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Nearby, the shallow waters of a coastal pond were easily overcome by the bright afternoon light. A rough brown floor was revealed, broken only by an occasional rock.

The blue of Block Island Sound tempted the eye, but a steady southwest wind helped one say no to the sight. Besides, there was so much more to look at on this day.

After the dreariest winter on Rhode Island record, it was time to welcome spring. So, I had headed to a favorite spot -- the Trustom Pond Wildlife Refuge in South Kingstown.

Not without misgivings. The refuge lies behind Moonstone Beach, which shields the pond from the Atlantic. Less than two months before, it had been invaded -- by oil.

Disaster struck on Friday, Jan. 19, when the barge North Cape went aground in a wild winter storm. Its hold ruptured, spilling hundreds of thousands of gallons of home-heating oil into the water. By the time the weekend ended, it was clear that the spill had become the worst in the Ocean State's history.

Dead sea birds and shellfish were the first and most obvious casualties of the spill. All feared, however, that the worst was yet to come.

What would be the impact on future generations of sea life, so crucial to the fragile area's environment, the state's economy and local fishermen's budgets?

As the weeks passed, the answers were as murky as the water. A record-setting winter hampered judgment on the spill's natural effects, while officials took steps to contain the damage.

Extensive bans were instituted on fishing and use of saltwater in seafood processing. A promotional campaign was launched to counter the impact of bad publicity on tourism.

And, echoing action in the wake of the World Prodigy oil spill off Newport in June 1989, calls were made for legislation and regulations to prevent the liquid enemy from striking again.

My walk could only probe the surface of what was really happening at Trustom Pond. But I had two reasons to be optimistic.

One was the state's March 13 decision to lift the fishing ban. Among its justifications: No fish caught since the spill had been found to be contaminated.

The second was an observation of my own. The day before, I had wandered Weekapaug Beach in Westerly, a few miles west of Moonstone and a conservation area itself.

The sands were swept almost clean. Litter took the form of gaping sea clam shells and driftwood.

As I walked, I spotted companions. Two pairs of common loons, ducking and bobbing for fish in the rolling surf.

I felt giddily reassured. These loons were fat and sleek, with throats thickened by continuous gulping. No signs of food poisoning here.

The next day, I headed for Trustom, armed with binoculars and camera. As my companion and I wended our way into the refuge, we kept a sharp lookout for signs of recovery. There were plenty.

Rafts of ducks, eyed from an observation deck, skimmed the pond. Two snow-white swans flew parallel to its surface, pumping their feet against the water as they landed.

The level of pond itself was lowered by a manmade cut in the dunes of Moonstone Beach. The idea had been to increase the natural winter flushing action, and it looked like it had worked.

Only the bottom's natural color showed through. No dead bodies, no dead algae.

A sniff of its sand was the most encouraging sign of all. No smell! It had been the oil's heavy odor that had tipped investigators to its contaminating presence.

One test remained. Were the osprey who nested on two tiny islands within the refuge back for the breeding season? For years, they had given many observers pleasure as they swooped regally over the pond, searching for fish to feed their young families.

No trace of them could be found, with or without binoculars.

Perhaps they're just being good soldiers. The winter has been a formidable enemy, enough to keep the wisest and strongest of nature's creatures at bay. And, of course, barges loaded with oil routinely prowl the sound.

But I want them to know this. The drawbridge is down. It's safe to come home.

Andrea Panciera is a South County native, whose love of the outdoors was fostered on her family's farm. She's also editor of Rhode Island HORIZONS, an online community hosted by The Providence Journal Company.