Category: Estuarine Predators

  • Fall Migrations Along Onslow County

    Fall Migrations Along Onslow County

    Late August does not look much like fall along the Onslow County coast.

    The sand is still hot. Afternoon thunderstorms still build over the mainland. The ocean can remain warm enough that stepping into it hardly feels like relief.

    But beneath the surface, fall has already begun.

    Fish that spent summer scattered through sounds, creeks, reefs, and nearshore water begin gathering. Shrimp start working their way out of nursery creeks. Mature female blue crabs move toward saltier water. Schools of mullet begin appearing along the beaches. Sharks that spent the warmer months farther north or inside coastal waters begin shifting south or offshore.

    Above them, the birds begin changing too.

    Some are preparing to leave. Others are arriving from places hundreds or thousands of miles away. Still others simply become more noticeable because suddenly there is food everywhere.

    What looks from shore like a few gulls working over the water, a school of baitfish flashing beside a pier, or pelicans repeatedly diving beyond the breakers is part of something much larger.

    For a few months each fall, the food web itself begins to move.

    When the Water Begins to Change

    Animals do not wait for a date on the calendar. Along the coast, fall arrives through changes in water temperature and daylight, but also through salinity, currents, rainfall, food availability, and the timing of reproduction. Different species respond to different combinations of those signals, which means the seasonal movement beginning beneath the surface is not one migration triggered in one way.

    For some animals, cooling water begins narrowing where they can comfortably remain. King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla) favor warm coastal water and become less common as temperatures fall much below about 68°F, while cobia (Rachycentron canadum) begin leaving northern summer habitats as water cools through roughly the same range. Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus) respond differently. Rather than leaving our estuaries altogether, they begin shifting toward creeks, channels, and deeper water where a few additional feet of depth can provide protection from the colder temperatures still to come (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2022; Jensen & Graves, 2020; Ellis, Buckel, & Hightower, 2017; Ellis, Buckel, Hightower, & Poland, 2017).

    King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla), a warm-water coastal fish that becomes less common as fall temperatures drop. | Image credit: Sylvain Le Bris, iNaturalist
    King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla), a warm-water coastal fish that becomes less common as fall temperatures drop. | Image credit: Sylvain Le Bris, iNaturalist

    Temperature can work together with another signal that changes every year whether the weather feels like fall or not: shortening daylight. Blacktip and sandbar sharks moving along the western Atlantic begin their southward migration as sea-surface temperatures change and the days grow shorter, leaving northern and Mid-Atlantic summer habitats and gradually shifting toward the South Atlantic Bight and Florida for winter and spring (Manz et al., 2025).

    For other animals, autumn movement is tied less to escaping cooling water than to reaching the next stage of their life cycle. Southern flounder (Paralichthys lethostigma) spend their first years in estuarine waters, where shallow sounds, rivers, and creeks provide nursery and feeding habitat. Females begin maturing surprisingly early: some are reproductively mature by age one, most by age two, and nearly all by age three. Immature fish can remain within the estuary through winter, but once mature, southern flounder begin joining the fall movement through the inlets and toward offshore spawning grounds (Midway & Scharf, 2012; Craig et al., 2015).

    That means fish of different ages can occupy the same estuary through summer and then take different paths as fall develops. A young flounder may remain behind while an older fish that spent the season feeding in the same system begins moving toward the ocean.

    So while late-August water may still feel thoroughly summerlike to someone standing waist-deep at Topsail, the animals beneath the surface are already responding to a season that is only beginning to become visible above it.

    One of the first clues may simply be a fish jumping beside you.

    The Mullet Begin to Run

    Striped, or sea, mullet (Mugil cephalus) spend much of the warmer season feeding throughout estuaries, sounds, tidal creeks, and protected coastal waters. By late summer, however, their movements begin to change. In North Carolina, striped mullet travel most actively between August and November as mature fish leave rivers, sounds, and tidal creeks for marine spawning habitat. Their journey carries them through the inlets and offshore into the South Atlantic Bight, with spawning habitat extending from nearshore waters toward the outer continental shelf where shelf water meets the influence of the Gulf Stream (Bacheler et al., 2005). For fish that spent the summer inside an estuary, that is a considerable change in geography, but still a relatively regional migration compared with species that will later continue much farther south along the Atlantic coast.

    Striped mullet (Mugil cephalus) schooling in shallow coastal water. | Image credit: rangerval, iNaturalist
    Striped mullet (Mugil cephalus) schooling in shallow coastal water. | Image credit: rangerval, iNaturalist

    They begin making that seasonal journey relatively young. About half of North Carolina striped mullet are reproductively mature by age one, although maturity varies among individuals, and older adults may return to estuarine habitats after spawning. Rather than leaving the estuary permanently as they mature, they move between estuarine feeding grounds and marine spawning habitat as part of a seasonal cycle (Bichy, 2004; Bacheler et al., 2005).

    For beachgoers, this can become one of the easiest fall migrations to notice. Fish that spent summer spread through rivers, creeks, and sounds begin collecting into increasingly conspicuous schools as they move toward inlets and coastal water. Once along the ocean beach, dense schools may travel remarkably close to shore, sometimes darkening the shallows or stretching along the surf zone beyond what can be seen from one spot. Mullet are frequent jumpers as well, so a school may first reveal itself as silver fish repeatedly breaking the surface.
    By the time those schools reach the inlet and beach, they are carrying more than themselves with them. Striped mullet feed low in the food web, consuming algae, detritus, and organic material associated with estuarine sediments. As thousands of them move out of the estuary, that stored production moves with them and becomes available to the larger fishes, sharks, and birds that feed along the coast (Bacheler et al., 2005).

    Those predators are already moving through the same corridor. Bluefish (Pomatomus saltatrix) feed heavily on schooling fishes such as mullet, menhaden, and silversides. Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) work schools of anchovies and other small baitfish, while blacktip sharks (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) take advantage of dense concentrations of coastal prey.

    The fall mullet run is therefore more than thousands of fish leaving an estuary. It is estuarine production moving through the inlet and onto the beach, where it begins to intersect with predators following their own seasonal routes.

    That intersection is what makes the migration suddenly visible. A school that might otherwise pass unnoticed can tighten near shore as bluefish, mackerel, sharks, and birds begin responding to the same moving concentration of prey.

    Spanish Mackerel, Bluefish, and the Surface Chase

    Sometimes the easiest way to find a migration is not to look for the animals themselves, but for what happens to the water when they arrive.

    Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) spend the warmer months moving north along the Atlantic coast, reaching North Carolina in spring and remaining through summer and early fall while coastal water stays above roughly 68°F. As that warm-water window begins closing, they turn south again toward winter habitat off Florida, feeding heavily along the way on anchovies, silversides, menhaden, mullet, and other small schooling fishes (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026; Sutherland & Fable, 1980).

    Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) traveling in a dense school. | Image credit: Shutterstock
    Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) traveling in a dense school. | Image credit: Shutterstock

    Bluefish (Pomatomus saltatrix) are moving through the same changing coast, but their fall pattern varies with age. Smaller bluefish tend to migrate south along the shoreline as water cools, while larger adults make more of an inshore-to-offshore shift. Farther north, fall movement begins as water drops into roughly the mid-50s Fahrenheit, gradually carrying fish into the warmer coastal waters to the south (Lund & Maltezos, 1970).
    By the time those movements reach the Carolina coast, they are crossing water already crowded with prey. Anchovies, silversides, juvenile menhaden, and other tiny schooling fishes—many of the fishes beachgoers collectively call “glass minnows”—can become compressed near the surface, and even wash onto shore, as mackerel and bluefish strike through the schools from below.

    Little tunny (Euthynnus alletteratus), better known locally as false albacore, can join that fall activity around inlets and nearshore waters as well. They too make seasonal movements along the Atlantic coast, shifting north through the warmer part of the year and south again through fall and winter while feeding in fast-moving schools (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026).

    Little tunny (Euthynnus alletteratus), also known as false albacore, moving in a feeding school. | Image credit: aurelpap, iNaturalist
    Little tunny (Euthynnus alletteratus), also known as false albacore, moving in a feeding school. | Image credit: aurelpap, iNaturalist

    From the beach, separating one predator from another may be nearly impossible. What becomes visible instead is the chase. A patch of otherwise smooth ocean suddenly begins to boil as tiny fish scatter across the surface. Gulls and terns converge overhead, pelicans turn toward the commotion, and dark backs or silver flashes cut through the school below.

    Sometimes the entire event moves several hundred yards down the beach within minutes.

    And the animals doing the chasing are still part of the food web themselves. Spanish mackerel and bluefish may be predators here, but both can become prey for larger sharks and tunas farther up the same moving chain. A small fish feeding on plankton becomes food for a mackerel; that mackerel may later become food for a shark.

    Fall has compressed several levels of the food web into the same patch of water, and for a few minutes the whole thing becomes visible from shore.

    The Sharks Following Fall

    Shark migration can sound dramatic because sharks are dramatic animals.

    Ecologically, however, their fall movements make perfect sense. Food is moving, water temperature is changing, nursery seasons are ending, and remaining in shallow water becomes increasingly expensive for animals whose body temperature largely follows the environment around them.

    Blacktip sharks (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) are warm-water coastal sharks frequently associated with schools of mullet, menhaden, and other fishes.

    Blacktip (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) can look very similar; fin markings and body proportions help separate the two. | Image credit: Bowers & Kaijiura, 2023
    Blacktip (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) can look very similar; fin markings and body proportions help separate the two. | Image credit: Bowers & Kaijiura, 2023

    As coastal waters cool, these highly mobile sharks begin shifting south. For blacktips, that can mean a substantial journey: sharks that spent the warmer months along the Carolinas and farther north move down the Atlantic coast toward Florida, with large winter aggregations forming in the warm coastal waters of southeast Florida. Spinner sharks also shift south as autumn progresses, although exactly how their seasonal routes connect Carolina summer habitat with winter habitat farther south is less clearly understood (Manz et al., 2025).
    Their movement is not caused by prey alone. Temperature and the gradually shortening length of the day contribute to the timing of autumn migration, while concentrations of prey can influence where sharks pause and feed along the route (Manz et al., 2025). That shortening daylight is the actual span between sunrise and sunset—not the hour shown on our clocks. The gradual loss of daylight from late summer into fall provides a predictable seasonal signal even when water temperatures vary from one year to the next.

    The shallow coastal habitats these sharks use during migration are also important much earlier in life. Blacktip pups are born in protected nursery areas away from most adults, and young sharks can remain associated with shallow coastal habitat for several years as they grow. Males generally reach maturity around four to five years old, while females mature closer to six or seven; spinner sharks follow a similarly slow timetable, with females maturing later than males (Carlson et al., 2006; NOAA Fisheries, 2017).

    That means the shallow water along the coast is not simply a birthplace young sharks immediately leave behind. It can remain part of their world through several juvenile years before the broader seasonal movements of adulthood become established. Exactly how strongly young sharks remain connected to individual nursery areas is still being studied, but nursery habitat can shape where they spend some of the most vulnerable years of their lives (Heupel et al., 2007; NOAA Fisheries, 2017, 2024).

    Around New River Inlet and the beaches of Topsail, those later seasonal movements begin intersecting with the migrations already underway. Schools of mullet, Spanish mackerel, and other coastal fishes can create concentrated feeding opportunities along the same corridor, and both blacktips and spinner sharks may breach during fast pursuits, with spinner sharks sometimes twisting through the air in the leaps that gave the species its name (Bangley, 2014).

    A beachgoer watching a fall bait ball may therefore be seeing several stages of the coastal food web converge in the same narrow stretch of water.

    Atlantic sharpnose sharks (Rhizoprionodon terraenovae) use shallow coastal waters, sounds, bays, and estuaries throughout the warmer months. Adults are generally only a few feet long and feed on small fishes, shrimp, crabs, squid, and other coastal prey (Bethea et al., 2006; Roskar et al., 2024).

    Their fall movement is much smaller in scale than the southward migration of blacktips. During summer, Atlantic sharpnose are abundant in the shallow nearshore waters of Onslow Bay, where both immature and mature sharks occur and pups are likely born. As autumn progresses, they become less common in those shallow areas and shift toward deeper coastal habitat. Adults have even been found using offshore wrecks in North Carolina during winter before returning toward shallower water in spring (Roskar et al., 2024).

    So for Atlantic sharpnose, fall may mean moving offshore without leaving the region entirely. Predation does not disappear from the coastal food web; it simply shifts into a different part of it.

    Atlantic sharpnose shark (Rhizoprionodon terraenovae), a small coastal shark common in North Carolina’s warmer months. | Image credit: Virginia Institute of Marine Science
    Atlantic sharpnose shark (Rhizoprionodon terraenovae), a small coastal shark common in North Carolina’s warmer months. | Image credit: Virginia Institute of Marine Science

    Sandbar sharks (Carcharhinus plumbeus) show how different that scale can become. Young sandbars spend the warmer months in shallow nursery habitat farther north along the Mid-Atlantic, then move offshore and south during late September and October. Many repeat that seasonal route for several years as juveniles, wintering from North Carolina toward Florida before returning north in spring. As they grow, the journey expands, with older sandbars ranging from southern New England to Florida and Cuba (Merson & Pratt, 2001; McCandless et al., 2007; Kohler et al., 1998).

    Their autumn departure is tied closely to cooling water and shortening day length, while prey encountered along the route determines where they may stop and feed (Manz et al., 2025).

    Sandbar sharks (Carcharhinus plumbeus), a large coastal species that shifts south and offshore as fall progresses. | Image credit: Simon Peggs, iNaturalist
    Sandbar sharks (Carcharhinus plumbeus), a large coastal species that shifts south and offshore as fall progresses. | Image credit: Simon Peggs, iNaturalist

    Off Onslow County, artificial reefs and natural hard-bottom habitats add patches of structure to that broader migration corridor. AR-342, the Onslow Bay Saltwater Fishing Club Reef, lies in about 49 feet of water and is one such patch where fishes and other prey can concentrate along the shelf (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2017).

    A reef does not have to be an animal’s destination to matter. Sometimes it is simply a place to feed before the migration continues.

    AR-342, the Onslow Bay Saltwater Fishing Club Reef, shown within the nearshore reef network off Onslow County. | Image credit: NC Division of Marine Fisheries
    AR-342, the Onslow Bay Saltwater Fishing Club Reef, shown within the nearshore reef network off Onslow County. | Image credit: NC Division of Marine Fisheries

    Cobia and the Last Warm-Water Feeding

    Cobia (Rachycentron canadum) are another warm-season visitor beginning to run out of time. During spring and summer they move north along the Atlantic coast, using coastal and offshore waters from the Carolinas into Chesapeake Bay and farther north. They favor warm water, generally around 68–86°F, and as autumn temperatures begin slipping toward the lower end of that range, they start shifting offshore and south toward warmer winter habitat (Jensen & Graves, 2020).

