A horseshoe crab upside down on the beach with the tide going out has a slim chance of survival. They’re an easy meal for scavenging seagulls and are high and dry until the surf carries them back to sea—if they make it that long. As a frequent visitor to our Atlantic shore, l will always stop to help a stranded critter.
This was the case when l saw one of the ancient creatures in dire straits with its legs wriggling in the air about a mile west of the Moriches Inlet. I turned him over and saw something very unique. The crab was wearing a tag with a unique ID number given to him by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. He was part of a special monitoring program, and not only was l able to save him, l also provided valuable data on the movements and survival rate of his species. I only knew of one other person who found a tagged crab, my friend Diane Mazarakis, a former environmental planner for Brookhaven Town, and l considered it a special opportunity.
Horseshoe crabs are well suited for their habitat, which spans across the globe. They stay low to the ground and have a hard shell that deters predators. These sea armadillos are prehistoric; fossil records show they predate even the dinosaurs over 440 million years ago. Like many species, man is their greatest enemy, harvesting them for bait and the one attribute that sets them apart from any animal on Earth. Their blood is blue in color and is very valuable in drug manufacturing for its ability to detect impurities.
These “living fossils” are actually not crabs but arthropods in the same family as spiders, ticks, and scorpions. They can live up to 40 years, with females of the species 20% larger than their mates. Mine was decidedly smaller; that’s how l knew he was a he. Their eggs, deposited along the shore by the millions, are a vital part of the ecosystem, feeding many varieties of shorebirds, fish, and turtles.
The surf was pretty rough on Fire Island the day and l figured that if l put him back in the ocean, he may suffer the same fate, so I opted for releasing him into Moriches Bay. There’s a point where the barrier beach is at its thinnest, a spot where there was an old Coast Guard Station where my uncle, John Chartuck, served prior to World War II. I’ve actually seen water wash through this narrow area from the bay into the ocean during a storm. I know there are plenty of horseshoe crabs on this side since I’ve witnessed their massive mating orgies during the spring full moons, so I figured he’d be in a good place.
Before l let him go, l detached 11 mussels from under his shell, which I’m sure came as a big relief. He smiled for the camera before taking refuge under a shelf where the marsh met the bay. Perhaps someday a medicine purified by his rare blood will save someone’s life.
Back at home, I went to the Fish and Wildlife Service’s Cooperative Horseshoe Crab Tagging Program website listed on my critter’s tag and logged him in. I received a letter in the mail from Annapolis, Md. a week later informing me that horseshoe crab # 476694 was tagged on May 31, 2022, on the Moriches Bay side of Pikes Beach in Westhampton Beach. The tagging agency was listed as Cornell University. It seems that the armored fellow left the calmer waters of the bay and made it out into the ocean via Moriches Inlet. He headed west for a spell before being driven up on the beach by the heavy surf. For my effort, l received a Certificate of Participation and a silver horseshoe crab pin.