Under the Sea Wind [NOOK Book]

Overview



Silent Spring author Rachel Carson’s early masterwork brings to life the elegiac, subtle beauty of birds and the sea, blending her natural storytelling ability with clear-eyed science
 

In her first book, preeminent nature writer Rachel Carson tells the story of the sea creatures and birds that dwell in and around the waters along North America’s eastern coast—and the delicately balanced ecosystem that...
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Under the Sea Wind

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Overview



Silent Spring author Rachel Carson’s early masterwork brings to life the elegiac, subtle beauty of birds and the sea, blending her natural storytelling ability with clear-eyed science
 

In her first book, preeminent nature writer Rachel Carson tells the story of the sea creatures and birds that dwell in and around the waters along North America’s eastern coast—and the delicately balanced ecosystem that sustains them. Following the life cycles of a pair of sanderlings, a mackerel, and an eel, Carson gracefully weaves scientific observation with imaginative prose to educate and inspire, creating one of the finest wildlife narratives in American literature.
 
This ebook features an illustrated biography of Rachel Carson including rare photos and never-before-seen documents from the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale University.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781453214732
  • Publisher: Open Road Media
  • Publication date: 3/29/2011
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 304
  • Sales rank: 511,070
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author



Award-winning author Rachel Carson (1907–1964) was one of the greatest American natural history writers of the twentieth century. In addition to the environmental classic Silent Spring, her books include Under the Sea Wind, The Edge of the Sea, and The Sea Around Us, which has sold more than one million copies, been translated into twenty-eight languages, and won the National Book Award and John Burroughs Award.
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Read an Excerpt

Under the Sea Wind


By Rachel L. Carson

OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA

Copyright © 1969 Roger Christie
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4532-1473-2



CHAPTER 1

Flood Tide

THE ISLAND LAY IN shadows only a little deeper than those that were swiftly stealing across the sound from the east. On its western shore the wet sand of the narrow beach caught the same reflection of palely gleaming sky that laid a bright path across the water from island beach to horizon. Both water and sand were the color of steel overlaid with the sheen of silver, so that it was hard to say where water ended and land began. Although it was a small island, so small that a gull might have flown across it with a score of wing beats, night had already come to its northern and eastern end. Here the marsh grasses waded boldly out into dark water, and shadows lay thick among the low-growing cedars and yaupons.

With the dusk a strange bird came to the island from its nesting grounds on the outer banks. Its wings were pure black, and from tip to tip their spread was more than the length of a man's arm. It flew steadily and without haste across the sound, its progress as measured and as meaningful as that of the shadows which little by little were dulling the bright water path. The bird was called Rynchops, the black skimmer.

As he neared the shore of the island the skimmer drifted closer to the water, bringing his dark form into strong silhouette against the gray sheet, like the shadow of a great bird that passed unseen above. Yet so quietly did he approach that the sound of his wings, if sound there were, was lost in the whisper song of the water turning over the shells on the wet sand.

At the last spring tide, when the thin shell of the new moon brought the water lapping among the sea oats that fringed the dunes of the banks, Rynchops and his kin had arrived on the outer barrier strip of sand between sound and sea. They had journeyed northward from the coast of Yucatan where they had wintered. Under the warm June sun they would lay their eggs and hatch their buff-colored chicks on the sandy islands of the sound and on the outer beaches. But at first they were weary after the long flight and they rested by day on sand bars when the tide was out or roamed over the sound and its bordering marshes by night.

Before the moon had come to the full, Rynchops had remembered the island. It lay across a quiet sound from which the banks shouldered away the South Atlantic rollers. To the north the island was separated from the mainland by a deep gutter where the ebbing tides raced strongly. On the south side the beach sloped gently, so that at slack water the fishermen could wade out half a mile before the water came above their armpits as they raked scallops or hauled their long seines. In these shallows young fishes swarmed, feeding on the small game of the waters, and shrimp swam with backward flipping of their tails. The rich life of the shallows brought the skimmers nightly from their nesting grounds on the banks, to take their food from the water as they moved with winnowing flight above it.

