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by Rich Weissmann
  

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Introduction

Many areas on Long Island offer a wide array of opportunities for people to get out and enjoy the great outdoors. Whether you are a couch potato, or a kid; a seasoned athlete or a senior citizen, there is a place to enjoy a walk, a saunter, or a fairly serious hike within a short drive of Bellport.

Over the years, I have covered many miles walking the back trails of the pine barrens, climbing the glacial hills that run down the spine of our island, and skirting the shorelines of its rivers, bays and oceanfront. The one thing that often strikes me when I’m traveling these trails is how few people I encounter. So, as a way of encouraging readers of Bellport.com to put on their hiking shoes and get out on the trail, I am introducing a series of articles describing the walks, saunters and hikes that almost anyone can enjoy.
 

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Caumsett State Park

Mild winter and early spring days are perfect for getting out on the hiking trail. These are also times when we can best enjoy hiking in some of Long Island’s State Parks—there are no hunters to worry about, they have interesting and diverse vistas, and they are free during these off seasons. Here in central Suffolk we have Heckscher, Connetquot, and Sunken Meadow State Parks, all of which I will write about at a later time, but one of our favorite hikes is in a lesser known park in the northwest end of the county—Caumsett State Park in scenic Lloyd Neck.

This magnificent 1500-acre park embraces woodland, meadows, marshes, and a boulder strewn shoreline on Long Island Sound. It was once home to Marshall Field III, philanthropist and grandson of the department store tycoon. A brick manor house, stables, and several barns still stand on the property, and a series of dirt roads, equestrian trails, and bike paths make it an easy place to plan a stroll or an extensive hike.

We went on an early spring day with the basic plan to circumnavigate the park—a hike of almost six-miles. I stuffed a bottle of water, a few granola bars, and an apple into a light backpack, hung binoculars around my neck, set my GPS, grabbed one of my hiking poles and we were off. Jacquie, as usual, travelled light and was already outpacing me.

Leaving the parking lot we walked north on the dirt road that cuts between the two barns. This quickly connects to another dirt road, known as Fishermen’s Drive, which loops through meadows that once served as pasture for Marshall Field’s eighty head of prize cattle. The road slopes gently downward with a forest of mature hardwood on the left and a rolling meadow on the right, which park employees keep mown. We watched a red tail hawk circling high above the field looking for mice or meadow voles.

After about a mile the road enters deep forest of mixed hardwoods, including massive eastern plane trees which rise straight and branchless for fifty feet before opening out into a high canopy far overhead. Now the walking became a little more difficult as the road began to rise gently toward the coastline. It curved around a salt marsh which we could just make out below us through the trees. A great blue heron took off with a honk of annoyance as we passed.

The two-mile mark brought us to the beach. Here there is a wooden deck with a bench and a stairway that descends to the rocky sand below. This is a good spot to take a short rest and look out at the vista. Off to the left the salt marsh stretches a mile or so before giving way to the mouth of Oyster Bay. Directly across the Sound is the Connecticut shoreline from Greenwich to Westport. To the right the distant stacks of the Northport power plant intrude on the natural beauty.

The break over, we take the stairs down to the beach and continue our hike along the water’s edge working our way east. The bluffs that loom fifty-feet above the beach show the effect of winter storms. Erosion has caused massive slides, in some cases undermining mature trees which now lay like pick-up-sticks at the base of the bluffs. Out in the water, shed-size boulders expose their barnacled sides in the low tide. Gangly cormorants crowd the exposed tops fanning their wings out to dry, while out in the current sea ducks bob in the waves. Sometimes a winter walker is rewarded with a seal sighting, but none show themselves today.

There is no shortage of beach wrack though. This is a beachcomber’s paradise. Everything from lobster buoys and crab traps to driftwood and shiny beach glass is scattered along the high tide line. Jacquie searches for the perfect stone to carry back as a memento of the hike.

Just over a mile on the beach we round a point of land and the line of bluffs ends. Here we climb a few feet up to the tree-line and find a well worn hiking trail that meanders eastward through a dense undergrowth of wild cherry trees, catbrier, and vines. Some of the cherries are just starting to put out pink buds, and the side of the trail is lined with daffodils.

