sent overnight to New York and Boston. The humble fish began to rise in estimation, and soon Connecticut River shad and shad roe graced the tables of flossy restaurants like New York’s Delmonico’s.

A planked shad dinner is still a seasonal treat, although the market for the fish has dwindled, as an older generation raised with shad bakes and the like slowly disappears. Today, only a handful of boats go out at night to lay drift nets for shad, classified as an “artisanal fishery” fading into folklore. In 10 years, the gillnet shad fishery will have likely disappeared altogether. “It’s hard work and you fish at night, so you’re going without sleep for the five- or six-week season,” a fisheries biologist told me. “The gear hasn’t changed in 100 years. Only a few diehards do it now.”

Some years ago at Ferry Dock, I met Reginald “Butch” Rutty, a commercial fisherman for 40 years. Rutty talked about the days when 20 boats raced out to the Railroad Bridge at night during shad season to be the first on the fishing grounds. The bridge marked the top of the “reach,” the territories of water allotted to fishermen over generations to lay their nets. “The first boat on berth earned the right to the first drift,” Rutty said. “You’d anchor your boat on the south side of the bridge to establish your spot. Some guys got out there early, which was O.K. as long you left your net in the boat.”

Rutty got his start fishing with Kenny Swain, a hardnosed commercial fisherman out of Old Saybrook who described his line of work as “a tough racket.” Rutty signed on as Swain’s “striker,” or junior partner, but a few weeks in, may have questioned the decision when their 35-foot fishing boat was broadsided by a 54-foot cabin cruiser, nearly slicing it in two. Swain and Rutty were thrown into the water but were plucked up by a passing vessel. Both were bruised and battered but refused medical attention and were back fishing the next day.
Kenny Swain fished right to the end. They still talk about the bitter cold January morning in 1980, when Swain collapsed on his boat on Long Island Sound. A passing boat spotted the distressed vessel, but it was too late. Swain’s death was a blow to the tight-knit Old Saybrook fishing community, especially Lemelin, who also got his start fishing with Swain. Indeed, much of what he knew about shad, he said he learned from Swain.

There was fog in the evening. The next day, Ted called to say the weather would be clear and he was fishing that night if I wanted to tag along. It was long after midnight when we pushed off from the dock and headed out into the blackness of the Connecticut River. John Rogers, Ted’s fishing partner, was in the bow. Approaching a red buoy, Ted cut the motor. With his free hand he directed a floodlight onto the downstream side of the buoy—No. 14, marking the eastern edge of the dredged channel. Shad gill-netters typically fish an ebbtide, letting the net drift down with the current a mile or so before taking it up. You don’t want it to move too fast. “I don’t know, Johnny,” he said to Rogers. “The current’s still running pretty good.” When shad, a schooling ocean fish, come into the River to spawn, they follow the deep channels. Approximately half a million fish would head upriver that year, which meant a half million fish would pass Red Buoy No. 14. Ted would be happy to intercept 150 of these fish, but his success tonight seemed to depend on how well he read the eddy coming off the buoy. “I don’t want the current to take my net down too fast and get all hung up in South Cove,” Ted said. “It’s kind of a crap shoot.”

Leaning on the throttle, Ted cruised upriver to a spot just south of the railroad bridge where he would make his set. He and John wear the uniform of commercial fishermen everywhere—flame-orange, rubberized bib overalls and wool caps. They are heavily bearded. Working in tandem, they began paying out 1,500 feet of net across the channel in a long, lazy arc. Shad have a remarkable ability to detect and avoid nets. But they can’t see them at night. Swimming into the nylon monofilament, the fish are caught at the gills.

These gill nets have 5 1/2-inch meshes which select for the coveted female roe shad. (Males are called bucks.) Ted’s net is 15 feet deep, about the depth of the channel, held down in the water by metal rings and buoyed by plastic floats, still called “corks” from the old days. The rings tear off if the net gets hung up on the bottom. Battery operated lights mark the ends, a rare concession to modern technology. One is blue, blinking—a signal to other boaters to stay clear. Ted and John would let the net drift down with the current about a mile before taking it up, just above South Cove. If they’re lucky, they would catch some fish.

