It's a Friday morning around the usual time, and I set out once again for my weekly commune with one of nature's more overlooked environments. I drive the dusty road out to where the faithful kayakers are dallying with their young sons and attempting to extract some kind of vertebrate from the brackish waters. Stepping out into the heat and extracting a device from my trunk, I pass them and smile cordially. It never fails - there is always one that stops and asks me, "So, watcha measurin'? Whatcha collectin'? Ya'll from A&M?" Yes, water temperature and such; snails; mhmm, yup I'm an intern there.
I slide my booties on and submerge my willing feet into the mud and slosh through the Spartina until I find a good spot to hunt my unwilling prey. The tide is ebbing, but it's still high enough to adequately conceal what I'm looking for. Bending over, sticking my face into the grass, I peer through the layer of marshwater. I push back the salt-covered grass to let the light shine through and illuminate the substrate, hoping to see a familiar conical shape waiting for me to grasp it. Beads of sweat are forming everywhere, and I've only been out for a few minutes. There's something satisfying about the trickle of sweat down the side of your face; like a sign that you're truly accomplishing something. Well, anyway, I diverge...
The water is hot and I slosh through the marsh inch by inch, always parting the grass and searching, searching. Where are all the snails today? The tide is high enough, yet all I find are empty shells and those are few. Even the snails know it's silly to be out on such a hot day. That's Texas for you, though. No choice in the matter.
I get lucky and find a snail hiding out on the open substrate. My hand quickly moves to pick it up, as if it might disappear before I can grab it, proving only an illusion. It is real, however, and I examine the opening to look for a tell-tale operculum shrinking into the conical depths. No such luck - another empty one. I toss it aside and continue my search, feeling the ever-pressing sun on the back of my neck and the tingle of sweat beats running through my hair.
The next one proves more fruitful as I glimpse the snail retreating, it's operculum shining back at me. Yes! This should be a good spot. I hunker down, my face almost brushing against the marsh vegetation, and I look closer. Where there is one, there are bound to be others. Managing to find a few more, I note that they are all very far back in their shells. Today is hot, and the salinity is nearly 45; I can't blame them for blocking out the world.
My task complete, I rinse off my booties and retreat to the blasting AC of my car, which never cools down fast enough in this place. I return to the lab and examine my specimins, some of which are beginning to poke their fleshy mantles out in response to the fresh seawater I give them. Who's first?
I pick a nice long one and retreat to my bench, measuring it's shell and jotting down a series of numbers. The snail sits innocently on the lab bench, a poor victim in another scientist's crude experiment for the greater good of knowledge. Well, I don't know if I can consider myself a scientist quite yet, but this snail will hopefully help me find my way, as will many unsuspecting invertebrates in my future. I snap on my gloves and place a paper towel over the snail, and then I grab my hammer...
Don't worry, I'll make it quick.
No comments:
Post a Comment