By Aaron Wood
Analyzing the habitats that are both prized as a fishery and an integral part of our broader ecosystem.
By the time March 1st comes around I’m fiending in a way that has left my wife, friends, and coworkers wondering if it’s time for an intervention. While I’m not off selling plasma or pawning candle holders (though I might if I thought it would help), the general malaise of winter has left me thinking: If I don’t get a healthy dose of good tides and sunshine soon, I might snap.
A band-aid for the winter blues can be found at low tide in late winter. Schools of reds are still tucked into the creeks, but more importantly, the opportunity to admire the slightest hue of green creeping up from the pluff reminds us of better days. The common pleb will tell you Spring begins at the end of March, but a coastal citizen looks toward the cordgrass (Spartina alterniflora) for a sign of the times. The combination of roadside azaleas, pungent Carolina jessamine, and reborn spartina are a trifecta of perfection. When they come together, the fiending angler finds comfort in knowing that tailing fish are coming soon. After months of grey skies and cooler temperatures, there are few activities more fulfilling than stalking a happy fish on a happier flat, the spartina grass licking at your calves.
Angling aside, the importance of cordgrass cannot be undersold. In addition to fostering a habitat for tasty redfish snacks and coastal fauna, the plant grows and dies back each year. That perennial die back, around the time the winter blues set in, is the life blood of the marsh, providing vital nutrients that then travel up the trophic system. The final recipient of those nutrients are the fish fly anglers yearn for, transmitting basic earthly nutrients into smiles and memories.
But what if you were told this habitat was at risk? Despite being widespread, resilient, and seemingly ever-present, cordgrass and the floodplain it occupies are facing a mounting adversary. Rising seas and pollutants are their greatest threat, and according to the Environmental Protection Agency, the effects of climate change and nitrogen runoff (associated with agricultural pesticides) “make it more difficult for cordgrass to flourish,” going on to say that, “Without cordgrass, Atlantic coastal ecosystems would be as vulnerable as a sea turtle without its shell.” The EPA is not alone in its assessment: studies across the board show that marshlands are at threat to rapidly changing conditions, with Audubon noting that the natural process of cordgrass growing, dying back, and trapping nutrient-rich materials “can take thousands of years.” Those dense, matted layers that stabilize the flood plains along our coast are susceptible to rapid change, most notably rising seas and an erratic climate.
Looking for an even bigger downside? I know-You aren’t. The truth hurts. But marshlands are incredibly effective at recycling organic material, playing a vital role in carbon sequestration. Covering a significantly smaller portion of the earth, salt marshes are able to sequester carbon fifty-five times faster than tropical rainforests.
Aaron Wood
Looking for an even bigger downside? I know—You aren’t. The truth hurts. But marshlands are incredibly effective at recycling organic material, playing a vital role in carbon sequestration. Covering a significantly smaller portion of the earth, salt marshes are able to sequester carbon fifty-five times faster than tropical rainforests. Thus, their deterioration only makes the problem worse and the solution harder to find, a steep slope that grows steeper with each passing season. South Carolina Department of Natural Resources (SCDNR) notes that increased water exposure to marshes leads to increased stress and ultimately, the destruction of marsh grass. This issue is compounded by exposure to pollutants, with SCDNR stating that “All of the anonymous sources of non-point source pollution are slowly accumulating, killing our marshes, poisoning our seafood and threatening the future of our coastal resources.”
With each outing during the warmer months, and every tailing red, life along the coast feels like a prize in itself. I sometimes find, despite all that winter-worry, it can be hard to cast at a fish so mesmerizing in its feeding habits. But then I do, no matter my fascination, and coming tight is the drug I craved all winter long. Unfortunately, that experience comes with a risk, as framing a flood tide within only feeding reds in mind limits our scope and understanding of our marshland’s broader issues. So when the next time comes around, when you come upon a couple feeding fish, tails sky high at 12 o’clock, consider not only what happens if I make a bad cast, but more importantly, what do I, the fish, and the marsh stand to lose?
About the Author: A graduate of The University of South Carolina, Aaron lives in Charleston, SC with his wife and son. When not spending time with family, Aaron is tying flies or working on a collection of fishing essays.