Birds are attractive to us because, like humans, they are visually oriented, vocal, and exhibit lots of intriguing behaviors. Even the most common birds can be entertaining for much of their daily routine, and sometimes their behavior seems downright bizarre.

These avicular activities are more often noted at the shore because our view of them is generally unobstructed, and the birds are often busy searching for food and easier to approach. Birds are constantly interacting with their own kind and other bird and animal species, including humans; although we are not always alert enough to grasp the significance of these exchanges. Sometimes the interaction benefits only one participant, other times both seem to profit from the encounter. People, if they are sharp enough, are always rewarded in their encounters with birds. Here are examples of a few of my favorite episodes…

Piscatorial Pirates

Whenever I'm in Florida, I regularly see laughing gulls robbing pelicans of their catch. Since the gull is too small to bully the much larger pelican, it uses its agility to sneak fishes from the pelican's enormous pouch when it is so filled with water the bird can't lift off. To accomplish this, a single gull shadows the pelican while it hunts. When it plunges into the water to gulp down a school of fish, the gull hovers for a moment, alights on the pelican's back or even its head, and as the pelican dips its head and opens its mouth to expel water and rearrange the catch, the gull snatches a fish or two. Ornithologists have given this behavior a wonderful label - kleptoparasitism. Occasionally, the pelican tries to shake off the gull or when bothered by several gulls, it simply hunts elsewhere. For the most part however, the placid pelicans tolerate the indignity and go about their business warily.

Fishing Buddies

Other Florida birds seem to collaborate with each other in the pursuit of fish, and when things go right, they all benefit. Groups of white pelicans a famous for forming a feeding line to crowd fishes into a small area then simultaneously dipping their bills to scoop up a meal.

The anhinga, or snakebird, has the sharpest bill of all the waterbirds. It swims underwater through a school of minnows and impales prey on the tip of its upper mandible, then surfaces to extract its bill from the fish, sometimes by tossing the victim in the air and catching it head-first to swallow. Some birds, perhaps youngsters or bored adults, practice this neat little trick with twigs as they roost in the mangroves after feeding.
Bent, in his classic work LIFE HISTORIES OF NORTH AMERICAN BIRDS, said of the anhinga, "I have never noticed anything worthy of comment in behavior toward other species." He must not have seen the birds at the Ding Darling Refuge area on Sanibel Island. A relationship seems to exist between wading birds and anhingas.

Although quick when it has to be, the anhinga moves fairly leisurely in its underwater pursuit of fishes, relying on stealth to move close to a school near the shoreline, and using the presence of other birds and sometimes even people to concentrate its prey. Little blue herons and snowy egrets, two of the most active wading birds, will oftentimes pace the anhinga along the shoreline, further crowding the fish and making them an easier target for both birds.

The events that I've seen seem to be initiated by the feeding activities of the anhingas, with the waders merely taking advantage of the situation and unwittingly improving the fishing luck for both of them. Then again, it may be that both birds have learned that some cooperation is mutually beneficial.

On one memorable day, in the company of a number of astonished witnesses, I followed one particularly tame bird for 15 minutes, trying to get a good photograph of its feeding activities. It climbed out of the water, skewered killifish-in-bill, and waddled right up to me.

Apparently, it was ready to reward me by sharing lunch. Awkwardly, I declined, but I did have enough composure to reach out and touch the rapier-like tip of its bill. Predictably, I was too consumed with curiosity to take a picture, but it was an unforgettable encounter for me, and apparently all in a day's work for the affable anhinga, which calmly swallowed its catch and returned to the water.

Mad Max

On an ALS whale-watch off Provincetown, MA, our vessel was buzzed repeatedly by a highly agitated Manx shearwater -"Mad Max" to the crew - who said this was the third year they had witnessed this unusual behavior.

The Manx shearwater gets its name from the Isle of Man, where once it was extremely abundant as a nesting bird. In Europe, it has acquired several local names ("crew," "cockathodon" and "cuckle") because of its call, which it typically repeats three times. Max glided up behind us, low over the boat's wake, using our draft to sail along the wave crests. Overtaking us at high speed, he buzzed the passengers at the stern, and with each pass emitted a guttural "cuck-cuck-oo."

I first thought that the bird had learned to snatch food from passengers as the gulls do on the Cape May Ferry. So, I tried the old standby, Cheez-puffs, but to no avail. Although he came close enough for me to touch his wingtip, (perilously close I decided, after getting a close-up view of his hooked bill), Max seemed concerned only about driving us out of his patch of ocean. In THE ISLAND, Ronald Lockley's classic and endearing account of the life and times of "cocklollies," the shearwater is depicted as a fairly placid creature. Mad Max certainly is an exception.

