Birds at Sea

MUCH opportunity for watching ocean life under the widely varying conditions and relationships of the water and air is afforded by the research vessel Atlantis, which spends a large part of the year at sea. The events recorded here took place in waters within a few hundred miles of the coast of North America, between latitudes thirty-three and fifty — South Carolina to Newfoundland. Selections were made from my journal more or less at random, with no attempt at arrangement according to date or position. Most of the observations might have been made in any part of the sea area mentioned.

Oceanographic Vessel Atlantis

Two small land birds came aboard to-day — birds remarkable for their fearlessness. They were flycatchers of an unidentified kind, smaller than an English sparrow and gray, with a tinge of yellow. These birds literally wiped out the housefly population on board. Their hunger must have been extreme, for we were three hundred miles from land when they found us. Perhaps this hunger accounts for their audacity. The first of them I saw was in the saloon at dinnertime, catching the flies (acquired in Bermuda, by the way) about the food. The flies were in top form for speedy getaways, for we are still east of the Gulf Stream and the temperature is high. One could not actually see the flies caught; the motion was too fast. The fly was here, the bird there; both flashed into the air and the fly vanished, the bird returning to his perch on the edge of the table.

During one such dash a bird fumbled and almost fell into the butter, which would have been disastrous for him. Our saloon table is set in gimbals, fore and aft, but the birds acted as if swinging, dish-covered tables were an old story for them. Several of us tried to touch them when within a few inches’ distance. No one succeeded. They moved faster than the eye. One poor bird spent too much time catching flies on the floor. The mess boy stepped on his tail and he jerked out the feathers in his struggle. However, much to everyone’s surprise, he continued his dashes for food with apparently unimpaired agility. This pair of birds went from cabin to cabin through the whole ship during their stay of several days, doing us a service and causing much amusement.

There were many dovekies (little auks) about the ship to-day, diving under us and apparently feeding on something on or near the hull. These birds are swift in flight, their wing motion resembling that of ducks. One poor dovekie collided with one of the main lazy jacks and fell to the deck, dead. Our biological technician examined his stomach and found it empty. It is said that these infertile waters east of the Gulf Stream mean starvation for the birds when they are blown here, far south of their regular haunts. We saw three dead ones in the water during the day.

Cold and relentless is this northern sea, yet it is beautiful in the morning sun. The constant westerly gale has built up long high waves, so large that there are green plateaus on some of them, topped by snowy peaks. Sun-brightened, breaking crests shine upon range after range of these advancing mountains of the sea. The fulmars (fulmar petrels) fly among these shifting peaks and crags, swooping down into the valley eddies, constantly battling the mighty river of air which would sweep them ever backward. All winds are head winds for birds, when they are on their feeding grounds. Tired of climbing the everlasting meteorological hill, they come to rest on the sea surface and sit jauntily hove-to under slow speed ahead, occasionally lifting their wings to jump a breaking crest.

There are a dozen or more dovekies about the ship this morning, diving under the hull. Such fearless little birds they are, swimming close alongside our low-freeboard vessel, apparently indifferent to the huge creatures (ourselves) just a few feet above them. A sailor scooped up one of the birds in a dip net. When rescued from the meshes and placed on the deck, the bird floundered about rather helplessly, using his wings to hold himself upright and lift his plump body along. However, he seemed to be unafraid, and upon being tossed into the air he immediately flew to the water close against the skin of the ship. In a few seconds he again dived beneath the surface to continue the search for food.

The Wilson’s petrel (stormy petrel) runs or walks on the water with ease and delicate grace, his wings fanning the air in a motion resembling that of butterflies. Back and forth across our wake these birds flutter, so erratic and intent in their quest for food that they often collide with the log line. The walking or running on the water helps them to examine the surface more minutely for the small animals on which they feed, and also helps them to push themselves forward against strong winds. At night the birds often fly into the floodlight on deck, temporarily blinded. One of these birds I weighed on the laboratory balance, getting a reading of 37.8 grams (1.33 ounces). No wonder that they can run so lightly on the sea! Our weighed bird seemed to be little afraid of us, for when released he stayed on my hand several moments, carefully adjusting his wing feathers, which had been displaced during the weighing.

The fulmars had downhill going most of to-day. From noon until four o’clock there was a southerly wind blowing against a large northerly swell. The birds were gliding down wind a few hundred yards from the ship, catching oncoming swells and riding them directly to windward as far as the ship. The updraft on the front side of the waves, advancing into the wind, made this flying possible. In fact the updraft was so strong that the birds had to give their wings a down tilt in order to stay near the water in the forefront of the wave summits. A slight uptilt of the wings, upon nearing the ship, was all that was necessary to lift them many feet in a steeply banked turn, with plenty of altitude for the down-wind glide to catch another swell. Over and over again, up, then down the wind, hour after hour I watched them taking advantage of the downhill going, never moving a wing. This conserving of energy may be an important factor in maintaining bird life far at sea. (The swells were about twenty feet high and traveling at a calculated speed of forty miles an hour.)

