When it’s 29º Celsius and a gull gets bored.

The edge of the shoal off Blue Bell Island forms three small islands.  We named them Gull Islands since they usually provide enough personal space for a crowd of standing-room-only gulls.

Although Georgian Bay water levels have dropped alarmingly in 2013, the levels on our land-locked, spring-fed lake, fifteen minutes from the Bay (as a gull flies), are unusually high this year. Gull Islands are reduced to one tiny point of rock jutting above the water … enough room for one standing gull.

The lone gull squawks a lot, occasionally takes to the air, circles the northern tip of Blue Bell island, coasts over our dock, hangs like an errant kite for a moment or two, then loops back through the pass between the southern end of Blue Bell and our point to stand again on the-rock-that-was-once-a-string-of-islands.

"Gull Islands 2012" by Cheryl Andrews

“Gull Islands 2012” by Cheryl Andrews

In this photo taken last year, that’s Blue Bell Island on the left, the three Gull Islands in the middle past the point on the right where I often sit on that blue chair just visible in the tree line.

Yesterday I was lolling at the end of the point soaking my feet in the chilly lake waters that have risen to the legs of that chair.  The solitary gull stood on the tiny rock point, squawking.  What else? It seemed to be watching me too. It lifted into the air. I expected to see it coast high past the north end of Blue Bell and do it’s regular fly over.  Instead a jet ski with two riders shot out from behind the island being chased by a gull … my gull!  Both were moving fast; one on the water, one above.

The gull dipped once, then a second time, low over the heads of the riders then dropped back and up, still giving chase.  The jet ski sped up, the gull plunged toward the water and instead of diving after a fish as I assumed, it levelled out and rode the jet ski’s buffeting spray!  The riders must have been as startled as I was by this strange behaviour, because the driver cut the throttle.  The gull swept over the riders missing their heads by inches, rose up, dropped back and hung there, waiting.  The jet ski sped up again; the gull plunged and rode the spray, again. The riders and my surfing gull carried on at full throttle across the lake and out of sight.

Ain’t nature grand … and just a little weird sometimes?