Waterfront Woodpeckers

Woodpeckers are not the first bird to come to mind when you mention beach birds, but the flicker is an exception. Doomed if they land in the water, they nonetheless risk crossing bays and stretches of open water to shorten their migration routes.

Since flickers regularly migrate over water and are a conspicuous bird, they are frequently spotted at the beach. In fact, they are one of the more noticeable harbingers of the changing seasons since they often appear en masse in the spring and fall at Sandy Hook and other coastal staging areas for migrating birds.

Unfortunately for flickers, they also attract the attention of migrating hawks, and sad clues that their migration is in full swing are piles of plucked yellow and black feathers - all that remains of birds that were eaten by hawks. It has been said by cynical hawk-watchers that, during migration there are only two types of birds -"hawks, and hawk food." You don't need to convince seagoing flickers of that.

An occasional sight along the beach, especially in the fall, is a hapless flicker racing in from the sea with a hawk - usually a peregrine falcon - in hot pursuit. Peregrines are comfortable flying long distance over water, and because of their size and speed, can dispatch flickers easily.

Both birds have distinctive fight patterns and can be identified a great distance from the beach. The flickers undulating woodpecker flight allows it to glide and rest for about half the time it's in the air - a decided advantage for a land bird over water. Edwin Teale describes the flight pattern of flickers over the inland "ocean" of prairie grass as, "loping in great bounds...appearing to ride long swells of the airy sea." Pursuing peregrines are identified by their distinctive and legendary high-speed swoops on prey that they snatch or knock out of the air.

Sometimes during a chase, the silhouettes of the two distant birds merge over the water, signaling the demise of another flicker. I've also watched hawks trail flickers to the beach and dive repeatedly on them like cats toying with a mouse, sometimes allowing them to escape, but just as frequently delivering the coup-de-grace as they reach the shoreline.
The most vivid memory I have about woodpeckers on the waterfront is from an ALS fall beachwalk at Chincoteague, VA. Like many barrier beaches, large numbers of birds are funneled through here during migration.

Startled by a falcon bearing down us, we were even more surprised to find the flicker it was pursuing had taken refuge on the leg of a beachcomber. Normally excitable and noisy when disturbed or handled by humans (From past experience with them at close quarters, I classify them, along with accipiter hawks, as "screamers" when they are captured) this flicker was frozen with fear and in such a state of shock that it allowed us to position it on each others' legs for photographs.

To a frightened woodpecker on an open beach, anything that looks like a tree - even a human leg - will do. Although naturalists say that we should be cheering for the hunter in such circumstances, I'm happy to report that this particular flicker survived its encounter with predators and people.

Birds of a Feather

"Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breat whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies."
(John Keats)

Many birds rest at the beach. Some, like gulls, are expected there, but others seem of place. Each year, around Labor Day; I visit Plum Island, MA, to watch birds and comb the beach. It is one of the best places the East Coast to do both.

Over the years, I've witnessed some odd bird behavior there, but the most entertaining performers are the tree swallows that migrate in great "flights" at that time of year. Here, they feed on the abundant insects and bayberries that thrive along the coast. During the dry gales of fall when the winds are strong and blowing offshore, these "wire birds" as they are sometimes called, settle on the sand at the edge of the dunes where there is a wind shadow, instead of typically resting in the trees or on phone wires.

Sitting here for a time, many swallows occupy themselves with an odd little game of catch. Flying low along the shoreline, they pickup downy white gull feathers that are blowing across the beach towards the water and carry them a short distance upwind to the gathering site near the dunes. Here, they manipulate the feathers a bit in their bills and dropping them after a few minutes once they tire of it. The feathers again blow across the beach toward the water and are usually snatched up by other swallows that repeat the activity. I can entertain the swallows and myself at the beach on such occasions by flicking feathers I've found stuck in the sand up into the wind; and it seems that the birds can't resist the chase.

Tree swallows migrate in great "swallow clouds" in the fall and I've seen dozens of them, scattered among the hundreds that are resting on the beach, engaging in this Sisyphean game. It seems like peculiar behavior for birds that should be relaxing after hours of flying in pursuit of insects, but their neighbors, the gulls, give clues as to why it occurs.
It's not rare to see herring gulls resting on the beach at the same time of year, aimlessly picking up twigs and seaweed, and carrying them round for no apparent reason. Both species build nests, the gulls lining theirs with seaweed, grass and a few feathers. The swallow lines its nesting cavity with feathers of other birds, notably gull down; delicately arranged so that the soft tips curl over their eggs.

