ek heme tel pu ets eer rs. Walle 19 
few miles as the crow flies. Somewhere there a 400-year old beech tree 
sprouted about 75 years after Columbus discovered America. 
It was October 7. There still were pink roses sprawling on the split 
rail fence. Sacks of tulip bulbs and daffodils awaited planting in the New 
Jersey rocky landscape. Mocking birds showered under the sprinkler on 
the rhododendron shrubs. The terrace was alive with nuthatches, titmice, 
and downey woodpeckers riding the suet like a high swing. Tints of yellow 
apricot showed in the maples as we drove off the next morning with 
cameras, binoculars and autumn sportswear, past the townscape of red 
dogwood, glazed with red berries, against a blue sky. 
Leaving civilization, we drove past open fields, wide blue streams, 
marshes, woodlands—then dense thickets proclaiming our arrival at the 
Swamp. In sunny open areas, bright accents of scarlet, apricot and yellow 
were spiked with evergreens. In the closing wood purple-bronze bracken 
banked the curving trail. Then came the treacherous, impassable terrain 
of water glistening through dense undergrowth. 
Single file we threaded our way on the board walks, winding through 
thick vegetation. Circling out of sight between walls of five-foot ferns 
and eight-foot cattails, we studied the living museum in the dark blue 
water below. A whole world of tangled vegetation rose from the water, 
with an occasional flaming oak or white birch rising from the swamp. 
We were lost in the glory of the wilderness. Only once we saw 
“civilization”—a knot of grade school children and leader, kneeling on the 
board walk, peering down into the water, an on-the-spot science class. 
This 6,000-acre outdoor laboratory for the next generation should be bull- 
dozen and drained for a jetport? 
“It’s a natural,” claimed the New York Port Authority eagerly. “Only 
forty miles due west of New York City’s Times Square.” 
“It’s a natural” for more than 250 plant species of both the northern 
and southern botanical zones, including fine stands of mountain laurel and 
rhododendron. It’s a natural for many huge historic oaks and beech trees 
that have felt the rain of centuries. It’s a natural for 175 species of birds 
recorded in the Great Swamp, 101 species of which nest on the wildlife 
refuge. 
Commonly seen are Canada Geese, pintails, mallards, black ducks, blue- 
and green-winged teal, shovelers and wood ducks. Rails and herons frequent 
the marshes. Woodland and brushy areas attract and protect a vast number 
of songbirds. Pheasants, ruffed grouse and woodcock each thrive in their 
own habitat. Red-tailed and red-shouldered hawks, as well as barred, great 
and screech owls are residents. Sparrow hawks abound the year-round. 
Day after October day we explored the easily accessible corners of 
Great Swamp, following the planned trails, pushing deeper and deeper 
into the wild. At the Wildlife Observation Center we walked between 
wetland areas of open pond water, arriving at the redwood observation 
shelter. Here a winding stream curved for acres, carving out a large 
hospitality area for migrating waterfowl. Corn and grain was planted 
