Whether you're touring the coastal bays of Worcester County for the summer or you're a long time resident, the likelihood of encountering wading birds in the area is about as great as the likelihood of sand on the beach. Wading birds are the numerous species of Heron, Egret and Ibis who fly and feed among the marshes and coastal waters of the county, strutting about like they own the place. While not as common as pigeons or seagulls, any visiting tourist would need to wear blindfolds in order to avoid seeing at least one Snowy Egret or Great Blue Heron. One might deduce from the frequency of these sightings that these birds have nests and young stashed in every corner not already occupied by man (or pigeons and seagulls). After all, a species must keep up its breeding in order to survive.

This theory, while reasonable, is likely to leave the casual explorer disappointed, for these nests are not to be found among places where humans have laid their footprint. How do these majestic birds carry on their population, then? The answer lies right off of the corner of Assateague, for out on the water is a tiny strip of land known as South Point Spoils. This miniscule spot, barely the size of a football field, is the breeding ground for thousands of wading birds. Mating, egg-laying, hatching and rearing of young all take place in closed-quarters, the many species coexisting on one packed colony. It is a home base, of sorts. The adult birds are the only ones you see away from the island, swaggering in the shallows, gobbling up little fish, and they almost certainly came from that stretch of land (or another similar island along the coast). What they're really doing is making journey after journey, feeding, gathering food for the chicks, and returning home.

The trick about this tendency of localized breeding is: if that island were to be wiped out, the local area's population of cattle egrets, glossy ibis, little blue herons, etc. would be wiped with it. If a person were to so much as set foot on that island, the adult birds would fly around in alarm, and were it a hot day, the eggs and young would be left to bake in the sun. There'd be naught left of their next generation save an island full of overcooked breakfast sandwiches, with no coffee to go with them. Such a loss would not only be a blow to the ecosystem, but to the identity of the Delmarva coast--of which these gorgeous birds are a part. Instead of the pleasure of witnessing them first hand, we'd be left with but a memory, recorded in painting and sculpture.

Thankfully, the land is protected by the MD DNR, ensuring that only the experts get close. Accompanying a group of ecologists working for the MD Coastal Bays program, Errol and I got the chance to see South Point Spoils from a boat at a safe distance. The sound emitting from the nesting-ground was like the chatter on Wall Street; a constant din of squawks, chirps and fluttering. All around us flew a continuous traffic of arriving and departing birds, some in groups, some alone, flapping their way to and from the endless swarm over the island. While we were some 50 yards away, I still will not forget that sight. It was an amazing way to spend the early morning.

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Written by Erik Yount. Photography by Errol Webber.