Out to sea there is a squadron of juvenile great black-backed gulls, each one dark as a witch’s cape against the tide’s limpid sheen. I turn my scope to match their flight, chasing them until they splash down at the edge of a messy raft of birds.
At first I just tick off the species: adult herring, common and great black-backed gulls, dipping their heads almost casually into the water; a gannet irritably wielding its sword-like bill at the mob; razorbills and guillemots in their seasonal tuxedos, diving down and popping up around the larger birds. Askance of the main fray, cormorants buck smoothly under the surface and more gulls tip from the sky. When a winter‑white black‑headed gull struggles back into the air with a silver rag hanging from its bill, I pull back my scope and finally realise what’s happening. I’m witnessing a feeding frenzy – a bait ball.