Between us and the bridge we saw the lights of a fishing boat. “That’s Gary,” Ted said, referring to Gary Rutty, Butch Rutty’s brother. Amos Swain and his crew were also out tonight. Ted shook his head. “Three boats! Hell, I remember when you had to fight for your spot there were so many shad boats on the water. One guy would set, then another and another right on down the line. If you didn’t set in time, you’d lose your spot. There were fistfights back at the dock.”

Originally from Bath, Maine, Ted came to Old Saybrook in the 1970s. Shad fishing was booming. “I had 12 people working for me,” he said. “Sometimes, we boned 1,000 fish a day. Dock & Dine was buying 200 pounds of fish a week. It was good money. You could clear $5,000 even $10,000, in just five or six weeks. Today, kids don’t even know what a shad is. All my customers are old. When they come to pick up their fish, I’ve got to bring it over to them because they can’t walk.”

At 3 a.m. on the Connecticut River, the air is cool, damp, and salty-tanged. Mist rises from black, glassy water. The long, low silhouette of Great Island stretches away to Long Island Sound. Off in the distance, Lynde Point Light winks on, then off. Ted shined his floodlight along the length of his net. It was lying diagonally across the channel.

“She’s sagging and I ain’t bragging,” Rogers said, referring to the belly in the —not an encouraging sign. “We’ll be lucky if we catch 10 fish,” Ted grumbled.

The two fishermen start hauling. The first 50 feet contain only stripers, the bane of the shad fishermen, as they eat shad. They also foul your nets. Commercial striped bass fishing is banned, so this bycatch goes over the side. Finally, a shad. Then two, three. Ensnared in the net, the fish barely twitch. Ted and John extract the gilled fish by gripping them tightly between their knees and forcing their heads through the tight meshes. The shad are tossed into a plastic tub in the stern. More net, more shad. The tub is filling up. By the time all 1,500 feet of net is in the boat, 40 shad lie in the tub, their big silvery scales shimmering under glaring lights.

Ted would go broke if he had to rely just on shad fishing for his income. His real work is running his bait shop and a car-towing business. Ted was discouraged when his son didn’t want to carry on the tradition. “The other day I asked him what wanted to do when he was older,” Ted said. “You know what he said? ‘Dad, I can tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to be a fisherman.’”

Two hours on the River and all Ted has to show for it is 40 fish. Still, there are other compensations. Few places are as peaceful as the Connecticut this May night. At 3 a.m., Ted and John own the River. Looking down at hiscatch, Ted says, “I don’t know John. It ain’t great. But it ain’t bad. I think we’ll make another drift.”

Erik Hesselberg has been writing about the Connecticut River for twenty years, first as an environmental reporter for the Middletown Press, and then as executive editor of Shore Line Newspapers in Guilford, where he oversaw twenty newspapers. He lives in Haddam, Connecticut, where he is at work on a book about Connecticut River steamboats. A portion of this story previously appeared in the New Haven Register in a slightly different form.

About the Seasonal Ecology Mural

“Seasonal Ecology Mural” by Mike di Giorgio. Courtesy of Connecticut River Museum. Photo by Cultural Preservation Technologies.

In 2016, the Connecticut River Museum commissioned renowned wildlife artist Mike DiGiorgio to create a painting that would bring to life the tidal marshes of the lower Connecticut River. The painting was photographed by award-winning photographer Jody Dole and enlarged to a mural that is 81 ¼” L x 76” H and installed as a permanent exhibit at the Museum.