    Cobia (Rachycentron canadum), a warm-water coastal fish that begins shifting offshore and south as autumn temperatures cool. | Image credit: georgeh04, iNaturalist
    Cobia (Rachycentron canadum), a warm-water coastal fish that begins shifting offshore and south as autumn temperatures cool. | Image credit: georgeh04, iNaturalist

    That places coastal North Carolina somewhere in the middle of the journey. The cobia moving through our waters are not necessarily arriving for winter or leaving from a summer home here. 

    For many, this stretch of coast is part of the route between the two.

    Along the way, structure matters. Buoys, wrecks, reefs, and artificial reefs can gather baitfish and other prey into small pockets of activity in otherwise open water, giving a traveling cobia a place to feed before continuing south (Jensen & Graves, 2020). A reef that holds feeding cobia may also be busy with reef fishes, passing mackerel, schools of bait, and other predators using the same patch of water for their own reasons.

    By fall, the coast begins to feel less like a collection of separate habitats and more like a series of connected stopping places along the migration route.

    Flounder Leave Through the Bottom

    Not every migration announces itself at the surface. Some of the most important fall movement in Onslow County happens quietly along the bottom.

    Southern (left) and summer flounder (right) both spend much of their early lives over shallow estuarine and coastal bottoms before mature fish move offshore to spawn. | Image credits: J. Weferling, iNaturalist (left); harrier, iNaturalist (right)Southern (left) and summer flounder (right) both spend much of their early lives over shallow estuarine and coastal bottoms before mature fish move offshore to spawn. | Image credits: J. Weferling, iNaturalist (left); harrier, iNaturalist (right)
    Southern (left) and summer flounder (right) both spend much of their early lives over shallow estuarine and coastal bottoms before mature fish move offshore to spawn. | Image credits: J. Weferling, iNaturalist (left); harrier, iNaturalist (right)

    Southern flounder (Paralichthys lethostigma) spend the first years of their lives inside estuaries, lying over mud, sand, oyster habitat, creek bottoms, and other shallow nursery and feeding areas where they prey on fish and crustaceans. In North Carolina, many females begin reaching reproductive maturity around ages one to two and roughly 16 inches in length, although growth and maturity vary considerably among individual fish (Midway & Scharf, 2012).
    That means a southern flounder can spend years growing within the estuary before ever contributing to the offshore spawning population. Immature fish may remain within estuarine waters through winter, while mature fish begin leaving in fall for offshore spawning habitat. Fish encountered farther offshore tend to be larger and older, while younger fish remain more closely associated with the sounds, rivers, and creeks where they grew (Craig et al., 2015).
    A fish that spent its first years nearly invisible beneath New River mud can suddenly become part of an offshore migration.

    Summer flounder (Paralichthys dentatus) make a similar outward journey, although their early life follows a slightly different timetable. Larvae and juveniles use coastal bays, sounds, and estuaries as nursery habitat for roughly their first 18 to 20 months, and most reach reproductive maturity around age two to three. In the South Atlantic Bight, about half are mature by roughly 11 to 12 inches total length, although females generally mature at a somewhat larger size than males (Packer, 1999).

    Like southern flounder, they spend their younger years feeding and growing in protected coastal habitat before mature fish begin moving offshore in fall toward continental-shelf spawning grounds. By then, the fish leaving the estuary are not simply larger versions of the juveniles that remain behind; they are the part of the population capable of producing the next generation.
    So the two flatfish a beachgoer might easily confuse are doing something remarkably similar at this time of year. Both spend their younger years in shallow coastal and estuarine nursery habitat, and both eventually move offshore to spawn. What differs is the timing—how quickly they mature, how long they remain closely tied to those nursery grounds, and where along the coast each species is most concentrated.

    The Fall Runs Gather Nearshore

    The familiar fishes around piers change with fall too.

    Spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) spend important parts of their early lives inside estuaries, feeding over sandy and muddy bottoms on worms, small crustaceans, organic material, and other small prey (Warlen & Burke, 1990; Ross, 1988)

    Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) and spot (Leiostomus xanthurus), two familiar estuarine fishes that move toward coastal spawning waters in fall.  | Image credit: C. Dzbanski
    Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) and spot (Leiostomus xanthurus), two familiar estuarine fishes that move toward coastal spawning waters in fall. | Image credit: C. Dzbanski

    Spot remain closely tied to estuarine nursery habitat through their first year, gradually moving into deeper and saltier parts of the system as they grow. By fall, the larger fish begin gathering closer to channels, inlets, and the ocean before continuing toward offshore spawning grounds south of Cape Hatteras. There, spawning continues through fall and winter in substantially warmer shelf water, roughly 63–77°F, with the strongest activity around 68°F (Warlen & Chester, 1985; Allen et al., 2024).

    Atlantic croaker follow a similar route on a slightly different schedule. Young croaker enter low-salinity estuarine nursery areas after being spawned offshore, then grow rapidly through their first year. As fall develops, many begin moving back toward open coastal water, with the spawning migration beginning as early as September and continuing into winter (White & Chittenden, 1977; Norcross & Austin, 1988).

    Weakfish (Cynoscion regalis) join that same seasonal pull toward the coast. Through spring and summer they use sounds, estuaries, and nearshore habitat, feeding heavily on shrimp, crustaceans, and smaller fishes. As autumn water cools toward about 75°F, they begin gathering and shifting offshore and south; during warmer years, some linger longer before making that move (Krause et al., 2020).

    Weakfish (Cynoscion regalis), a fall migrant along the Atlantic coast and currently listed as Endangered on the IUCN Red List. | Image credit: aiden007, iNaturalist
    Weakfish (Cynoscion regalis), a fall migrant along the Atlantic coast and currently listed as Endangered on the IUCN Red List. | Image credit: aiden007, iNaturalist

    By this point in fall, fishes that spent summer scattered through different parts of the estuary are beginning to converge along the same channels, inlets, and nearshore corridor. The movement is outward, but not entirely.

    While larger spot and croaker are leaving for offshore spawning grounds, their next generation is already beginning the opposite journey. Larvae produced offshore in fall and winter can begin entering North Carolina estuaries by late fall and early winter, with that inward movement continuing through spring (Warlen & Burke, 1990; Allen et al., 2024).

    So even as one generation moves out through the inlet, another is beginning to come back in.

    The Fish That Stay—but Change Address

    Migration does not always mean leaving Onslow County. For some fishes, fall means finding a different part of the same estuary.

    Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus), or speckled trout, remain in coastal North Carolina through winter, but they do not necessarily stay where they spent August. As the shallow sounds and creek edges cool, trout begin gathering around channels, deeper holes, creek mouths, and other places where a few extra feet of water can provide more stable temperatures.

    Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus) moving through shallow coastal water before shifting toward deeper winter habitat as temperatures fall. | Image credit: charliew82, iNaturalist
    Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus) moving through shallow coastal water before shifting toward deeper winter habitat as temperatures fall. | Image credit: charliew82, iNaturalist

    That difference becomes increasingly important as winter approaches. Spotted seatrout begin showing cold stress when water falls below about 45°F, and prolonged periods below roughly 44.6°F can produce substantial winter mortality in North Carolina. Deeper sections of an estuary can remain slightly warmer during a severe cold event, giving fish somewhere to retreat when the shallows become too cold (Ellis, Buckel, & Hightower, 2017; Ellis, Buckel, Hightower, & Poland, 2017).

    So the autumn congregation of trout around creek mouths, bridge structure, channels, and deep holes is more than a change in where they happen to be feeding. By fall, they are beginning to settle into the parts of the estuary that may carry them through winter.

    Black drum (Pogonias cromis) reorganize themselves through fall as well, although their movement depends partly on age. Young black drum spend their first year within estuaries, feeding over mud, sand, oyster habitat, and other bottoms rich in worms, small crustaceans, and mollusks. As they grow, they begin using saltier water and deeper coastal habitat, while larger fish are often associated with oyster bars, bridge and dock pilings, channels, and other structure where clams, oysters, crabs, and other bottom prey collect (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026).

    Black drum (Pogonias cromis) use estuaries when young, then shift toward deeper, saltier water as they grow and fall progresses. | Image credit: zachs, iNaturalist
    Black drum (Pogonias cromis) use estuaries when young, then shift toward deeper, saltier water as they grow and fall progresses. | Image credit: zachs, iNaturalist

    By late fall, black drum generally shift away from the shallowest summer habitat toward deeper bays, sounds, channels, and offshore water. Unlike spotted seatrout, there is not one well-defined temperature at which that movement begins. Instead, cooling water gradually changes where suitable feeding and winter habitat remain available, with older fish tending to range farther toward high-salinity and offshore waters (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026).

    A piling or oyster bar that held one mix of fishes through summer may still be occupied in November, but by a different combination of animals using the same structure for colder-water feeding and refuge.

    The habitat has not disappeared. Its seasonal community has changed.

    Shrimp Begin Pouring Out of the Creeks

    Some of the most important migrants along the Onslow County coast are only a few inches long.

    White shrimp (Litopenaeus setiferus), locally called greentails, spend much of their early lives inside estuarine nursery habitat. They grow rapidly in warm water, and once they reach only about 0.8 to 1.2 inches long, they begin leaving the shallowest marsh habitat for deeper creeks, rivers, bays, and sounds. By late summer and fall, larger young shrimp—often around 4.7 inches or more—are moving farther downstream toward channels, inlets, and ultimately the ocean (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    White shrimp (Litopenaeus setiferus) grow quickly in estuarine nurseries before moving downstream toward sounds, inlets, and coastal water in late summer and fall. | Image credit: portulaca, iNaturalist
    White shrimp (Litopenaeus setiferus) grow quickly in estuarine nurseries before moving downstream toward sounds, inlets, and coastal water in late summer and fall. | Image credit: portulaca, iNaturalist

    Cooling water helps drive that progression, but rainfall can accelerate it. Heavy freshwater input lowers estuarine salinity and can push shrimp downstream and toward the ocean before they otherwise would have left. That means a wet fall and a dry fall do not necessarily produce the same migration (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    The shrimp are responding to an estuary that is changing around them, and almost everything seems interested in eating them. Flounder, speckled trout, red drum, weakfish, sharks, wading birds, and humans all take advantage of shrimp as they move through the coastal food web (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    A strong outward movement of white shrimp is therefore not merely a shrimp migration. It is a moving food resource.

    When those shrimp leave marsh creeks and spread toward the sound and inlet, predators that were previously separated begin encountering the same pulse of prey in increasingly narrow parts of the estuary.

    The estuary briefly becomes a funnel.

    The Blue Crabs Take Different Roads

    Blue crabs (Callinectes sapidus) complicate the idea of a single fall migration even further because males and females do not necessarily go the same direction.

    Blue crab (Callinectes sapidus) in shallow estuarine habitat; mature females eventually move toward saltier water and coastal spawning areas. | Image credit: lenora_irene, iNaturalist
    Blue crab (Callinectes sapidus) in shallow estuarine habitat; mature females eventually move toward saltier water and coastal spawning areas. | Image credit: lenora_irene, iNaturalist

    Adult males generally remain farther upriver in lower-salinity water, while mature females move toward saltier portions of the estuary and eventually toward inlet and coastal spawning habitat. Females can travel considerable distances during this migration, using salinity gradients, tides, and currents to move toward the high-salinity water needed for spawning (Bell & Eggleston, 2023; Forward et al., 2003).

    That split makes sense once their life cycle is considered. Females typically mate in brackish estuarine water, then store sperm until they are ready to produce an egg mass. As spawning approaches, they move toward the lower estuary and inlet, where much saltier water provides the conditions their developing larvae need. Eggs hatch near the mouth of the estuary or just beyond it, and the larvae are carried offshore before later returning toward the coast as postlarvae (Forward et al., 2003; Epifanio, 2019).

    The same inlet therefore serves two directions of the blue crab life cycle: mature females move outward toward spawning water, while a later generation is carried back toward estuarine nursery habitat.

    For a blue crab, the difference between a brackish river and a salty inlet is not simply scenery. One supports mating and much of adult life, while the other provides the salinity needed to begin the next generation.

    A single life cycle requires both.

    Rays Begin Leaving the Shallows

    Large dark wings moving beneath clear water are among the more obvious signs that rays are using shallow coastal habitat during summer. By fall, where those rays appear—and how they move through the coast—begins to change.

    Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) are highly mobile schooling rays that use North Carolina sounds, estuaries, and nearshore waters during the warmer months. Through summer they may be scattered across that habitat, sometimes appearing alone or in small groups over shallow flats and sounds. As fall develops, rays that have been using North Carolina estuaries begin moving toward the ocean side, while migrants arriving from farther north join the same southbound corridor along the Carolina coast.

    That is when larger schools can become more noticeable along the beaches and nearshore waters. Their movement continues south toward winter habitat off Florida, with cooling water helping shape when they leave northern and estuarine habitats (Goodman et al., 2010; Omori & Fisher, 2017; Bangley et al., 2021).

    Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) traveling in a school, a familiar sight as they gather and move along the coast in fall. | Image credit: Chesapeake Bay Program
    Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) traveling in a school, a familiar sight as they gather and move along the coast in fall. | Image credit: Chesapeake Bay Program

    For someone watching from Topsail, the rays seen scattered through the sound during summer can become part of something much larger by fall. A few dark wings moving over an estuarine flat may give way to schools traveling along the ocean side as North Carolina becomes part of the passage between northern summer waters and winter habitat farther south.

    Southern stingrays (Hypanus americanus) make a quieter seasonal shift. Their summer presence along North Carolina is part of a much older warm-season pattern, with southern stingrays historically documented moving north along the Carolina coast as warmer water expands their usable habitat (Coles, 1913).

    Southern stingray (Hypanus americanus) resting on the seafloor, where this bottom-oriented ray remains closely tied to benthic habitat even as it shifts seasonally. | Image credit: © Steve M. Schelb
    Southern stingray (Hypanus americanus) resting on the seafloor, where this bottom-oriented ray remains closely tied to benthic habitat even as it shifts seasonally. | Image credit: © Steve M. Schelb

    Unlike cownose rays traveling in schools higher in the water column, southern stingrays remain closely tied to the bottom. Through summer, they can be a familiar sight moving over warm sand and mud flats, along creek mouths, and through shallow estuarine water as they search the bottom for worms, bivalves, shrimp, crabs, and small fishes. Even when they move between habitats, much of that movement remains along or just above the benthic surface rather than through open water (Gilliam & Sullivan, 1993; Tilley et al., 2013).

    As the shallow flats cool through fall, they become less common in the places where beachgoers may have seen them repeatedly through July and August. Their seasonal movement is not mapped nearly as clearly in North Carolina as that of cownose rays, so we cannot point to one temperature or one offshore route. What we can say is that southern stingrays are capable of moving between shallow flats and considerably deeper bottom habitat while remaining closely associated with the seafloor (Coles, 1913; Corcoran et al., 2013).

    For someone watching the shallows, that change may simply look like absence. The stingray that repeatedly crossed the same warm flat all summer is suddenly harder to find—not because it has joined a large southbound school above the bottom, but because its usable benthic habitat has shifted beyond the shallows where it was easiest to see.

