Aar-aar-aar

The hungrier I get, the further I go.

For the last few months, I’ve flown north for food. Sand eels and herrings mainly – although I’m partial to the odd crustacean. Across miles of ocean and boundless sky, something deep inside keeps ticking away, guiding me along routes my kind have always known. A strange thing attached to me – fitted by humans, I don’t understand. Neither it, nor them. Either way, there’s not much I can do about it.

Arr-arr-arr.

I bob on the waves, my black and white feathers slick, my orange beak gleaming. If the sea gets choppy, I can dive using my wings to “fly” underwater. Swimming is almost as good as flying.

Then…

Something says change direction, head back home.

Home.

Like the taste of the word.

Flying —

And dreaming of a burrow high on the clifftop where I was born. The unending cry of countless birds echoing through the air.

First memory was chipping my way out of the egg and getting to see Ma and Pa’s excited faces. Cawing over their firstborn with pride. The way they took turns warming me under their feathers, feeding me the softest parts of fish, shielding me from harm.

Ooooh.

The winds whistled outside. I heard them. Whoosh. I stayed safe within.

Waiting.

Ma or Pa flew off for fish, the other stood guard, a fierce sentinel at the mouth of our burrow.

Sometimes, a thought, cold as freezing sea, would surface. What if one didn’t come back?

That burrow had been made for me, and I never wanted to leave it. Or them.

***

Then one night, a craving.

Came over me.

So strong…

It took hold — I couldn’t fight its pull. I slipped out into the darkness while they slept, breathing in the scent of salt and seaweed. The night sky an inky blue, the moon a silver disc high above, glittering lights spread wide like fish scales. Below, ocean waves battered the cliffs in a constant roaring rhythm. With nothing but the pattern of stars and a white moon to guide me, I was ready for my adventures at sea.

Who was I kidding?

That first flight – I nearly didn’t make it. It was only because Ma broke the code — she’d been following me all the time, a silent shadow from the moment I made my first steps out of the burrow – just in case.

But she was right.

Ma birds usually are.

Before I’d even left the cliff, this great-beaked gull swooped and snatched me up in its claws. Boy, was that thing ugly. I heard Ma’s cries echoing behind me. Then, as if by miracle, her beak jabbed the gull’s side like a strike of lightning. The gull dropped me and flew off squawking. Ma flew away too. For a moment, I fell like a pebble. Then, an amazing thing happened. My wings ruffled and caught the air.

After a few mishaps, I got the hang of things. I lived.

***

Three years later, Spring is close by, and I’m getting strong, I feel a surge. My dull grey feathers have given way to sleek black and white, my beak a blaze of orange and yellow. Humans call us “clowns of the sea,” because we waddle when we walk. You should see us when we fly or swim – we’re swift and agile then. Even the females glance my way now and then.

I’m becoming what they call “a catch.”

Before I head home, I plan to take one last detour.

The golden shores of Cape Cod beckon in the distance — my favourite waters. I dive deep, holding my breath, gliding past coral gardens which appear like pale underwater forests. The colours deepen from white to pink and crimson. Here, clams are sweetest, and darting fish glow silver. I snatch more than one, savouring them at the surface. The sun is warm, the water clear. I could stay here forever. But the instinct for home pulls, and I fly on.

Feeling good.

But then I scent it. A strange, heavy smell. A clinging. The shimmer on the water looks wrong. The air tastes heavy.

Sunlight blinks on the waves, but something beneath gleams, like a bruise spreading on skin.

Then I see it — and the horror takes hold.

Aar-aar-arr!

A blackened beach. Clumps of stuff… everywhere.

A desolate stretch where birds lie scattered, feathers matted in oily sludge. Some still alive, barely, flap weakly, eyes pleading. Even the great black-backed gull — that most loathed predator — lies motionless, its beak half-buried in muck. All that power reduced to a lump of slime. The sea itself seems to groan beneath the weight of… what it it?

Awash with the bad.

A gannet drags itself ashore, opens its hapless beak, falls silent forever.

Dense clouds rise from scarred water. The air is sharp and choking, burning the throat. In the distance, a ship tilts like some beast in the water, fire spilling like guts from its side. Smoke billows upward, turning the sky into a contusion of grey. The cries of the dying fill the air.

Ma’s voice echoes in my head.

However hungry you get, keep away from things that look strange or smell terrible.

I’m trying.

But can’t help it…

Hunger drives me.

A dark sheen of slick spreading all slippery.

Going into places it shouldn’t.

Black holes within holes.

Close up, the sea is coated in film — a beautiful, but deadly rainbow.

Against my better judgement, I dive and metallic coats my tongue. Instantly, my feathers stick, my wings grow heavy. There’s no lift in them. What is this? Panic grips. I thrash, retching. The world tilts, and I begin to sink.

I must be dying!

The water stings my eyes and clogs my nostrils. I can’t tell which way is up. My feathers, once light as air, are clogged – they drag me down. The sea, which had always been my friend, now feels like a cruel foe holding me under. I hear Ma’s voice in my head, her warmth, her endless patience — but all I feel is the encroaching cold.

I cannot fight it.

Whatever it is, it’s too big.

My eyes are clouding slits, but I cling onto life.

Somehow.

Then, through the blur, I see shapes moving on the surface. Voices. Shadows. A flash of orange.

Something dips towards me — a pole? A net? Too weak to care. I let myself float, half-conscious, until strong hands close gently around me. A voice murmurs, “Just as well he’s tagged. Got you, little one.” Another says, “This one’s for Ben. I promised. He can help this time.”

***

When I wake again, I’m surrounded by a clean brightness, the scent of soap. A woman in white leans over me with kind eyes, watched by a boy. Her gloved hands work carefully, cleaning each feather. The boy dabs the oil from my head. Time ticks slowly, but inch by inch I learn to trust. Enveloped by warm water, I hear a soft voice — not bird-soft, but human-soft — like resting inside a hum.

Days pass in a haze of light and warmth. I’m placed in a shallow pool where I float, my feathers slowly regaining their gleam. Around me, other birds stir — gulls, gannets, even a few winking puffins. Like ghosts coming back to life. I eat again. I dream again. I preen away.

And one morning, I know I am ready.

The humans lift me gently into a crate. There’s a hum of engines, the glorious scent of sea air. Waves roll against the boat with a clean sigh – like a promise half-fulfilled. The lid opens. Sunlight falls like liquid gold.

The humans say, “Ideal conditions…”

“I wish I could keep him,” Ben says softly. “Keep him safe forever.”

A tall man says, “You can’t. He’s wild. You must let him go.”

For a moment, I just stand there, heart beating fast. Water glistens like raindrops in the boy’s eyes.

The sky stretches above, blue and endless. Then, the familiar pull of something stronger than fear takes over. I spread my wings and leap. The wind catches. And I rise.

Behind me, the faint cheer of human voices. Ahead, only the horizon.

I’m flying home.

I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there — only that I’m going the right way.

Now the wind smells of salt and promise.

Closing my eyes, I hear the cries of the birds on the cliff.

Ma and Pa’s will be among them.

Far away, a boy might be watching the sea, and wondering if I made it.

I wish I could tell him — yes.

Until the next time.