LAUGHING GULLS &
AN EMPTY POTATO-CHIP BAG
At this time of year the common seagull along the coast north of us is the Laughing
Gull, so called because its call is slightly reminiscent of a shrill, hardy-har kind of
laugh. You can hear the laugh at www.assateague.com/call-lg.wav.
The most striking feature of the mature adult's appearance is its entirely black head
-- as if it were wearing an executioner's hood. But that's only during the summer. They're
in their winter plummage now, so of all the Laughing Gulls seen Monday, only one was
mostly black, the rest having white heads with a little dark mottling. You can the
species' various plummages, the species' US distribution, and read more about them at www.mbr-pwrc.usgs.gov/id/framlst/i0580id.html.
Most of Monday's gulls just flew up and down the beach, and sometimes a few birds
gathered far offshore and floated in a sea of white caps. The one time the birds brought
attention to themselves was when one of them plucked an empty, red potato-chip bag from
the sea, and was immediately mobbed by about a dozen others.
What a racket those gulls made with their calls, and there was nothing like laughter in
the sound. The birds fought for the bag, for possibly it contained a little food, as if
their lives depended on it. No single bird ever kept the bag long enough to figure out
whether it was empty or not.
A beach always brings into high relief the fact that most life is made possible only by
the deaths of others (birds eating fish, fish eating other fish, plants and dead things,
remains of dead creatures washing up on the sand...) and this fight for the red bag was a
sudden, spontaneous eruption of that cold fact.
Once, a Brown Pelican crashed into the mélée, snatched up the bag, and maybe just
because it was so big (90- inch wingspread) kept it long enough to see that it was empty,
and dropped it back into the water. Then the fight continued among the gulls. It was still
going on as we hiked up the beach, glad to forget how hunger can cause societal breakdowns
in a flash. |