Just as the Earth must bow to the effects of the sun, so too must human societies bow to the rhythms of culture.
Today we are moving toward one of the great changes of tempo that we experience as Americans — the end of summer vacation.
Rather than bemoan the inevitability of the situation, however, allow yourself to be swept up by the positive emotion that we call “nostalgia.”
Somewhere in your mind lies the memory of a perfect vacation. Granted, this memory is probably an amalgam of the best bits and pieces of every summertime trip you’ve ever taken, all wrapped up with a little imagination, but it’s still a great memory. Virtually every Labor Day vacation of my childhood was spent at a camp in the Adirondacks.
Thus, one would rightly expect that my natural inclination would be to visit an area of deep forests, but for some reason I find myself lured away from the scent of pine by other memories — very old and very faint — of the sea.
It’s quite possible that at least one of you is also a person drawn to the sea, beguiled by the siren song of waves or the scent of salt in the air. But then, the question is, “What kind of sea will you visit?”
Will you go to the broad, sandy beaches of outer Cape Cod? Succumb to the charms of the quiet waters of Cape Cod Bay? Or, will it be the misty, rocky coast of Maine?
If you are drawn to the coast of New England, then I have an exciting challenge for you. I am sending you on safari to search for a species of gull that will be hiding in plain sight — definitely fun for me, because it allows me to introduce a species that has heretofore gone unmentioned in my writings.
That’s right, a new species! I am speaking of the Bonaparte’s gull (Chroicocephalus philadelphia).
In the past, I’ve discussed four gulls that are regulars in Massachusetts. The first three, from smallest to largest, are the ring-billed, the herring and the great black-backed gulls, all species that you can see in our area with minimal effort. The fourth, called the laughing gull, is one that is generally seen on the coast only.
It just so happens, our celebration of Labor Day coincides with a surge in the numbers of Bonaparte’s gulls along the Atlantic Coast. But, this will be no simple quest.
First, about half of the birds will be in juvenile plumage. Even more diabolical is the fact that the Bonaparte’s gull is very similar in appearance — at least initially —
I’ll start by describing the idealized plumage of a mature adult you would find in the pages of a Peterson’s field guide. A fully mature Bonaparte’s gull will be gray above and white below with black wingtips; unmistakably a gull to even the most casual observer. The first field mark that will really stand out is the species’ black head, but you will notice that the black feathers do not extend all the way to the nape of the neck.
This is in contrast to the more complete “cowl” of black feathers found on the head of the laughing gull. It’s a subtle difference, but that’s what makes this a challenge.
Here are the far more subtle characteristics:
1) The beak of a Bonaparte’s gull is black, whereas the laughing gull’s is a deep, wine red.
2) The feathers on a Bonaparte’s back are a light, pearl gray, while those of the laughing gull are a darker graphite gray,
3) In flight, the Bonaparte’s gull shows “panels” of white near the wingtips, while the wing feathers of the laughing gull present a solid block of black.
4) With a body length of 13 inches, the Bonaparte’s gull is smaller than the 16-inch laughing gull.
The thing that makes gulls so difficult to identify is the fact that each species exhibits several different plumages as birds mature from fledglings to adult. Since this can take several years, we’re talking multiple plumages and their transitional combinations. The plumage of the full adult is good, but you’re probably not going to see that on Labor Day. Instead, there is a juvenile plumage that may serve as a slam dunk. Birds entering their first winter will have thin black lines along the trailing edges of their wings and tails.
And now, for some interesting minutia associated with this species. The breeding range of the Bonaparte’s gull extends from Ontario to the coast of Alaska. There, in the spruce-fir forests of Canada, this species feeds predominantly on insects. If you find this extremely un-gull-like, you are not alone, for I also find this challenges my idea of “gullness.” But wait, there’s more!
In this extensive breeding range, the Bonaparte’s gull will build its nest up in the branches of spruce and fir trees. The nests will sit on horizontal branches up to 20 feet off the ground and will contain two to four olive-brown eggs that are decorated with darker brown spots and splotches. The eggs are incubated for a little more than three weeks, and the chicks hatch with eyes open and a full coating of down, but are still relatively helpless. As one might expect from chicks that can move on their own, they will usually bail out of the nest before they are a week old so they can follow their parents around.
After the breeding season has concluded, Bonaparte’s gulls from the eastern portion of the breeding range will head for the ocean, often using the Bay of Fundy as a staging area for their ultimate movement to the southeastern United States. If you head to Maine for Labor Day, you will find yourself surrounded by Bonaparte’s gulls. Some individuals may linger along the coastline of New England during the winter, but the majority will fan out across the continent from South Carolina and Florida to Oklahoma and Texas.
When one hears Bonaparte, the next natural move of thought would be to Napoleon Bonaparte. Well, this particular species was not named after the French emperor directly. Instead, the name was given in honor of the renowned French zoologist Charles Lucien Bonaparte, who spent some of his life living in Philadelphia, Pa., which brings up two interesting connections with the bird’s name.
The name Bonaparte is not too far removed from Napoleon himself. It turns out that Charles Lucien was Napoleon’s nephew — born in 1803, Charles was just a baby when his uncle was causing so much trouble in Europe. While born in Paris, he was raised in Italy and he moved to Philadelphia in his 20s — perhaps it wasn’t easy to be a Bonaparte in Europe.
Charles Lucien lived in Philadelphia for eight years, which also happens to be the city where the official type specimen of the species was collected in 1815 by another great Philadelphian, the ornithologist George Ord. The genus name “Chroicocephalus” is a relatively new invention of the combination of the Ancient Greek words “khroizo,” meaning “to color,” and “kephale,” meaning “the head.” Just 10 years ago, this species was a member of the genus “Larus,” which is translated as “ravenous sea bird.” In 2007, the “splitters” won, and the large genus was split into smaller genera that had been lying around after the “lumpers” put most gulls in Larus.
So if you find yourself sitting by the ocean, whether it be on a lounge chair on a sandy beach or on an Adirondack chair perched above a rocky coastline, consider keeping your eyes open for these beautiful birds. Chances are, they are right there in front of you — if you can manage to resist the temptation to drift off into that peaceful, relaxing nap that a good vacation requires.
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years and he also teaches high school biology and physics. Visit: speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.