Wildlife Mysteries

Empty promises – Tues 19th May

I’m afraid I enjoyed so much the disgraceful spectacle of the bird feeding frenzy a few days ago (see post for Thursday 14th May) that I thought I’d try it again. So, armed with some more stale bread I found a suitable spot, once again put the camera on the ground, lining it up in a direction where I thought I might get some good shots, and tossed a handful or crumbs a few feet in front of the lens.

Within seconds the birds were all there again (except the crow, sadly) only this time I was surprised to see there was considerably more inter-species cooperation going on than last time. After their appalling behaviour the other day, additionally resulting in none of them getting anything much to eat (go on, scroll down to the other story, it’s a good one) was I imagining there was a slight sense of embarrassment in the air? Who knows? –But for whatever reason, the levels of politeness were definitely higher.

Then some woman walks by and empties an entire box of Rice Krispies on the ground about twenty feet away. This resulted in my carefully constructed and baited shot being rendered null, as the whole lot of them flew off to this far more attractive looking banquet. I was not happy about this, and yet, I had to appreciate this was another new experience, something I couldn’t have dreamed of (though I should know better by now, dreams are always outstripped by the sheer absurdity of reality) leaving me wondering what else people will put out for the birds…

Furthermore, within a few seconds of my initial indignation, I realised I really wanted to know what the seagulls would make of a very dry mound of the aforementioned breakfast cereal. The fact is, Rice Krispies do look good – after all, they are created to be tempting to small people with the approximate mental age of a seagull. However as anyone knows who has ever been an intoxicated student returning from the pub to find that’s all there is in the house, and no milk (or chocolate to make those weird cakes with), you might just as well not bother. The seagulls were now finding this out for themselves.

As I left this new scene of avian disappointment, the pigeons had already returned to my comparatively meagre offering while the seagulls continued to stare at the golden mound, occasionally trying to pick up a few more fragile and insubstantial morsels with beaks far better designed to grasp fish with.

Carnage – Thurs 14th May

Today the rain is coming down in sheets but, regardless, I am still going OUT. I know that in this weather all the outdoor cafés will be closed, and I want to be outdoors, but luckily I’m prepared for this with a new toy: a thermos flask. Now, ok, this doesn’t exactly sound like the highlife, but in a world of shopping malls, virtual reality, apps and skinny lattes, sitting in one of the covered shelters on the seafront in the pouring rain with a thermos of tea has, in my opinion, become the new exotic.

And I’ve brought some stale bread to feed the birds…

Of course when I get to the sea front there are no birds anywhere to be seen, but just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean that they haven’t spotted you. I find a shelter out of the wind, put the camera on the ground pointing in roughly the right direction, being careful to avoid drips and splashes, and then I toss the first few morsels onto the sodden pavement.

Within seconds the first bird turns up: I’m delighted to see it’s the crow, someone I haven’t seen for a while. Then a seagull lands, followed by a pigeon who walks nonchalantly but purposefully into view. I now throw quite a lot of bread out at once so every bird should get at least something.

Several more pigeons arrive and then, out of nowhere, a whole pack of seagulls. The crow quickly makes his exit; he’s already been lunged at, so now it’s just the pigeons and gulls. You’d think the gulls would have the advantage, being twice the size of any other bird here and certainly a lot more aggressive, but in fact the pigeons are getting a better deal because they are less nervous of human proximity. Also, the gulls are now fighting among themselves. One in particular, clearly the biggest and very territorial, is too nervous to get close enough to take what’s on offer, but instead of overcoming its fear, decides instead to attack any other bird that looks like its going to get something to eat. It’d go for the pigeons too but attacking them would also mean getting too close to me. This is clearly upsetting the seagull. The pigeons remain oblivious of this looming wave of spite but then, oh for god’s sake, one really big pigeon has seen all the others gathered here and decided, not to join in the free meal, but that this is an opportunity to have sex with a whole harem of potential playmates. This does not go down well with the rest of the pigeons and what I’m looking at now is beginning to resemble the decline of Rome.

Then, to cap it all, while all this attempted sex and fighting is going on a dog turns up and straightaway eats all the bread before its master calls it away.

I can only describe the following silence as loaded.

Once I’m home and have downloaded the photographs of today’s events, I too am a bit disappointed to find I’ve had the camera on the wrong settings and that most of the photos are pretty much unusable (apart from the one pictured, which needed a lot of rescuing). But, given I’ve just seen the rise and fall of any number of civilizations played out in front of me, re-enacted by birds and compressed into only about ten minutes, I’m not really complaining. The thermos flask worked pretty well too.

