Mill Creek Marsh: the shorebirds' preferred Turnpike rest stop

On a hot Saturday morning, with not a cloud in the sky, we headed to the Meadowlands to find some shorebirds. Believe it or not, their migration season has already begun, and surely some would be making a pit stop in the area for rest and refreshments.

Our first stop was DeKorte Park, home to the New Jersey Meadowlands Commission, but it wasn't as productive as we'd hoped. Despite the substantial trail network there, much of our expected route was off limits, and besides, it was high tide. The sandpipers and plovers didn't have much space to peck about in the mud, because it was essentially flooded for the time being. It was time for plan B, Mill Creek Marsh off the Hackensack River in Secaucus.

Mill Creek is just a few miles away
from downtown Manhattan, as the crow flies.

If you've used the eastern spur of the NJ Turnpike just south of the Vince Lombardi Service Area, you know Mill Creek, even if you don't know its name. Tucked away in the Harmon Meadow shopping area near Bob's Discount Furniture, this spot indicates what the Meadowlands was like in the days before landfills and rampant development. Shoppers looking for great deals can easily take a walk back in time and learn a bit about the natural climate that predates the retail complex.

What we didn't see at DeKorte we saw at Mill Creek in abundance: sandpipers, yellowlegs, and both snowy and great egrets. Never having seen both kinds of egret together, I was amused to see that the great is quite a bit bigger than the snowy; but for the difference in beak color I'd have thought the snowy was the great's offspring. We also were treated to the sight of an immature Baltimore oriole, its orange markings not yet darkened from the juvenile yellow.

Marsh wrens, though clearly making their presence known vocally, were frustratingly difficult to spot. It seemed that every time we approached a substantial patch of spartina, one or two would start to sing, but they never came up to introduce themselves. After a few instances, I mused that there had to be some sort of trip wire along the path that triggers a recording of the song every time someone gets near. Well, even if we didn't actually spot them, I enjoyed their song.

Mill Creek offers a lot, even if you're not into birds. The area was regraded and restored to highlight the beauty of its original tidal flow, and this time of year you'll see plenty of blooming marsh mallow along the path along with healthy marsh grasses. Surprisingly, on our visit it wasn't buggy at all; while we saw the average number of dragonflies and butterflies, we were unscathed by mosquitoes. Proper tidal flow and ample insect-eating birds are doing their job, it seems.

Marsh mallow and other wetlands greenery
overtake an old cedar stump.

Once you get to one of the pools closer to the highway, you'll also see remnants of the Meadows' historic past -- the stumps of American cedar trees. Long ago, the marshes were home to large tracts of these fragrant hardwood trees, and their demise is the subject of a few interesting Colonial-era stories. Some say that the colonists burned the forest down before the Revolution, to root pirates out from the many hiding places on streams within the swamp. Others say that the forests were cut down to the point of extinction, their highly-prized wood sold off for various uses. The scientific answer is that human intervention (namely the construction of the Oradell Dam) changed the water composition, turning the marsh brackish and cutting off the fresh water the trees need. Regardless of what happened, the stumps remain, creating an interesting landscape of gnarled and weathered roots and perches for cormorants and the like.

The only real down side to Mill Creek is the incessant hum of Turnpike traffic, but you can still hear the sounds of the marsh without much trouble (where are those truck noise cancelling headphones when you need them?). It doesn't take much to see that the Meadowlands is on the rebound after years of environmental abuse. Just ask the birds: they're finding plenty of healthy food to eat, and the marsh is clearly on their maps.

Stuffin’ our Faces in New Brunswick

Twilight was fast approaching in Salem County when we started our way toward the Turnpike and home.  Ivan must have been reading my mind, because he suggested that we take a detour on Exit 9 and grab dinner at Stuff Yer Face in New Brunswick. Saying that is like suggesting I might like to breathe:  it’s a total no-brainer.  (Does this guy know the way to my heart, or what?)

How much do I love Stuff Yer Face?  I started going there as a Rutgers freshman, and I still return several times a year for one of their signature strombolis. They’ve made this basic Italian staple an art form, offering dozens of variations filled with any number of cheeses, meats and vegetables. Some have described it as a rolled-up pizza, but that doesn’t begin to explain how freakin’ good it is. Oh, and you know celebrity chef Mario Batali? He started his career there as a line cook, so I can honestly say I ate his creations before he got famous.

Now, usually I make my SYF jaunts on a quiet afternoon, but this time we’d likely get there at its busiest.  Would it be loaded with noisy college students, making us look like the quintessential mom and dad? More importantly, would we get a table before we both died of hunger? That last question was also complicated by a Turnpike warning sign prompting us to detour onto Route 130: that added an extra 15 or 20 minutes to the trip.

Not surprisingly, there was a 30 minute wait for a table when we got there, so we headed to the bar so Ivan could check out their extensive menu of brews.  It definitely lives up to its reputation. While there, we chatted briefly with a couple of very polite frat boys who were celebrating a birthday with pitchers of a neon-blue libation. At the other end of the bar, a couple more in our age range was whiling away their table wait by playing darts with their young daughter.

We got called for a table right at the 30 minute mark, and I didn’t even have to look at a menu: Emily boli (vegetarian) and an enormous diet soda.  And please bring it quickly.  Not long later:  yum.  And a delicious way to conclude a long, eventful day of wandering, birding and exploring.

