February 7, 2006 - FOR THE BIRDS
by Michel & Jane DeRidder

	Lunchtime with seagulls.

People say to us enviously, "A boat would be the safest place to be during a bird flu epidemic." We've got news for them! Birds roost on boats, usually on deserted uninhabited vessels. Let's face it, even when we are aboard, various birds occasionally land on deck, on lifelines, or on the spreaders. Squawks, birdsong, the pitter-patter of feet, or the splat of excrement alerts us to visitors. Just a moment ago I heard a weird noise that turned out to be two grey herons on deck just above my head. Before I had time to grab a camera, off they flew. As we used to say as children, "Just be glad cows don't fly."

Swallows or starlings that choose to nest in sail covers or cockpit nooks and crannies make an unholy stench and mess. Access must be blocked if you leave the boat untended for any length of time and want to avoid such a horror. Fortunately for the rest of us, one deserted boat in a mooring tends to be favored by the multitude. It doesn't take long before such a boat is streaked with guano icing. At least we have not had to put up with monstrous lunging lounging seals, or sea elephants, or whatever is the protected animal that slithers and clambers up on moored vessels in Newport Harbor, California, in one case actually sinking a boat. Some friends in Sidney, BC who kept their H28 in a marina got so fed up with having seals in their cockpit that in desperation they made their lifelines into an electric fence.

We boat owners try to make ourselves less enticing as a landing pad by various means. Most people hang out plastic bags of different colors. Some prefer CDs. Should we decide to leave the boat on its own for any length of time we deploy long-lasting strips cut from the tough inner linings of some brands of box wine - the silver version. A rubber owl is a ploy that seems to work for many. Sanctuary chose a more definite deterrent - green netting to cover the entire boat when they left the vessel for a few months. It wasn't long before half a dozen other boats in the mooring area boasted the same structures, creating a rash of green. The other day we passed a scarecrow at the helm in Nunki's cockpit, lifelike and convincing, gesturing with each waft of breeze. Another ingenious solution is the oilskin suspended on On y Va, strictly for the birds. They'd learned the hard way. One year the accumulated mess of a few winter months took hours - days actually - of hard scrubbing to clean up.

Not long ago Magic Dragon was the chosen roost for circling Welcome Swallows returning from their seasonal migration. We arrived back from an evening with friends to find the lifelines, both upper and lower, with very unwelcome swallows perched every few inches. We soon tired of banging on the stanchions and lifelines with a length of Alkathene hose to discourage them. Instead Michel raised an oilskin scarecrow modeled on the one we'd seen on On y VA, a matter of a few minutes' work. We got a good night's sleep, but when the next evening we forgot to raise the scareswallow they returned during the night and awoke us with their chirping at daybreak. French cruising friends tell us that bird droppings bring happiness. And it's true that we'd rather get mosquitos in a digested format rather than the live ones. But we collect drinking water from one side of our deck.

	Owl guard.

However, birds can be the source of a lifetime of pleasure for sailors. Coastal cruising is enlivened by the plunge of gannets and of pelicans or neat dives of terns - magic to see. Fish boils alert us to trail a lure. A pair of binoculars, a bird book, and time to enjoy them is all that is needed to enrich our lives. On our walks and dinghy expeditions we are seldom without birding paraphernalia. Our birding began in the fifties when we were sailing around Vancouver Island on our 24-foot sloop of that era. We saw tufted puffins, sea ducks with the most unlikely assemblage of parrot beak and blond hair-piece we'd ever come across. We drew them and described them in our log, then on our return to Victoria borrowed a bird book discovering that we hadn't been mistaken. They really exist! We were hooked. British Columbia is a fascinating seabird area, particularly in winter. Ever since our initiation we've made a point of visiting roosts, seabird nesting islands and shorebird haunts wherever we happen to be.

Ocean passages are made far more interesting by visiting sea birds. We have often been treated to the thrill of seeing close up the soaring giant albatross - regrettably less numerous as the years pass and they fall prey to murderous longline fishing practices. To watch shearwaters shearing off the backs of seas or pirouetting on a wing is another thrill for ocean vagabonds, as is the dance on water of tiny Mother Carey's Chickens. Huge flocks of migrating birds can enliven the course of a voyage. At one time I took part in a formal bird count, ten-minute surveys during which period of time, every few hours I would record the number of birds I saw, if any, and what species. Michel, my skeptical skipper, would tease me, pretending to be one of the circling birds I was observing, saying "Oh look, another yacht, exactly the same as the last one," or some such patter. Nevertheless, he's the one that the birds seem to become attached to.

Nunki's scarecrow.

We have several times had avian passengers who seem to hitch a ride when the going gets tough or when they are blown offshore or off course and get tired or lost in a storm. Once I awoke to come out for my turn on watch to find Michel with a small bird perched on his hand pecking Seven Grain Cereal from between his teeth. Another long-term hitchhiker we named Apple Sauce because of its habit of perching on a fruit bowl and eating apples with the inevitable result. Another boarder was a brown booby that Michel took to stroking on her head when she landed on his shoulder. Even he tired of her copious calling cards but had an extremely difficult time sending her on her way, finally resorting to blowing a fog horn in her ear and taking swipes at her with a towel.

At anchor we are entertained by the sight and sounds of birds. Sometimes if we are lucky we awaken to a dawn chorus. In offshore islet anchorages the sound of night-talking seabirds entertains us. Last time we were in Vava'u we were thrilled to discover a barn owl on the beach early one morning. It looked like a flying pussy cat. In the same anchorage we watched a tropic bird trying to decide on a sufficiently hidden nesting place, making repeated helicopter-like approaches in various wind conditions. It has since raised a nestling there.