As our boat rounded a corner, a sandy shore dotted with large stones came into view. A hazy heat shimmer reflected at us from the beach, and Black-backed Gulls hulked formidably on shore, shrieking us away from their wandering, nearly full-grown chicks. A pair of American Oystercatchers joined the chorus of voices, presumably watching over their own young, and dozens of herons and egrets stirred in the trees. The smell of breeding birds was overpowering, and I felt as if I was laying eyes on an uninhabited tropical island.
But I wasn’t in the tropics, not even close. In fact, I was a few hundred yards offshore from Rikers Island, in New York Harbor, surrounded by clean water and a phenomenal abundance of life. We’d just finished deploying autonomous recording units (ARUs) along the Bronx River, where instead of oozing sewer sludge and Ninja Turtles, we’d found roosting night herons and a large snapping turtle.
American Bird Conservancy (ABC) is using ARUs along these waterways around New York Harbor to understand and document returning birdlife returning to the area as it recovers. Working in close collaboration with the Billion Oyster Project, Newtown Creek Alliance, y Alianza de Aves de Nueva York, we are listening in on the birds nesting in the trees and rocks along the shores, and to those pausing to rest and rejuvenate as they undertake their long-distance journeys from breeding grounds in the Arctic to wintering grounds in Latin America and the Caribbean. The harbor, too, is on its own kind of hero’s journey.
When Europeans first sailed into New York Harbor, they found vast and phenomenally productive oyster beds, bountiful fish, whales, and a bewildering array of bird life. It was quite literally one of the most biologically productive and exuberant places on Earth. Fed by the Hudson River to the north, to the east by the tidal strait of the East River, and by dozens of creeks that empty into the estuary, it is, even today, a wild landscape of swirling brackish water. As Europeans settled the region (displacing the native Lenape people in the process), they established farms, channelized the waterways, and ultimately established the first industry in what would become the United States of America. In turn, the waterways of the New York City Estuary became a dumping ground for tanneries, sugar refineries, canneries, and copper wiring plants, amongst other early keystone industries. Within 250 years, the landscape was ruined — ship captains could count on a stay in the harbor to kill off and clean parasites from their hulls. In the 1960s and 1970s, a series of laws were passed, including the Pure Waters Bond Act and the Clean Water Act, to improve the health of the harbor, but many still perceive its waters as toxic and polluted, devoid of life (except the mutant Ninja Turtle variety). The truth, however, is that those laws and other, more directed restoration efforts are allowing life to not only return to the estuary, but to even thrive in some places.
ARUs help us measure the outcome of these efforts. Using ABC’s Índice BirdsPlus, we are examining how the avian diversity in these riparian habitats compares to that in the surrounding areas. Our aim is to put a number on the value these improving habitats provide to biodiversity and, ultimately, to regional ecosystem services. In other words, we want to measure how increased biodiversity also contributes to human well-being in the form of cleaner water and air, nutrient cycling, or even the pure enjoyment of these places by people.



