ALL ABOARD: While technically located in Stafford Township’s Manahawkin Bay, a shallow-water mid-Island party spot has garnered the name of Ship Bottom Shoal, though the general ‘party shoal’ term now covers a growing number of anchor-and-rock sites where mariner merriment takes place. (Photo by Jack Reynolds)
DERECHOS BLOW: I’ve been phasing myself out of the weather forecasting business, after realizing some readers actually listened intently when I’d call for “hurriquakes and lightning.” What I now wax wildly upon are storms that have passed, like last week’s wind whacking. It was an instant tree uprooter, not to mention a roof uplifter, as my St. Francis Parrish found out the hard way.
Where I had guesstimated the storm’s surge of wind at 80 mph, I afterwards heard that top gusts were officially blowing 90-plus-mph. More than the hurricanesque wind speed, it was the system’s stampede-like arrival – one of those zero-to-90-in-under-10-seconds things. It raced in far faster than any typical squall line or cold front thunderstorm. It was then gone just as fast, damage done.
To keep things perky, weather authorities went west to retrieve the term “derecho” wind. It could have been dismissively dubbed a mere “straight-line wind,” a yawnable term that lacks the adequate oomph and emphasis to peg what hit us. When rooves fly, sturdy tree tumble and social media all but shorts out, there is a pressing need to uptick the vernacular. We were derechoed one good.
Certain criteria need to be met for a storm to gain derecho status. It must maintain winds of at least 58 mph and produce a trail of damage that is at least 240 miles long. Those two criteria leave a ton of room for expansion and intensification. The trail of damage can be significantly lengthier. Our very own derecho traveled a tad over 300 miles, beginning in northwestern Pennsylvania. Ours also proved winds can ramp up to who-knows-where. The upper end of the wind potential during a derecho could prove interesting if climate change is adding to the frequency and severity of these wind makers, as some experts anticipate. According to scijinks.gov, “Two new groups of satellites, the GOES-R series and JPSS, will be able to take even more detailed pictures of these storms and make even better predictions than current satellites.”
To throw in a touch of technical stuff, as the derechos rush forth, more powerful alpha storm components, created by violent downdrafts, take the lead, creating a radar signature known as a bow echo, the shape of a drawn-out half circle.
The last great derecho, one that only grazed us, took place June 29, 2012. It traveled an impressive 700 miles, impacting 10 states, including NJ. The highest gusts hit Maryland at near 80 mph. NJ took a personal hit when two children were killed by falling trees at a campground at Parvin State Park. Three people were killed in this latest derecho, all from falling trees.
Our brute of a derecho was a fast mover, even by derecho standards. It was going so fast when it passed through the Jersey Pinelands it was exceeding the posted speed limit along Route 72. One forecaster has calculated its speed at over 65 mph, and seeming gaining forward momentum as it reached the sea.
The why behind a killer derecho like this is not as clear as the criteria to define one. In our case, it was a runaway storm system moving due east, with little atmospheric resistance up ahead, especially over South Jersey. Upon reaching the coastline, where storm cells generally run into unfavorable maritime air, it found a highly noncommittal day in play, a bit doldrumsy. Missing were the cool side-shore and onshore coastal winds preceding arriving cold fronts – and the derecho did have its most distant roots in a far-off cold front.
Without getting into the fierce, and scientifically complex, downdrafts from the bulldozing derecho, radar looks indicated it steadily gained oomph in a forward-momentum manner. No surprise, the coast had the highest wind speeds. Had there been more land to the east, it would likely have piled up more mphs.
I’m delving somewhat deeply into derechos simply because we’ll likely be hearing the term used all too freely this summer, now that the expression rolls so smoothly off the lips
Back to the idea of more derechos on the overheated horizon. It has been duly proven that North American weather systems have been increasing in west-to-east speed. That trend has derecho written all over it. When it comes to change, the climate never disappoints.
BEAR WITH ME: So, what’s with that sizable black bear that abruptly made its bruinesque presence known in the vicinity of the old KMart Plaza in Manahawkin? Hell, the last bear appearing there was, what, 400 years ago.
My tracker’s mind is agog. How did that big bugger suddenly emerge on scene with nary a hair of its lumbering 250-pound body being seen prior? From whence did it cometh … so quicky?
The breaking news of the rather people-indifferent bruin sauntering in as plans were being laid for a nearby protest march had many of us contriving connections twixt the two. All I know is even the most radical of rallyists draw the line at recruiting bears as activists, though they would be formidable in a riot. As a confluence of the two events, I pictured bear-themed protest posters, like “Racism: Don’t Grin and Bear It.” I also suggested photoshopping a wide-brimmed hat on a photo of the Manahawkin bear and captioning it “Only you can prevent racism.”
I’m compelled to go a hair spiritual with the bear appearance. Native Americans felt that any peculiar wildlife signs signaled something was afoot, futuristically. If they detected even a hint of bad wampum in play, they would often simply pack up and get out of Dodge. This was prudent since the nearest hospital was hundreds of years away.
SIDEBEAR: In researching tribes along the Eastern Seaboard, I’ve come across numerous indications that Native American tribes were experiencing disturbingly frequent “great nature signs” indicating cataclysmic changes would soon be taking place. Those inexplicable signs preceded the arrival of white man. In fact, the initial sighting of explorers was seen by the Indians as auspicious, satisfying the great nature signs. Little could they know …
Nixing mysticality, the Manahawkin black bear is surely of a North Jersey persuasion. His growl has a telling accent. His Southern Ocean County arrival likely has a COVID connection. The time it would take him to get from up there to down here aligns perfectly with our lockdown, during which traffic was barely showing and human activity was strangely lacking. Throughout the quarantine, there were countless reports of wildlife breaking from their normal life patterns, sometimes inviting themselves into highly humanized haunts. Many a black bear saw the momentary calmness as a fine time to see what was on the other side of traffic-free roadways.