They are quite partial to white feathers, which might reflect more light in their dark nest holes. In fact, the unofficial "feather nest" record holders are an industrious pair of tree swallows from Cape Cod that placed 147 feathers in a nesting box. Coincidentally, 99 percent of them were herring gull feathers.

M.J. Broley, in TRUE NATURE STORIES, appears to be the first to document feather gathering activities in tree swallows and claims to have once sacrificed an entire pillow to a flock of nest-building swallows in Canada. Some birds were so tame, that they snatched feathers from her outstretched hand, and seemed to expect such preferential treatment when they returned to nest near her cottage each spring.

Possible explanation: The day length at the end of August is about 12-1/2 hours, the same as late April when both swallows and gulls should be getting serious about nest-building. Day length probably stimulates hormones in the birds that confuse them for a week or two before they get the idea that fall, rather than spring, is upon them. But, they collect nesting materials anyway, not knowing why they are doing it, or caring that they are puzzling birdwatchers.

A Heron in the Harbor

Gulls are permanent fixtures around docks, especially where the party boats come in from a day of fishing. Some follow the vessels across Sandy Hook bay, while others are waiting for the fish cleaning to begin at the slips. Familiarity really does breed contempt, and the mates who clean the catch and the gulls that dive and scramble for the leftovers they toss, are involved in a love-hate relationship.

What usually begins as entertainment or philanthropy by the fishermen on the trip home becomes target practice back at the slip as the birds become more brazen. The tamest of all are herring gulls - the birds fishermen love to hate.
This summer, a new freeloader took up residence at the marina; a great blue heron, and fishermen and the gulls were not quite sure what to make of it. Tame herons are much more common in Florida, where they are nick-named "welfare birds" by the locals. This heron was immature, but its large size and spear-like bill were enough to intimidate the other avian vagabonds around the waterfront.

Most of the day, the heron lurked around the pilings, away from the commotion, but when a boatload of fishermen arrived, it soared in silently on those great gray wings, scattered a few gulls, and helped himself to the largest handout available.

This past fall, we witnessed the heron performing a most unheron-like activity - swimming! Hovering for a moment over the harbor, trailing his long legs below, he gently settled down into deep water.

For a moment, we worried that he was in trouble, but it was soon apparent there was a method to this. He began stabbing at the water and spinning around like a great big phalarope, intent on pulling something to the surface. For such a lanky creature, the heron is surprisingly stable and buoyant in the water.

Suddenly, with several deep wingbeats, he lifted straight up out of the water, and pursued by a herring gull, carried a large plastic bag to the dock where he proceeded to alarm us by attempting to swallow it and its contents.

Worried we were about to see a disaster unfolding, we slowly approached him, looking for the right moment to chase him away from the deadly catch. However in the time it took to explain concerns to one of the boat captains who had taken an interest in our mission, the enterprising heron proceeded to slip a smaller bag out of the larger one and remove the contents - hunk of bait.

To our delight, he then flew off to enjoy his dinner in privacy at the top of a piling, and away from the temptation of the bags. When I expressed to the captain my relief that the heron was so talented, his reply was to the point and about as complimentary as old salts ever get towards fellow fishermen: "I guess he didn't get this far by being stupid!"

True. He's a heron adapting to humans and a changing world...or better or worse. ..and with luck, he'll stay just wary enough of fishermen, fish hooks, and plastic bags, to be around for a long time.

Although we think of gulls as seabirds and fish-eaters, this is not always the case. Above all else, gulls are adaptable opportunists in their constant search for food.

A regular inland sight in New Jersey on warm, calm September days, is a great gathering of gulls flying awkwardly along with the wind, dipping, hovering, and turning. Their flight is so un-gull-like that it, and their numbers, will usually attract the attention of curious birders and non-birders alike, who speculate about this peculiar behavior.

The cause for these diversions: The warm temperatures and light winds encourage the dispersion of great numbers of "winged ants" - the adult kings and queens of the colonies that are making their nuptial flights before they return underground for the remainder of their life. Remarkably, the gulls - ring billed, herring, and laughing - are acrobatic enough to snatch the tiny prey out of mid-air and take advantage of this bounty. Sailing along with the swarm, dodging one another and occasionally a night hawk, the gulls are harvesting a momentarily abundant resource that few other birds seem to be utilizing.

Seafaring Skimmers

If there were awards in the bird world for exotic looks, odd behavior, and grace, the black skimmer would win that Triple Crown, hands down. Although they are proverbial "ugly ducklings" as youngsters, skimmers mature into our most beautiful and graceful coastal bird with enthralling behaviors. Dozens of skimmers once nested on Sandy Hook. However, the colony was repeatedly destroyed in the 1970's when, for two years running, vandals (allegedly local teenagers) killed the chicks. Since then, we have been lucky if one or two pairs join the declining tern colonies each summer. Although they are valiantly defended by their parents, these large chicks attract the attention of misguided people if their colonies are not protected.