About sunset the tide had been out. Now it was rising, covering the afternoon resting places of the skimmers, moving through the inlet, and flowing up into the marshes. Through most of the night the skimmers would feed, gliding on slender wings above the water in search of the small fishes that had moved in with the tide to the shelter of grassy shallows. Because they fed on the rising tide, the skimmers were called flood gulls.

On the south beach of the island, where water no deeper than a man's hand ran over gently ribbed bottom, Rynchops began to wheel and quarter over the shallows. He flew with a curious, lilting motion, lifting his wings high after the downstroke. His head was bent sharply so that the long lower bill, shaped like a scissor blade, might cut the water.

The blade or cutwater plowed a miniature furrow over the placid sheet of the sound, setting up wavelets of its own and sending vibrations thudding down through the water to rebound from the sandy bottom. The wave messages were received by the blennies and killifish that were roving the shallows on the alert for food. In the fish world many things are told by sound waves. Sometimes the vibrations tell of food animals like small shrimps or oar-footed crustaceans moving in swarms overhead. And so at the passing of the skimmer the small fishes came nosing at the surface, curious and hungry. Rynchops, wheeling about, returned along the way he had come and snapped up three of the fishes by the rapid opening and closing of his short upper bill.

Ah-h-h-h, called the black skimmer. Ha-a-a-a! Ha-a-a-a! Ha-a-a-a! His voice was harsh and barking. It carried far across the water, and from the marshes there came back, like echoes, the answering cries of other skimmers.

While the water was reclaiming inch after inch of sandy shore, Rynchops moved back and forth over the south beach of the island, luring the fishes to rise along his path and seizing them on his return. After he had taken enough minnows to appease his hunger he wheeled up from the water with half a dozen flapping wing beats and circled the island. As he soared above the marshy eastern end schools of killifish moved beneath him through the forests of sea hay, but they were safe from the skimmer, whose wingspread was too great to allow him to fly among the clumps of grass.

Rynchops swerved out around the dock that had been built by the fisherman who lived on the island, crossed the gutter, and swept far over the salt marshes, taking joy in flight and soaring motion. There he joined a flock of other skimmers and together they moved over the marshes in long lines and columns, sometimes appearing as dark shadows on the night sky; sometimes as spectral birds when, wheeling swallow-like in air, they showed white breasts and gleaming underparts. As they flew they raised their voices in the weird night chorus of the skimmers, a strange medley of notes high-pitched and low, now soft as the cooing of a mourning dove, and again harsh as the cawing of a crow; the whole chorus rising and falling, swelling and throbbing, dying away in the still air like the far-off baying of a pack of hounds.

The flood gulls circled the island and crossed and recrossed the flats to the southward. All through the hours of the rising tide, they would hunt in flocks over the quiet waters of the sound. The skimmers loved nights of darkness and tonight thick clouds lay between the water and the moon's light.

On the beach the water was moving with soft tinkling sounds among the windrows of jingle shells and young scallop shells. It ran swiftly under heaps of sea lettuce to rouse sand fleas that had taken refuge there when the tide ebbed that afternoon. The beach hoppers floated out on the backlash of each wavelet and moved in the returning water, swimming on their backs, legs uppermost. In the water they were comparatively safe from their enemies the ghost crabs, who roamed the night beaches on swift and silent feet.

In the waters bordering the island many creatures besides the skimmers were abroad that night, foraging in the shallows. As the darkness grew and the incoming tide lapped higher and higher among the marsh grasses, two diamondback terrapins slipped into the water to join the moving forms of others of their kind. These were females, who had just finished laying their eggs above the high-tide line. They had dug nests in the soft sand, working with hind feet until they scooped out jug-shaped holes not quite so deep as their own bodies were long. Then they had deposited their eggs, one five, the other eight. These they had carefully covered with sand, crawling back and forth to conceal the location of the nest. There were other nests in the sand, but none more than two weeks old, for May is the beginning of the nesting season among the diamondbacks.

