If you’re out on a boat in the middle of Jamaica Bay, drifting somewhere between the runways of JFK and the marshes of Floyd Bennett Field, you might be floating right over a ghost town. It sounds like a local legend or some weird maritime myth, but Ruffle Bar Jamaica Bay was once a thriving, rowdy, and productive piece of New York City history.
Now? It’s basically just a bunch of salt marsh and sand.
Most people see the green clumps of the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge and assume it’s always been this pristine, silent sanctuary. Honestly, that couldn’t be further from the truth. A century ago, Ruffle Bar was a center of industry, a place where people lived, worked, and—mostly—shucked a staggering amount of oysters. It wasn't some quiet getaway; it was a loud, muddy, and vital part of the city’s ecosystem.
The Rise of Ruffle Bar Jamaica Bay
Jamaica Bay used to be the oyster capital of the world. It’s hard to imagine now, looking at the brackish water and the occasional discarded tire, but in the late 19th century, the bay produced millions of oysters and clams. Ruffle Bar was the heart of that.
The island was home to a permanent community. We're talking about a place with its own schoolhouse, several hotels, and a fleet of fishing boats. It wasn't fancy. Life on Ruffle Bar was gritty. The residents were mostly baymen—tough-as-nails fishermen who spent their days on the water and their nights in the island’s saloons. By the 1880s, the island was a destination. People from Brooklyn would take ferries out there to escape the heat and eat seafood that had been pulled from the water ten minutes prior.
The most famous establishment was probably the hotel run by a man named Herman S. Schmeelk. He wasn't just a hotelier; he was an "oyster king." Schmeelk owned vast underwater tracts where he cultivated some of the most sought-after shellfish in New York.
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Why the Oysters Died
It wasn't a sudden disaster that killed Ruffle Bar Jamaica Bay. It was progress. As New York City expanded, its waste had to go somewhere. For a long time, that "somewhere" was the bay.
By the early 1900s, the water was getting foul. Raw sewage from the growing boroughs began to seep into the oyster beds. Then came the 1920s, and the health department stepped in. Typhoid scares were real, and the source was traced back to the very shellfish that made Ruffle Bar famous. In 1921, the city officially banned the harvesting of shellfish from Jamaica Bay.
Basically, the island's entire economy vanished overnight.
Without the oysters, there was no reason to live on a sandbar in the middle of the bay. People started to leave. The hotels shuttered. The schoolhouse went quiet. For a while, the island became a haven for bootleggers during Prohibition—because, let's be real, it's the perfect place to hide a boat from the feds—but the glory days were over.
The Great Eviction of 1944
The final nail in the coffin for Ruffle Bar Jamaica Bay came from the city itself. Robert Moses, the man who reshaped New York, had big plans for the bay. He wanted to turn it into a massive park and wildlife refuge. He didn't want people living out there on their own terms.
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In the early 1940s, the city began clearing out the remaining squatters and residents. By 1944, the last few families were evicted. The houses were either moved across the ice in the winter—which sounds like a logistical nightmare—or simply burned to the ground.
Today, the island is part of the Gateway National Recreation Area. If you walk there during low tide (which you shouldn't really do without a permit or a kayak), you might still see some old foundation stones or bits of rusted metal poking out of the mud. It’s a graveyard of New York's industrial past.
What Ruffle Bar Looks Like Today
If you visit Ruffle Bar Jamaica Bay today, don't expect a boardwalk or a museum. It's a wilderness. The National Park Service manages it as a bird sanctuary.
It’s one of the few places in the city where you can see:
- Osprey nesting platforms that look like giant messy wigs on poles.
- Diamondback terrapins crawling through the sand to lay eggs.
- Horseshoe crabs doing their prehistoric mating dance in the spring.
The island is actually shrinking. Erosion is a massive problem in Jamaica Bay. Because we’ve dredged the channels for ships and built bulkheads all around the edges, the natural flow of sediment is messed up. Ruffle Bar is literally being washed away by the tides.
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Environmentalists are trying to save it. They use something called "thin-layer placement," where they spray clean sediment onto the marshes to raise the elevation. It’s a race against sea-level rise. If the island disappears, the birds lose a nesting spot, and the bay loses a natural buffer against storms.
Why You Can't Just "Go" There
You can't take a bridge to Ruffle Bar. There are no ferries. The only way to get close is by kayak or private boat, and even then, you have to be careful. The tides in Jamaica Bay are no joke. The water moves fast, and the mudflats can trap a boat for hours if you mistime your trip.
Also, it’s a protected area. During nesting season, it's strictly off-limits to people. The birds—like the Piping Plover and the Least Tern—are extremely sensitive. One person walking on a nest can wipe out an entire season of eggs.
Misconceptions About the Island
People often confuse Ruffle Bar with its neighbor, The Raunt, or the community of Broad Channel. While Broad Channel survived (and is still a vibrant neighborhood today), Ruffle Bar was sacrificed for the "greater good" of the wildlife refuge.
Another weird myth is that there are "buried treasures" from the bootlegging era. Honestly? Most of what’s buried there is old oyster shells and broken glass. If there were crates of Scotch, the salt water and the shifting sands would have claimed them decades ago.
Actionable Steps for Exploring Jamaica Bay
If you’re fascinated by the history of Ruffle Bar Jamaica Bay and want to see it for yourself, don't just wing it.
- Launch from Floyd Bennett Field. This is the closest point of access. You can launch a kayak from the seaplane ramp. It’s a roughly 2-mile paddle to the vicinity of Ruffle Bar.
- Check the Tide Charts. Do not ignore this. If you go at dead low tide, you’ll be dragging your kayak through knee-deep stinky mud. Go on a rising tide to ensure you have enough water to clear the sandbars.
- Use a GPS/Mapping App. The bay looks different when you're at water level. It’s easy to get disoriented among the various islands like Yellow Bar and Little Egg Marsh.
- Visit the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge Center. Located on Cross Bay Blvd, they have maps and occasional ranger-led talks that touch on the history of the "disappearing islands."
- Bring Binoculars. Since you shouldn't land on the island, the best way to "see" it is from a distance. You’ll see the herons and egrets that have reclaimed the territory once held by the Schmeelk family.
Ruffle Bar is a reminder that New York is always changing. What was once a bustling town is now a silent marsh. It tells us that our environment is fragile—whether it’s the oysters being killed by pollution or the land itself being reclaimed by the Atlantic. It’s a quiet spot in a loud city, and it’s worth respecting.