It’s kind of neat, actually:  when I started going to Stuff Yer Face back in the 80’s, it was rare to see anyone there over the age of 30.  It seems that my contemporaries keep returning, even as the place continues to be wildly popular with Rutgers students today.

Heading down to Salem...

This weekend's trip brought us down to the end of the New Jersey Turnpike: Salem County and environs. Truth be told, it was a bit of a compromise. I've been wanting to get back down Jersey for quite a while now, given that I haven't made any regular trips to the region in some time. When Ivan checked his online birding bulletin board and found that a yellow-headed blackbird had been found in Mannington, the plan was in motion.

Fortunately the weather was on our side this time, as it was relatively warm with variable skies, not a lot of wind, and no precipitation. We hit the road, with the general direction of going to Exit One and making a left onto Route 45. This pretty much immediately brings you into the flat farmlands of Salem County, occasionally punctuated by a small bit of commerce or some marshy territory. Not surprisingly, there are plenty of opportunities to see random birds of interest along the way.

Now, I have to admit that when I head to Salem on my own, I always seem to end up taking different routes, driving by sense of feel, so to speak. It's kinda hard to navigate someone else with that approach, and there was the need to get through Salem City on the way to the bird in Mannington. Thus, I'm a little scrambled in my mind on which came first: the birding or the Saleming. For the purposes of the blog, I'll handle the birding first.

The bird itself had been located on Compromise Road in Mannington (there's got to be a good story around that name, don't you think?), among a flock of blackbirds. We found our way up Route 45, beyond the county hospital and just outside of the radius of the alarm sirens for the Salem/Hope Creek Nuclear Station. Along the way, we made some roadside stops against a marsh or two to scout some birds, including three bald eagles perched authoritatively in a tree. Pretty cool.

Once on Compromise Road, we were looking for a place described as "about half the way up the road, across from a house with a white sign and a couple of cows in the front yard." I wondered: what if the cows had gone in for the day? And how would we know we were halfway up the road?

Not to worry: it wasn't long before we saw a white sign advertising the Wilson Wool Works, with a few cows in the yard. Where were the sheep? Who knows? The real question became "where's the yellow-headed blackbird?" Among the birds we found along the stretch of road, none had a distinctive yellow pate. Somewhat disappointing. (And a side question: if the Wilson Wool Works had a website, would the URL be www.www.com?)

We did, however, find something interesting where Compromise Road ends: a rather large and distinctive grave marker for John Fenwick, who, with other Quakers, founded Salem in 1675 as the first permanent English settlement on the Delaware River. The Mannington area had been named for him before being renamed for the tile manufacturing company that now dominates the area.

A little later, once in Salem, we made a stop by the famous Salem Oak, where Fenwick negotiated for the land with the local Indian tribe. That, of course, would make the tree well over 300 years old, and its spread branches extend in a broad radius over many graves in the Friends Burial Ground on West Broadway. While the tree was still fertile, its acorns were much sought after and thousands were sent nationwide, meaning there are countless Salem Oaks still out there somewhere.

Now, Salem city itself is an interesting case. The WPA Guide to New Jersey, written in the late 1930's, has a description that still fits: "Salem is like an old, old sampler with a few bright spots: but it is time-worn and frayed. The old brick Georgian Colonial houses facing the brick-paved streets would stir envy in a Williamsburg reconstructionist, and the square, heavy, frame structures, typical of the Civil War era, are a living memorial to another historical period."

Not a lot has changed in 70 years. A thriving port in colonial times, its somewhat tucked-in location on the river made it difficult for Salem's nautical industry to change with the times, and it really hasn't recovered since. Over the years, the discovery of marl for fertilizer, and the growth of the glass industry helped improve the economy, but now it's back to being a backwater, with not a lot of money evident in the community. It's really a shame, too, because the architecture is a hidden gem. Someone with a lot of vision, some money and a long timeline could make a huge impact.

Across the street from the tree is another Salem Oak: the diner bearing its name. A classic Silk City diner with very little renovation over the years, it's a real throwback. Save the crummy pastel paint job on the outside, you'd think the whole thing had just come off the production line in Paterson. I was especially taken with the condition of the restroom, which reminded me that these old diners were delivered with virtually no prep needed by the owner. Just get the plumbing and wiring hooked up from the street and main, and you're open for business.

Now, the last time I was at the Oak, I had a less than stellar meal and indifferent service. This visit didn't change my opinion much. While the French toast was pleasantly thick and spongy, the bacon was disturbingly hard in places, as if there had been a rind they didn't bother to trim off before cooking. And the waitress totally blew Ivan's order, which led to a five minute wait to get resolution. She was apologetic and owned up to the mistake, but really -- there were probably about five tables occupied, and the place wasn't all that busy.

One fun find, just outside of the city center on Route 45, was Royal Port Antiques, located in a restored feed mill on Fenwick Creek. I often check in on one or two favorite shops in Salem which carry 'olde junk,' but much of Royal Port's inventory are legitimate antiques found in the surrounding communities. With so many old and unpreserved farmhouses in the region, it's not surprising to find good stuff there. I had to stop myself from buying a huge old lightbulb for $5, wondering where in heck I would put it... but honestly, I may find myself driving back down to snap it up. (Yes, I know -- I'll spend more in gas and tolls to get it than it's worth, but whatever. I'm an Edison nut, so sue me.)

here's more to come on our Salem County visit... stay tuned for more!