Meet The Beaksters
I can’t remember how long seagulls have been nesting on the neighbour’s chimney. Probably something like 10 years. It’s not really an issue until the chicks leave the nest and end up in the front gardens. Entering and leaving the house becomes a risky business when the garden is policed by ultra protective seagull parents. Not that they can protect against traffic. Up until 2022 every chick ended up as roadkill.
During lockdown I spent quite a lot of time sitting in the garden, drinking cider. Didn’t we all? For my amusement I decided to build a bird table and it was basically that, a table. One of the seagulls became aware that there was a possibility of free food and I had to up the security. What followed, for a few weeks, was a battle of wits between me and the seagull to stop the food being stolen.
Eventually the bird table was made seagull proof, but that didn’t stop him coming down and just sitting on the shed roof and ‘hanging around’. I ascertained he was male as he was a lot bigger than his partner. Eventually another set of chicks hatched and as both parents spend their time away from the nest searching for food he stopped visiting. Then one day he turned up, hopping, with a severely damaged foot. Taking pity on his predicament I gave him some cat food we had lying around and then spent the rest of 2020 feeding him.
At some point he picked up the name Beakster and I started taking a bit more interest in seagull life. It turns out they can recognise faces, mate for life and are quite inquisitive to the point where he started stealing tools when I wasn’t looking, to see what they were. He also started banging on windows just so I knew he was there. Ultimately 2020 was another breeding failure as both chicks got run over, though it was noticeable that the parents were less aggressive in protecting the chicks.
2021 went much the same way, lockdown, feeding a seagull, chicks getting run over. His partner, who by now had picked up the moniker Mrs. B, had also started showing a bit more interest and would occasionally come down and be fed. I also came to the conclusion that the seagull call that every Plymothian hears 20 times a day actually contains more information than we imagine.
The next year was a bit of a breakthrough year. There were three chicks, with two of them ending up on my kitchen roof and the third getting stuck in a hedge at the front where it was rescued by a neighbour and placed in their back garden. I initially thought this might be a problem with the overprotective parents but by now it appears we were trusted.
All three chicks (Barrett, Kirsty and Two-Tone) survived but I did get a lesson on seagull parenting. They are extremely protective towards the offspring, chasing humans, cats and other birds away and they spend all their time getting sufficient food until, like a switch being flicked, the offspring are deemed ‘done’ and are then treated like competitor seagulls. It’s brutal to watch.
This year (2023) there were 2 chicks (Dave and Florence). Florence ended up on the kitchen roof but Dave ended up in the front garden. I decided to transfer him to the back garden and set out to come up with a ingenious idea to catch him (cat box, sticks, cardboard boxes, string, etc) but eventually went out with an old towel, cornered him and hey presto, done. All under the watchful eye of the parents. I think both survived although Dave flew off after a few days but may have ended up in those creche groups of baby seagulls you see around Plymouth. The parents were definitely disappearing once fed so may have been feeding him remotely.