    Red Drum Gather at the Edges

    Red drum (Sciaenops ocellatus), and our state fish, add another layer to the fall movement. Young fish spend their first years closely tied to estuaries, growing quickly from roughly 12 to 14 inches by their first birthday to more than 27 inches during their second full year. They do not reach reproductive maturity quite as quickly, however. In North Carolina, most become mature around ages three to four, when they are roughly 30 to 36 inches long (Ross et al., 1995).

    Red drum (Sciaenops ocellatus) grow in estuaries when young, while larger adults gather around inlets and nearshore waters during late-summer and fall spawning. | Image credit: colesutton, iNaturalist
    Red drum (Sciaenops ocellatus) grow in estuaries when young, while larger adults gather around inlets and nearshore waters during late-summer and fall spawning. | Image credit: colesutton, iNaturalist

    That difference is something a beachgoer or angler can actually see. The smaller “puppy drum” encountered along marsh edges, creeks, and sounds are still growing within the estuarine part of their life cycle, while the much larger fish appearing around beaches and inlets are increasingly part of the adult population that spends more time in coastal and ocean waters.
    By late summer and early fall, mature red drum gather around inlets, beaches, and nearshore waters, where spawning and feeding can overlap. In North Carolina, spawning occurs from August into early October near barrier-island inlets and adjacent coastal waters. During that same period, adults move more actively between estuarine and ocean habitats (Ross et al., 1995; Bacheler et al., 2009).

    That puts a large red drum outside New River Inlet directly into the same corridor carrying mullet, menhaden, shrimp, spot, croaker, and other prey toward the ocean. It may be there to spawn, to feed, or simply because its own seasonal movement has brought it into the same narrow stretch of coast.

    As fall gives way to winter, mature adults increasingly move into ocean waters where temperatures remain more moderate, while younger red drum are much more likely to remain behind in the estuary (Stewart & Scharf, 2008).

    The Offshore Visitors Come Close

    Fall also brings some animals toward the coast before eventually carrying them away.

    King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla) are warm-water fish that seldom move into water much below about 68°F. Through summer and the warmer part of fall, they can move surprisingly close to the beaches, inlet mouths, and nearshore reefs of North Carolina, following schools of menhaden, mullet, sardines, and other prey into places where a beachgoer or pier angler may suddenly encounter a fish that spends much of its time farther offshore (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2022).

    That window does not last. As coastal water continues cooling toward the lower edge of their preferred range, king mackerel begin shifting south and farther toward the warmer waters of the continental shelf. By winter, much of the Atlantic population has moved toward southern Florida, while some fish remain in deeper North Carolina waters near the Gulf Stream (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2022).

    For a few weeks, that creates an unusual overlap along the Onslow coast. Animals moving out of the estuary meet predators moving closer to shore to feed, while other migrants are already passing south or beginning their move offshore. An inlet or artificial reef that seemed relatively quiet several weeks earlier can suddenly sit at the crossing point of several different seasonal routes.

    For a short time, it becomes an intersection.

    Then the Menhaden Arrive

    By October and November, another migration becomes increasingly visible.

    Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus) move south along the Atlantic coast as fall deepens, with older and larger fish returning from summer waters farther north. Spawning can occur along the migration route from late fall into early spring, but one of the major winter gathering areas lies off North Carolina near Cape Hatteras (Lewis et al., 1987; Nicholson, 1978).

    For Onslow County, that means some of the dark schools appearing beyond the breakers are part of a much larger coastwide movement passing our beaches on the way toward winter spawning waters.

    Menhaden occupy an unusual place in the coastal food web. They filter tiny phytoplankton and zooplankton from the water, then gather that scattered production into dense schools of oily fish large enough for predators to chase (Lewis & Peters, 1994). Bluefish, striped bass, sharks, tunas, dolphins, and seabirds all take advantage of them, making menhaden one of the connections between plankton near the bottom of the food web and some of the largest predators along the coast (Chagaris et al., 2020; Lewis & Peters, 1994).

    For a beachgoer, the first sign may simply be a dark patch offshore that does not move like a shadow. Then birds begin gathering above it. The surface breaks as predators push into the school from below, and what looked like an indistinct patch of water suddenly becomes one of the busiest places along the beach.

    That is when looking up becomes as important as looking into the water.

    Because another migration has arrived.

    The Atlantic Flyway Meets the Fall Fish Run

    The Atlantic Flyway follows the eastern edge of North America, placing the North Carolina coast directly beneath one of the continent’s major migration routes. For birds traveling hundreds or thousands of miles between breeding and wintering grounds, Onslow County is not simply coastline passing beneath their wings. Its beaches, marshes, tidal flats, sounds, and inlets can provide places to rest and replenish the energy needed for the next part of the journey (Smith et al., 2022).

    The Atlantic Flyway follows the eastern edge of North America, carrying migrating birds directly along the North Carolina coast. | Image credit: Audubon
    The Atlantic Flyway follows the eastern edge of North America, carrying migrating birds directly along the North Carolina coast. | Image credit: Audubon

    Fall makes that stop especially busy because the migration overhead is unfolding at the same time the water below is changing. Shrimp are moving out of creeks. Mullet and other fishes are funneling toward the inlets. Schools of bait gather along the beaches, and menhaden begin moving down the coast. For birds that feed on fishes and coastal invertebrates, those movements can turn the Onslow shoreline into a series of feeding opportunities along the Atlantic Flyway.

    But the transition is not a clean exchange in which the summer birds simply leave and winter birds immediately take their places. It happens gradually, with departures, arrivals, and birds merely passing through overlapping for weeks.

    The Birds Moving Through or South

    Some of the first changes are easiest to notice in the marsh. Green herons (Butorides virescens) begin moving south from late August through October, while least bitterns (Ixobrychus exilis) also leave much of their northern breeding range for warmer winter habitat. A bird that spent summer hunting from the edge of a tidal creek may simply become harder to find as September advances (Smith et al., 2022).

    Along the beaches and nesting islands, the summer community begins loosening in several directions at once. Wilson’s plovers (Anarhynchus wilsonia), least terns (Sternula antillarum), gull-billed terns (Gelochelidon nilotica), black skimmers (Rynchops niger), and sandwich terns (Thalasseus sandvicensis) begin leaving breeding areas or redistributing south along the coast. Royal terns (Thalasseus maximus) may linger longer, while ospreys (Pandion haliaetus) begin following waterways and coastlines toward wintering grounds farther south (North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission, 2025; Smith et al., 2022).

    The shorebirds make the transition even less tidy.

    The eastern Willet (Tringa semipalmata semipalmata) breeds in Atlantic salt marshes, including those along the North Carolina coast, before leaving for wintering grounds that can lie as far away as northern South America. But the Willet standing on a Topsail flat in fall is not automatically one of the birds that nested here. Western Willets (Tringa semipalmata inornata), which breed in the interior of western North America, can also occur along the Atlantic coast outside the breeding season. For a few weeks, birds from very different summer landscapes may use the same Carolina shoreline (Oswald et al., 2016; Huysman et al., 2022).

    Lesser yellowlegs (Tringa flavipes) and greater yellowlegs (Tringa melanoleuca) add another layer of passing traffic. They arrive from breeding grounds much farther north, with adults beginning their southward movements as early as July and younger birds following later. Along coastal North Carolina, exposed flats, shallow marsh edges, and pools of tidal water become temporary feeding grounds along that journey (Smith et al., 2022).

    That makes the falling tide part of the migration too. A mudflat that looked empty beneath the previous high tide can suddenly hold Willets, yellowlegs, plovers, and other shorebirds probing exposed sediment for worms, small crustaceans, mollusks, and other prey. North Carolina barrier-island studies have found fall shorebirds shifting among the swash zone, wet sand, spits, and tidal habitat as water levels change, using different pieces of the shoreline for feeding and resting through the tidal cycle (Tarr, 2008).

    For some of those birds, the stop may last days. For others, only hours. The tide falls, a feeding ground appears, and birds moving along the Atlantic coast briefly settle into it before the water—or the migration—carries them onward.

    The Winter Coast Begins Arriving

    The winter coast does not arrive all at once. Its first birds begin appearing in September, more follow through October, and by November the sounds, marshes, and beaches of Onslow County can hold a noticeably different community than they did at the end of summer.

    On the sounds and protected water behind the barrier islands, buffleheads (Bucephala albeola) begin settling into sheltered coves, bays, and estuaries, repeatedly disappearing beneath the surface in search of small crustaceans, mollusks, and other aquatic prey. Red-breasted mergansers (Mergus serrator) arrive as well, often working shallow coastal water and estuaries in small groups as they dive after fish (Gauthier, 1993; Titman, 1999; Smith et al., 2022).

    The marsh begins changing at the same time. American black ducks (Anas rubripes) appear more regularly in salt marshes, tidal creeks, ponds, and estuaries, while Green-winged teal (Anas crecca) increase in shallow protected water. Both spent the breeding season much farther north, but by fall the sounds and marshes of the Atlantic coast have become part of their winter landscape (Robinson et al., 2016; Smith et al., 2022).

    Along the ocean side, the change is visible at the water’s edge. Dunlin (Calidris alpina), sanderlings (Calidris alba), red knots (Calidris canutus), and black-bellied plovers (Pluvialis squatarola) begin working beaches, shoals, exposed flats, and inlet margins. Some will remain along the southeastern coast through winter, while others are pausing only long enough to feed before continuing south. As the tide falls they spread across wet sand and exposed flats; when the water returns, they are gradually pushed toward higher beaches and roosting areas (Burger et al., 2012; Smith et al., 2022; Tarr, 2008).

    Red knots make the scale of that movement especially clear. A bird standing quietly near the wrack line may have arrived from Arctic breeding grounds and may still be headed toward winter habitat in the southeastern United States, the Caribbean, or northern South America. Individual birds do not all travel the same route or distance, but for some, the Carolina coast is only one stop in a journey spanning thousands of miles (Burger et al., 2012; Smith et al., 2022).

    That changes what a quiet fall beach can mean. The wet sand, tidal flats, wrack, marshes, and sheltered water are not empty spaces between destinations. For birds arriving from the north, they are places to replace the energy already spent before the next part of the migration begins.

    When the Food Web Takes to the Air

    Fall adds another layer of hunters above the shoreline.

    Peregrine falcons (Falco peregrinus) move south along the Atlantic coast during migration, often following the same barrier islands, mudflats, and shorelines being used by migrating shorebirds. They are not interested in the mullet, shrimp, or menhaden moving below the surface. They are interested in the birds feeding around them. Shorebirds, ducks, gulls, and other coastal birds become prey themselves, adding another level to the food web moving through the coast (Smith et al., 2022).

    Farther offshore, the change becomes visible in a different way. Double-crested cormorants (Nannopterum auritum) arrive along the Carolina coast in large numbers and spend much of their time diving after fish. Menhaden are among the schooling fishes they readily take, tying these winter visitors directly into the same fall movement already passing through the inlets and along the beaches (Watts et al., 2023).

    Red-throated loons (Gavia stellata) and common loons (Gavia immer) begin appearing along the ocean side as well. Both spend the warmer months much farther north, but by late fall they are back in shallow marine waters, sounds, bays, and estuaries where fish are abundant. A bird that spent summer on a northern lake or tundra pond may now be diving just beyond the breakers along Topsail (Stenhouse et al., 2020; Smith et al., 2022).

    Then come the northern gannets (Morus bassanus).

    By late fall, they become one of the most spectacular signs that the seasonal food web has shifted. Northern gannets spend much of the nonbreeding season between New York and North Carolina, feeding almost entirely on schooling fishes such as herring, mackerel, and menhaden over the continental shelf (Mowbray, 2020; Smith et al., 2022).

    From shore, a feeding aggregation can seem to appear from nowhere. Large white birds circle above a patch of ocean, fold their wings, and plunge headfirst into the water. One follows another until dozens may be dropping into the same moving patch of sea.

    The important thing may not be the gannets themselves, but what they are pointing toward.
    Beneath them is a school of fish. Around that school may be bluefish, sharks, dolphins, or other large predators pushing the same prey toward the surface. The birds above and the predators below are using the same concentration of food from opposite directions.

    What began months earlier as plankton, marsh production, and small animals feeding inside estuaries has now moved far enough through the food web to become visible from the beach as birds falling out of the sky.

    What Happens if One Migration Does Not Arrive?

    It is easy to think about migration as something belonging to individual species—the mullet run, the shrimp migration, the shark migration, the Atlantic Flyway. But the coast does not experience those movements separately. Predators are responding to prey, young fishes are entering estuaries when nursery habitat and food are available, adults are leaving when spawning habitat lies offshore, and blue crabs are moving between different salinity zones because different stages of their lives depend on different parts of the estuary (Warlen & Burke, 1990; Forward et al., 2003).

    That means a change in one migration does not necessarily stop with the animal making it.

    If fewer mullet leave an estuary, there may be less concentrated prey moving along the beach for bluefish, sharks, pelicans, and terns. The difference is not simply fewer mullet in one place. Some of the energy that spent summer accumulating inside the estuary now reaches the nearshore food web in a different amount, at a different time, or along a different route (Bacheler et al., 2005).

    White shrimp show how quickly those relationships can shift. Heavy rainfall lowers estuarine salinity and can push shrimp toward the inlet earlier than they might have moved during a drier fall. Predators farther inside the estuary may encounter fewer shrimp, while those gathered nearer the inlet may suddenly encounter more. The migration still happens, but its timing changes where that pulse of food becomes available (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    Temperature can alter the overlap in another way. A coastal shark that remains farther north later into a warm fall may not encounter its prey in quite the same places or at quite the same time if those prey are responding to a different set of seasonal cues. Warmer ocean conditions are already capable of delaying southward shark migrations and extending how long some species remain in northern seasonal habitat (Manz et al., 2025).

    None of this means every migration must occur on the same date each year. Coastal systems have always varied with storms, rainfall, temperature, currents, and food availability. What matters is that the movements continue to cross one another often enough for the relationships among them to persist.

    A predator still has to encounter its prey. A larva still has to reach suitable nursery habitat, and a migrating bird still has to find enough food to continue south.

    The timing does not have to be exact, but the meeting still has to happen.

    Watching the Coast Change

    By September, the first changes are already beginning. Mullet gather near the inlets, shrimp move out of tidal creeks, rays become less common over shallow flats, and feeding birds begin revealing where bait has collected near the surface.

    By October and November, the same places can hold a very different community. Some animals have moved only a few miles into deeper water, while others are passing Onslow County on journeys that continue far beyond the Carolina coast.

    The landscape itself looks much the same. New River Inlet still cuts through the barrier island. The marsh grass still bends with the wind. The same beach stretches north and south.
    What changes is who is moving through it.

    For a few months each fall, Onslow County becomes a meeting place between departures, arrivals, and animals simply shifting into the next piece of habitat they need.

    The landscape stays where it is.
    The food web moves through it.

