Inland gulls: Mayhem and mystery of birds far from sea

As summer nears, seaside gulls often make headlines for stealing chips and defending nests aggressively. But inland gulls, 30 miles from the ocean, present a different story. In May, they are most abundant, vocal, and enchanting.

Riding over the rising sun, gulls glide across the sky near the combe where the writer sits. One bird passes with dark underwings, its gray-tinted body glowing. Two larger black-backed gulls appear, their upper wings flashing thundercloud blue-black. Others follow, a mix of first-year, second-year, non-breeders, failed breeders, and apprentices, their ages marked by plumage gradations.

A loose flock heading over the brow reminded the writer of laggard boys meandering to school. They lunged at each other playfully, then veered off course before returning. Mornings often bring a westward drift up the hill, but their destination remains unknown.

The purpose of large agglomerations overhead, crisscrossing like aerial country dancing, is a mystery. Unlike the silent spectacle, pairs flying close utter piteous cries, prompting the writer’s wife to say, “Sing up, gulls!”

Down the valley, herring gulls compete with a cockerel for dawn chorus dominance, marking territory. Last week, they staged a row over ridge tiles and spires of Trinity church. One gull perched temporarily dominant, threw its head back, and belted out a call evoking fishing harbors, rockpool adventure, and sandy sandals. The sound ties listeners to childhood.

The book “Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024” is now available at guardianbookshop.com.