Winged Wonders Inherit the Wind

Stouthearted marine birds inspire awe

Irene Virag | GARDENING

January 11, 2004

Northern gannets seen at a rookery in Quebec. The birds, which are related to boobies, migrate during the spring and autumn; they overwinter on Long Island, where they can be seen from the land off Montauk, along the South Shore and Sunken Meadow State Park. (Photo by Ed Degginger)

I have crossed Long Island Sound by ferry and voyaged across the English Channel in abject misery. But I have never crossed the Atlantic or any other ocean by boat. Except for the time I covered a tuna-fishing tournament and covered myself with disgrace in the process, I have never been out to sea.

This is nothing to be proud of, I know. Close to two-thirds of the world is covered by water, mostly by the vast oceans that roll around continents and gave shape to life. So I am respectful of the creatures that travel across the alternately serene and storm-tossed deeps - the sharks and whales and seals and all the finned and scaly and spiny legions of the sea.

But I accord even more deference to the winged travelers who, for the most part, live above the great waters - the so-called pelagic birds that come to Earth only to breed. They define the word hardy. We should be more careful about the expression "birdbrained" - these sojourners can ride out 50-foot seas in the middle of roiling oceans. They have special circulation systems to keep warm and tubular noses that help filter salts out of the air. They are stiff-winged in flight - they soar more than flap, traveling prodigious distances in the process. And they are equipped with adaptations enabling them to perform wonders of feeding and flying.

The razorbill, whose name derives from its big white-striped bill, has been recorded as diving 24 feet into the ocean. The storm petrel dips its feet so lightly in the sea while gobbling up plankton that it seems as if it is walking on water.

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The shearwater can conduct its stiff-winged flight so close to the surface that it looks as if it is shearing off the top of the waves. And it is clearly unfazed by the story of Jonah. During a whale-watching trip 100 miles off Long Island, my naturalist friend, John Turner, saw gull-sized sooty and Cory's shearwaters use a humpback whale as a waiter. "The whales create bubble nets that entrap fish," he explained. "The whales surge with their mouths agape and the fish are easy pickings for the birds. They'll actually land in the mouth of the whale and grab the fish and have a sushi meal."

And then there is the albatross - the big and beautiful bird that Samuel Taylor Coleridge made famous. Coleridge's ancient mariner used a crossbow on an albatross hanging around his ship and plagued himself in the process. This may have given rise to the dolorous description of someone in trouble as having an albatross around her neck. Superstition holds that albatrosses bring stormy weather. What did Coleridge know? I mean, no matter how inspired his muse, the fact is that he had never seen an albatross.

When it comes to oceanic marvels, my husband has always wanted to see a blue whale, and I can understand why - it's the world's largest mammal. But it's not the creature that dominates my own marine fancies. I long to see an albatross. They are not just pretty feathers, but, depending on the species - as well as which authority you believe - they have huge wingspans that range from 7 to more than 13 feet. And they are princes of the pelagic realms.

Their command of wind and water is such that, according to nature writer Diane Ackerman, "an albatross flying 600 miles will flap less than a sparrow crossing a narrow street." She writes that albatrosses "spend most of their lives on the wing, wandering the world's oceans. They can fly four or five years without ever returning to land."

I doubt that I shall ever see an albatross. Most species are found far at sea in the Pacific, although the yellow-nosed albatross, which breeds in the Indian Ocean and the South Atlantic, occasionally goes off course and shows up in our precincts. One such vagrant was observed about two miles off Jones Beach in 1968 by 60 bird watchers on the lookout for pelagic fliers. John Turner recalls a similar sighting several years ago of a yellow-nosed flier along the mouth of Peconic Bay.

But that doesn't mean I can't see other avian ocean-goers. For instance, there are the razorbills. My favorite description comes from Trish Pelkowski, director of the Theodore Roosevelt Nature Preserve in Oyster Bay. "They look like penguins with wings that work." And remember the white-striped bills. She says they show up most winters around Montauk and also Point Lookout.

Northern gannets migrate during spring and fall and also overwinter in the area. They can be seen from land off Montauk and along the South Shore and from Sunken Meadow State Park. They're related to boobies and have clownlike faces and pointy beaks and wings. Northern fulmars, which resemble gulls except for their tubular noses, also can be seen in winter but from sea rather than shore.

Sooty and Cory's shearwaters - the Cory's is heavy with broad wings and a white underbody and the sooty is slender and narrow-winged with a dark body - are occasionally spotted from land during the summer, but they're more likely to be seen from a boat deck. The same is true for Wilson's storm petrels, which are dark-colored with white near the tail. Not much larger than robins, they, too, can be watched during warmer months.

With such wonders waiting, maybe this will be the year when I take courage and seasick pills and cruise into the Atlantic on a whale watch. It would be nice to spot a whale, but I'd be even happier to see a little bird walk on water.

Until then, I'll cast about in dreams and wait for an albatross to soar across the flyways of my mind.