    Wilson Bay along the New River in Jacksonville, North Carolina. The landscape stays where it is, even as the food web moves through it. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    Wilson Bay along the New River in Jacksonville, North Carolina. The landscape stays where it is, even as the food web moves through it. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

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    North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries. (2026). Fishery management plan update: Spanish mackerel. North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality. https://www.deq.nc.gov/marine-fisheries/fisheries-management/spanish-mackerel/open

    North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries. (2026). Fishery management plan update: Black drum. North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality. https://www.deq.nc.gov/marine-fisheries/fisheries-management/black-drum-fmp-update-2026/open

    North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries. (2026). Fishery management plan update: False albacore. North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality. https://www.deq.nc.gov/marine-fisheries/fisheries-management/false-albacore-fmp-update-2026-0/open

    North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission. (2025). 2025 North Carolina Wildlife Action Plan. https://www.ncwildlife.gov/state-wildlife-action-plan

    Omori, K. L., & Fisher, R. A. (2017). Summer and fall movement of cownose ray, Rhinoptera bonasus, along the East Coast of United States observed with pop-up satellite tags. Environmental Biology of Fishes, 100(11), 1435-1449. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10641-017-0654-6

    Oswald, J. A., Harvey, M. G., Remsen, R. C., Foxworth, D. U., Cardiff, S. W., Dittmann, D. L., Megna, L. C., Carling, M. D., & Brumfield, R. T. (2016). Willet be one species or two? A genomic view of the evolutionary history of Tringa semipalmata. The Auk, 133(4), 593-614. https://doi.org/10.1642/auk-15-232.1

    Packer, D. B. (1999). Essential fish habitat source document. Summer flounder, Paralichthys dentatus, life history and habitat characteristics (NOAA Technical Memorandum NMFS-NE-151). National Marine Fisheries Service. https://repository.library.noaa.gov/view/noaa/3149

    Robinson, O. J., McGowan, C. P., & Devers, P. K. (2016). Updating movement estimates for American Black ducks (Anas rubripes). PeerJ, 4, e1787. https://doi.org/10.7717/peerj.1787

    Roskar, G., Morley, J. W., & Buckel, J. A. (2024). Seasonality and relative abundance within an elasmobranch assemblage near a major biogeographic divide. PLOS ONE, 19(6), e0300697. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0300697

    Ross, J. L., Stevens, T. M., & Vaughan, D. S. (1995). Age, growth, mortality, and reproductive biology of red drums in North Carolina waters. Transactions of the American Fisheries Society, 124(1), 37-54. https://doi.org/10.1577/1548-8659(1995)124<0037:agmarb>2.3.co;2

    Ross, S. W. (1988). Age, growth, and mortality of Atlantic croaker in North Carolina, with comments on population dynamics. Transactions of the American Fisheries Society, 117(5), 461-473. https://doi.org/10.1577/1548-8659(1988)117<0461:agamoa>2.3.co;2

    Smith, M. A., Mahoney, J., Knight, E. J., Taylor, L., Seavy, N. E., Bailey, O. H., Carbone, M., DeLuca, W., Gonzalez, N. S., Jimenez, M. F., W. O’Bryan, G. M., Rao, N., Witko, C. J., Wilsey, C., & Deppe, J. L. (2022). Bird Migration Explorer. National Audubon Society. https://explorer.audubon.org/

    Stenhouse, I. J., Berlin, A. M., Gilbert, A. T., Goodale, M. W., Gray, C. E., Montevecchi, W. A., Savoy, L., & Spiegel, C. S. (2020). Assessing the exposure of three diving bird species to offshore wind areas on the U.S. Atlantic outer continental shelf using satellite telemetry. Diversity and Distributions, 26(12), 1703-1714. https://doi.org/10.1111/ddi.13168

    Stewart, C. B., & Scharf, F. S. (2008). Estuarine recruitment, growth, and first‐year survival of juvenile red drum in North Carolina. Transactions of the American Fisheries Society, 137(4), 1089-1103. https://doi.org/10.1577/t07-176.1

    Sutherland, D. F., & Fable, Jr., W. A. (1980). Results of a king mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla) and Atlantic Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) migration study, 1975–79 (NOAA Technical Memorandum NMFS-SEFC-12). National Marine Fisheries Service. https://repository.library.noaa.gov/view/noaa/5385

    Tarr, N. M. (2008). Fall migration and vehicle disturbance of shorebirds at South Core Banks, North Carolina [Master’s thesis]. https://repository.lib.ncsu.edu/items/c75ee0d7-84e5-419b-b90c-e253cf809561

    Tilley, A., López-Angarita, J., & Turner, J. (2013). Effects of scale and habitat distribution on the movement of the southern stingray Dasyatis americana on a Caribbean atoll. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 482, 169-179. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps10285

    Titman, R. D. (n.d.). Red-breasted Merganser (Mergus serrator). In The Birds of North America (443rd ed.). A. Poole & F. Gill.

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    Watts, B. D., Paxton, B. J., Hines, C., & Anderson, S. K. (2023). Estimating potential menhaden consumption by double-crested cormorants along the coast of North Carolina. Frontiers in Marine Science, 10, 1193429. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2023.1193429

    White, M. L., & Chittenden, Jr., M. E. (1977). Age determination, reproduction, and population dynamics of the Atlantic croaker, Micropogonias undulatus. Fishery Bulletin, 75(1), 109-123.

  • The Fish That Follows the Tide: American Eels Along the Waters of Onslow County

    The Fish That Follows the Tide: American Eels Along the Waters of Onslow County

    Most people who see an American eel (Anguilla rostrata) for the first time do not think they are looking at a fish at all.

    They appear suddenly in shallow blackwater creeks, beneath dock lights, beside culverts after rain, or slipping through spartina grass at dusk. Long and muscular, they move more like a snake than something belonging to a river. In muddy water they are usually seen only in fragments — a curve disappearing beneath tannin-dark current, or a ripple crossing the surface where something alive passed moments earlier.

    Along the coast of Onslow County, American eels have likely moved through these waters longer than the marshes themselves have held their present shape. They pass through tidal creeks, estuaries, freshwater streams, flooded ditches, cypress swamps, and inland rivers, connecting habitats that often seem separate to us but function together as one living system.

    And almost no one realizes that every eel seen here began life far out at sea.

    Born Beyond the Horizon

    The life cycle of the American eel along the waters of  Onslow County spans thousands of miles, linking the Sargasso Sea, Atlantic coast, estuaries, marshes, rivers, and inland lakes through a single migration that can last decades. | Image credit: U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service
    The American eel’s life cycle spans thousands of miles, linking the Sargasso Sea, Atlantic coast, estuaries, marshes, rivers, and inland lakes through a single migration that can last decades. | Image credit: U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service

    Far offshore, beyond the continental shelf and beyond the visible horizon of North Carolina’s beaches, lies the Sargasso Sea — a warm, rotating gyre of Atlantic water bordered by ocean currents rather than land. This is where American eels spawn, though much of their reproduction still remains one of the great biological mysteries of the Atlantic Ocean (Béguer‐Pon et al., 2015).After hatching, eel larvae drift for months within the Gulf Stream. At this stage they do not yet resemble eels. They are thin, transparent, leaf-shaped organisms called leptocephali, nearly invisible against the open ocean (Wang & Tzeng, 2000).

    Leptocephali, the larval stage of the American eel, drift within the Atlantic Ocean currents for months before transforming into glass eels and entering coastal estuaries. | Image credit: hunterefs, iNaturalist
    Leptocephali, the larval stage of the American eel, drift within the Atlantic Ocean currents for months before transforming into glass eels and entering coastal estuaries. | Image credit: hunterefs, iNaturalist

    As they approach the coastline, their bodies begin to transform. The broad leaf-like shape narrows into the familiar eel form. Their organs reorganize. Their muscles strengthen. By the time they arrive in estuaries along the Atlantic coast, they have become what scientists call glass eels — small, transparent juveniles that move into tidal rivers and marshes under the cover of darkness (Starks, 2026).

    Glass eels, the transparent juvenile stage of the American eel, gather along coastlines before moving inland through estuaries, marshes, and rivers. | Image credit: W. O’Connor
    Glass eels, the transparent juvenile stage of the American eel, gather along coastlines before moving inland through estuaries, marshes, and rivers. | Image credit: W. O’Connor

    At night in late winter and spring, these glass eels enter coastal waters by the thousands. Most people never notice them. But beneath bridge lights and along quiet marsh edges, tiny transparent bodies gather against the current, moving inland on tides that have repeated for thousands of years.

    Some settle into estuaries. Others continue far upriver into freshwater creeks and reservoirs. A single eel may spend decades there before returning once again to the open Atlantic.

    As they continue growing, American eels pass through a series of color changes that reflect different stages of their life cycle. Newly arrived glass eels are nearly transparent. Within months they develop pigmentation and become elvers, often showing olive, brown, or yellowish coloration. During the longest phase of their lives they are known as yellow eels, displaying yellow-brown to olive sides with lighter undersides while feeding and growing in estuaries, rivers, and wetlands for years or even decades (ASMFC, 2017; Haro et al., 2000). As they mature and prepare for their return migration to the Sargasso Sea, they transform into silver eels. Their bodies darken along the back, their sides become silvery, and their eyes enlarge — adaptations that help prepare them for life in the open ocean and their final spawning migration (Haro et al., 2000; Tesch & White, 2008).

    American eels change dramatically throughout their lives, from transparent leptocephali and glass eels to yellow eels in estuaries and rivers before developing the silver coloration of spawning adults returning to the Sargasso Sea. | Image credit: C. Bowser & R. Papish
    American eels change dramatically throughout their lives, from transparent leptocephali and glass eels to yellow eels in estuaries and rivers before developing the silver coloration of spawning adults returning to the Sargasso Sea. | Image credit: C. Bowser & R. Papish

    The Marsh at Night

    American eels are largely nocturnal, which means many people living along the coast rarely realize how common they are.

    After sunset, they emerge from submerged roots, oyster reefs, marsh undercuts, rock piles, and mud-bottom channels to feed. In tidal creeks around Onslow County, they move through habitats that shift constantly with salinity, rainfall, temperature, and tide.

    Unlike many fish that specialize in one narrow environment, eels are remarkably flexible. They can tolerate freshwater, brackish estuaries, and saltwater marsh systems throughout different stages of life (Able, 2005).

    This flexibility makes them important ecological connectors between habitats.

    An eel feeding in an estuary may consume shrimp, small fish, crabs, worms, insect larvae, and carrion. Larger eels become predators capable of feeding on nearly anything they can overpower. In turn, they become prey themselves for river otters, wading birds, striped bass, sharks, alligators, ospreys, and larger coastal predators (MacGregor et al., 2009).

    What appears at first to be a strange solitary fish is actually woven through multiple levels of the food web.

    American eels help transfer energy through the ecosystem, linking marsh invertebrates, small fish, and larger predators with the waters of Onslow County. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    American eels help transfer energy through the ecosystem, linking marsh invertebrates, small fish, and larger predators with the waters of Onslow County. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    Ancient Currents and Modern Coastlines

    And in a much deeper sense, eels also connect modern coastal ecosystems to ancient worlds that existed long before humans reshaped shorelines. Their lineage stretches back tens of millions of years, surviving repeated shifts in sea level, climate, and continental geography. Long before beach renourishment projects, before the Outer Banks existed in their present form, and even before many modern mammals evolved, ancestral eels were already moving between oceans and coastal rivers (Inoue et al., 2010).

    That timeline overlaps surprisingly well with the broader environmental history explored in my earlier posts. During the Carboniferous Period over 300 million years ago, vast swamp forests covered portions of what would eventually become eastern North America, laying down the organic material that later formed coal deposits (Sahney et al., 2010). The world looked entirely different then, but the shallow coastal environments that support migratory fish today evolved from ancient marine systems shaped across those immense spans of geologic time.

    By 66 million years ago — around the end-Cretaceous extinction that eliminated non-avian dinosaurs — early eel relatives already existed in ancient seas (Near et al., 2012). Modern American eels evolved much later, but their migratory strategy reflects something extraordinarily old: the continual exchange between ocean currents, estuaries, rivers, and wetlands.

    Fossil eels resembling modern species appear in the geologic record tens of millions of years ago, reflecting a lineage that has persisted through changing oceans, shifting coastlines, and repeated cycles of environmental change. | Image credit: Fossil Forum
    Fossil eels resembling modern species appear in the geologic record tens of millions of years ago, reflecting a lineage that has persisted through changing oceans, shifting coastlines, and repeated cycles of environmental change. | Image credit: Fossil Forum

    Beach renourishment, by contrast, exists on an almost microscopic timescale geologically. Most projects reshape shorelines over years or decades, temporarily altering sediment movement, inlet dynamics, turbidity, and nearshore habitat. Eels are resilient enough to survive natural coastal change — hurricanes, shifting barrier islands, overwash events, and migrating inlets that have continually transformed the Atlantic coast. But human-driven shoreline modification can compress those disturbances into shorter, more frequent intervals that affect how juvenile eels enter estuaries and move inland.

    So while beach renourishment itself is modern, the habitats it alters are part of a coastal system assembled over millions of years — one that species like the American eel have been navigating since long before the present coastline existed.

    Their ecological importance is recognized even within local fisheries. In many areas, crab pots are now designed with eel escapement openings that allow smaller American eels to exit traps rather than become unintended bycatch. These modifications help reduce eel mortality while acknowledging the species’ role in maintaining healthy estuarine ecosystems.

    The Animal That Connects Rivers

    Many coastal species remain tied to a single environment. Oyster reefs remain fixed in estuaries. Marsh periwinkle snails cling to grass stems. Flounder shift between nearshore and estuarine waters but remain marine fish.

    American eels move between worlds.

    A juvenile eel may travel from offshore Atlantic currents into a coastal marsh creek, then into freshwater rivers hundreds of miles inland before eventually returning to the Sargasso Sea years later to spawn. Very few animals along the Atlantic coast connect ecosystems across such enormous distances.

    American eels connect ecosystems across the Atlantic Ocean, beginning life in the Sargasso Sea before dispersing into estuaries, rivers, lakes, and wetlands throughout eastern North America. } Image credit: L. Poirier
    American eels connect ecosystems across the Atlantic Ocean, beginning life in the Sargasso Sea before dispersing into estuaries, rivers, lakes, and wetlands throughout eastern North America. } Image credit: L. Poirier

    Because of this, eels transport energy and nutrients between habitats that otherwise remain loosely connected. Predators feeding on eels receive marine-derived nutrients that originated far offshore. When adult eels migrate back toward the Atlantic, they carry inland energy back toward the ocean system (Jessop et al., 2020).

    Even freshwater mussels depend upon them.

    Several mussel species release microscopic larvae called glochidia that temporarily attach to fish hosts while developing. Research in Mid-Atlantic rivers has shown that American eels are one of the most successful hosts for some native mussel species, helping sustain mussel populations throughout eastern river systems (Schwalb et al., 2013).

    So beneath the surface, the eel is doing more than surviving for itself. It is helping move life through the watershed.

    What Happens When Eels Decline

    Globally, the American eel is listed as “endangered, but stable” on the IUCN Red List because of long-term population declines across much of its range (IUCN, 2023). In the United States, however, the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service has concluded the species does not currently require federal protection under the Endangered Species Act. The Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission determined that their populations are largely depleted in U. S. waters and have recommended continued monitoring of their populations because their life cycle depends upon the health and connectivity of both freshwater and marine environments (ASMFC, 2026).

