Don’t Feed The Gulls
Back in the early 1970s, the book Jonathan Livingston Seagull found its way onto the New York Times best-seller list for the better part of a year with several million copies sold. The book was even made into a motion picture. Still, seagulls didn’t get much respect.
Then, a decade later, there was a second decided campaign to increase the standing of seagulls. This, of course, was the highly intellectual effort championed by the band Flock of Seagulls.
Unfortunately, even the very best of the early MTV generation failed in improving the lot of this coastal bird.
My personal connection to these feathered beings is mixed. On the one hand, my earliest memories on the water involved the lookout for gulls, which gave us direction to feeding bluefish and striped bass. On the other hand, there have been far too many times over the years when I’ve wandered to the water’s edge only to have one of those darn scavengers peck away at the pretzels, crackers, or sandwiches I’d left at the side of my beach chair.
This 4th of July weekend I sat at the beach watching these wonderful birds that have forever been in the backdrop of my days along the water.
I thought, too, of my dad telling me, “Don’t feed the gulls.”
Like many who hunt and fish, my father had great respect for nature and an understanding that feeding wild animals creates a dependence that alters their ability to survive in the wild.
But “Don’t feed the gulls” also involved self-interest.
As I watched the gulls along the beach yesterday, I remembered the end of a beautiful summer day some years ago. I was on the ferry running from Vineyard Haven on Martha’s Vineyard to Woods Hole on Cape Cod. The air was warm and the sun was low in the sky. Like many aboard the ferry I was on the upper deck enjoying the late sun. Nearby, a passenger began feeding a gull potato chips, drawing the bird so close to him that the gull literally took the chip from his hand.
Several passengers thought this feat was one worth emulating, so they, too, held out food. In the matter of a minute, the slow moving ferry was followed by a squadron of squawking gulls that hovered just above the crowded deck.
“Don’t feed the gulls,” had been my father’s instruction, his sensibility being that of a naturalist and conservationist, but also that of one who observed nature. “They get excited when they feed,” he told me. “And when they get excited their bellies open up.”
Fortunately, I had stood back that day on the Vineyard ferry. I can still picture those grey birds jockeying for position as they dive-bombed for potato chips. All in unison, it seemed, they got excited and strafed that deck with enough guano to fertilize a large farm. I have no doubt that everyone on that top deck learned that seaside lesson well – Don’t feed the gulls.
by John Urban
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