Purpose

Deep Bay is a northerly projecting finger-like body of water on the New York side of Lake Champlain. It lies a few miles north of where the ferries ply the water of Lake Champlain’s Broad Lake from New York to Vermont and back. They do this 27/7 in rain or shine, and in liquid or frozen water.

Deep Bay’s popularity with recreational boaters convinced New York to place seventy moorings in the bay, and now not having to anchor it is even more popular with boaters. Carrie Rose (really Charlotte) grabbed a mooring on Thursday noon. Deep Bay is protected from every wind direction apart from either side of south. With the wind forecast to blow from the north, we headed there.

Despite the forecast, the wind blew from the south. The bay was choppy with the occasional white cap. These kept a lively motion going until late in the afternoon when the wind calmed down. The clouds dissipated, quiet set in, and the air cooled making for a great nights sleep.

The east and west shores are studded with ancient pines and cedars clinging to walls of layered black slate. Except for the tip of the bay, there is no sign of human habitation. We had a peaceful dinner: French Chenin Blanc, spinach and ricotta raviolis in a mirepoix of carrot, onion and pepper with a dab of pesto for the sauce. I made rye bread a few days before and that, with sweet Vermont butter, capped off the meal.

Dishes washed, I settled into my favorite spot in the pilothouse but it was so nice outside now that the wind calmed that Charlotte suggested we sit outside before the mosquitos began to rule the night. Chairs out, we settled in on the back of the boat and that is when I noticed a multitude of seagulls above and within the tree line.

They seemed to be flying haphazardly, almost for fun. Repeatedly they missed each other by inches. They glided up, stopped abruptly, lost altitude, pointed their beaks down, gained air speed and with it lift, and then, did it again. This cannot be for fun. Wild animals are not as flippant as us. There is a purpose to their activities — they are not doing it for arts sake. Survival is their chief concern.

I retrieved binoculars, then a camera, and started to follow them. Damn, they were catching mayflies on the wing. Once I realized this, it was obvious. I could plainly see them spot a lumbering insect, fly up under it intersecting it with their beak, and gulp, the tasty morsel was had.

How many mayflies does it take to satiate a gull, well, I will never know. I finally went to sleep but not before noticing that fish were also popping out of the water to grab the low flying flies.

I awoke to a boat covered in mayflies. Some dead, others dying, many with their wings stuck to the deck by dew. As I went about my morning ritual, clearing the boat of spider webs (and as many spiders as possible) I gently picked the stuck ones up by their fragile wings and launch the wiggling insects into the air to fend for themselves.

It is a selfish act. To rid the boat of them alive is easier then to clean them up when dead. Deep Bay, some 1300 miles by boat from Chicago, is an odd place to realize the natural history of seagulls and mayflies. To realize the purpose of the natural world and to give thanks for not being born a mayfly!