    For centuries, rivers along the Atlantic coast held far larger eel populations than they do today.

    In many parts of the eastern United States, dams and hydroelectric turbines block migration routes and kill adults moving back downstream toward the ocean. Those barriers have severely reduced eel access to inland habitat across major river systems (Haro et al., 2000).

    Onslow County is different.

    The New River estuary is not fed by large mountain rivers or controlled by dams upstream. It is a relatively closed coastal watershed shaped instead by rainfall, groundwater springs, blackwater creeks, tidal exchange, runoff, and low-gradient streams winding through wetlands and forests. Here, eel movement depends less on navigating massive river barriers and more on the health and connectivity of marshes, culverts, floodplains, tidal creeks, and shallow estuarine habitat.

    That makes local environmental changes especially important.

    Wetland loss, shoreline hardening, stormwater runoff, dredging, declining water quality, and altered tidal flow can fragment the smaller pathways eels rely upon throughout the watershed. Even undersized culverts or poorly designed drainage structures can interrupt movement between creeks and flooded wetlands during critical migration periods.

    Barrier islands also shape the system eels enter.

    Along the Onslow coast, shifting inlets, overwash events, and beach renourishment projects continually reshape the boundary between ocean and estuary. In some cases, renourishment can temporarily increase turbidity, bury nearshore habitat, or alter tidal exchange patterns affecting juvenile eel recruitment into estuarine creeks. At the same time, healthy barrier islands and functioning marsh systems help buffer salinity extremes, reduce erosion, and maintain the sheltered estuarine habitat young eels depend upon once they arrive from the Atlantic.

    Because eels use so many habitats, their decline spreads outward through the ecosystem in ways people may not immediately notice.

    River otters lose an important prey source in some waterways. Mussel reproduction declines where host fish disappear. Predators that once relied seasonally on eels shift toward other prey. The disappearance of a species that connects marshes, rivers, estuaries, and offshore currents weakens the ecological ties between those environments.

    And unlike species that reproduce quickly, eels recover slowly.

    An eel living beneath a dock in coastal North Carolina may already be older than the child fishing above it. Some females remain inland for decades before ever returning to spawn (Haro et al., 2000). Every interruption between inland waters and the sea disrupts a migration pattern older than modern coastlines themselves.

    The Fish Most People Never See

    On warm summer nights in coastal North Carolina, much of the estuary moves unseen.

    Shrimp rise into the water column. Rays cross shallow mudflats beneath darkness. Juvenile fish gather around dock lights. Crabs emerge from oyster beds to forage with the tide.

    And somewhere below that shifting water, an eel moves silently between habitats, carrying the Atlantic inland and returning inland waters back toward the sea.

    Most people standing along the shoreline will never know it is there.

    But the marsh still holds the traces of its passage. So do the river otters weaving through flooded reeds and the herons stalking the quiet creek edges at dusk.

    The tidal creeks of Onslow County continue shaping themselves around an animal whose life still stretches beyond much of human observation — from blackwater rivers to the open Atlantic, and back again.

    Hidden beneath dark water and shifting tides, American eels remain one of the Atlantic coast's most remarkable connections between ocean, estuary, and river. | Image credit: E. Smith, iNaturalist
    Hidden beneath dark water and shifting tides, American eels remain one of the Atlantic coast’s most remarkable connections between ocean, estuary, and river. | Image credit: E. Smith, iNaturalist

    References

    Able, K. W. (2005). A re-examination of fish estuarine dependence: Evidence for connectivity between estuarine and ocean habitats. Estuarine, Coastal and Shelf Science, 64(1), 5-17. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecss.2005.02.002

    ASMFC. (2026). American Eel. Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission. https://asmfc.org/species/american-eel/

    Béguer-Pon, M., Castonguay, M., Shan, S., Benchetrit, J., & Dodson, J. J. (2015). Direct observations of American eels migrating across the continental shelf to the Sargasso Sea. Nature Communications, 6(1). https://doi.org/10.1038/ncomms9705

    Haro, A., Richkus, W., Whalen, K., Hoar, A., Busch, W., Lary, S., Brush, T., & Dixon, D. (2000). Population decline of the American eel: Implications for research and management. Fisheries, 25(9), 7-16. https://doi.org/10.1577/1548-8446(2000)025<0007:pdotae>2.0.co;2

    Inoue, J. G., Miya, M., Miller, M. J., Sado, T., Hanel, R., Hatooka, K., Aoyama, J., Minegishi, Y., Nishida, M., & Tsukamoto, K. (2010). Deep-ocean origin of the freshwater eels. Biology Letters, 6(3), 363-366. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsbl.2009.0989

    Jessop, B. M. (2020). Oceanic environmental effects on American eel recruitment to the east river, Chester, Nova Scotia. Marine and Coastal Fisheries, 12(4), 222-237. https://doi.org/10.1002/mcf2.10121

    MacGregor, R., Casselman, J. M., Allen, W. A., Haxton, T., Dettmers, J. M., Mathers, A., LaPan, S., Pratt, T. C., Thompson, P., Stanfield, M., Marcogliese, L., & Dutil, J. D. (2009). Natural Heritage, Anthropogenic Impacts, and Biopolitical Issues Related to the Status and Sustainable Management of American Eel: A Retrospective Analysis and Management Perspective at the Population Level. American Fisheries Society Symposium, 69, 713-740. https://www.thelandbetween.ca/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/Anacat_Final_Final-reprint_-macgregor.pdf

    Near, T. J., Eytan, R. I., Dornburg, A., Kuhn, K. L., Moore, J. A., Davis, M. P., Wainwright, P. C., Friedman, M., & Smith, W. L. (2012). Resolution of ray-finned fish phylogeny and timing of diversification. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 109(34), 13698-13703. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1206625109

    Pike, C., Casselman, J., Crook, V., DeLucia, M. B., Jacoby, D., & Gollock, M. (2023). Anguilla rostrata. The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. https://dx.doi.org/10.2305/IUCN.UK.2023-1.RLTS.T191108A129638652

    Sahney, S., Benton, M. J., & Falcon-Lang, H. J. (2010). Rainforest collapse triggered Carboniferous tetrapod diversification in Euramerica. Geology, 38(12), 1079-1082. https://doi.org/10.1130/g31182.1

    Schwalb, A. N., Cottenie, K., Poos, M. S., & Ackerman, J. D. (2011). Dispersal limitation of unionid mussels and implications for their conservation. Freshwater Biology, 56(8), 1509-1518. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2427.2011.02587.x

    Starks, C. (2026). Interstate Fisheries Management Program Overview: American Eel (May 2026). Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission. https://asmfc.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/4.AmericanEel_May-2026.pdf

    Tesch, F. W., & White, R. J. (2008). The eel (5th ed.). John Wiley & Sons.

    Wang, C., & Tzeng, W. (2000). The timing of metamorphosis and growth rates of American and European eel leptocephali: A mechanism of larval segregative migration. Fisheries Research, 46(1-3), 191-205. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0165-7836(00)00146-6

  • Fish That Break the Rules: Unusual Anatomy Along the Edge of Onslow County

    Fish That Break the Rules: Unusual Anatomy Along the Edge of Onslow County

    Where Expectations Begin to Slip

    There are stretches of shoreline in Onslow County where the water looks simple.

    A low wind flattens the surface just beyond the breakers. The sand underfoot is firm, packed by a falling tide. Small schools of baitfish turn in unison at the edge of visibility, their bodies catching light and then disappearing again as if nothing had moved at all.

    From here, fish seem predictable. They swim. They are streamlined. They slip through water in ways that feel consistent, almost mechanical.

    A school of juvenile fish swim in the Surf City sound. | Photo credit: A. Mitchell
    A school of juvenile fish swim in the Surf City sound. | Photo credit: A. Mitchell

    But that impression doesn’t hold for long.

    A few steps into the surf, something crunches beneath your heel—a shell, or what remains of one.. Offshore, a shape drifts that doesn’t seem built for movement at all. In the shallows, something settles to the bottom and then, impossibly, walks.

    The closer you look, the more the pattern breaks apart. Along this stretch of coast—from the swash zone to the deeper water of Onslow Bay—some fish are not built like fish are “supposed” to be.

    And once you notice them, the rules start to feel less like rules at all.

    Teeth built for stone: Sheepshead

    The rule broken: fish are supposed to have simple teeth

    On calm mornings near New River Inlet, when the tide is just beginning to push in, the water around pilings and rock edges clears enough to see movement below the surface. Dark vertical bands appear and disappear as fish turn sideways to feed, their bodies angled tightly against pilings and rock.

    If you get a close look—often only when one is caught—you notice the teeth.

    Flat. Squared. Set in rows that look more like something borrowed from a mammal than a fish.

    Sheepshead fish have mammal-like teeth. | Photo credit: Jeannette's PIer
    Sheepshead fish have mammal-like teeth used for scraping and crushing hard shells and barnacles. | Photo credit: Jeannette’s PIer

    The sheepshead (Archosargus probatocephalus) feeds primarily on hard-shelled organisms—barnacles, oysters, mussels, and crabs attached to pilings, jetties, and natural hardbottom (Sedberry, 1987). These prey items are abundant in estuarine and nearshore environments where salinity fluctuates and structure concentrates life.

    Instead of pointed, uniform teeth, sheepshead possess incisiform front teeth for scraping and strong molariform teeth set further back for crushing (Deang et al., 2018; Hernandez & Motta, 1997). Bite force measurements and stomach content analyses show they are capable of breaking calcareous shells that would resist most coastal fishes (Hernandez & Motta, 1997).

    They are most active in waters typically ranging from 60–80°F (15–27°C), often within just a few feet of structure in depths from less than a meter to roughly 10 meters (Sedberry, 1987).

    Fish are often imagined as generalized swimmers feeding on soft prey. But along the Onslow coast, hard surfaces—oyster beds, submerged debris, pilings—create entire microhabitats built on calcium carbonate (Grabowski & Peterson, 2007).

    Sheepshead are not exceptions to the system; they are shaped by it. Their teeth are a direct response to a landscape where food remains locked inside a shell.

    Most fish don’t have teeth like this because most environments don’t require it. Here, where geology and biology meet in layers of shell and structure, the rule changes.

    The fish that walks: Bluespotted and Northern searobin

    The rule broken: fish move by swimming

    On a falling tide along the edges of Topsail Island, the water pulls thin over the sand flats. What remains is a shifting surface—ripples, shadows, and the occasional sudden burst of motion.

    Then something moves without swimming.

    It doesn’t dart or glide. It advances in short, deliberate steps, stopping and starting again, as if testing the ground before each movement.

    For a moment, it looks wrong—like something moving through air instead of water.

    The bluespotted searobin (Prionotus roseus) and the Northern searobin (Prionotus carolinus) do not rely on their fins for propulsion in the way most fish do. Instead, three detached rays from each pectoral fin extend downward, contacting the bottom and supporting the body as it moves. These rays function both as supports and as sensory structures, probing the sediment and detecting chemical cues—effectively allowing the fish to “taste” the seafloor as it moves (Bardach & Case, 1965).

    Across these shallow flats, often just inches to a few feet deep, the water warms into the upper 60s and 70s as the tide recedes. Prey is rarely exposed. Worms, small crustaceans, and buried mollusks remain hidden beneath the surface. Vision alone is not enough here. The searobin moves slowly, stepping and pausing, tracing the bottom until something beneath the sand gives itself away.

    Movement in water is usually about efficiency—minimizing drag, maximizing speed.

    But the seafloor is a different environment entirely.

    Here, visibility narrows, prey disappears beneath the surface, and swimming can carry you past what you’re trying to find. Walking—slow, deliberate, sensory-driven—becomes the better strategy.

    Most fish don’t have “legs” because most fish don’t live where walking is more useful than swimming. Along the shallow bottoms of Onslow waters, this rule no longer applies.

    The fish that swells: Northern puffer

    The rule broken: fish don’t change shape

    In late summer, when the water just beyond the breakers settles into the upper 70s, small shapes begin to move just offshore—slow, almost indifferent to the motion around them.

    One drifts closer than expected, rounded in a way that doesn’t quite match the others. It hovers, turning slightly, its movement controlled but unhurried.

    Then, without warning, the body changes.

    It expands outward, the outline swelling until the fish no longer resembles something built to move through water at all.

    The Northern puffer (Sphoeroides maculatus) does this by rapidly drawing water into a highly elastic stomach, a process that allows the body to expand far beyond its resting shape (Brainerd, 1994). Without rigid skeletal constraints like ribs or pelvic bones, that expansion can happen quickly, transforming the fish into something difficult for a predator to grasp or swallow.

    A northern pufferfish skeleton is made up of spiny modified scales (not bones) that expand like a balloon when threatended. | Photo credit: The Fossil Forum
    A Northern pufferfish skeleton is made up of spiny modified scales (not bones) that expand like a balloon when threatended. | Photo credit: The Fossil Forum

    In these nearshore waters—where predators move quickly and encounters happen at close range—there is little time to outrun what’s coming. Most fish rely on speed to escape. This one changes shape instead.

    Speed isn’t part of the solution here.

    The fish that locks itself in place: Gray triggerfish

    The rule broken: fish don’t anchor themselves

    Farther offshore, where the bottom begins to break into scattered hardbottom and reef patches, movement slows in a different way.

    Shapes hold just above the structure, adjusting position in small increments, never straying far from the surface below them.

    When disturbed, they don’t flee into open water.

    They turn downward.

    The gray triggerfish (Balistes capriscus) moves into crevices and tight spaces within the structure, where a set of dorsal spines can be raised and locked into place. The first spine lifts, and a smaller second spine holds it there—an arrangement that gives the fish its name and allows it to anchor itself firmly in place (Tyler, 1980; Lobel, 1980).

    Its body is built for this kind of movement: deep and laterally compressed, with tough, abrasive skin and strong incisor-like teeth capable of breaking into hard-shelled prey (Tyler, 1980; Lobel, 1980). These are not features meant for speed. They are features meant for contact—pressing into structure, resisting removal, holding position when movement would fail.

    In waters often 50–120 feet deep off Onslow County, where reefs and wrecks break the seafloor into pockets and edges, escape doesn’t always mean distance (Bellwood et al., 2004).

    Sometimes it means holding ground.

    Most fish survive by staying in motion.

    This one survives by becoming fixed in place, turning the structure around it into part of its defense.

    Light written into skin: Atlantic midshipman

    The rule broken: fish don’t carry light in their skin

    On warm summer nights near quiet stretches of marsh and inlet edges, the water sometimes carries sound before anything else. A low, continuous hum. It’s easy to miss unless you stop moving.

    The Atlantic midshipman (Porichthys plectrodon) produces that sound through specialized sonic muscles vibrating against the swim bladder, creating a sustained hum that can carry through shallow coastal water (Sisneros, 2009; Bass & McKibben, 2003).