Now, the trail curves right and we walk south along the edge of a fresh water pond several acres in size. At least a dozen species of ducks congregate on the far side: mergansers, teal, buffleheads, and eiders are just a few that I recognize. This would be an ideal spot for serious birders to set up their long lens cameras.

Finally, the trail breaks out of the undergrowth. Ahead of us is a long, steep, grass covered slope crowned by the imposing brick mansion that Mr. Field built during the roaring twenties. By the time we make it to the top of the hill we are both panting and out of breath. Several benches on the grass next to the mansion provide a chance to rest and, again, take in a view that only a billionaire can afford to have as a backyard.

During the summer months, the mansion is leased out to Queens College for use as an environmental and arts center, but the place is vacant this time of year. In its solitude it seems to hark back to another era. Luckily, the former carriage house next door has restrooms that are of this era and open. There are even some vending machines offering drinks and snacks.

The remainder of our route is on a blacktop path that includes a bike lane. Continuing south we have views, through the trees, of open meadows where I imagine the clarion call of the hunting horn led Field’s guests as they rode to the hounds. Indeed, we soon pass some blanketed horses standing watchfully behind corral fences that surround the riding stables. The elegant brick stable that once housed Field’s polo ponies looks a bit time-worn now. Instead of housing a rich man’s pastime, it serves as part of the Caumsett equestrian center where middle class suburbanites get to ride the park trails.

We’ve walked about 5.5-miles in a couple of hours by the time we come to the high brick walls of the Walled Garden where straight rows of formal flower beds are ready to be prepared for spring planting. Just around the corner is the parking lot and the car. It’s been a long, exhilarating walk and we plan to cap it off with an early dinner at a restaurant in nearby Huntington. Perfect!

  
  
Getting There

From 25-A, at the west end of Huntington Village, make a left on West Neck Rd. and go about five-miles to the park’s entrance on the left.

    

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Cathedral Pines County Park

Jacquie and I were looking for a close-by, easy walk on a recent September afternoon—just enough to get in an hour’s worth of exercise before dinner. Cathedral Pines in Yaphank seemed like a good choice. Situated on the central spine of Long Island’s moraine, it has hills, forest, and good walking trails. During the summer months the park is pretty crowded with campers and picnickers, but by mid-September most of them have left.


A Suffolk County Green Key is required to enter the park, but I have never had anyone ask to see mine. We started our hike from the dirt parking lot just inside the entrance. As usual, the parking lot had a few cars with bike racks attached; one of the main features of this park is its trail bike loop that snakes through the hilly terrain.




We headed up the fairly steep hill following the park road and immediately felt our breathing quicken with the effort. Although we were on a paved road the dense shade and pungent scent of the great white pines that we walked among were more reminiscent of the Adirondack Mountains than Long Island. Some of these pines soar overhead to the height of a cathedral and seem to embrace us with their peaceful sense of sanctuary.


At the top of the hill the landscape opens up to a series of fields with the main mobile campground on the left. We continue straight past the flagpole and the grassy field on our right. There is a large family or company picnic in progress out in this field. As we pass, the aroma of barbecued ribs and chicken wafts over us, so I fish around in my pocket for a handful of trail mix to help stem the craving. Jacquie points to a group of older people sitting in folding chairs waiting to be served and jokes about how that would be us.


The paved road has now turned to dirt as we follow the edge of the field heading roughly north. The woods on our left are punctuated by clearings that mark campsites for tent campers, but all of them are vacant now. Soon we are passing another field that is devoted to a dog run. A man is training a huge German shepherd and we are glad to see that the dog seems to be paying attention.



The walking is flat and easy as the road loops around the field and heads back south again. But now we want to head into the woods and follow the forest trail. We find an entrance opposite the dog run and once again enter the cool depths of the pine forest. The trail is narrow but clearly worn. It slopes gently downward as it runs its serpentine path through the big trees. It is difficult to tell which direction we are going in because of all the twists and turns, but, generally, we seem to be headed south. Off to our left, at the bottom of the hill, is the headwater of the Carman’s River. It is barely a trickle here but will soon widen as it snakes its way down through Southaven Park and out into Bellport Bay.


