Turning back the page to April, May in a memorable year for outdoors
Editor's note: Before his death in November, Mark Blazis wrote his January 2022 columns, which covered 2021 in review. Here's the third of a five-part series:
APRIL
The month began with a few last Lapland longspurs still feeding here before commencing their northern migration. On April 5, oystercatchers had returned to our coast. On April 16, up to 7 inches of snow fell on our county’s higher elevations, briefly covering spectacular sprays of yellow forsythias, daffodils, dandelions, white magnolias and creamy Bradford pears. Later in April, the pinks and purples of Japanese cherry and peach trees, lilacs, violets, ajugas, and azaleas expanded our floral palette. Meanwhile, several confused migratory birds far off their course like Eurasian kestrel, European golden plover, and boat-tailed grackle delighted birders.
There was additional credence to April being “the cruelest month” when my all-time favorite Telegram writer, Al Southwick, was taken from us. He lived to a hundred – and contributed his incomparable column to the very end. I would often make him laugh sharing that when I grow up, I want to be able to write like him. My favorite fishing writer for the Cape Cod Times, Rob Conery, also wrote his last column. The newspaper was his life. I’ll miss his down to earth style and sound advice that he gained from so many local fishermen who trusted him.
Relentless winds kept most boaters from going out to Stellwagen Bank for cod and haddock. Mid-April found searing drought in South Africa, where forest fires ravaged Table Mountain down to Cape Town’s outskirts. Here, 70-degree temperatures gave way to a brief freeze on April 22. Global warming’s massive melting of glaciers had succeeded in actually shifting the locations of both our North and South poles.
April ended with shad and herring moving up the Connecticut River, excellent haddock fishing, turkeys strutting, and the arrival of our first hummingbirds back from wintering in Mexico, the first winter flounder being taken off Quincy – and an invasion of schoolie stripers from the Canal into Boston Harbor. 40 boats off Sea Street Beach in Hyannis found vast schools of squid passing through. Our once-every-decade census figures showed that Massachusetts had expanded its population to over 7 million, a 7% rise during the last decade – the slowest growth since the 1930s, when hard times of the Depression similarly lowered reproductive rates. Like most wildlife, humans lessen reproduction when resources diminish.
MAY
On cue, Hendrickson mayflies were hatching on the Farmington River. In India, nightmarish COVID infections caused unmeetable wood demands for cremations. The Forest Department was enlisted to make available more trees from local forests. Two Ruffs from Europe showed up at Plum Island, far from their natural migration destination in the Eurasian Arctic.
To our south and west, as soon as the ground temperature reached 64-degrees, from New York to Indiana, Tennessee, North Carolina and Georgia – 15 states in all – trillions of cicadas that survived sucking on tree root sap began emerging out of the ground, deafeningly noisy, after lying dormant for 17 years. Some properties had over a million emerge in just one acre. All that survived countless predators that voraciously fed on them ascended trees to mate, lay eggs – and die.
By May 14, strong southerly winds had broken open the gate for neotropical migrants to arrive in our region. Warblers, thrushes, orioles, vireos and tanagers came in huge masses, resulting in a deluge of birder sightings and reports. At the Auburn Birdbanding Research Station outstanding birds banded in May were seven Baltimore orioles and the following warblers: yellow, Magnolia, Nashville, Canada, Myrtle, pine, blue-winged, northern parula, blackpoll, black and white, prairie, black-throated blue, Tennessee, Wilson’s, ovenbird, common yellowthroat, northern waterthrush and 19 American redstarts.
It cost $1.5 billion, but Rhode Island sufficiently cleaned up the waste water it had been pouring into the Providence River, enough to allow shell-fishing for quahogs for the first time in 75 years.
By the third week of May, maple keys were falling to the ground by the thousands, and summer had prematurely arrived – again - with a long string of temperatures in the high 70s and 80s. There was no need to wait for Memorial Day to plant our gardens. Just as does began delivering fawns, a black bear was seen harmlessly wandering behind the Auburn Police Department, no doubt after being pushed out by territorial alpha males occupying the best territories. May 19, keeper stripers finally arrived in the Cape Cod Canal.
By May 22, with oceans warming ever hotter, tropical storm season began a month early, threatening the Gulf coast and bringing big swells to the East Coast. Temperatures here reached 88, and a record 94 in New York City.
May ended disappointingly with cold, windy, wet weather dipping into the 40s. Fawns entered the world wet – and stayed wet. Concerns mounted for newborn, downy, water-absorbent baby turkeys, ruffed grouse, and woodcock. Vermont’s Stratton Mountain even had event-cancelling snows. While white precipitation is not uncommon in May, it’s rare this late in the season.
Sadly, at Provincetown’s Herring Cove Beach, a bold and fearless coyote grabbed and killed an off-leash puppy that was only about 40-feet away from its owners. Humans regularly feeding coyotes have habituated them to the benefits of human presence.
Over in Australia, just as a once-in-a century drought was ending, a stinking plague of mice furtively ran through much of the country, grossly invading bedrooms, fouling farm harvests, grocery store shelves, and even cutting off television. Farmers had trouble keeping the mice from eating all the seeds of wheat, barley, and canola that they tried to plant. With mice capable of having 6-10 babies every three weeks, the disaster proved beyond horrific.
Despite the world’s economies nearly grounding to a halt for the last year because of the pandemic, carbon dioxide accumulated enough in May – 419 parts per million - to reach the highest levels ever measured. That was disappointing as global emissions fell by 5.8% or about 2 billion tons of CO2. May always has the highest levels of the year – just before the northern hemisphere’s plants burst open and start absorbing CO2 for their growth. Throughout winter and spring, plants and soil are actually giving off CO2.
But keeper stripers were back in the Cape Cod Canal. Sea bass and scup were hitting hard, too. And bluefish had arrived early. With most Massachusetts residents smart enough to get vaccinated, life was looking good again. Our amazing vaccination capabilities and adherences brought an end to mandated mask wearing. A sense of rebirth and freedom stimulated huge numbers of pent up pandemic victims to travel again, filling the skies in record numbers, domestically, if not internationally just yet. Parts of the planet without vaccines, notably Brazil, India, and Africa, meanwhile, felt the scourge of poverty and death. Amazingly, pockets of anti-vaccine sentiment prevailed even in America. Big Lies, anti-science ignorance, and political tribalism threatened us. At least we could all safely go outdoors. If COVID-19 left us anything positive, it was the vital truth that the outdoors is our constant and dependable refuge.
This article originally appeared on Telegram & Gazette: Turning back the page to April, May in a memorable year for outdoors