    If you listen carefully during a quiet evening, the sound of a male midshipman trying to court a female might be heard. | Audio credit: SanctoSound – Integrated Ocean Observing System (IOOS)

    Along the sides of the body and across the head are rows of small organs—photophores—set into the skin, giving the fish its name and marking it as something unusual among coastal species found in these waters (Schwartz, 2013). When seen out of the water, those rows catch the light in a very particular way—small, round points that flash gold in direct sunlight, spaced with a regularity that makes them look almost set into the surface, like buttons fixed into the skin.

    The Atlantic midshipman has photophores that dazzle when out of the water, and used in seeing in darkened burrows and structures in limited light. | Photo credit: North American Native Fishes Association
    The Atlantic midshipman has photophores that dazzle when out of the water, and used in seeing in darkened burrows and structures in limited light. | Photo credit: North American Native Fishes Association

    Midshipman inhabit shallow coastal environments, often in burrows or beneath structure along muddy or sandy bottoms, typically in depths less than 20 meters.

    Light in fish is often associated with deeper water, where darkness is constant and illumination becomes necessary (Haddock et al., 2010). But along the Onslow coast, those conditions can exist in smaller, shifting pockets. Light narrows quickly with depth, suspended sediment moves with the tide, and visibility can collapse even in water shallow enough to stand in.

    Not all fish in these waters experience the bottom the same way. A flounder rests exposed on the sand, relying on camouflage and stillness. The midshipman, by contrast, spends much of its time within burrows, beneath structure, or pressed close to the substrate, where light is already limited and often disappears entirely.

    In those spaces, the rules of visibility begin to resemble something closer to deeper water, even though the surface is only a few feet above.

    The presence of photophores here does not follow the pattern most people expect.

    Not all light comes from above.

    The deep blade: Long-snouted lancetfish

    The rule broken: fish are dense, muscular swimmers

    From the beach, the horizon feels like a boundary—beyond the sandbars, beyond the nearshore currents—about two miles out, where the surface lifts just enough to hide what comes after. But beyond that line, the water doesn’t simply continue. It changes.

    Depth increases quickly. Layers begin to form. Light fades long before the bottom is reached.

    And in those deeper waters off Onslow Bay, some fish are not built to chase anything at all.

    The long-nosed lancetfish lives in the middle depths of the ocean where body density is less desirable for a drifting fish. | Photo credit: ML – some rights reserved (CC BY-NC)
    The long-nosed lancetfish lives in the middle depths of the ocean where body density is less desirable for a drifting fish. | Photo credit: ML – some rights reserved (CC BY-NC)

    The long-snouted lancetfish (Alepisaurus ferox) lives in the midwater column, often hundreds of meters below the surface. Its body is long and thin, almost blade-like, with muscle reduced and tissue that is less dense than most active predators, appearing almost soft in the water (Drazen & Seibel, 2007).

    It does not move with the steady, powered swimming most fish rely on. Instead, it drifts, adjusting position and taking prey as it comes within reach. Stomach analyses show a wide range of prey—fish, squid, and even other lancetfish—suggesting opportunism rather than pursuit (Kubota & Uyeno, 1970).

    In these deeper layers, energy becomes harder to acquire and more costly to use.

    Building and maintaining dense muscle comes at a cost. Chasing prey demands more of it (Sutton, 2013).

    Here, that balance shifts.

    The lancetfish represents a different solution—one that reduces the cost of movement and relies instead on encounter.

    Most fish are built to swim.

    This one is built to wait.

    The armored survivor: Atlantic sturgeon

    The rule broken: fish are supposed to have scales

    In cooler months, when water temperatures drop into the 50s and 60s, large shapes move along the bottom of estuaries and nearshore waters.

    They do not flash or turn sharply. They move steadily, close to the sediment.

    At times, that movement reaches the surface. A back breaks through, arcing briefly before slipping under again, the shape unfamiliar enough that it doesn’t immediately read as a fish.

    The Atlantic sturgeon (Acipenser oxyrinchus oxyrinchus) retains an older form—rows of bony scutes instead of the flexible scales seen in most fishes (Bemis et al., 1997). Along the underside, a protrusible mouth extends downward, drawing in prey from the bottom through suction rather than pursuit (ASSRT, 2007; Bemis et al., 1997).

    An anadromous fish, they move between river systems and coastal waters, passing through estuaries and along the nearshore edge, often in depths ranging from shallow channels to over 100 feet offshore (Dunton et al., 2015; ASSRT, 2007).

    This design is not new. It has persisted for tens of millions of years, carried forward through changing coastlines, shifting sea levels, and the rise of entirely different groups of fishes (Bemis et al., 1997).

    Atlantic sturgeon have a bony structure that has remained relatively unchanged for millions of years. | Photo credits: mdadswell – some rights reserved (CC BY-NC) (left); Steven McGrath – some rights reserved (CC BY-NC-ND) (right)

    It works because the conditions it responds to have never fully disappeared.

    Along the bottom, prey remains buried. Sediment still shifts with current and tide. Feeding still depends on contact more than speed. Armor still protects a body that cannot easily maneuver out of danger.

    For a long time, these fish seemed to fade from local waters. In Onslow County, encounters became rare enough to feel like absence. But populations have persisted elsewhere, and in nearby systems like the Cape Fear River, they are being observed again with increasing frequency—moving through channels, returning to spawning grounds, reappearing in places where they had not been seen in years (Dunton et al., 2015; ASSRT, 2007).

    Their range has shifted before. It may be shifting again.

    What remains constant is the need for connection—between river and ocean, between spawning grounds and feeding habitat.

    This fish does not depend on a single place. It depends on the continuity between them.

    Not all designs are meant to change. Some persist because the system they belong to still exists.

    The drifting giant: Ocean sunfish

    The rule broken: fish are supposed to be shaped for swimming

    Occasionally, especially in warmer months when currents shift, something appears offshore that barely seems to move at all.

    A large, flattened body. A fin breaking the surface. Then another, held there longer than expected.

    It drifts more than it swims.

    At times, it lingers there, tilted at the surface, absorbing the sun before slipping back beneath the water.

    The ocean sunfish (Mola mola) is one of the heaviest bony fish, reaching weights over 1,000 kg. Its body is truncated, lacking a true caudal fin, and propulsion is achieved through synchronized movements of dorsal and anal fins (Pope et al., 2010; Watanabe et al., 2009).

    After diving into colder, deeper water, sunfish often return to the surface, where this slow, drifting posture allows their body temperature to rise again (Watanabe et al., 2009). Prolonged time at the surface can leave the skin visibly altered—shifting from darker grey to lighter tones, sometimes appearing pale or pinkened under sustained exposure.

    Sunfish often inhabit offshore waters but can approach nearshore areas following currents and prey, particularly gelatinous organisms like jellyfish (Cartamil & Lowe, 2004).

    By most expectations, this body plan shouldn’t work.

    But it does—because efficiency, here, takes a different form. It is about buoyancy, drift, and feeding on abundant, slow-moving prey.

    In a system where jellyfish blooms are seasonal and sometimes dense, a fish shaped like this becomes not an anomaly, but a specialist.

    Answers to a layered environment

    From the shoreline, the water still looks simple.

    Small waves rise and fall. Baitfish turn and vanish. The surface holds its shape.

    But beneath that surface, the rules have already begun to shift.

    Fish move through these waters in ways that don’t match what we expect—crushing shell, stepping across the bottom, changing shape, holding themselves in place, carrying structures that catch light, drifting where others would swim, or moving through forms shaped long before this coastline took its present shape.

    What appears, from the beach, to be a single environment is something else entirely. It is layered—sand, structure, depth, temperature, light—each one asking something different of the animals that live within it.

    And the fish that seem unusual are not exceptions.

    They are answers.

    A layered system, at New River Inlet, seen from the surface. | Photo credit: A. Mitchell
    A layered system, at New River Inlet, seen from the surface. | Photo credit: A. Mitchell

    References

    Atlantic Sturgeon Status Review Team. (1998). Status review of Atlantic sturgeon (Acipenser Oxyrinchus Oxyrinchus). U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. https://books.google.com/books?id=ee5MhnuurDMC&dq=+Status+review+of+Atlantic+sturgeon+(Acipenser+oxyrinchus+oxyrinchus)

    Bardach, J. E., & Case, J. (1965). Sensory capabilities of the modified fins of squirrel hake (Urophycis chuss) and Searobins (Prionotus carolinus and P. evolans). Copeia, 1965(2), 194. https://doi.org/10.2307/1440724

    Bellwood, D. R., Hughes, T. P., Folke, C., & Nyström, M. (2004). Confronting the coral reef crisis. Nature, 429(6994), 827-833. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature02691

    Bemis, W. E., Findeis, E. K., & Grande, L. (1997). An overview of Acipenseriformes. Developments in Environmental Biology of Fishes, 48, 25-71. https://doi.org/10.1007/0-306-46854-9_4

    Blake, R. W. (2004). Fish functional design and swimming performance. Journal of Fish Biology, 65(5), 1193-1222. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.0022-1112.2004.00568.x

    Brainerd, E. L. (1994). Pufferfish inflation: Functional morphology of postcranial structures in Diodon holocanthus (Tetraodontiformes). Journal of Morphology, 220(3), 243-261. https://doi.org/10.1002/jmor.1052200304

    Cartamil, D., & Lowe, C. (2004). Diel movement patterns of ocean sunfish mola mola off Southern California. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 266, 245-253. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps266245

    Deang, J., Persons, A., Oppedal, A., Rhee, H., Moser, R., & Horstemeyer, M. (2018). Structure, property, and function of sheepshead (Archosargus probatocephalus) teeth. Archives of Oral Biology, 89, 1-8. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.archoralbio.2018.01.013

    Drazen, J. C., & Seibel, B. A. (2007). Depth‐related trends in metabolism of benthic and benthopelagic deep‐sea fishes. Limnology and Oceanography, 52(5), 2306-2316. https://doi.org/10.4319/lo.2007.52.5.2306

    Dunton, K. J., Jordaan, A., Conover, D. O., McKown, K. A., Bonacci, L. A., & Frisk, M. G. (2015). Marine distribution and habitat use of Atlantic sturgeon in New York lead to fisheries interactions and Bycatch. Marine and Coastal Fisheries, 7(1), 18-32. https://doi.org/10.1080/19425120.2014.986348

    Fernandez, L. P., & Motta, P. J. (1997). Trophic consequences of differential performance: Ontogeny of oral jaw‐crushing performance in the sheepshead, Archosargus probatocephalus (Teleostei, sparidae). Journal of Zoology, 243(4), 737-756. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1469-7998.1997.tb01973.x

    Grabowski, J. H., & Peterson, C. H. (2007). Restoring oyster reefs to recover ecosystem services. Theoretical Ecology Series, 4, 281-298. https://doi.org/10.1016/s1875-306x(07)80017-7

    Haddock, S. H., Moline, M. A., & Case, J. F. (2010). Bioluminescence in the Sea. Annual Review of Marine Science, 2, 443-493. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-marine-120308-081028

    McIver, E. L., Marchaterre, M. A., Rice, A. N., & Bass, A. H. (2014). Novel underwater soundscape: Acoustic repertoire of plainfin midshipman fish. Journal of Experimental Biology. https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.102772

    Mensinger, A. F., & Case, J. F. (1990). Luminescent properties of deep sea fish. Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology, 144(1), 1-15. https://doi.org/10.1016/0022-0981(90)90015-5

    Petersen, J. C., & Ramsay, J. B. (2020). Walking on chains: The morphology and mechanics behind the fin ray derived limbs of sea-robins. Journal of Experimental Biology. https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.227140

    Peterson, D. L., Bain, M. B., & Haley, N. (2000). Evidence of declining recruitment of Atlantic sturgeon in the Hudson River. North American Journal of Fisheries Management, 20(1), 231-238. https://doi.org/10.1577/1548-8675(2000)020<0231:eodroa>2.0.co;2

    Pope, E. C., Hays, G. C., Thys, T. M., Doyle, T. K., Sims, D. W., Queiroz, N., Hobson, V. J., Kubicek, L., & Houghton, J. D. (2010). The biology and ecology of the ocean sunfish mola mola: A review of current knowledge and future research perspectives. Reviews in Fish Biology and Fisheries, 20(4), 471-487. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11160-009-9155-9

    Schwartz, F. J. (2013). Atlantic midshipman, Porichthys plectrodon, in North Carolina. Journal of the North Carolina Academy of Science, 129(3), 111-114. https://doi.org/10.7572/2167-5880-129.3.111

    Sedberry, G. R. (1987). Feeding habits of Sheepshead, Archosargus probatocephalus, in offshore reef habitats of the southeastern continental shelf. Northeast Gulf Science, 9(1). https://doi.org/10.18785/negs.0901.03

    Sisneros, J. A. (2009). Adaptive hearing in the vocal plainfin midshipman fish: Getting in tune for the breeding season and implications for acoustic communication. Integrative Zoology, 4(1), 33-42. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1749-4877.2008.00133.x

    Snelgrove, P. V. (1999). Getting to the bottom of marine biodiversity: Sedimentary habitats. BioScience, 49(2), 129. https://doi.org/10.2307/1313538

    Sutton, T. T. (2013). Vertical ecology of the pelagic ocean: Classical patterns and new perspectives. Journal of Fish Biology, 83(6), 1508-1527. https://doi.org/10.1111/jfb.12263

    Tyler, J. C. (1980). Osteology, phylogeny, and higher classification of the fishes of the order plectognathi (Tetraodontiformes) (434). U.S. Dept. of Commerce, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, National Marine Fisheries Service. https://10.5962/bhl.title.63022

  • The 12 Days of Estuary Christmas | New River Estuary

    The 12 Days of Estuary Christmas | New River Estuary

    In the season of chilly tides and twinkling pier lights, the New River estuary doesn’t quiet down — it parties in its own salty way. So grab your cocoa, bundle up, and join us for a winter countdown of festive fins, feathers, and the ecological magic beneath the misty surface.

    (Sing along if you dare — apologies in advance.)

    Day 12: Twelve Dolphins Dancing

    12 dolphins dancing

    Bottlenose dolphins along the mid-Atlantic coast shift into cooperative foraging teams in the cooler months — synchronized movements that feel almost choreographed (Torres & Read, 2009). Their leaping, circling, and flipper-flicking tactics help herd fish just like dancers driving the story across a winter stage.

    Cue underwater Nutcracker ballet.

    Day 11: Eleven Stripers Schooling

    11 stripers schooling

    Atlantic striped bass move into estuarine channels when the water cools, fueling popular winter fisheries (Boyd, 2011).

    Cold water? Hot bite.

    Day 10: Ten Blue Crabs Burrowing

    Ten Blue Crabs Burrowing

    Blue crabs overwinter right here — burrowed into sediment, metabolism slowed, waiting for spring, or when water temperatures rise above 9℃ (Glandon, Kilborn & Miller, 2019).

    The ultimate cozy blanket fort.

    Day 9: Nine Oysters Filtering

    Nine Oysters Filtering

    Oysters continue filtering water through the winter, though more slowly — still improving water quality and boosting biodiversity (Grabowski & Peterson, 2007).

    Nature’s tiny elves never clock out.

