Migrating to live...

“I am the tern…goo goo g’joob…”

From The Beatles’ I am the Walrus

          I go from pole to pole, corner to corner, (a song line I recall) - Sterna Paradisa- me, the arctic tern. My flight or really my glide can be over 56,000 miles. I have the record for the longest migration of any animal, Arctic Circle to Antarctic Circle. I see more daylight than any other being. I like this. Night is scary. Nigtmares  of bigger foes; egg stealers. We terns nest once every three years. For many, that’s great. My young fly from 21- 24 days and yet may remain with me, the parent for a month or two after. Oh, oh, if only that were for some of the world I get to ponder over as I journey. Some kids stay home forever.  I am, I say, an ecumenical being, my colors biracial, blacks, whites, and greys for both sexes. Red webbed feet and beak. Like many or many who wish to be, I am slender with narrow wings and short legs. I think it quite beautiful. Others do too.

          I have of course, being a bird and a member in good standing of an Audubon society, made sure I have been seen. But that’s not quite correct. I have been seen by many only in captivity- ridiculous and confining zoos, not to me too realistic aquariums, since not too many have been to the arctic or to areas where I might be. Lately with the virus and with my aging unable to be halted, I am 77, I am not likely to go to places off the beaten track anymore. To the bird list keepers, those driven and manic compadres, that won’t count. To me, it does. Birders count birds they hear; I don’t. I just cannot identify them by song. We all take liberties. With almost everything in life, don’t we?

          I have to believe the birder who tells another on his/her travels a Kagu was spotted. Rare even in New Calendonia. Or the Kakapo in New Zealand. I was able to convince friends I saw a condor at Big Sur in California. A blip in their photo. And with a guide, after many hours, I did see the palila in the Hawaiian old growth forest which has a special name, Kipuka and is at 6,000 feet.

          What the heck do I think about as I migrate, you ask? “So much depends on…” Getting from point A to Z, what to eat, where to sleep, who is he or she or even in the big bird world, “they” going to meet to mate with. What will my offspring be like? After all, it’s a big cold world out there. Will they be able to migrate to the best neighborhoods, get the pick of the “litter (bird, of course) as they grow.   Survival of the fittest, so they say.

          When I migrate, and in a way, aren’t we all migrators,  if I may in keeping use that term,  think of many many things. I want to make it to the destination unscathed. I have to.  Like people, I tank up for a journey, with the necessary diet and garments.  Where will I be able to poop if I need to, sometimes thousands of feet up, others too low down?  My compass is like an AP on a cellphone for people I have recently learned, rather than it being internally placed. You could say my whole body is an AP. Many of them. Hopefully never expiring, have their fees raised or dying out. Or even, heaven forbid, replaced by a newer model.

           I’d have goodies for the trip. Clothing for every occasion, weather, season and more than one of most things in case. Feathers of all kinds, primaries and secondaries.  I might have to bail- always be prepared! A place to land, to feel safe, is more than important. There are lots of pitfalls and demons out there. 

          I want to be sure who I begin the journey with. I am not a lone flyer.  I’m not sure if I am of late monogamous, polyandrous, or what? Too many choices now when once this just was not so. Mates who are strong, directed, smarter than me are a requirement. I could be the good leader with an idea in mind of the obstacles that might be encountered. Or I am flexible enough to be the follow the leader. 

           I want that in my brain. By the way, bird brain is more than a misnomer. It may be relevant for an acquaintance and very relevant lately for political figures, but it is an insult to a bird and tome, the tern as well. Birds can do sophisticated solving problem solving tasks. They can plan for the future in a way. Some can read faces. Some can make tools. I have friends lacking in many of these areas lately- I will not call them bird brains, though. In time, I’ll figure another moniker. “So much depends on…” or did I say that already?

          I am always prepared, especially for prepared for weather, particularly for winter. It is hard. Going over mountains, under forests, 20- 50% of my habitat already destroyed, global warming, soaring high and low to avoid a squall. Avoiding blather, bawls and blasts is part of the migration. I am learning that now in autumn; I will master it by winter. I must if I am to migrate; we all must.

          Thinking is at the highest elevations difficult, maybe at lower ones lately, too. But I do my best thinking when moving, and migrating is moving to the limit, the nth degree. Whales sing differently when they migrate. People when they are happy. Terns may not sing at all. Not much to sing about at such a height. But my instincts protect me. I like that. Trusting instincts, important, very important. I did not need a higher education to learn and to integrate that! No checkbook to balance, no obligation to see the doctor, just trust in oneself and the overwhelming desire to get me where I need to and must be. This has been a forever part of my species. I need food, shelter, mating. I must persevere. The struggle to go on and on in spite of the hazards, the obstacles, the politics, the virus in 2020.