Gulling

[ornoth]

Last week, I took a bike ride down to Castle Island. There was a very strong, steady 30 mph wind blowing up from the southwest, and as I sat on the granite seawall, I watched a dozen or so seagulls hovering nearby, riding the air current.

Now, you can keep your preoccupation with raptors; I’ve always been fascinated by gulls. The clean white-and-grey colors. The sleek, swept-back wings. The eerie cry that always reminds me of home, growing up downeast. But more than anything, I’m awed by their effortless, gliding flight.

As I sat there, I watched a bird simply hover in place above the shoreline, completely still except for his head as he looked one way and another. I watched the tiny adjustments that kept him immobile as the wind alternately dropped off and freshened. With a minuscule movement of one wingtip, he’d suddenly go sailing off perpendicular to the wind in a lateral rudder roll. Or with another slight change, he’d pull a wingover and charge downwind at a headlong speed of 40-50 mph, only to wheel and climb and glide back again.

It was a masterful display of aeronautics, and such a pleasure to see that I sat there mesmerized for half an hour or so. Say what you want about how powerful your raptors are and how dirty or raucous seagulls are, but to my mind there’s no more graceful or inspirational bird than a gull in flight.