    Day 8: Eight Croakers Drumming

    Eight Croakers Drumming

    Atlantic croaker remain common in NC coastal waters during cooler months, shifting to deeper estuarine areas (Miller et al., 2003).

    Rumble, rumble — underwater holiday percussion.

    Day 7: Seven Specks Still Striking

    Seven Specks Still Striking

    Speckled seatrout stay active in winter, especially in deeper holes and marsh channels where prey concentrates and water temperatures remain above 7℃ (Ellis, Buckle & Hightower, 2017).

    Even cold-blooded fish love a good holiday snack.

    Day 6: Six Sharks Snow-Birding

    Six Sharks Snow-Birding

    Juvenile coastal sharks like sandbars and sharpnose depart estuaries in late fall, migrating offshore and southward (Bangley et al., 2018).

    “See you after the thaw!”

    Day 5: FIVE… OYS-TER REEFS!

    Five oyster reefs

    Oyster reefs provide the essential winter housing market — structured refuge for juvenile fish, crustaceans, and invertebrates (Coen et al., 2007).

    Deck the reefs with beds and breakfasts..

    Day 4: Four Buffleheads Diving

    Four Buffleheads Diving

    These small sea ducks, buffleheads, arrive from the Arctic and forage in our coastal waters all winter long (Gauthier, 2014).

    Feathered travelers escaping the Arctic freeze.

    Day 3: Three Terrapins Burrowed

    Three Terrapins Burrowed

    Diamondback terrapins overwinter in marsh sediments, lowering heart rate and waiting out the cold (Harden, Midway & Willard, 2015).

    A brumation vacation.

    Day 2: Two Menhaden Shoals

    Two Menhaden Shoals

    Atlantic menhaden form huge winter schools offshore and near inlet mouths, fueling predator energy budgets (Orth, 2023).

    The estuary’s holiday punch bowl.

    Day 1: And a Red Drum in the Mar-sh-Tree

    And a Red Drum in the Mar-sh-Tree

    Red drum remain year-round, feeding in creeks and marsh edges even in winter low-temp slow-motion (Bacheler et al., 2009).

    Our coastal Christmas (and state) mascot.

    The Estuary Never Sleeps

    Even as we wrap gifts and check lists twice, life beneath the cold surface hustles on — feeding, moving, filtering, and keeping the New River ecosystem healthy through the darkest season.

    So here’s to the citizens of our winter waters —
    May your tides be merry and bright!

    References

    Bacheler, N., Paramore, L., Buckel, J., & Hightower, J. (2009). Abiotic and biotic factors influence the habitat use of an estuarine fish. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 377, 263-277. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps07805

    Bangley, C. W., Paramore, L., Dedman, S., & Rulifson, R. A. (2018). Delineation and mapping of coastal shark habitat within a shallow lagoonal Estuary. PLOS ONE, 13(4), e0195221. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0195221

    Boyd, J. B. (2011). Maturation, fecundity, and spawning frequency of the Albemarle/Roanoke striped bass stock (2011. 1510474) [Doctoral dissertation]. ProQuest Dissertations and Theses Global.

    Coen, L., Brumbaugh, R., Bushek, D., Grizzle, R., Luckenbach, M., Posey, M., Powers, S., & Tolley, S. (2007). Ecosystem services related to oyster restoration. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 341, 303-307. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps341303

    Ellis, T., Buckel, J., & Hightower, J. (2017). Winter severity influences spotted seatrout mortality in a southeast US estuarine system. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 564, 145-161. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps11985

    Gauthier, G. (2014, July 14). Bufflehead – Bucephala albeola. Birds of the World – Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Retrieved November 29, 2025, from https://birdsoftheworld.org/bow/historic/bna/buffle/2.0/introduction

    Glandon, H. L., Kilbourne, K. H., & Miller, T. J. (2019). Winter is (not) coming: Warming temperatures will affect the overwinter behavior and survival of blue crab. PLOS ONE, 14(7), e0219555. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0219555

    Grabowski, J. H., & Peterson, C. H. (2007). Restoring oyster reefs to recover ecosystem services. Theoretical Ecology Series, 281-298. https://doi.org/10.1016/s1875-306x(07)80017-7

    Harden, L. A., Midway, S. R., & Williard, A. S. (2015). The blood biochemistry of overwintering diamondback terrapins (Malaclemys terrapin). Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology, 466, 34-41. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jembe.2015.01.017

    Mead, J. G., & Potter, C. W. (1995). Recognizing two populations off the bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops Truncatus) of the Atlantic coast of North America-Morphologic and Ecologic Considerations. https://repository.si.edu/server/api/core/bitstreams/9c563919-2b27-4ac4-bba1-92e7d090fd72/content

    Orth, D. J. (2023). Fish, fishing and conservation. Blacksburg: Virginia Tech Department of Fish and Wildlife Conservation.Torres, L. G., & Read, A. J. (2009). Where to catch a fish? The influence of foraging tactics on the ecology of bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) in Florida Bay, Florida. Marine Mammal Science, 25(4), 797-815. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2009.00297.x

  • The Leftovers: What Happens to Summer’s Prey When the Big Fish Leave?

    The Leftovers: What Happens to Summer’s Prey When the Big Fish Leave?

    The Quiet Season Begins

    When the red drum, flounder, and summer sharks follow the cooling tides offshore, Onslow County’s estuaries fall quiet. The flashy chases fade, and the splashes that once rippled through the creeks give way to stillness. But the story doesn’t end. Beneath November’s calm water, the estuary begins to rewrite itself.

    The absence of its top hunters leaves behind both energy and opportunity — a banquet for the small and the overlooked. The currents no longer echo with the heavy pulse of pursuit. Instead, what remains is a more deliberate rhythm — a slow exchange between detritus, crabs, and the smaller fish that endure the cold months ahead.

    Winter in the New River Estuary: The Vacancy in the Food Web

    Every migration leaves an ecological vacancy. When red drum and southern flounder depart, they take with them both predatory pressure and nutrient export. The estuary briefly relaxes its guard. Prey fish, shrimp, and crabs experience a momentary release from predation from top predator populations that cause a cascade that momentarily alters predation pressure on lower-level prey (Clark et al., 2003).

    In this lull, energy that once fueled apex biomass lingers in the system, stored in crustaceans and schooling fish that escaped the hunt (Baird et al., 1998). The estuary, ever adaptive, redistributes that energy downward. Blue crabs (Callinectes sapidus) and juvenile spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) surge in number, exploiting the leftovers of summer’s feast (Allen et al., 2024). The marsh becomes a recycling ground — energy looping through smaller players instead of flowing outward to the sea.

    Late-Fall Estuarine Food Web
    Late-fall estuarine food web diagram showing energy flow from detritus to shrimp, fish, and mesopredators.

    The Winter Guardians

    But not all predators have gone. When the warm-water hunters leave, colder visitors arrive. Along the inlets and nearshore waters of Onslow Bay, Atlantic spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) drift in with the falling temperatures. They are the quiet inheritors of the season — small sharks with silver eyes and slate-gray backs, moving in disciplined schools just offshore.

    Atlantic spiny dogfish school by Andy Murch
    Atlantic spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthius) — the “winter guardians” — patrol coastal waters when larger predators have departed, sustaining the rhythm of predation. | Photo credit: Andy Murch

    Where the big sharks of summer — sandbars, blacktips, and bulls — have vanished southward or deeper, the dogfish remain. Their bodies are built for cold water, thriving where others slow (Carlson et al., 2014). And while their size may not inspire awe, their purpose is no less vital: they fill the empty seats at the top of the table.

    Dogfish are mesopredators, but in winter they act as temporary apex hunters, patrolling the inlet and inner shelf where menhaden, herring, and squid still linger (Carlson et al., 2014). Their presence keeps the ecosystem in motion. They thin out the schools that might otherwise explode in number, preventing imbalance and decay. Like patient custodians, they maintain the continuity of predation, ensuring that energy continues to flow up and down the food web even in the cold months (Prugh et al., 2009).

    In their absence, the estuary might collapse inward — prey would overgraze, detritus would pile, and oxygen would vanish from the mud. But the dogfish, efficient and tireless, keep the waters breathing.

    Crabs and Killifish Take the Stage

    Blue crab foraging in estuary
    Blue crabs roam the winter marsh, feeding on detritus and benthic invertebrates. Their slow foraging helps recycle nutrients and sustain the estuary’s energy balance through the cold season.

    Within the estuary itself, the smaller actors continue their work. By December, the New River’s mudflats and marsh creeks host a quieter cast — mummichogs (Fundulus heteroclitus), sheepshead minnows (Cyprinodon variegatus), and grass shrimp (Palaemonetes pugio). These resident species, often unnoticed, now carry the estuary’s metabolism on their backs.

    They thrive on detritus and microbial mats, converting decay into new life (Kneib, 2015). Blue crabs roam like slow-moving janitors, shifting through sediment to feed on worms and organic matter (Kennedy & Cronin, 2007). Each movement releases trapped nutrients, fueling microbial blooms that will later nourish the first plankton of spring.

    While the spiny dogfish patrol the edges of the continental shelf, these smaller species sustain the inner heart of the estuary. Their labor keeps the water alive long after the glamour of migration fades.

    Nutrient Loops and Winter Stability

    Without large predators, the estuary depends on microbial and detrital loops to keep its energy cycling. Up to 70% of carbon transfer between November and February occurs through benthic detritivory and microbial remineralization rather than direct predation (Friedrichs & Perry, 2001).

    This invisible economy sustains the overwintering fish and crustaceans — the leftovers that, in time, will become the first meal of spring’s returning predators. It’s the estuary’s savings account: energy stored as biomass and sediment, ready to be withdrawn when the tides warm again.

    Graphical abstract of dentrification in a coastal lagoon from https://doi.org/10.1016/j.scitotenv.2020.140169
    When winter quiets the hunt, the estuary turns inward. Instead of predators driving the cycle, nutrients move through the mud itself — microbes and detritivores recycling what’s left behind. This unseen flow keeps the New River alive until spring’s return (adapted from Erler et al., 2020).

    A Resilient Feast

    By January, the estuary seems dormant to the casual eye, but beneath its glassy surface, life reorganizes with quiet precision. Crabs clean the table. Dogfish patrol the edge. Minnows and shrimp sift through the silt for remnants of summer.

    The New River continues to breathe — slower, deeper, deliberate.
    When the big fish return with the first warm tides, the table is set once more, and the energy once left behind has been transformed — recycled through countless small mouths and patient currents into the promise of another season’s chase.

    References

    Allen, D. M., Govoni, J. J., Able, K. W., Buckel, J. A., Hale, E. A., Hilton, E. J., Kellison, G. T., Targett, T. E., Taylor, J. C., & Walsh, H. J. (2024). Long-term dynamics of larval and early juvenile spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) off the U.S. East Coast: Relating ocean origins, estuarine Ingress, and changing environmental conditions. Fishery Bulletin, 122(4), 162-185. https://doi.org/10.7755/fb.122.4.3  

    Baird, D., Luczkovich, J., & Christian, R. (1998). Assessment of spatial and temporal variability in ecosystem attributes of the St marks national wildlife refuge, Apalachee Bay, Florida. Estuarine, Coastal and Shelf Science, 47(3), 329-349. https://doi.org/10.1006/ecss.1998.0360

    Carlson, A. E., Hoffmayer, E. R., Tribuzio, C. A., & Sulikowski, J. A. (2014). The use of satellite tags to redefine movement patterns of spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) along the U.S. East Coast: Implications for fisheries management. PLoS ONE, 9(7), e103384. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0103384

    Clark, K. L., Ruiz, G. M., & Hines, A. H. (2003). Diel variation in predator abundance, predation risk and prey distribution in shallow-water estuarine habitats. Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology, 287(1), 37-55. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0022-0981(02)00439-2

    Foster, S. Q., & Fulweiler, R. W. (2014). Spatial and historic variability of benthic nitrogen cycling in an anthropogenically impacted Estuary. Frontiers in Marine Science, 1. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2014.00056

    Friedrichs, C. T., & Perry, J. E. (2001). Tidal Salt Marsh Morphodynamics: A Synthesis. Journal of Coastal Research, (27), 7-37. https://www.jstor.org/stable/25736162

    Kennedy, V. S., & Cronin, L. E. (2007). The blue crab: Callinectes Sapidus. Maryland Sea Grant College University of Maryland.

    Kneib, R. T. (1986). The role of Fundulus heteroclitus in salt marsh trophic dynamics. American Zoologist, 26(1), 259-269. https://doi.org/10.1093/icb/26.1.259

    Prugh, L. R., Stoner, C. J., Epps, C. W., Bean, W. T., Ripple, W. J., Laliberte, A. S., & Brashares, J. S. (2009). The rise of the Mesopredator. BioScience, 59(9), 779-791. https://doi.org/10.1525/bio.2009.59.9.9 

  • Thanksgiving Tides: New River Inlet Fish Migration in Fall

    Thanksgiving Tides: New River Inlet Fish Migration in Fall

    A Different Kind of Thanksgiving Journey

    Each November, when highways fill with travelers heading home for Thanksgiving, the waters of Onslow County’s New River Estuary host a quieter kind of migration. Beneath the surface, schools of silvery menhaden, golden spot, croaker, and even small sharks begin the New River Inlet fish migration, drawn by instincts older than any holiday tradition. The tides quicken. Water cools. Marsh grasses brown and whisper in the wind. And with every falling tide, the river seems to breathe outward, carrying its pilgrims toward the sea.

    The Gate Between River and Sea

    New River Inlet is not simply a passage between Sneads Ferry and North Topsail Beach—it is a living threshold.

    Winter migration path new river inlet to ocean
    The New River winds toward its inlet, where marsh channels, sandbars, and tidal creeks converge into a single hydrodynamic corridor — the living gateway between Onslow County’s estuary and the open Atlantic.


    As autumn advances, the estuary’s chemistry shifts: cooler water holds more oxygen, salinity rises with lower rainfall, and winds begin steering surface currents southward. These changes open a corridor that hundreds of thousands of fish follow instinctively from the creeks to the ocean shelf.

    For species like spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus), this downstream journey completes the first half of a circular life cycle. After spending spring and summer feeding in the calm nurseries of the estuary, they now join the coastal current to overwinter in deeper, warmer water—traveling the same path their parents once took (Odell et al., 2017).

    This path is more than instinct. It follows the physical architecture of the river itself—the deep, tidally flushed channels that connect Stones Bay and the main river to the inlet’s thalweg. When autumn winds push water seaward, these channels become a hydrodynamic migration corridor, a natural conveyor that funnels fish from the upper river toward the mouth (Odell et al., 2017).

    The inlet becomes a moving parade: ripples flashing silver, gulls diving, and every outgoing tide pulling another wave of life toward the horizon.

    Menhaden: The Silver Procession

    School of atlantic menhaden
    A vast school of Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus) moves as one body near the surface — a living current of silver that links the New River Estuary to the open Atlantic each fall.

    Among the first to leave are Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus), the shimmering filter-feeders that fuel much of the coastal food web. Juveniles spend the warmer months feeding in the upper river, turning sunlight and plankton into pure energy. When the water dips below 18 °C, they form tight schools and funnel through the inlet, their bodies reflecting the low winter sun like coins scattered across the tide.

