As summer approaches, the pirates of the promenade will soon be back in the headlines again, for the chip thieves and overzealous nest defenders give gulls a bad rap. Our own unsalted birds, 30 miles from the ocean swell, offer a different take. May is the month when they are most ubiquitous, most vocal, most beguiling.
Up the combe they come, riding over the rising sun as I sit here to write and look out at the big sky. One glides before me, underwings dark, bib and belly uplit to cast an ethereal glow. A paint chart might well label this grey-tinted body hue “gull white”. Two bigger birds appear, slender wings slanting as they turn to flash a glimpse of upper, the thundercloud blue‑black of black-backed gulls. Others will follow shortly, an assorted collection of first years, second years, non-breeders, failed breeders and apprentices, their age flagged by the grey gradations of plumage.