I check our progress on my handheld GPS and remember that this park is the place that I first tested it out three years ago. That time I purposely left the trail and tried to bushwhack my way back to the parking lot, confident that my new GPS would lead me there. All went well for a while until I suddenly came up against a chain link fence. So much for relying too much on technology!



This time we stick to the trail. Up ahead we hear people approaching on mountain bikes so we step off the trail to let them pass. The park’s hiking trails converge in places with the bike trail so it pays to be vigilant during a hike.






The trees are magnificent in some spots. Although we are probably a couple of hundred yards from Middle Island-Yaphank Road, and not much farther from a multi-family picnic, the silence of the woods is almost palpable. With the trail twisting and turning along the hillside and the smell of pine needles underfoot it is easy to think we are in a great wilderness.




But the illusion doesn’t last long. At just about the two-mile point we break out of the woods and find ourselves back on the paved road again. A leisurely quarter-mile stroll brings us back to the parking lot. An easy fifteen-minute drive gets us back home in time for dinner.

 

 

 

Getting There

Take Station Road to Patchogue-Yaphank Road. Turn right, going north to Yaphank Lake. Bear left at the lake and go about two-miles to the park entrance on the left.

 

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The Bayard Cutting Arboretum

I am addicted to this place. Located just twenty-minutes west of Bellport in Great River, the Bayard Cutting Arboretum has something to offer for everyone. I find myself drawn to this magnificent arboretum every season of the year. It is a place of rare trees, tended gardens, intricate pathways, and isolated spots of meditation. Its several hundred acres are tucked along the Connetquot River where the 100-year old manor house has views across a vast lawn out to the river’s mouth and the Great South Bay.

This is not really a hike. There is any number of walks and strolls for those who just want to take in the views, and plenty of lawn space to sit and meditate or read a book. But we arrive on a May morning determined to cover the entire area in one big loop.

From the parking lot we pass behind the English Tudor manor house and proceed down the paved path towards the river. On the right a vast lawn shaded by huge oak trees is often the setting for free Shakespearian productions in the summer. On the left, a magnificent weeping beech tree is just leafing out; in hot weather we have often walked beneath its ancient branches as though through a grotto, and felt its natural air conditioning.

The path curves to the right and we follow the sign towards the rhododendron garden. Soon the paved path turns to a dirt trail and we cross a narrow dike between two ponds. Rhododendrons line the trail as it slopes gently upward. They are fat with buds, but it’s still too early for them to be blooming. When they do, in early June, the trail will be ablaze with color.

Jacquie is setting the pace and we quickly loop around to cross another dike that separates one pond from the brackish waters of the Connetquot. The trail hugs the bank of the river where willow trees reach out beyond the fringe of reeds. A pair of mallards cruises by with half a dozen recent hatchlings trying to keep up.

Now we come to a small island in the river. A wooden bridge leads onto it and an informal trail winds through its miniature bamboo forest. Several park benches provide views of the Great South Bay and Fire Island in the distance.

Back on the main path again, we pass through a marshy area with skunk cabbage and curious little Jack-in-the-Pulpit plants. Dozens of foot-high stumps poke above the boggy surface in the shade of trees with feathery new leaves; these are the “knees” of swamp cypress, which grow in abundance at the water’s edge. They are just one example of the many non-native plants that the Cutting family introduced to their property in the early 20th-century.

The path follows the bank of the river north. The Connetquot River actually begins near the Long Island Expressway and flows south as a narrow trout stream through the Connetquot State Park before passing over dams at Sunrise Highway and widening towards the bay. At this point the river is a quarter-mile wide. Out in the center a pair of six-man sculls sweeps along with the current. These are part of the Dowling College rowing team out for practice. Once known as Idle Hour when it was the estate of the Vanderbilt family, the college stands out on the opposite shore with its distinctive, white, modern style gymnasium.

