It's that time of year again. Yesterday we took a stroll along the waterfront and there were pelicans migrating through. Normally we see the odd one or two, maybe even half a dozen together. This time there were probably 100 birds in the air together, then anothr 50 or so joined them.
Pelicans are a peculiar sight. On the ground they have that funny look about them, big ungainly birds with that big wobbly pouch. In the air they acquire a certain grace, reminiscent of say a condor. It is a treat to see them effortlessly pick themselves out of the water, most unlike the frantic sprint of a duck with ambitions of getting aloft. Then they fly with unhurried stroke with the wind, then turn and hang against the wind, gliding in geostationary orbit.
We are all used to seeing plovers and gulls drop on their prey, but seeing a pelican do this is quite a different experience, the sheer bulk of the bird, and its spectacular grace in doing so. While hanging on the wind, they unfold their considerable necks, and look down over their equally long bill, an very different look to how they look in normal flight.
The flock was being threaded by a smaller group of cormorants. They seemed busy in comparison with the lazy motions of the larger birds. Ever beating their shorter wings, head forward, not tucked under, they jogged through the floating pelicans.
In contrast to these divers and skimmers the eagrets or herons on the shoreline seemed stately. Stood in majestic pose, and reaching down an elegant neck, ready to stab little silver flashes out of the water. It seemed there was the resident old bird, and a gang of less mature birds, their feathers more downy looking. Maybe it was one heron surrounded by many egrets. I thought a more romantic notion was a learned bird, and a school young'uns.
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