You want to see a birder’s head detach cleanly from their body—no warning, no anesthesia?
Simple.
Spot a gull…
Point with enthusiasm…
And declare, “Oh look! A seagull!”
Then step back.
Not casually.
Not politely.
Step back like you’ve just lit a fuse and remembered you enjoy having eyebrows.
Because what follows is not a correction.
It is a symposium.
You’ll learn—whether you like it or not—that there is no such thing as a “seagull.”
They are gulls.
Some live by the sea. Some don’t. Some probably have better real estate portfolios than we do.
And just when you think the lecture is over, they’ll hit you with the advanced course:
These birds are smart.
Uncomfortably smart.
They drop clams on rocks like sous-chefs with anger issues.
They stomp their feet to fake rainfall and trick worms into rising—basically running a tiny underground con.
They’ll use bread as bait to catch fish.
That’s right.
Somewhere out there is a gull that fishes…
with tools.
Let that sink in while you clutch your Dunkin’ cup a little tighter.
This Morning’s Lesson: Crime Scene at Narrow River
April 20.
Thirty-four degrees.
Which is not “spring,” no matter what the calendar says.
I head down to the Narrow River dressed like a man who believes in optimism over preparation.
No gloves. Light jacket. Poor decisions.
And there he is.
A Herring Gull, standing in the mud like he owns the place…
Holding what can only be described as a prehistoric nightmare.
A spider crab.
Not eating it.
Managing it.
There’s a difference.
The crab is waving limbs like it’s filing an appeal.
The gull is unimpressed.
I’m thinking, Perfect.
Quick shots. Good story. Back to warmth and dignity.
Click.
Click.
Got it.
Or so I thought.
Because Gulls Don’t Just Eat… They Perform
Now, here’s the thing about gulls.
They don’t just eat their food.
They stage it.
Flip it.
Drop it.
Reposition it like a contractor who refuses to read the instructions.
This bird is working that crab like it’s a Rubik’s Cube from hell.
Legs everywhere.
Shell crunching.
That look in its eye that says, “I have done this before… and I will do it again.”
And suddenly, all those “fun facts” make sense:
- Opportunistic omnivore? ✔️ (This guy would eat your sandwich and your dignity.)
- Intelligent? ✔️ (Clearly running a multi-step disassembly protocol.)
- Kleptoparasitism? ✔️ (Translation: if you blink, your lunch is gone.)
Enter: The Bald Eagle (a.k.a. The Setup)
Naturally—because the universe enjoys irony—I scan the river.
And there it is.
A bald eagle, perched high in the trees.
Now we’re talking.
The mind immediately shifts from “gull with crab” to National Geographic cover shot.
I watch.
Twenty minutes.
I reposition.
I strategize.
I have angles.
I have vision.
I have… absolutely no feeling left in my fingers.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because this—this—is going to be the shot.
The Plan (a Brief Comedy)
I set up with three perfect flight paths:
- Right at me (hero shot)
- Left (dramatic profile)
- Right (equally dramatic, but slightly more smug)
I am ready.
This is what separates the amateurs from the professionals:
A plan.
Preparation.
Execution.
One hour later…
One and a half hours later…
The eagle launches.
Majestic. Powerful. Everything you hope for.
And then…
He flies in the only direction not covered in my master plan.
Away.
Not left.
Not right.
Not toward.
Away.
Like he checked my setup, laughed, and said,
“Not today, George.”
The Real Lesson
So what did we learn?
Well…
- There’s no such thing as a “seagull” (say it at your own risk).
- Gulls are smarter than they have any right to be.
- A spider crab’s last day is… complicated.
- And most importantly:
Great photography requires three things:
A plan.
Preparation.
And luck.
Two out of three?
You get a well-documented crab homicide.
Three out of three?
You get the eagle.
Today…
Luck called in sick.
Naturally.
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