8-13-2024

 

Seagulls are as rapacious as they are comical. They are communal but completely out for themselves. They whine like wimpy dogs and growl like forest beasts. They are magnificent aerialist that relish a stormy wind. I say relish because for days on end I have watched them soar without any attempt to fish. But once they catch a fish all hell breaks loose. 

 

Their comrades appear out of the sky to do battle. In the aerial dog fights that ensue it is not odd for the catch to be lost to all. I have seen them swallow enormous starfish whole and have watched them pathetically peck at a squirming fish to get only a few tiny scraps of flesh before abandoning the bloody mess. 

 

Recently, on an admittedly slow day, I watched a big white gull drop mussels repeatedly on a wooden deck. I, bored with the routine, drifted off only to awake and see numerous mussel’s open, their flesh picked clean. 

 

Seagulls are primed to fly over flat expanses of water, which must equate to shopping mall parking lots. Of course, when over pavement they know better than to dive head first into the asphalt, instead they gently glide in to capture their often as not fast food remnant. 

 

Once in the southern most Florida Keys I saw a frigate bird. It was larger than expected with a formidable curving beak and thin angular wings. They specialize in absconding with the catches of other seabirds, most commonly seagulls, who are no match for the frigate’s aerial abilities.

 

Seagull’s like to roost on a nice flat surface to feast. Thus, inspired humans have invented many contraptions for keeping them off boat roofs. Some of these have arms that slowly spin in the wind while making an almost (note the word, almost) imperceptible high pitched squeal that, I suppose, is meant to disturb the seagull’s peace while dining. Others are like a cascade of thin metal wands weighted at the ends that wiggly take up space. And then there are the medieval plastic spikes that commonly cover many urban structures to prevent pigeons from roosting. These find themselves atop super yacht communication towers well out of the way of the casual observer. 

 

Carrie Rose’s pilothouse roof has a 4 by 6 foot solar panel that is an irresistible destination for dissecting and eating fish. If we are lucky to be onboard, the gull gives away their intentions with several great thunks on the roof. I drive them off but often must despose of a bloodied fish. If we are not in house, we are alerted on our return by the scent of fish, blood and poop.

 

For some reason cleaning up the mess is considered “boys” work. Charlotte considers that since my profession entailed dealing with bodily fluids I will better tolerate the guts, gore and feces left behind. And I admit that – once again – she is correct. It is all quite comical in the end . . .