Yesterday afternoon a lost hawk, about the size of a duck hawk, tried to alight on the mainmast. After several attempts (either he was too tired to hold on or the whipping of the mast bothered him) he flew away to the southeast, a direction which would bring land only after two thousand miles of sea flying. Some of the land birds which come aboard seem to try several directions in their attempts to find a shore, each time returning to the ship for a fresh start. Soon after the hawk, a pair of very tired cowbirds came and perched on the mizzen spreaders for a long time — very close together, as if encouraging one another over their weary plight of being lost on this wet and treeless immensity.

While we were hove-to in a fog last night our searchlight was directed upward, to warn other craft of our position. The shaft of light looked almost solid. While on deck I saw another land bird flash out of the murk to windward, shine for an instant in the beam, and vanish in the blackness down the wind — driven onward and away, farther seaward, by the relentless flow. We see many different kinds of land birds far at sea, both during and between migratory seasons. Can many of them be really lost? They certainly seem to be. What of the much-discussed sense of direction of birds? Can it be a seasonal or group ability for some kinds of birds?

We have a gale and large seas to-day. The vessel is hove-to under bare poles, rolling heavily — riding sail blown out. There are several gulls about the ship giving a superlative exhibition of flying in the mad air, which tears at our rigging with high-pitched fury. Many times I saw them actually glide for long periods against a wind which at no time dropped below force seven (forty miles an hour) — glide and make headway, too. An example of the difference in the velocity of the wind at the surface (within a few feet) and many feet above was nicely demonstrated this morning. Three gulls, all gliding, were ranged one above the other — one near the surface, another ten or fifteen feet above, and a third about a hundred feet high. The high bird dropped back slowly but steadily, the bottom two birds staying almost together.

Dovekies are still about, hugging the surface closely to avoid being blown out of the water. During the worst gusts and when huge breakers threaten, they dive beneath the danger. Their little black and white bodies are often hidden completely by the flying water. Though the dovekies are powerful flyers, making much better speed against the wind than the gulls, they are conspicuously lacking in manœuvrability. I saw two of them bearing down on the ship from upwind at a terrific rate, apparently intending to alight in the water on our windward side. However, their judgment was amiss, for they swung up into the wind too late to stop completely their downthe-wind motion, both colliding with the side of the ship, tail end first. Fortunately for them, their speed was so diminished that they were not killed.

Another dovekie, not so fortunate, tried to fly across the ship, struck the mizzen topping lift, and was killed, his body being carried a hundred feet to leeward before striking the water. One gets the impression that the dovekies do not spend much time in the air; else how could they show such a lack of flying skill? I have never seen any other sea bird collide with the ship, except when blinded by the lights at night.

Our boatswain, an old-timer of the sea, told of catching albatross in the southern oceans and using their vomit for oiling his leather sea boots. The albatross get seasick very quickly when held on shipboard. The oil from the sea food of the birds supplied the waterproofing.

The heating of the air layers adjacent to the water was made evident this morning by the wavy appearance of the horizon all about us. The water temperature was seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit and the air temperature was fortyseven degrees Fahrenheit; twenty degrees of cold reported on shore, two hundred and fifty miles to windward. This cold continental air must expand to a considerable extent as it flows out over the warmer sea. I mention the air and water conditions in order to relate them to the bird flights I saw this afternoon. There were over fifty gulls about the ship, and conditions at the sea surface were such that, except in the updraft off the mizzen (a favorite resting place), the birds had to keep their wings beating most of the time to stay with the ship. Occasionally, however, the birds struck what seemed to be spiral or trough updrafts, and to them many would flock, rising hundreds of feet until some were mere dots in the sky. Most of the updrafts seemed to be of the trough type, for in two hours’ watching I saw only three of the spiral ascents.

There was a deliberate hunt on for these updrafts, the birds scattering widely on both sides of the ship. Just as soon as one bird struck an upcurrent of air, many others would slide over and join in the elevation. Once considerable altitude was gained, the birds used it to overtake the ship. Often they would have hundreds of feet of potential remaining after reaching the ship, which was used in a long easy glide, just keeping pace with our progress. The closely spaced cumulus clouds flying above indicated how numerous these updrafts were.

The dovekies use their wings for swimming under water. They are awkward flyers, though fast. I saw one bird alight so solidly on the water that he bounced into the air again, turning a complete flip before coming to rest on the surface. This afternoon these birds are up to their old tricks again, flying ahead of the vessel and diving under as we overtake them, apparently expecting to feed on the bottom as the hull slides past. Several have been killed by the screw and thrown to the surface in our wake, where their white bellies shone against the receding blue. One cruise we made saw all of our little auk followers killed in this way.