The goal of the mural project was to complete the important story of the ecological significance of the river, thereby enhancing school programming and visitor experiences, as well as increasing opportunities to foster environmental scholarship. The mural highlights the seasonality of the ecosystem from left to right, spring to winter. From top to bottom, the mural beautifully highlights the terrestrial landscapes of the forests in the background, the wetland transitional ecosystem, and the foreground aquatic ecosystem. The more commonly known native and invasive flora and fauna are accurately depicted in their ecosystems in the season they are blooming or most active. In spring, migratory birds have arrived on the river and it is common to see Osprey (Pandion haliaetus) hunting or preparing their nests, while the Swamp Rose Mallow (Hibiscus moscheutos L.) is blooming and the American Shad (Alosa sapidissima) is migrating to the streams that they were born in. In the summer months, insects such as the Monarch Butterfly (Danaus plexippus) and Wandering Glider (Pantala flavescens) are as active as the macroinvertebrates in the water and the frogs lingering on the water’s edge. As fall approaches, animals prepare to migrate south, such as the Tree Swallows (Tachycineta bicolor), and the deciduous trees prepare for dormancy but not before they give us a dazzling display of color. Winter on the river is a time when you can see into the forests and catch a glimpse of a coyote (Canis latrans) or red fox (Vulpes vulpes) or look up in amazement to see a Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) soaring on the wind. This mural captures the essence of the river ecosystem from living to nonliving organisms: the color of the water, the movement of the clouds, and the life cycle of the trees. There are more plants and animals that are well-camouflaged and not easily seen until further investigation. Not to be missed are the invasive species that pop-up in the water such as water chestnut (Trapa natans) and on land such as common reed (Phragmites australis).

The lower Connecticut River is a unique and special place. By bringing attention to the organisms that live and interact in this ecosystem, the Connecticut River Museum enriches both visitor and student understanding of the complex tidelands. Each niche can be further explored and understood in the interactions that make up the biodiversity of the Connecticut River. The mural assists in our appreciation of why we need to be stewards of the river, and how humans can impact the overall health of the Connecticut River.

Post Cove, Deep River

Arrow-arum, water purslane, and false
pimpernel are new to me now
that I live on a riverine tidal marsh.

These plants grow about or in the cove
where, out with the tide and in,
the common mummichog and banded

killifish swim. I imagine if I’ve seen a thing—
golden club, sweet flag, reed canary grass—
its name will spring to mind when

I want it to, but the deep truth is I enjoy
the luscious touch of common names
about the roof and floor, teeth edge

of my mouth—the salivate, sexy sensation—
my way of kissing the ring of English
for having crowned me English-speaking.

One evening last summer I spied the marsh
bellflower—dabs of blue amid chartreuse-
bright wild rice sprigs—two yards from

bursts of bur-marigold and rosy meadow rue,
and I’m still hunting for the uncommon
Hudson arrowhead, the cut-leaved

water horehound. However did a plant get hound
in its name? But I don’t want a pause for
etymological dreaming to halt the susurrate

and rattling runs of consonants, the shallow
and broad bellow of vowels, all that music
that, in trickles or rills or dips or blows,

trips the switch of this or that synapse:
the Wernicke and Broca areas of my
cerebral cortex flaring up like hydrogen

firestorms on the sun, my entire body
scintillate and quick with the gush-in,
flush-out, whisking blood.

from The Banquet: New & Selected Poems

GRAY JACOBIK is a widely-published, nationally-recognized American poet. A sought-after reader and mentor, she is an emerita professor of literature, a literary critic and painter, and a deeply committed advocate for the literary and visual arts.

Gray has been honored with numerous prestigious awards, including the William Meredith Award for Poetry for a collection entitled The Banquet: New and Selected Poems, in which Name Gourmand appears. She lives with her husband, Bruce Gregory, in Deep River, Connecticut.

What's for Dinner?

Illustrations courtesy of the Connecticut River Museum

Well, if it’s May or June, it’s fresh shad! Indigenous to the East Coast from Newfoundland to Florida, American shad migrate from the salty Atlantic to fresh river waters to spawn. Its Latin name, Alosa Sapidissima, translates to “most savory shad” or “delicious herring,” which indeed it is. Shad’s unique flavor is both an acquired and sought after taste.

American Shad was first introduced to the settlers by the Native Americans and became a staple in their diet, and smoked shad is said to have saved Washington’s army from starvation during the harsh winter months.

