Sam D. Taylor 



bigger to boost their chances of securing 

 mates. After mating, the female migrates 

 to the inlets carrying on her abdomen a 

 bright orange sponge of 700,000 to more 

 than 2 million eggs. By the time she 

 arrives in late spring to early summer, 

 the orange sponge has darkened to a 

 brownish color. Then, on a night when 

 the moon is hidden and the high tide 

 begins to ebb, she releases her larvae 

 into the ocean by slowly flexing her 

 abdomen, says Sea Grant researcher 

 David Eggleston, assistant professor of 

 marine science at N.C. State University. 



"As she does, you'll just see 

 thousands and thousands and thousands 

 of these little larvae start swimming out 

 of these egg sacs, and the first thing 

 they'll do is swim toward the surface of 

 the ocean," he says. The ebbing tide 

 carries them offshore, where they reside 



for a month in the ocean, transforming 

 into tadpolelike creatures that move 

 back inshore through the inlets and 

 usually settle in seagrass and shallow 

 marsh habitats behind the Outer Banks. 



Unlike the blue crab and summer 

 flounder, which venture between 

 offshore and inshore waters, the 

 redbreast sunfish spends its whole life 

 in creeks and streams, where warming 

 waters urge it to spawn from April to 

 June. After laying her eggs, the female 

 takes off. The young hatch in nests 

 built by their fathers, often in commu- 

 nities of other nesting fish near stumps 

 and logs, says Fritz Rohde, biologist 

 supervisor with the N.C. Division of 

 Marine Fisheries in Wilmington. 



"They probably remain in the 

 same streams and in the same area and 

 may use their same nests or nests used 



by other sunfish," he says. "They lay 

 eggs, and the male takes care of the 

 nest till they hatch out, and then 

 they're on their own." 



As the redbreast sunfish bursts out 

 of its egg, alone into its watery world, 

 brown pelican babies in shrubs or 

 thickets are pampered by their parents. 

 Born naked, blind and helpless, the 

 newborns require diligent care by both 

 parents and do not achieve indepen- 

 dence until they are almost 3 months 

 old. Yet these babies grow into one of 

 the world's largest birds, famed for 

 diving headfirst from heights of 30 feet 

 for fish, which they engulf in their 

 pouches, pressing out as much as two 

 gallons of water. As fledglings, 

 however, they sit in their nests noisily 

 calling for food as they await regurgi- 

 tated fish from their parents. 



In their haste to eat, chicks thrust 

 their heads down their parents' throats, 

 giving the impression the young are 

 being swallowed whole. By the time 

 they are ready to learn to fly, the 

 average offspring has been so well fed 

 it outweighs its parents. This fat helps 

 the youngsters survive a grueling two- 

 week maturation into adulthood as they 

 learn to fly and fish on their own. 



As the brown pelican builds its 

 nest off the ground in thickets, the least 

 tern, which usually begins nesting in 

 May, lays on the bare sand, where its 

 splotched eggs are almost invisible 

 among the pebbles and seashells on the 

 shore. 



"On some of these islands, within 

 only four or five acres, you just have 

 thousands and thousands of birds 

 nesting out there," says David Allen, 

 coastal region nongame project leader 

 for the N.C. Wildlife Resources 

 Commission, noting that the islands' 

 isolation from people and predators 

 make them ideal spots for nesting. 



While the dredge-spoil islands 

 present havens for some birds, other 

 creatures have been less fortunate in 

 finding homes for their young. The 

 piping plover and the loggerhead sea 

 turtle need secluded beaches, which are 



Continued 



COASTWATCH 13 