By the by, bears have a keen ability to safely cross roadways, literally looking both ways a slew of times before doing a speed rumbling across. And they can rumble, easily outrunning the fastest human – thus my need to only outrun you. That’s not to imply the Manahawkin bear can outrun the re-emergence of mankind. The traffic flood gates have swung open. For our bruin’s own sake and safety, maybe he should just settle down hereabouts. We can ask highway authorities to place “Caution: Bear Crossing” signs. Those would make him feel more wanted – and, being smarter than your average bear, he’ll learn to cross at the signs.
HOTSY-TOTSY TOWNSHIP? I want to take a moment to speak of one of my favorite off-Island places, Manahawkin. This way-olden town was once alternatively spelled Manahawken, which was fine since the name was an attempt to anglicize a Lenape Indian word roughly meaning good growing fields, good corn fields, or simply a good place to live, i.e. nice digs.
During the recent protest march and black bear phenomenon, the dateline “Stafford Township” ruled the media roost. Nary a peep of Manahawkin.
History aside: As recently as the 1970s, if you said you were going over to “Stafford,” we’d assume you were going skinny dipping at the Stafford Forge – and we’d all be in. Where did Manahawkin go, short time passing?
I’m fully aware that assorted community sectors make up Stafford Township, but seeing the original Lenape moniker of Manahawkin being overwritten by a jolly old foreign name, derived from Staffordshire, England, sorta sucks. Why couldn’t the multi-community region have been named Manahawkin Township? Not only does that sound far cooler, it would offer respect to the given Native American name. Of course, I’m betting I wouldn’t get much of a turnout if I called for an Indian Names Matter march – to take place in … Manahawkin.
HIDEOUS UPTICK: What creature is out there that’s smaller than a freckle but can ruin your health for all your born days? If you blurted out “deer tick,” it’s just as likely you’re referring to what you just found crawling up your leg as referencing the nasty-ass disease carrying eight-leggers spreading Lyme as we speak.
I’m the first to admit that the danger of diseased deer ticks has been brought up ad nauseam, with nausea being one of the many symptoms of the Borrelia burgdorferi infection known as Lyme. Why give it more ink? Because it is atrocious out there this year! The presence of these minuscule members of the spider family – almost undetectably small when nymphs – is far above usual years.
Deer ticks are not only showing in the outback but also just out back. Folks with merely modest amounts of plant growth on their property are finding themselves struggling to pull the tiny bloodsuckers off themselves and, more often, pets. The Lyme disease danger in NJ is as high as anywhere in the nation, based on the percentage of ticks carrying the crippling illness. I’ll dismally warn that Lyme disease monitoring groups will soon see an ugly spike in the number of cases, unless extreme precautions – and close body checks – become the everyday norm.
Many folks don’t realize the prevalence of Lyme disease in NJ. Despite shoddy and unreliable testing methodologies for Lyme, missing many a case, most of the outdoor folks I know have the disease and sure as hell wish they didn’t.
Why some years are tickier than others has led to some mighty compelling theories, most famously an equation empirically proving the association between acorns, mice, deer, ticks and mankind. However, there is a ton more in play for 2020, including the impact of a very mild winter, along with the ongoing clear cutting of Ocean County’s natural areas. The downing of woodlands almost always detonates tick explosions.
Here’s hoping I have sounded the alarm enough that anyone on the mainland side of things knows what they’re up against.
RUNDOWN: The cocktail blues just keep on keeping on. This is not a nonstop bite but a make-hay bite, meaning when they’re around it can be lights-out bitey. After schools have moved on, it can be a typical it’s-called-fishing wait for the next wave.
There is little doubt the inlets offer the primest bluefishing. That inlet influences extend fairly far out to sea, essentially where bay water finally melts into sea water, which can be a goodly distance away from the mouth of the inlet.
Larger slammer blues have been standoffish, though Island Beach State Park has had some banner blitzes this week. Big blues are often long gone by now. In fact, the entire bluefish biomass, all sizes, is running later and staying longer that springtimes past. Here’s hoping the current showing is a sign of better bluefishing days to come – come fall.
Striped bass have done good, as in real good. I believe it has been far better than expected after all that winter regulatory talk of them fading fast. Though tailing off a smidgeon this week, bass are still plentiful enough for fun and consistent bay, ocean and beach fishing. Without getting into regulatory politics, bassophiles should be loving the catch-and-release lifestyle they stumped for. To that, I’ll repeat: Just allow us to keep a big chunk of the inevitable upswing in smaller stripers.
For you nearshore boat fishermen, ready yourself for a cobia year like no other in recent times. The hard-fighting species seems to be undergoing a stock upswing, though these are loner fish so it’s not easy to tabulate the biomass. The meat is very good, especially when cut into thinner pieces and spiced up. I’m told they barbecue with the best of them. Smoked cobia is amazing.
Fluking is looking large. Doormat photos prevail. There are some skunk sessions when the bite hits bottom, where the fatties can lie for hours with no interest in eating.
Please make sure to take extra care if culling fluke, beginning with carefully unhooking even the fish you expect to keep – in case a trade-up is needed. Live wells and aeration units need to be constantly monitored.