On the left we pass a big, two story shingled building; this former carriage house/stables is now used for lectures, concerts, and gardening classes. Long Island history is deeply felt throughout this walk and soon we come to a site that is marked only by a plaque, but was once the entrance to a long, wooden foot-bridge that spanned the river allowing the Cuttings to have easy access to the hunting and fishing at the Southside Sportsman’s Club. In the 1960’s, with its membership of NYC millionaires dwindling, that club morphed into the Connetquot State Park.

Now the trail leads across a little earthen dam that connects the formal arboretum to an island that one of the Cutting children named “Paradise Island”. That may be a child’s dramatic view of an area that is simply Long Island nature in the raw: scrub oak, pine, giant reeds, and snarls of cat brier. The trail makes a mile-long loop around the island and we re-cross the dam back to the main path.

We follow the dusty path across an open meadow which was once a grazing area for farm animals. This is the north-western edge of the property and the sound of a LIRR train seems very close by. As we approach the tree line again we pass through a formal garden of dahlias. They are not in bloom yet but by the end of June they offer a spectacular display of color, attracting honeybees and hummingbirds. Adjacent to the garden is a shingled cottage which is used as an office but also has a convenient public bathroom.

Soon the main path we have been following breaks off into a series of winding paths that meander through the “pinetum”—a magnificent collection of evergreens from all over the world. Some of these paths seem to wind around in circles, but we try to keep the approximate location of the river on our left as we wend our way through the specimen trees. Some of them are originals that the Cutting family might have planted when Teddy Roosevelt was President. There are towering blue spruces and white pines, tent-like weeping hemlocks, exotic Asian fir trees with feathery needles, and even an imposing redwood or two which may take another hundred years to reach maturity.

Finally, we begin to pass through groves of holly—thick and impenetrable with their sharp, shiny leaves and waxy red berries. Then the sweet scent of lilac hangs in the air as we approach the side of the manor house where a crew of workers is busily planting showy annuals.

The entire walk has been about three and a half miles and we are ready for lunch.

Inside the manor house, the Hidden Oak Café occupies the former library. The walls are still lined with well stocked bookshelves and some customers sit and read as they enjoy an afternoon tea or one of the freshly prepared salads or sandwiches.

We decide to take our meal out on the porch which overlooks the vast lawn and the ancient weeping beech tree. In the distance is the shimmering water of Great South Bay. A civilized way to end any hike.

       

Getting There

Take Montauk Highway through Oakdale and past the curve adjacent to Sunrise Highway. The entrance to the Arboretum is on the left. Admission during the summer season is $6, senior citizens are admitted free during weekdays. No one has to pay in the winter months.

     

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The Elizabeth Morton Wildlife Refuge

This hike is one of the farthest away from Bellport, but it is well worth the drive which can be nicely combined with a visit to nearby Sag Harbor or Shelter Island for lunch or dinner.

The refuge is a mere 187-acres, but feels much larger. It occupies a sliver of land called Jessup’s Neck, which juts out into Peconic Bay. Unfortunately, the longest section of the hike cannot be done between April 1st and August 1st due to nesting colonies of piping plovers, so plan this as a fall or winter outing.

On one of the last days of winter, with the temperature up around 60-degrees, my hiking partner and I arrive at the parking lot off Noyac Road. There is quite a lot of activity as a large group of high school students return to their bus after a guided nature walk, and several mothers head down the path with young children. An entrance kiosk has a sign-in book and honor system entry fee donation of $4.

Outfitted as I am with binoculars, camera, GPS, water, snack bars, and a newly acquired trekking pole, I am suffering Jacquie’s teasing as she strides along hands free. I caution her that I have done this hike before—though the last time was probably a decade ago—and, as I recall it, it is a good six-miles. She laughs and picks up the pace.

We pass the well-maintained bathrooms on the right and another kiosk on the left that explains some of the history and habitat of this spectacular piece of real estate. There seems to be a little of everything here: from upland forest to fresh water marsh, kettle holes to salt marshes, beaches and eroding cliffs to glacial erratics. Seals and sea turtles use the beaches, ospreys nest in the trees, turkeys and foxes crisscross the forest paths.