As Rynchops followed the killifish in toward the shelter of the marsh he saw the terrapins swimming in the shallow water where the tide was moving swiftly. The terrapins nibbled at the marsh grasses and picked off small coiled snails that had crept up the flat blades. Sometimes they swam down to take crabs off the bottom. One of the two terrapins passed between two slender uprights like stakes thrust into the sand. They were the legs of the solitary great blue heron who flew every night from his rookery three miles away to fish from the island.

The heron stood motionless, his neck curved back on his shoulders, his bill poised to spear fish as they darted past his legs. As the terrapin moved out into deeper water she startled a young mullet and sent it racing toward the beach in confusion and panic. The sharp-eyed heron saw the movement and with a quick dart seized the fish crosswise in his bill. He tossed it into the air, caught it head first, and swallowed it. It was the first fish other than small fry that he had caught that night.

The tide was almost halfway to the confused litter of sea wrack, bits of sticks, dried claws of crabs, and broken shell fragments that marked high-water level. Above the tide line there were faint stirrings in the sand where the terrapins had lately begun to lay their eggs. The season's young would not hatch until August, but many young of the year before still were buried in the sand, not yet roused from the torpor of hibernation. During the winter the young terrapins had lived on the remnant of yolk left from embryonic life. Many had died, for the winter had been long and the frosts had bitten deep into the sands. Those that survived were weak and emaciated, their bodies so shrunken within the shells that they were smaller than when they had hatched. Now they were moving feebly in the sands where the old terrapins were laying the eggs of a new generation of young.

About the time the tide was midway to the flood, a wave of motion stroked the tops of the grasses above the terrapin egg bed, as though a breeze passed, but there was little wind that night. The grasses above the sand bed parted. A rat, crafty with the cunning of years and filled with the lust for blood, had come down to the water along a path which his feet and his thick tail had worn to a smooth track through the grass. The rat lived with his mate and others of his kind under an old shed where the fisherman kept his nets, faring well on the eggs of the many birds that nested on the island, and on the young birds.

As the rat looked out from the fringe of grass bordering the terrapin nests the heron sprang from the water a stone's throw away with a strong flapping of his wings and flew across the island to the north shore. He had seen two fishermen in a small boat coming around the western tip of the island. The fishermen had been gigging flounders, spearing them on the bottom in shallow water by the light of a torch which flared at the bow. A yellow splotch of light moved over the dark water in advance of the boat and sent trembling streamers across the wavelets that rippled shoreward from the boat's passing. Twin points of green fire glowed in the grass above the sand bed. They remained stationary until the boat had passed on around the south shore and had headed toward the town docks. Only then did the rat glide down from the path onto the sand.

The scent of terrapin and of terrapin eggs, fresh laid, was heavy in the air. Snuffling and squeaking in excitement, the rat began to dig and in a few minutes had uncovered an egg, had pierced the shell, and sucked out the yolk. He then uncovered two other eggs and might have eaten them if he had not heard a movement in a near-by clump of marsh grass—the scrambling of a young terrapin struggling to escape the water that was seeping up around its tussock of tangled roots and mud. A dark form moved across the sand and through the rivulet of water. The rat seized the baby terrapin and carried it in his teeth through the marsh grasses to a hummock of higher ground. Engrossed in gnawing away the thin shell of the terrapin, he did not notice how the tide was creeping up about him and running deeper around the hummock. It was thus that the blue heron, wading back around the shore of the island, came upon the rat and speared him.


There were few sounds that night except those of the water and the water birds. The wind was asleep. From the direction of the inlet there came the sound of breakers on the barrier beach, but the distant voice of the sea was hushed almost to a sigh, a sort of rhythmic exhalation as though the sea, too, were asleep outside the gates of the sound.

