Description

Not many Islanders want to getclose to salt marshes. Those thatdo usually have ulterior motives. For afew weeks each fall, hunters huddlebehind their blinds, nursing their coffeeand cursing the weather. Leaningover the edge of a tidal creek in thespring of the year, smelt fishersdelight in the sheer abundance of fish(and, perhaps, in the notion that someoneelse will be cleaning their catch).While concentrating on fish or fowl,such old-fashioned hunter-gatherersmay absorb some marsh mud at theknees, or subconsciously note a slickof surface oil on a nearby pool, but themarsh is secondary.