Most skimmers seen at Sandy Hook these days are migrants, or probably visitors from Breezy Point and Jamaica Bay NWR across the entrance to New York Harbor. They are great fliers, zig-zagging close to the wave tops as they make the seven mile crossing literally "plowing the main" with their razor bills when they are "skimming" calm waters to snatch up minnows.

This method of feeding is unique in the animal world and observing it and speculating about how it evolved is reason enough to declare the skimmer our most fascinating coastal bird. However, if you watch skimmers closely, they are full of some other surprises, too.

Skimmers could have been a prototype for stealth bombers. Although large, they are fast and quiet, and seem to appear out of thin air when they are flying towards you. I first noticed this when I worked as a tern warden. If you upset nesting skimmers, they usually fly off, disappear downwind, and return flying straight towards you at eye level - your eyes!
A skimmer's head-on silhouette is almost as thin as the horizon and unless you are anticipating an attack, its approach is not always noticed until the bird pulls-up at the last second and lets out its guttural call..."kuk, kuk, kuk -AAAR!"... enough to scare off predators - and the pants off most beachcombers.

It was during such an encounter that Torre Knower, a graduate student studying the tern colonies at Sandy Hook first reported behavior that I've since observed too. After joining some least terns in mobbing a crow that had blundered into their air space, the agitated skimmers flew through the colony, dragging their bills in the sand.

I later discovered in the literature that this odd behavior, which is imitative of how they skim the water to feed, accounts for the Latin Americans' name for the skimmer: "rayador" - one who draws lines. Is this how skimmers clean their bills at the beach where they are few hard surfaces? Or, is it a way to release tension after a frustrating, or threatening encounter; or perhaps a display to prospective mates?

Add "puzzling" to the list of awards that can go to the skimmer.

Skimmers also have some puzzling flight characteristics and seem to function as high-performance sailboats when they are feeding over water. When birds fly parallel to my car, I often occupy myself by noting their speed while I drive to work. On a few occasions, I've paced feeding skimmers at Horseshoe Cove, where the road is very close to the eroded shoreline of the bay.

When the wind is from the east or northeast, the cove has an offshore breeze and is calm; providing skimmers with a perfectly flat fishing ground to glide across. I've clocked fishing skimmers in a cross-wind, keeping pace with my car traveling at 25 mph; even though the wind speed (according to the car radio and my observations) was much slower than that.

At the same site, I've also stood on the beach many times, scrutinizing sailing skimmers as they race past and observed them "reaching", that is sailing into the wind at an angle. Can this be right? Like a sailboat or iceboat, can a skimmer actually move faster than the wind against it, even though it seems to be gliding and not flapping its wings?

Finding a skimmer to study proved more difficult than I imagined. Because of the bird's habit of gliding low over bridges than passing under them as they fly and down river, I assumed there would be plenty of road-killed specimens able to measure wind and bill sizes to compare with sail and keel ratios of sailboats. Not so. No mounted specimens with outstretched wings could be found, and few museum skins were available.

By collecting bits and pieces of skimmers (literally), and some common terns (which are smaller and similar in proportions to the skimmers, but not as street wise) I've drawn this conclusion: The skimmer is both a consummate flier and seafarer.
According to my rough measurements, the skimmer's ratio of bill-to-wing area approaches the ideal ratio for a sailboat's keel-to-sail area (1:30 according to John F. Sutton in Small Sailing Craft). By adjusting the attitude of its wings (or trim of its sails, if you prefer), and by immersing its lower bill into the water to act like a centerboard, perhaps the skimmer is indeed able to tack into the wind like a high performance sailboat.

Watch one closely the next time you see it feeding. Flying high and downwind to pick up momentum and align itself for the approach to skim, the bird sweeps across the surface of the water and buoys itself with a slight flutter of the wing tips once its bill in the water. For what it's worth, my observations of a skimmer altering the glide path into the wind, arching its bill in the water, and adjusting its wings, have made me a believer that the skimmer is a sailor too.

How does this relate to you? Well…get out there and watch birds, don't just check them off on lists! And, if there's anyone out there with access to a radar gun, meet me at Sandy Hook in August when the skimmers are sailing. I've got an anemometer and this theory about skimmers...

NOTE: Grant, the Society's chief naturalist, is an avid year-round beachcomber and directs Brookdale Community College's Ocean Institute at Sandy Hook, NJ. He provided the illustrations for this article.