It would have taken the sharpest of ears to catch the sound of a hermit crab dragging his shell house along the beach just above the water line: the elfin shuffle of his feet on the sand, the sharp grit as he dragged his own shell across another; or to have discerned the spattering tinkle of the tiny droplets that fell when a shrimp, being pursued by a school of fish, leaped clear of the water. But these were the unheard voices of the island night, of the water and the water's edge.

The sounds of the land were few. There was a thin insect tremolo, the spring prelude to the incessant chiton fiddles that later in the season would salute the night. There was the murmur of sleeping birds in the cedars—jackdaws and mockingbirds—who now and again roused enough to twitter drowsily one to another. About midnight a mockingbird sang for almost a quarter of an hour, imitating all the bird songs he had heard that day and adding trills, chuckles, and whistles all his own. Then he, too, subsided and left the night again to the water and its sounds.

There were many fish moving in through the deep water of the channel that night. They were full-bellied fish, soft-finned and covered with large silvery scales. It was a run of spawning shad, fresh from the sea. For days the shad had lain outside the line of breakers beyond the inlet. Tonight with the rising tide they had moved in past the clanging buoy that guided fishermen returning from the outer grounds, had passed through the inlet, and were crossing the sound by way of the channel.

As the night grew darker and the tides pressed farther into the marshes and moved higher into the estuary of the river, the silvery fish quickened their movements, feeling their way along the streams of less saline water that served them as paths to the river. The estuary was broad and sluggish, little more than an arm of the sound. Its shores were ragged with salt marsh, and far up along the winding course of the river the pulsating tides and the bitter tang of the water spoke of the sea.

Some of the migrating shad were three years old and were returning to spawn for the first time. A few were a year older and were making their second trip to the spawning grounds up the river. These were wise in the ways of the river and of the strange crisscross shadows it sometimes contained.

By the younger shad the river was only dimly remembered, if by the word "memory" we may call the heightened response of the senses as the delicate gills and the sensitive lateral lines perceived the lessening saltiness of the water and the changing rhythms and vibrations of the inshore waters. Three years before they had left the river, dropping downstream to the estuary as young fish scarcely as long as a man's finger, moving out to sea with the coming of autumn's chill. The river forgotten, they roamed widely in the sea, feeding on shrimps and amphipods. So far and so deviously did they travel that no man could trace their movements. Perhaps they wintered in deep, warm water far below the surface, resting in the dim twilight of the continent's edge, making an occasional timid journey out over the rim beyond which lay only the blackness and stillness of the deep sea. Perhaps in summer they roved the open ocean, feeding on the rich life of the surface, packing layers of white muscle and sweet fat beneath their shining armor of scales.

The shad roamed the sea paths known and followed only by fish while the earth moved three times through the cycle of the zodiac. In the third year, as the waters of the sea warmed slowly to the southward-moving sun, the shad yielded to the promptings of race instinct and returned to their birthplaces to spawn.

Most of the fish coming in now were females, heavy with unshed roe. It was late in the season and the largest runs had gone before. The bucks, who came into the river first, were already on the spawning grounds, as were many of the roe shad. Some of the early-run fish had pressed upstream as far as a hundred miles to where the river had its formless beginnings in dark cypress swamps.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Under the Sea Wind by Rachel L. Carson. Copyright © 1969 Roger Christie. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Book 1 Edge of the Sea,
1 Flood Tide,
2 Spring Flight,
3 Arctic Rendezvous,
4 Summer's End,
5 Winds Blowing Seaward,
Book 2 The Gull's Way,
6 Migrants of the Spring Sea,
7 Birth of a Mackerel,
8 Hunters of the Plankton,
9 The Harbor,
10 Seaways,
11 Indian Summer of the Sea,
12 Seine Haul,
Book 3 River and Sea,
13 Journey to the Sea,
14 Winter Haven,
15 Return,
Glossary,
A Biography of Rachel Carson,

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 58 )
Rating Distribution

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(48)

4 Star

(4)

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2 Star

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 58 Customer Reviews
  • Posted July 13, 2010

    The gift of a beautiful,caring, marine biologist.

