Three Minutes the Hard Way

A large cluster of gulls and terns vibrated with activity. The birds, busy with their own dramas on the ground, ignored the elegant tern circling above for the third time. An anchovy hung from the tern’s bill. The silver sides of the fish flashed reflections of the late afternoon sun, advertising an incoming meal that no bird appeared eager to claim.

When the tern circled the cluster for a fourth time, a juvenile tern resting on the edge of the colony called out using a series of high-pitched squeaks. It was a smaller tern with the same tangerine-colored bill as the adult. The feathers on the back of the juvenile’s head stood on end in anticipation of a meal. The vocalizations caught the adult bird’s attention. Arching its back and wings to catch the air, the parent slowed its approach and parachuted toward the awaiting youngster.  

It’s unclear how the parent knew. Perhaps the close distance allowed the parent to hear the juvenile’s call more clearly, or perhaps it was the young bird’s mannerisms that became more noticeable. Hanging in the air, the adult gazed at the juvenile below, mouth agape, ready for its prize, and knew; this young bird was not its offspring.

The adult bird kicked its legs back. A flurry of feathers swept wildly through the air, struggling to abort its descent as the bird settled into a horizontal flight position. A frustrated impostor looked up and repeated its squeaky demand in protest. The ignored vocalizations dissolved into the air as the adult surged forward, re-starting its search.

The parent landed a short distance away at the edge of the colony. Other colony members moved about quickly, with purposeful strides. Their comings and goings partially hid the parent, who stood motionless, looking lonely and lost. The bird hung its head, from which hung the fish, from which hung strips of skin peeling from the fish’s tail. A waterfall of decay giving evidence of the torturous journey both bird and corpse had taken to this point.

When the parent looked up and surveyed its surroundings, hope returned. This time in the form of another small tern that had wriggled free of the colony and wobbled its way to the water’s edge. The parent jumped up and flew toward the juvenile. As the adult bird neared its offspring, a menacing flash alerted the parent to an ever-present threat.

A Heermann’s gull lurked above, ready to interrupt the feeding and steal what might have been the most well-traveled anchovy of all time. The parent aborted yet another descent. Wings spread again, pushing against the air and shooting the parent in the opposite direction. A confused juvenile shouted its objection, while the gull contorted its body to chase its target.

The parent raced up and then down the beach. Wingbeats, quick and powerful, were repeated with desperation. A quick turn to the right provided a little extra distance, which the pursuer was making up quickly. How long could she do this? Was an escape possible? And could this day get any worse?

She flew over, between and around the sea stacks at the end of the beach, and so did the gull. She flew over the open ocean and buzzed the bobbing pelicans, and so did the gull. When she shot toward a crashing wave, turned upside down and doubled back from where she came, the gull was nowhere to be found. An exhausted yet determined parent cruised once again to meet its offspring. The young bird quickly seized and consumed the weathered fish that now resembled a partially peeled banana. Having completed a feeding it had sought to do three minutes earlier, an exhausted parent stared at the juvenile, daring it to beg for another meal.