8th November 1983

Feeding seagulls in Heidelberg

I’ve been feeding the gulls a lot recently.  I go down to the river with bread in my pocket, throw a little of it into the water whenever a gull flies overhead, and wait until a little flock congregates. 

It’s interesting the way this happens.  The gulls are gregarious birds, and their first instinct is to alert the rest of the flock to the presence of a new source of food.  The first gull flying high in the sky overhead will suddenly divert its course and drop like a badly aimed stone until it is circling over the sea where the food is being thrown.  It flies in an anti-clockwise direction and makes no attempt to dive for the food itself.  The most important thing is to alert the rest of the flock, dots of the surface of the water 200 yards downstream.  A couple of gulls catch sight of the first gull circling.  They take off as fast as they can, beating against the wind or gliding with it as the case may be, and join in the circling process.  Only after a good number have assembled in this fashion do the gulls start diving for the food – and then it’s every gull for itself.  (Contrast this with the behaviour of ducks, who are selfish from the word go.)

But I don’t throw the bread onto the surface of the water any longer.  I start throwing it into the air, and I try to time and aim my throws so that the gulls, which are timing and aiming their anti-clockwise flights, can catch it on the wing.  It is remarkable how quickly the gulls cotton on to this game.  Within seconds they are watching me from the opposite side of their flight circle, waiting to see exactly where I’ll throw the next pellet, and if I pick out one with my eye and do my best to throw it just for him, I can see him recognizing my intention and adjusting his flight path accordingly. 

Is it a game for the gulls?  I know they prefer to catch the bread on the wing because it saves them from having to break their flight path, but do they actually enjoy the whole business?  It is hard not to believe so.  Hard not to accredit to the birds a constant joy in flight (and porpoises enjoy swimming, we all know that.)  For me it is a game, a sort of cross between basketball and sharp-shooting, but entirely benign.  I love to see the gulls come wheeling in like sleek white fighter planes and then to see the connection as one of them reaches for the tiny pellet and disappears, one arc being taking over by another.  How to describe that instant when the two connect?  And why do the gulls fly anti-clockwise?

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