Spirit of the Radio

Invisible airwaves, crackle with life…

Bearing a gift beyond price, but almost free.

~ Spirit of the Radio, Neil Peart

When I posted a video of the very first time I ever tried using fox light flashers at oystercatcher A65‘s nest, I neglected to mention one thing: the nest actually got eaten by fox in the end. While the flashers clearly bumped the fox to a path that went around the incubating oystercatcher for almost three weeks, it all fell apart on the very last night, the night that mattered most; the night the nest hatched.

This is not uncommon. A few years back when we lost two of our most famous adult plovers, Giantsbane and Jennifer Jason Leigh, to a fox ambush at their nest, it also happened during the hatch. It was a total surprise. We never saw any evidence of fox at their nest until the very last night, when it mattered the most.

The reasons for this are pretty obvious and probably boil down to two, big things. First, the adults are more distracted and stressed during the hatch. They are also more likely to inadvertently sacrifice themselves trying to lead a fox away from their new babies.

But also, there is the sound. The faint but piercing chirps of the tiny hatching babies is probably too much for a predator to miss, or ignore.

I’ve thought a lot about these losses and the very specific dangers for hatches that occur overnight. It occurred to me last year during a very dicey hatch at Suga’s nest at Island Beach that a recording of human voices played throughout the night might help. Not only are canines usually wary of human voices, but the sound itself might mask the crying babies. Even if the recordings didn’t spook the fox or coyote, it might make them miss the sound of the babies completely.

For some reason I imagined a book on tape. More specifically, Morgan Freeman narrating The Hunger Games. I don’t know why it took so long to occur to me that a simple AM radio would be just as good, but when it did, I immediately began testing different solar powered, all weather radios. When I finally hit on one that was able to play continuously on my porch for 30 days and nights in all kinds of weather, I started looking for an opportunity to try it.

Using “the loophole” I got permission to try it with nesting oystercatchers. I settled on a conservative talk radio channel; not because of the politics, but because the conversations they had tended to be loud and abrasive, with lots of arguments and people talking over one another!

I’ve been deploying the radios this summer successfully. Perhaps surprisingly, the oystercatchers appear completely unfazed by the radio chatter. Put a rock near their nest and they’ll circle it nervously for quite some time. Drop an AM radio playing at a decent volume and they get right back on their eggs.

I use them for two events; first, the hatch, and second, whenever the forecast calls for fog. Fog makes the cameras and the flashers totally ineffective for obvious reasons. The radio, on the other hand, is most likely even more effective in the fog given the limited visibility of any predator.

So I now keep spare radios on me at all times, just in case. And for whatever reason, when we were setting up hazing gear for Chunks at Island Beach, I gave one to Teri and told her to hang on to it and keep it charged. Just in case.

When we recently discovered Chunks’ imperiled nest hatching early just as the sun began to set, we immediately panicked. We had already discussed a number of things we could do when the nest eventually hatched, thinking we still had time to decide. We had discussed sleeping out there, and I even had a new tent on the way, arriving the next day, because mine was in bad shape and the hatch day weather looked dicey.

Kashi had asked the park for special permission so I could drive out to the nest and have my car with me. But they had not responded yet.

And now it was truly too late for any of these plans. Even if I decided to just drive out there illegally and ask for forgiveness later, the beach had been very narrow and the sand very soft. I’d be driving on unfamiliar terrain in the dark. It seemed too risky. I imagined myself being too busy getting my Jeep towed out of the surf while Meatball gleefully devoured Chunks and family.

These were a hard conversations to have, with no time to really think anything through. We all wanted to do something. We were desperate to do something. But the clock was ticking with just an hour or so left before Meatball would surely discover Chunks’ hatching nest. It’s so hard to separate out what’s a bad idea from what you are actually too lazy to do. I’ve walked away from hatches before, saying “let nature take its course,” and deeply regretted it later. It’s how I lost Tufters. An extra hour of my time, and everything would have been different.

That’s when Emily said, out of the blue, “what about the radios?” And I suddenly remembered that I had left one with Teri. While we certainly didn’t want to draw Teri into this toxic mess of fear and guilt and frustration, we ultimately did, asking if she would be willing to run one out there, even in the dark.

Teri, of course, responded in under one minute, “I’m on my way.”

This was a bold and decisive call for Kashi & Emily. These were not oystercatchers and this had never been tried before. I was pretty confident based on my experience in Plover Park with them, but was still a little nervous too.

As Teri arrived at sunset, in the howling winds, she was struggling to find my talk station. Reception was poor. Chunks and his mate were freaking out, so she just set it to the clearest station she could find; a pop music station out of Toms River.

The wind was so loud, she fumbled with the volume and had a hard time judging what was right. On camera, I was shocked by how loud it was. It was blaring.

But before she even left the exclosure, Chunks had already come back to the nest and started tending to the eggs and first two babies who had hatched! We knew immediately that at least we were not going to cause the nest to be abandoned. Might as well go for broke and make this as unfun for Meatball as possible.

As Teri disappeared over the dunes in the dark, all that was left to do was monitor the hatch and wait for Meatball.

It was a totally surreal experience logging on to the camera, and each time, hearing a different song. As the night dragged on, it became almost funny. You realize how emotionally manipulative pop music is. Every song lyric of love, loss, risk, and hope took on very new, and very real meaning in the context of what we were watching on camera.

The whole thing was just… grotesque! It was offensive in the worst way. This sweet moment in nature completely polluted and perverted by the radio. It was just so weird. Surreal barely begins to describe this night I will never forget. But it was nowhere near as grotesque as what would surely happen to these birds when Meatball showed up. So weird as it was, I was comforted and confident in the decision to try this.

I somehow put myself to bed, wanting to get some sleep to prepare to do battle with Meatball in the middle of the night.

But for the first night since we started this whole mission, the alarm, strangely, never went off.

I eventually woke up naturally around 2:30 AM. I jumped out of bed, confused that I hadn’t yet been woken by Meatball. I checked the camera, and there they were, safe and sound. I rubbed my tired eyes in disbelief.

As I logged on, the sickeningly sappy soundtrack classic “Time of My Life,” from the film Dirty Dancing, was blaring in the still of the night. The third chick was just hatching. Chunks and mate were both there, and Chunks took the eggshell and carried it away from the nest so Meatball wouldn’t smell it (as if that would have done anything in this case!)

I’m going to confess here; as cheesy as a moment as this was, I began to weep uncontrollably. Partly, it was the lack of sleep. I hadn’t slept through the night once since we started this whole mission to save Chunks. But really, it was when I looked at the clock and saw it was already 2:30AM and there had not been a visit from Meatball. That was unheard of. I knew right then and there, we’d made it. I really could not believe it, but also, I was sure.

I really didn’t sleep much after that, but that was fine. I just couldn’t stop tuning in to see what song was playing, and giggling at the absurdity of the whole thing as the adorable babies bumbled around with the radio blaring.

As the sun came up, I just kept recording clips of the birds to different soundtracks playing on the radio, each lyric seeming more perfect than the last.

And when Madonna’s Like A Prayer was immediately followed by Pharell Williams’ We’re Up All Night To Get Lucky, I completely lost it.

Who knows for sure if the radio was actually the thing that kept Meatball away this night? Was it just a lucky coincidence? We will never know. What we do know is that the radio didn’t not work, that Meatball skipped his nightly visit to terrorize the exclosure on the most important night of all, and that Chunks’ and family are now out there wandering around Island Beach State Park, living the dream that was almost a nightmare. And having the time of their lives, blessed, by the spirit of the radio.