    This is Rachel Carson's first and favorite book, and with good reason. A marine scientist whose articles were too lyrical for publishing in scientific journals, Rachel eventually eventually put her eco-poetry into book form. Under the Sea-Wind chronicles the life of various fish and birds who operate near the sea, and is written from their perspective. This anthropomorphic approach is beautiful, and really gives the reader a vested interest in the survival of these animals, given the knowledge how every day presents a struggle for their lives. Please bring this to e-book format!

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 11, 2012

    Yesh ambershine. Well um, not anymore. Anonymous or Meghan(real

    Yesh ambershine. Well um, not anymore. Anonymous or Meghan(real name) whatever. I'm thinking of killing off Ambershine as a character. Now flamefur is gone, Flameclaw, every1 else. I only have 3 friends in this clan now. You, Geckoleaf, and Shadowfire. When i get my nook i might not even come back to hurricaneclan -Amber :(

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 11, 2012

    Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

    Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo FLAME!!!!! :(( -Ambershine

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 8, 2012

    What can i do?

    What can i do in the clan?

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 8, 2012

    Ppp

    Ppp

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2012

    oops. 35th result i meant lol

    oops. 35th result i meant lol

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2012

    i finally finished! I rushed it a bit though. I didnt have much

    i finally finished! I rushed it a bit though. I didnt have much time. Its at "fields of gold" result 34. Its titled Born Wild: Ambershine's Story. TY :D -Ambershine

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2012

    Im thinking about writing Ambershines past life! :) should i?? -

    Im thinking about writing Ambershines past life! :) should i?? -Ambershineh is shineh ::DDDD Random Quote: I like banananerz!

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2012

    -Sits in the endless shadows bored. Unsheathes claws and examine

    -Sits in the endless shadows bored. Unsheathes claws and examines them with a not amused look on face.- Ambershine :C P.S Is rping on the nook really going to end? ;o

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2012

    Windsong

    Hi

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2012

    To Mistystar: Sorry about the other camp thing! ^.^' I didn't me

    To Mistystar: Sorry about the other camp thing! ^.^' I didn't mean to, I just wanted to help out as much as I could. And can you Make gorsekit a Paw finally? He should've been made a Warrior a month ago. -Ambershine :3

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 15, 2012

    Whitetail

    This is a stupid clan. You people all ready have like three omens and you don't care, well you people have a lot of respect for Starclan.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 2, 2012

    Sundapple

    Gives the moss with water to graytail. Ur alright....you did good...i whispered. I give her the tom. Anymore?

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 3, 2012

    Amber

    Hi guys! *she brought in a huge vole*

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 31, 2012

    Lunaclaw

    Hey, guys! Im back!!!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 29, 2012

    Sundapple mysticalsong and sugarkit

    Sugarkit runs up to her mommy. Mysticalsong sits in the shade wanting very badly to become med ct. Sundapple asks dawnfire if she could ask mistyclaw if they can be mates again. Srry gtg

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 26, 2012

    Ambershine- Hey everyone! I know I havent posted in a while but

    Ambershine- Hey everyone! I know I havent posted in a while but this is
    important. My grandma has bought me a nook and i was supposed to get it
    yesterday but ill have it by the weekend. And the prophecy thing wasnt
    me, with Echowind and all that crap. So forget about that, it was an
    imposter. So as i was saying IM PROUD TO ANNOUNCE im getting a NOOK
    finally. I will have something special planned for the clan. -Ambershine
    See youh soon! =)

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 26, 2012

    Oh......................

    U still dont know who i am coming back soon........im out

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 25, 2012

    Riverscreech

    Gladly

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 3, 2012

    F

    Falconkit and Owlkit,now adults,pad to the new camp.

    (Now they're Falcontalon and Owlfeather.)

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 58 Customer Reviews

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