We hear some “oohs” and “aahs” up ahead and find several people standing quietly holding one hand aloft, palm upward. Chickadees and the occasional nuthatch fly out of the nearby cedar trees, land on the hands and peck at the offered sunflower seeds. A bird in the hand!

But, Jacquie and I have forgotten to bring seeds with us today so we continue down the path. A minute later, there is another trail that leads off to the right and goes through a marsh on a boardwalk, then loops around a pond where turtles can often be seen sunning themselves. We forgo the side trip because we are going for the six-mile trek today. The trail is totally enclosed by red cedar draped in vines and matted with cat brier. It slopes gently downward in a northerly direction towards the open waters of Little Peconic Bay.

We pass two women hiking in the opposite direction and one of them says, “Excuse me, Sir. Is that a hiking pole?”

She seems quite impressed and I smile smugly at Jacquie. She rolls her eyes.

“Yes,” I tell the woman, “In fact it’s called a trekking pole.” I then go on to inform her that she can buy a pair of them at that famous outfitter of all serious sportsmen: Costco.

The trail is quiet again except for a lot of bird song in the dense underbrush. Up ahead, a wild turkey has stepped out of the trees and is pecking along the ground. As we approach he lopes down the trail in a comical turkey trot, swaying side to side, and veers back into cover.

Suddenly, the trees simply end, the sky opens, and we are standing on a gravel beach looking out on the shimmering waters of the bay. Due west, off in the distance, is Robins Island. To the north is the shoreline that stretches from Southold to Greenport. The hike now becomes a beach walk.

The tide is low and we experiment with the best surface to walk on. Close to the water the gravel is fine, but too soft for a comfortable stride; the high tide line is ridged with jawbreaker-sized pebbles, difficult to slog through; higher up, just below the driftwood and storm wrack, a white ribbon of sand makes a nice trail to follow. This is the area that is closed in spring and half the summer.

This part of Jessup’s Neck is more like a barrier beach, just a couple of hundred yards wide with a brackish water pond cupped in its center and ringed with marsh grasses. A couple of osprey nests stand upon platforms near the pond, but there are still a few days before the big birds return from their southern hunting grounds. Jacquie stops a few times to pick up beach glass, but none of it is sufficiently worn down enough to be worth keeping. She also points out pieces of driftwood that—she claims—look like various animals, at least her descriptions sound convincing.

Jessup’s Neck rises again at its northern end where it becomes an upland forest perched upon eroding cliffs twenty-feet, or more, above the beach. Once we reach this tree line (at 1.3-miles) we follow a little trail on the right that leads past the end of the pond and into the trees for a short cut across to the opposite shore.

A few yards into the forest some cone shaped mounds catch our attention. They seem to be moving. They are large anthills—some almost three feet tall—and they are swarming with nasty looking, red and black, two-tone ants. We make jokes about tired, near-sighted hikers plopping down on these convenient “seats”. But, as we notice more and more of these anthills, the creepiness of the forest gets us to pick up our pace.

It takes only a couple of minutes to get out onto the eastern facing beach. We pick a nice, clean glacial boulder to sit on for a short rest, a drink of water and a snack. The gloominess of the forest trail had reminded me about something that I had almost forgotten about: there is a grave deep inside those woods where a young woman from the early 18th-century lies buried. I tell Jacquie how a hiking buddy and I came upon it many years before, when the trail that penetrates the center of the forest was open to hikers. I can’t recall her name or the exact date, but I remember that a little iron fence surrounded the stone. What a lonely place to be buried, yet what a beautiful place to be hiking in today.

Looking east we see the shoreline of North Haven and beyond it the bluffs of Shelter Island. A line of wooden poles stick up out of the water with a few cormorants perched on them catching the afternoon sun. These form the frame for trap nets—used for centuries by bay men to capture migrating schools of weakfish, fluke and striped bass.

