As I walked along the coastal path at low tide, I noticed a flock of a dozen or so carrion crows strung out in a line along the foreshore, their glossy black bodies rising and falling like puppets on strings.
Edging closer, I could see that the crows had cockles grasped in their bills. Flying to a height of about five metres, they were dropping the shellfish on to the rocky beach below. As the cockles tumbled to the ground, the birds swiftly followed, descending vertically, with wings outstretched and legs dangling. Each bird kept its eyes firmly fixed on its prize, ready to locate it among the flint pebbles and bladderwrack before another member of the flock, or one of the loitering gulls, had the opportunity to steal it.
