Multiple flights of large numbers of pelicans the past few days, headed south to north.  Must be filling in back up the peninsula from wintering farther south. Fifteen to twenty in a group, they glide along the dune line, or over the road with barely a flap of wings for long periods.  I have driven  alongside such flights and clocked them at close to 40 miles per hour.  They are among the most efficient flyers in the bird world, I think.  It is their great wingspan, of course, in conjunction with that smallish (compared to wingspan) body, and the ability to tuck in the neck and pouch and lead with a now aerodynamic beak.  Plus, they are amazingly light for their size.  I found one down in the palmettos one day a few years back, obviously sick and unable to fly.  Holding his beak in one hand to control his weak but determined snapping, and cradling his body in my other arm, I carried him down to the lifeguard station, where they took over and transported him to a bird care facility.  It was a mile and a half walk, during which we got to know each  other fairly well.  It was a great experience for me, and I felt him relax and stop struggling along the way, so perhaps some common ground was achieved.  The greatest impression was how light he was.  I expected a much heavier bird, given the size, a weight to wingspan ratio that must aid that glide.  For years I watched them glide along the line of incoming waves, adjusting their flight to stay just ahead of the actual break,  and assumed, or was told, that they were scouting for fish in the wave.  Not true, and it was being in the water myself that pointed to what they were really doing.  Waves make their own wind.  Little waves make light winds as they move, big waves make stronger winds.  You can feel it when a wave passes under you on a board.  A few feet above the surface the accompanying wind passes also.  It is a marvelous sensation, especially on an otherwise calm day.  The pelicans use the wind for lift and thrust.  That’s how they can fly so long without a flap of their wings.  So there.

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A reader of these pages recently observed that, if nothing else, this is a record of deeply appreciating and loving a place.  I guess so.  I have thought of it as a kind of practice, a meditation, if you will; all of it, the watching, the listening, the writing it down.  Maybe such meditations should not be public, but this one, in a small way is, and then again, maybe sharing is good practice, too.

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