We turn to the north again, and, with the eroded bluffs on our left, make our way out to the end of the neck. We haven’t met another person since the beginning of the hike. Now, as we stand at the very tip of land where it turns into a long finger of gravel before disappearing into the bay, we must be as isolated as two people can get standing on the mainland of Long Island.

My GPS shows we have walked 2.5-miles before we round the point and head back along the western shore again. A stiff wind has come up out of the south-west and blows right into our faces. The afternoon is wearing on and it’s getting colder. Spring is only a few days off but winter doesn’t want to let go this year.

By the time we get back to the car it feels good to get the hiking shoes off and change socks. A check of the GPS shows the total hike to be 4.6-miles. Not quite the six miles I had predicted, but exhilarating enough to have given both of us a good appetite. We decide to take the ferry over to Shelter Island and top the day off with a pleasant dinner at a local inn.

Not bad. Very, very not bad.

GETTING THERE

Take Sunrise Hwy. out to where it becomes a local, two-lane, highway. Turn left at Rt. 52 -- towards North Sea/Noyac. Then, Drive north for about 3 1/2-miles to Noyac Rd. Turn right and drive east about six miles to the entrance to Morton on the left.

     

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Wertheim National Wildlife Refuge

I decided to begin with a walk that is short, easy, and close by. The Wertheim is one of eight National Wildlife Refuges on Long Island. At 2550-acres, it is second in size only to the Oyster Bay Refuge, which is mainly underwater. What makes Wertheim so special is its diversity. It encompasses the Carmans River estuary, freshwater ponds, open fields, upland forest, both fresh and saltwater marshes, and the open waters of Bellport Bay. During most of the last century the property was used for duck farming and as a private hunting preserve. Over the years, generous contributions of land—most notably that of Maurice Wertheim—were cobbled together with other parcels of land, acquired through the hard work of local and national environmental groups, to make the Wertheim the centerpiece of Long Island’s Wildlife Refuges.

The White Oak Trail

Of course, if you want to see the Wertheim thoroughly you are going to need a canoe or kayak. But walkers can get a good sense of the place by traversing the two-mile loop trail that starts at the refuge headquarters parking lot. * I took to the trail on the Ides of March, just a week before spring, trying to wring the miserable winter out of my bones. As usual, no one was around so I had the place to myself.

The trail is wide, easy to follow, and nicely cushioned with mulch which makes it forgiving on feet and knees. It winds through fairly tall stands of red oaks, skeletal in their March bareness, so that some far off traffic noise can be heard from Montauk Highway. At one point I see the back of a lone house and think how lucky to live with a 2500-acre wilderness as your backyard.

*A new visitor center is due to open in the fall of 2011

A little farther on an incongruous Norway spruce looked out of place among the oaks—surely the remnant of some long gone homestead?

Soon I come across a No Hunting sign and some trees off the trail painted day-glo purple. It takes me a minute to process the meaning but then I realize that hunting is allowed on the other side of this line. This was confirmed later when I talked to the refuge manager who told me that there are three archery and one shotgun session for deer during the winter hunting season. So much for a purist’s idea of a wildlife refuge. Considering the deer over-population on Long Island, I’m not sure how to think about this.

At the half-mile point there is a small clearing where wild turkeys can sometimes be spotted. But not today. All is quiet. The few numbered boxes attached to trees are for bluebird nests—I believe—but none are here yet.

At this point, walkers have the option to take a short loop back to the parking lot for a total of only one-mile. But, I continue on and begin to pass from the hardwood oaks into the tall pitch pine forest that eventually gives way to open salt marshes fringed with phragmite reeds.

The halfway mark for the walk is a wooden platform that overlooks the marsh along the Carmans River. Although I know the river is a hundred yards to the east, it is impossible to see it through the dense barrier of phragmites that have taken over and destroyed so much of Long Island’s natural salt marsh habitat. Only the razor straight cuts of mosquito ditches slanting eastward hint at the larger body of water out there. Half a mile across the open expanse of marsh the afternoon sun lights up the oaks and pines on the eastern side of Wertheim.

