Winter's Solitude - A photo essay of a saltwater marsh in NJ

For some reason, since mid-November, I hadn't been out of the house but to go to work, food and holiday shopping.  Before I knew it, the holidays were upon us, as well as over two feet of snow.  By mid-January, with temperatures too low to melt most of the snow three weeks old, I was suddenly overcome by cabin fever.  Thankfully, a Saturday came with a temperature of nearly 40 degrees (but not quite), so I bundled up and headed outdoors with my two cameras in hand to a nearby saltwater marsh wetland park for some fresh air.

Immediately, upon arriving, I knew this was the perfect place to be.  Not a single other person around for what seemed like miles, I was at once drawn to the amazing serenity and quietude of the frozen bay at my feet.  For the first time, really, I came to understand the meaning behind the color, "ice blue."

The gentle, cold breeze rustled the nearby phragmites and in the far distance, I could hear an occasional squawk from a feathered friend.  

I was immediately awed by the frozen waves, suspending it seemed, the entire bay that was so alive only months before with boats, jetskis and wakes that slapped ashore.  As I strolled along the bayside, the crackling of the frozen waves beneath my feet broke the otherwise deafening vast silence that surrounded  me. Upon closer examination, it appeared as if the foam that was normally present on the edges of each wave ripple was captured in time as ice.

I walked about a mile before returning to my car and headed for the main entrance to the park to see if the trails were accessible through the saltwater marsh.  Although there were several other cars in the lot, with people either arriving or leaving, on the trails themselves I did not encounter another human being.  My first stop, however, was to the observation deck that overlooks the marsh basin.  There, I was greeted by a little surprise.

 I hit the red trail and started my journey.  The forest around me provided some protection against the cold breeze.  The trail was snow-covered, but manageable with the boots I wore.  The sounds of nature surrounded me from utter silence to the occasional gentle wind, the dripping of melting snow onto a log, a rippling in the stream, and every so often quacking geese, but most amazingly, were the curious creeking noises of some of the trees which was at once both creepy and marvelous.

The dramatic contrast of the snow covered trees was reflected perfectly upon the dark water of the stream in an eerie, yet striking manner.  The deadness of winter was evident, yet alive all the same as life hibernated behind the mask of bitter temperatures and under blankets of snow.

Snow sprinkled feathery "cat tails" caught my eye as well.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before a call from the outside world on my cell beckoned me to head back, just about an hour before sunset.

 I look forward to returning to Cattus Island again.  It's a peaceful retreat, any time of year and a testimony that beauty exists along the Jersey Shore in winter if you just take the time to notice.