    Studies of otolith chemistry show that these migrants come from multiple estuarine nurseries along the Atlantic seaboard, each contributing recruits to the coast-wide population (Anstead et al., 2016). Their exodus through the New River Inlet is not just a local event—it’s part of a continental rhythm that keeps the Atlantic alive.

    Beyond the inlet, menhaden rarely swim straight into the deep. Instead, they travel through the nearshore transition zone, staying within roughly 10 kilometers of the coast, guided by southward longshore currents driven by seasonal winds (Lozano et al., 2013). Here they join massive coastal schools that drift toward Cape Fear and beyond, remaining within waters of 12–18 °C—their preferred thermal band. Each year, these moving rivers of fish carry the New River’s energy down the Atlantic coast like a living current of light.

    Spot and Croaker: The Drummers of the Migration

    Spot and Atlantic croaker
    Spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) — schooling estuarine “drummers” whose late-fall migration carries the New River’s summer energy seaward through New River Inlet.

    Close behind move the “drums”—spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus)—so named for the sound they make vibrating muscles against their swim bladders. By late autumn, they too feel the pull of the current. Their bodies, now heavy from a summer of estuarine abundance, drift downstream in schools that seem to hum with the low percussion of their name.

    In coastal surveys, researchers have traced these migrations from estuarine creeks to the continental shelf, where the fish spend the winter in relative warmth before returning north in spring (Odell et al., 2017). In ecological terms, it’s an energy transfer: the nutrients once locked in the mud and detritus of the New River now exported to the open sea.

    Once through the inlet, spot and croaker follow two primary routes—some hugging the coast within the surf zone, others settling on the inner continental shelf at 15–35 meters depth. They drift southward along the Carolina Coastal Current, a steady, wind-driven flow that connects Onslow Bay to warmer waters off South Carolina and Georgia. Beneath the surface, these fish form vast, undulating layers—millions of tiny drummers keeping rhythm with the season.

    Juvenile Sharks: The Shadow Pilgrims

    Sandbar shark pups
    Juvenile coastal sharks glide over a sandy inlet floor — quiet travelers of the New River system, following ancient tidal cues that guide them from sheltered estuaries to the open Atlantic.

    Following the smaller fish come the quiet shadows—juvenile coastal sharks moving through the inlet on their own pilgrimage. Tagging studies across North Carolina reveal that blacktip, sandbar, and bull sharks use shallow estuarine margins as summer nurseries before shifting offshore in late fall when the water cools (Bangley et al., 2018; Rulifson & Bangley, 2015).

    In the turbid water at the inlet’s mouth, these young predators trace invisible highways along sandbars and channels, following the scent of prey schools that have already departed. Many continue to ride the same southward current as the drum and menhaden but at greater depth—sometimes reaching the outer continental shelf (30–80 meters) where the water remains above 18 °C. For a few short weeks, river and sea mingle in one shared migration—prey, predator, and current moving together through the same watery passage.

    The Importance of the Journey

    The departure is not random. Temperature, daylight, and shifting prey availability synchronize this movement. When shrimp and plankton thin in the creeks, the fish follow the energy gradient seaward. In doing so, they maintain the seasonal connectivity that defines an estuary’s health: nutrients exported from the marsh become the foundation of offshore food webs, feeding mackerel, tuna, and seabirds far beyond the New River’s mouth (Lozano et al., 2013).

    The Ekman Transport
    Alongshore winds along the North Carolina coast generate offshore surface flow through Ekman transport. This movement is balanced by deeper onshore currents and localized upwelling, circulating nutrients and carrying estuarine water and organisms seaward. Adapted from Job Dronkers (2025), Coastal Wiki.

    This corridor of movement also depends on the forces of wind and tide. During late fall, northwest winds push surface waters offshore through Ekman transport, enhancing the ebb flow that draws fish outward. Each tide functions as a breath of the estuary—an exhalation of life—carrying energy from the marshes to the sea (Odell et al., 2017).

    This is the river’s gift to the ocean—the annual offering that ensures what leaves the estuary returns as new life months later.

    A Thanksgiving of Currents

    N Topsail Beach NC at Sunset by David Ogorman
    North Topsail Beach at sunset | Photo Credit: David Ogorman

    If seen from above, the late-autumn water resembles a conveyor of light: streaks of silver menhaden, bronze drum, and dark shark fins blending into the green-blue inlet plume. Each species is a pilgrim, carried by tides instead of highways, guided by magnetic fields instead of maps. Their departure is as old as the coastline itself—a Thanksgiving procession written in currents and instincts rather than calendars. For those standing on the dunes at North Topsail Beach, the scene feels both ancient and immediate: the hush of wind, the roll of the tide, and somewhere beneath, the silent travelers heading home.

    References

    Anstead, K. A., Schaffler, J. J., & Jones, C. M. (2016). Coast-wide nursery contribution of new recruits to the population of Atlantic menhaden. Transactions of the American Fisheries Society, 145(3), 627–636. https://doi.org/10.1080/00028487.2016.1150345

    Bangley, C. W., Paramore, L., Dedman, S., & Rulifson, R. A. (2018). Delineation and mapping of coastal shark habitat within a shallow lagoonal estuary. PLOS ONE, 13(4), e0195221. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0195221

    Lozano, C. J., Houde, E. D., & Severin, K. P. (2013). Factors contributing to variability in larval ingress of Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus) to Chesapeake Bay. Estuarine, Coastal and Shelf Science, 118, 1–10. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecss.2012.12.018

    Odell, J., Adams, D. H., Boutin, B., Collier, W., Deary, A., Havel, L. N., Johnson, J. A. Jr., Midway, S. R., Murray, J., Smith, K., Wilke, K. M., & Yuen, M. W. (2017). Atlantic Sciaenid habitats: A review of utilization, threats, and recommendations for conservation, management, and research (Habitat Management Series No. 14). Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission. https://asmfc.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/HMS14_AtlanticSciaenidHabitats_Winter2017.pdf

    Rulifson, R. A., & Bangley, C. W. (2015). Quantifying estuarine habitat use by multiple coastal shark species (NOAA Technical Report). NOAA Institutional Repository. https://repository.library.noaa.gov/view/noaa/46115

  • The Estuary Feast: November Predators of the New River Estuary, NC

    The Estuary Feast: November Predators of the New River Estuary, NC

    Each November, as the hardwoods fade to rust and the air over Onslow County turns crisp, the New River estuary begins its quiet transformation. Beneath the calm surface, baitfish, shrimp, and crabs gather in the creeks and channels like guests arriving early to dinner. Cooling waters, shifting salinity, and autumn tides all cue a feeding frenzy among the river’s top hunters – red drum (Sciaenops ocellatus), southern flounder (Paralichthys lethostigma), and spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus).

    To the casual observer, it’s just another turn of the season. But for these predators, November is the defining moment of survival – the “estuary feast” that powers them through the winter ahead.

    The Science Behind the Feast

    The science: cool water, hot action
    As water temperatures drop, oxygen and prey shift. Shrimp slow, mullet school tightly, and predators move into perfect feeding conditions. In November, the estuary’s food web compresses – a short, fierce burst of activity before winter quiets the water.

    Autumn brings an ecological reshuffling. As air temperatures drop, water density increases, pushing oxygen-rich layers deeper into the estuary. Cooler water slows the metabolism of small prey, but keeps predators in their metabolic sweet spot – a narrow temperature window where they can feed efficiently (Facendola & Scharf, 2012).

    In the New River, this dynamic compresses the food web: prey such as mullet, menhaden, and shrimp concentrate in fewer, warmer microhabitats, and predators follow. Southern flounder and red drum migrate from the upper estuary toward the inlet, using the last strong tides of the season to feed before moving offshore to spawn (Midway et al., 2024).

    At the same time, spotted seatrout remain nearshore longer than most species, prowling deep bends and channel edges for sluggish crustaceans and cold-stunned baitfish (Bortone, 2003; TinHan et al., 2018; Whaley et al., 2023). This makes November one of the few months when all three predators share overlapping hunting grounds – a temporary “banquet hall” of intersecting habits and appetites.

    Predators at the Table

    Red Drum

    Known locally as “channel bass”, red drum rely heavily on macro-crustaceans and juvenile fishes during the late fall surge (Facendola & Scharf, 2012). In the New River estuary, they patrol marsh edges and oyster-reef margins where baitfish funnel out with the ebbing tide. These habitats not only provide prey but also structure – a three-dimensional refuge network that concentrates food in predictable corridors.

    Red drum are particularly sensitive to dissolved oxygen and salinity changes; they exploit the higher oxygen zones along shell hash and sandy bottoms where shrimp and crabs are most active.

    Southern Flounder

    Flat, camouflage, and opportunistic, southern flounder are the ambush specialists of November. As they stage for ocean migration, they feed voraciously along the lower estuary and inlet shoals, striking from beneath the sand when shrimp or menhaden schools pass overhead.

    Telemetry data show that most adult flounder exit the estuary between mid-October and mid-November (Midway et al., 2024), making this their final feeding push before winter. The energy stored in liver and muscle tissue during this period directly fuels their offshore spawning.

    Spotted Seatrout

    The spotted seatrout, or “speckled trout”, represents a different strategy: persistence.Unlike flounder or drum, they remain within the estuary for much of the winter. Their adaptive physiology lets them remain active in cooler water, hunting shrimp and small schooling fish even below 15℃, or 59℉ (Bortone, 2003; TinHan et al., 2018; Whaley et al., 2023).

    This endurance gives them a late-season advantage – fewer competitors and concentrated prey. In Onslow County’s deeper channels, dock lights and tidal flows create perfect feeding grounds long after other predators have departed.

    Prey and Energy Flow

    From marsh to mouth: The energy of the estuary: Energy flows up the ladder - detritus -> shrimp -> baitfish -> predator. This seasonal burst fuels migrations and maintains balance in Onslow County's estuary ecosystem. But when prey species are overfished, that balance falters.
    From marsh to mouth: The energy of the estuary: Energy flows up the ladder – detritus -> shrimp -> baitfish -> predator. This seasonal burst fuels migrations and maintains balance in Onslow County’s estuary ecosystem. But when prey species are overfished, that balance falters.

    Every feast depends on abundance. In the New River system, fall prey peaks come from several sources:

    • Penaeid shrimp (brown, pink and white shrimp) and blue crabs provide high-calorie meals critical to red drum and flounder growth (Facendola & Scharf, 2012).
    • Striped mullet (Mugil cephalus) migrate seaward in vast schools during November, offering short bursts of energy-rich prey (NCDMF, 2022). 
    • Juvenile fishes – menhaden, spot, croaker – linger in the brackish middle reaches, serving as transitional prey before exiting the estuary.

    As predators consume these resources, energy moves up the trophic ladder. That transfer of biomass – from detritus to shrimp to fish to apex predator – defines the estuary’s productivity and resilience (Bortone, 2003; TinHan et al., 2018; Whaley et al., 2023).

    Beyond the Feast: Ecological Balance

    The estuary’s “Thanksgiving” is not just a seasonal event. It’s a reset of the entire system. By removing weaker or late-season prey, predators help balance populations and redistribute nutrients through excretion and predation scars. Their feeding activity also stirs sediments and oxygenates bottom layers, improving microbial decomposition that recycles organic matter for the next year’s growth.

    But this rhythm is vulnerable. Habitat loss, water-quality decline, and overfishing can all truncate the feast. Striped mullet, a keystone prey species, remains overfished statewide (NCDMF, 2022), while southern flounder face chronic recruitment declines. (Recruitment is the process of small, young fish transitioning into their older, larger lifestage.) Each missing link reduces the estuary’s resilience – and the energy pulse that sustains these predators through winter.

    Climate Notes: A Shifting Season

    Recent NOAA data suggests that fall water temperatures in coastal North Carolina are trending 1°-2℃, or 1.8°-3.6℉, warmer than historical averages. Warmer autumns can delay predator migrations, alter prey timing, and extend disease risks for estuarine fish (Bortone, 2003; TinHan et al., 2018; Whaley et al., 2023; Llansó et al., 1998). For Onslow County, this means the “feast” could increasingly occur later, or not at all, in some years. Tracking these shifts can help monitor how climate variability reshapes local predator cycles.

    Conclusion

    In the quiet weeks before winter, the New River estuary hosts its grandest ritual: a final surge of life and energy. Flounder lie in wait beneath the sand; red drum sweep through oyster channels; speckled trout strike in the moonlit current. Together they embody the estuary’s cyclical resilience – a natural Thanksgiving built on balance, adaptation, and timing.

    For those who walk the riverbanks or wade the flats in November, the story unfolding beneath the surface is as rich and meaningful as any holiday tradition: a reminder that even in cooling waters, the rhythm of life continues, fierce and beautiful.

    References

    Bortone, S. A. (2002). Biology of the spotted Seatrout. CRC Press.

    Facendola, J. J., & Scharf, F. S. (2012). Seasonal and ontogenetic variation in the diet and daily ration of estuarine red drum as derived from field-based estimates of gastric evacuation and consumption. Marine and Coastal Fisheries, 4(1), 546-559. https://doi.org/10.1080/19425120.2012.699018

    Llansó, R. J., Bell, S. S., Vose, F. E., & Llanso, R. J. (1998). Food habits of red drum and spotted Seatrout in a restored mangrove impoundment. Estuaries, 21(2), 294. https://doi.org/10.2307/1352476

    Midway, S. R., Scharf, F. S., Dance, M. A., Brown-Peterson, N. J., Ballenger, J. C., Beeken, N. S., Borski, R. J., Darden, T. L., Erickson, K. A., Farmer, T. M., Fincannon, A., Godwin, J., Graham, P. M., Green, J. L., Hershey, H., Kiene, D., Lee, L. M., Loeffler, M. S., Markwith, A., & McGarigal, C. (2024). Southern Flounder: Major Milestones and Remaining Knowledge Gaps in Their Biology, Ecology, and Fishery Management. Reviews in Fisheries Science & Aquaculture, 32(3), 450-478. https://www.stevemidway.com/publication/midway2024rfsa/midway2024RFSA.pdf

    North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries (NCDMF). (2022, August). Fishery Management Plan Update Striped Mullet. NC Dept. of Environmental Quality (NCDEQ). https://www.deq.nc.gov/marine-fisheries/fisheries-management/annual-fmp-review/2023/2023-striped-mullet-fmp-review/open

    TinHan, T. C., Mohan, J. A., Dumesnil, M., DeAngelis, B. M., & Wells, R. J. (2018). Linking habitat use and trophic ecology of spotted Seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus) on a restored oyster reef in a subtropical Estuary. Estuaries and Coasts, 41(6), 1793-1805. https://doi.org/10.1007/s12237-018-0391-x

    Whaley, S. D., Shea, C. P., Santi, E. C., & Gandy, D. A. (2023). The influence of freshwater inflow and seascape context on occurrence of juvenile spotted seatrout Cynoscion nebulosus across a temperate Estuary. PLOS ONE, 18(11), e0294178.