Now the trail gets wider—a dozen feet across—and underfoot it turns to hardpan and crushed gravel with just a light coating of pine needles. I pass marker #9 , which is a wooden platform looking out onto a fresh water bog. Skunk cabbages push their weird, pointed pulpits up through the muck in several places. Soon the peepers will be chanting their other-worldly song come dusk.

I stop at a bench at 1.3-miles to re-tie my boot laces—have to get in the habit of double tying. At 1.5-miles I pass a pond on the left side of the trail. It has a couple of large boxes on poles protected with raccoon baffles. These are nesting boxes for wood ducks—the most colorful, and, possibly, the oddest ducks native to Long Island. In very unduck-like fashion they spend much of their time in trees.

Marker #13 is an actual wildlife observation blind. It looks out over the river and is cut with slashes like arrow slits in the turret of a castle. I peer through a slit and watch a couple of swans float and tilt upside down to feed on river weed. Curiously, the main view, directly across the river, is now dominated by a large, erector set construction clad in blue insulation which is to be the future visitor center. I envision visitors, someday, staring back at me through binoculars.

Finally, the trail passes a larger fresh water pond on the left and I see that it has a control gate and a little spillway to bring the overflowing groundwater down into the tidewaters. Suddenly, underneath the overhanging limb of a willow tree, I see the tell-tale rings of a feeding fish. A trout? A native brook trout? I have often caught these perfect, beautiful little fish far up in the northern reaches of the Carmans River, but never down here so close to the salt water and the pull of the tides. For me it is a sign of spring. Better than a robin or a crocus—almost as good as an osprey. A perfect way to end a pleasant walk.

GETTING THERE

The Wertheim lies about four-miles east of Bellport Village. After crossing the Carmans River bridge on Montauk Highway, turn right at the Light—Smith Road—go over the RR tracks and turn right into the refuge. A dirt road takes you to the parking lot at the head of the trail.

*Note—the new visitor center, scheduled to open in the fall 2011, is on
Smith Rd. just beyond the current entrance to the refuge.

 

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"Wertheim National Wildlife Refuge" Comments...

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4/26/2011, Helen Geraghty wrote...

I love this article. It's nice and specific. Now, in April is a good time to hike the trail because the mosquitoes haven't moved in.

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4/20/2011, Robin Seibert wrote...

This is terrific, I have been wondering where to hike when I'm in Bellport and I will absolutely follow up on this hike. I would also be very interested in group hikes. Thank you for this column.

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4/20/2011, Renee Lennon wrote...

What a wonderful way to enjoy our Island!! Me and my husband love to hike. You gotta love Bellport.com.

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4/20/2011, Dennis Desmond wrote...

I have been walking it for years and it is very uncrowded and beautiful. Sometimes, I am the only person at the place especially in the winter and late fall and early spring. It is a level, easy walk of about 3.1 miles or you can take the short loop if that is too much. Go for it, it is worth the short drive and you will not be rushed. You can set your own pace and not worry about bothering anyone. Have fun and it is healthy and secluded.

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4/17/2011, Marie Desch wrote...

Enjoyed the column; been thinking about hiking for a while. Any group hikes coming up?

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4/15/2011, Marilyn Supon wrote...

We have walked that trail many, many times, but now we have more insight as to what we are seeing. Thanks, Rich.......terrific article. Keep them coming..

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4/14/2011, Lorraine Fosmire wrote...

I found the article on the hike through Wertheim to be most interesting and informative. I have never walked the trails but hope to do so in the future. Looking forward to the new center. Thanks Larry for this great feature of Bellport.com.

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4/12/2011, Jim Dwyer wrote...

What a great addition to your already valuable website. Much appreciated.

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4/12/2011, Barbara Knowles wrote...

What a wonderful column. I have been to the refuge in the past to watch the ospreys nesting, but have not taken advantage of all the walks so expertly described. I will attempt to print the column and then get together with friends to explore!

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4/12/2011, Marc Rauch wrote...

Thank you Bellport.com and Mr. Weissman. This column is a valuable service to the community. I look forward to future installments.

 

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