In recent history, overfishing, developmental damming and environmental issues decreased the shad population. Today, shad is considered a delicacy, especially the female roe. Many local restaurants offer a variety of seasonal shad dishes served with indigenous vegetables including fiddlehead ferns. Shad roe is sometimes confused with caviar, which is typically from a sturgeon and has been brined. American shad roe is prepared primarily in its sac. If you are industrious, you can prepare many savory dishes at home. The challenge is removing the many minuscule bones. There are few folks left to do this tedious work, which has become a lost art, but you can trust your fish monger to get the job done. Mikmaq Indian folklore tells us that the shad was thought to be an “inside out porcupine!”

One of my favorite ways to enjoy shad is completely simple and can be, if creatively presented, an elegant hors d’oeuvre.

If you’re not up for trying shad at home, there are several community events that celebrate the shad including the Windsor Shad Derby and the Essex Shad Bake, both in Connecticut. So there’s no excuse to ignore this delicious Connecticut River fish.

MELODY TIERNEY is an avid foodie and has enjoyed sharing her passion with friends and family for many years. She and her husband, Phil, were also bed and breakfast owners in Southampton, New York, serving up a signature breakfast every morning. This and their gracious hospitality earned them Inn of the Month in Travel and Leisure magazine.

From the Forest
Fiddlehead Ferns

Wild edible fiddleheads are the coiled green shoots of ostrich ferns and are foraged from the forest floor April through early June, which makes for a timely pairing with shad and are also rich in omega-3 and 6 along with vitamins A and C, electrolytes, and several minerals. Note... Fiddleheads should be thoroughly washed and cooked...never eat them raw.

♦ Soak 2 cups of fiddleheads in cold water for a few minutes, trim ends, blanche in boiling water for 2 minutes and remove to coldwater bath.

♦ Pat dry and add to heated olive or butter and sauté gently for 5 minutes.

♦ Sprinkle with 1 tsp each of lemon juice and zest and a pinch of sea salt.

♦ Serve with shad and perhaps some creamy mashed potatoes.

Simply Sautéed Shad Roe for Two
Considered the “foie gras” of seafood, shad roe is also high in Omega-3 and 6 fatty acids...brain food!

♦ Season 2 lobes of shad roe with salt and pepper on both sides. Be gentle so as not to break sacs.
♦ Heat a pan over medium heat and add 1 TBS of butter and a dash of olive oil to evenly coat pan.
♦ Add thinly sliced garlic (3 cloves) and sauté until golden.
♦ Gently lay shad in pan and brown 3–5 minutes on each side until firm.
♦ Remove from pan and lower heat...add 1 TBS of butter and a handful of chopped parsley to garlic...stirring until parsley is soft.
♦ Squeeze in juice and add zest of ½ lemon or as desired.
♦ Add more butter or olive oil if needed.
♦ Spoon sauce over shad roe and serve!

Worth the Effort
Shad Roe with Bacon and Capers for Four

♦ Place 4 shad roe lobes in a baking pan and cover with 1½ cups of buttermilk... let sit for 1 hour.
♦ Sauté 6 slices of bacon until crisp. Drain and break into large pieces.
♦ Add 1 TBS of vegetable oil to bacon fat and warm to medium/high heat.
♦ Gently lift roe from buttermilk, dredge in salted flour, slip into skillet and cook approximately 3 minutes on each side until crispy and brown.
♦ Keep warm while making sauce.
♦ To skillet, add 3 TBS of capers, rinsed, drained, and chopped, and 2 TBS minced shallots.
♦ Cook over medium heat stirring for 1 minute.
♦ Stir in 1 TBS sherry vinegar and a handful of chopped parsley.
♦ Season with salt and pepper to taste and spoon over roe. Top with bacon and serve!

Simply Broiled Shad
♦ Prepare shad by checking and rechecking for any errant bones.
♦ Rub with olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste.
♦ Broil skin side down, 6 inches from broiler for 4–6 minutes.
♦ Serve warm or at room temperature on a white fish platter with a fresh herb garnish such as thyme, oregano or parley…whatever is handy.
♦ Serve with water crackers or crostini and let your guests help themselves!