Alien encounter – Fri 8th May

Today I discovered an entirely new sensation. Soft and clammy overall but quite sharp in points around the edges, the feeling was confined to my head and was only fleeting, lasting maybe a second, followed by a sudden down-draft of air. Despite, or perhaps because of its briefness I was completely startled, unable to make sense of what I’d felt until it had passed and the cause had more or less disappeared. I don’t think I’ve ever known anything like it.

If you want to experience something similar, I would first recommend shaving your head to guarantee contact unadulterated by any intervening hair, and then walk along the seafront eating a prawn sandwich in a heavily seagull-populated area of the coast.

Covert operations – Fri 24th April

The man at the café continues in his heroic task of clearing the establishment of all birds. He’s increased his arsenal of anti-avian devices, so that now, when not sporting his favourite weapon: the long handled brush (pictured) he will have with him another, manky old brush-head with long bristles. This he carries by the hairs in readiness to hurl at any fowl seen to be encroaching on his territory. Tea at the café is thus now punctuated with a series of loud cracks and skitters as this missile hits the ground and skids across the pavement, usually followed by a flurry of wings. Sometimes if you’re quick enough you can see the makeshift projectile fly through the air and I am now wondering how long it’s going to be before he hits a tourist. Of course this could also be me, and nearly was today, but that’s a risk I’m prepared to take, the floor-show is just too good and anyway, we all need a little danger in our lives.

At first sight it would appear this assault is working, there aren’t so many birds around lately, but I don’t think this is all to do with his endeavours. Given the crows are not to be seen on the beach either (an area outside his jurisdiction) I reckon they are currently nesting, this hypothesis supported by recently seeing one of them on the lawns with a beak so full of browning grass clippings that he or she looked a dead ringer for Karl Marx. And now the derelict West Pier seems to have developed a white frosting that evaporates from time to time as whole flocks take to the air, suggesting it’s become this year’s seagull nesting site of choice.

Sadly though, the pigeon world is now a rather more nervous one. They have all taken to lurking behind table legs and, when traversing any open terrain, do so at a run, their heads bobbing frantically in syncopation with their legs until they reach better cover elsewhere. Abandoned remains of chips, butties and fried breakfasts remain unmolested for whole minutes at a time, indeed it seems like it’s taking the man longer to clear the tables than was the case when he first arrived, so maybe this is a baiting strategy?

Nevertheless, despite his apparent successes, the whole world knows this situation is only temporary and indeed as soon as he turns his back or disappears on some errand, any uneaten plates of food left behind will all at once disappear under a cloud of feathers. It’s just that now, most of the food is immediately tossed to the ground so it can be eaten under the cover of various items of café furniture.

I must admit to being curious about what will happen when, their eggs hatched, the crows and gulls need to start foraging for their chicks. Both these species have a lot more presence and are less likely to take things lying down. When they return, I don’t think it’s going to go all his way…

Bated – Mon 20th April

“We gather that Tarrou was agreeably impressed by a little scene that took place daily on the balcony of a house facing his window. His room at the hotel looked on to a small side street and there were always several cats sleeping in the shadow of the walls. Every day, soon after lunch, at a time when most people stayed indoors enjoying a siesta, a dapper little old man stepped out on the balcony on the other side of the street. He had a soldierly bearing, very erect, and affected a military style of dressing; his snow-white hair was always brushed to perfect smoothness. Leaning over the balcony he would call: “Pussy!Pussy!” in a voice at once haughty and endearing. The cats blinked up at him with sleep-pale eyes, but made no move as yet. He then proceeded to tear some paper into scraps and let them fall into the street; interested by the fluttering shower of white butterflies, the cats came forward, lifting tentative paws toward the last scraps of paper. Then, taking careful aim, the old man would spit vigorously at the cats and, whenever a liquid missile hit the quarry, would beam with delight.”

Albert Camus ‘The Plague’ (translated by Stuart Gilbert)

And back again – Mon 13th April

The trouble with writing blogs, especially when you’re publishing things that have happened that day, is that you just don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Having expounded several theories yesterday regarding why the birds have vanished…

Today I’m sitting drinking tea on the sea front in thick fog, the café is about to close, no tourists, indeed very few people at all saving those of us who seem to like standing on the beach in weird weather (what is it about fog? It’s like staring at nothing, but at the same time, the nothing is so clearly, palpably, something) and then there’s a pigeon by my feet, and then another, and then the family of crows arrives with a great chorus of croaks. So much for my observations then… only maybe they do keep a safe distance when there are too many people at the café, especially if one of them is waving a broom around. And it’s good to know that the birds are just biding their time in the certain knowledge that people are really only a transient phenomenon.

Missing! – Sun 12th April

I’ve been wondering where the birds at the café have all gone. The starling will have flown north but what about the wagtail, the crows, even the pigeons? Only a few seagulls remain (nothing is going to put them off, they own the beach). Is it because all the others had flown inland for the breeding period, maybe to find trees to build nests in? Is it because there are too many tourists around? After all, it’s the Easter school holidays still, the weather has been uncharacteristically good, and I too am finding it a bit of a shock seeing so many people around suddenly. Or…

There’s a new guy at the café. His seems to be a bit of a lowly job: collect plates, wipe the tables, do a bit of sweeping up, but all of these tasks he undertakes with creditable gusto. However, it seems he’s also decided the area needs to be a bird-free zone and he now patrols the café with a long-handled brush, swinging it wildly like a polo mallet while charging any hopeful avian that chooses to land anywhere near a plate (or anywhere else for that matter). Given there are a lot of tables and, because of the Easter break most of them are full, there is, therefore, a lot of rushing around going on.

I can understand this is done for the benefit of the customers. It’s not easy eating a plate of chips when your table is covered in pigeons, and they are pretty persistent (though its much more fun watching someone else grappling with the same problem, especially when they make the mistake of throwing a few scraps in the mistaken hope that it might appease these winged vacuum cleaners) but somehow the place isn’t the same without the birds. My only consolation is that, as far as having something to watch while drinking my tea, the spectacle of a maniac lunging at anything with feathers does seem to pass the time.

Fred and Ginger – Thurs 26th March

So there’s these two dogs playing in the sand of the volleyball court on the sea front. I can’t help it, they look too cute, Its almost like they are dancing and so I have to photograph them. Then I have a brief chat with the owners about the glorious optimism of dogs. Apparently every night the two owners take the dogs to the beach and every night the little scallywags go through the same routine, as if they’ve known each other all their lives, but also as if every night, they’ve fallen in love for the first time.

This itself is enchanting, but here’s the extraordinary thing: Moments before, while I was taking the pictures, the scraggy brown one spotted me, or rather, it spotted my camera lens, raced over to me, jumped onto the low wall surrounding the court, gave me a big woofy grin and, honest to god, it posed. This was all over in a second and I was so startled I didn’t take a picture in time before it was off again, but it really happened.

As far as I am aware, dogs do not know how cameras work or what they are used for. As for posing, I have always been under the impression that when this happens at Crufts or on youtube videos it is more to do with obedience, training or the promise of a biscuit, not that spontaneous and brilliant reaction you get with accomplished film stars from the golden age of Hollywood. So I am now wondering, is it possible that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers (or maybe some other screen couple: Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn..?) have been reincarnated as dogs living in Brighton and by some amazing chance, found each other again, off screen, in a different life?

Why not? Anything’s possible. If I see them again I’m going to shout ‘Ginger!’ and see what happens.

Fruits de Mer – Thurs 19th March

Seafood seems to be on the menu in the bird world at the moment. Today I came across the second seagull in a week eating a starfish (yes that’s a starfish in the picture not, as on normal occasions, a gullet-full of chips). This looks quite charming, the pretty star shape held in the beak of this snowy white seaside icon, until you realise that the hapless echinoderm is probably still alive.

And then there is the additional dietary supplement of whelks. These, being heavily armoured, create something of a problem for both seagulls and crows alike. How do you get at them when they are in their shells? The answer seems to be to fly to a great height and drop them so the shells shatter when they hit the ground, then swoop down to pick through the broken pieces.

Of course doing so means that, for a few seconds, the whelk is not in your possession, meaning some other bird nearer the ground could nip in and steal these tasty morcels. Indeed this is a favourite strategy among those of a lazier, or smarter, persuasion and I have seen numerous fights break out over ownership. I had thought that this is how crows get hold of these shellfish. They certainly aren’t known for their swimming skills. But then a few weeks ago I was on the beach near the end of the day, to see the man from the whelk stall trundle across the pebbles with a huge plastic crate, which he then upturned unceremoniously, dumping a great mound of mollusc shells at the water’s edge.

At once there was a riot of flapping wings as both gulls and crows descended on this prize, first of all squabbling for the best bits, then drawing back, nonplussed, when they realised that most of the contents had been eaten. Nevertheless there were enough scraps left to warrant perseverance and I saw as many crows as gulls flying away with shells held in their beaks. It seems the crows have learned from the gulls what then to do with them. The crack when the shell hits the ground is quite distinct.

Now all I want to know is why there seem to be so few tourist injuries resulting from being hit from a great height by plummeting seashells? Is this luck, or is the tourist board hushing things up? After all Aeschylus the Ancient Greek tragedian suffered a similar fate when an eagle mistook his bald head for a rock and dropped a tortoise on him, killing him outright. Or maybe Brighton birds are smart enough to realise that killing tourists diminishes further possible food sources including bread, cake, kebabs, chips and the hot dogs I’ve mentioned in other posts?