Published in the August 15, 2016 edition
LOWE ZONE:
Wednesday, Aug. 3 turned out to be one of those cloudless mid-summer days when the temperature hovers around 85 dry degrees. A perfect day for a late-afternoon supper on the beach is what we thought.
My husband Tony and I made plans that day with friends Jane and Bruce, a couple from Reading, to make the 25 plus mile drive up Rte. 128 to Wingaersheek Beach. Our supper would include cheese and crackers, red seedless grapes, baby carrots and sliced cucumbers for dipping in garlic and herb hummus, delicious sandwiches from a local store, a bag of Cheetos, plus drinks. Neither Tony nor I had taken the time to eat lunch earlier in the day due to our work schedules, so by the time we arrived at the beach, anchored our chairs and set our “beach towel table,” we were ready to dig in.
But supper would have to wait. Jane and Bruce surveyed the scenic vista before us east to west — the tideline, rock outcroppings, lovely homes along the Annisquam channel and pretty white lighthouse on the opposite shore — and said we should take a walk to the water’s edge before we ate. We’d heard that the flow of the Gulf Stream had warmed up the water to about 72 degrees, so it made sense to us. Summer was on countdown to Labor Day, only 28 days. We decided to take the plunge.
Heading toward the water, Jane said, “So what did you bring for supper?”
And I told her about our menu and that we would share what we brought. Tony continued where I left off, describing each food item in detail.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw the man making those sandwiches. Mine is nearly a foot long,” he said, showing the length of it with his hands. He was clearly salivating as the words slid from his tongue. He went on. “Hot peppers, pickles, three types of cheese, lettuce, tomato, chopped onion, thin-sliced roast beef, a touch of horseradish. And that’s just what’s on mine.”
Gail’s looked even better. He then described the chicken salad I had ordered. “The chicken is nice and chunky and has a lot of slivered almonds and sliced green grapes, though hers isn’t as big as mine. Gail eats like a bird.”
We all need to be extremely careful of what we say because words are like boomerangs. They come back at us with astounding accuracy.
We were only a few feet from the waterline when Bruce turned to make sure no one was bothering our beach set-up. That’s when he saw the commotion.
“Am I seeing things?” he said, unsure of what was happening a quarter mile away. “What are those birds squawking about?”
Tony, Jane and I turned to look in the direction Bruce was pointing. And there, smack in the middle of our chairs, beach towel table, coolers and tote bags was a flock of seagulls, probably 25 of them, all in one big bird cluster.
I took off running. “Get out of there! Shoo, you miserable gulls! Get going! Now!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, my arms flapping in the breeze.
My words were fast and furious but I was too far away from those gulls to be a serious threat.
The closer I got to our beach encampment, the more I was able to see up close what was going on. The gulls had formed a huge coalition with the goal of stealing our supper. As I closed in on them, I slowed down a bit because I suddenly recalled a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds with Tippi Hedren running down a street in Bodega, Calif., birds pecking at her hair, her clothes and her hands. I did not want to be in the middle of a reenactment.
I didn’t take a headcount, but there were far more than 25 seagulls hovering in my midst. Their black beady eyes were on me but their heads hung low suggested they were feeling mighty guilty over the theft of our supper and what was left of it. The evidence was right there in the sand. Pecked at pickles, chopped tomatoes, bits of lettuce, Cheetos . . . and the bags they had been packed in, both of them empty.
Wakefieldians, you think you have a problem with Canada geese? Thank your lucky stars those birds aren’t seagulls.
Tony and I thought we had hidden the sandwiches quite well but we were wrong. We both laughed when he said, “All God’s critters gotta eat.” That’s all well and good but did it have to be our supper?
Back in our chairs, we watched while the gulls aggressively attacked a neighboring beach blanket where someone had left a bag of cheese curls. Jane and I got up and ran to the blanket to shoo away the birds and hide the food. When the people returned, they thanked us for saving their food.
Next time we go to the beach in Gloucester and hand over $15 (weekday parking fee), we’ll ask about signage being posted to warn people about the gulls.
As it is, I’m tempted to call the city of Gloucester to report the incident. The least city officials could do is warn beach-goers that their food is not safe when left unattended. They should let people know that “all God’s critters gotta eat,” and that includes the likes of Jonathan Livingston Seagull and all his brothers and sisters.
Don’t let our experience stop you from taking a day trip to Wingaersheek Beach, though. It’s one of the prettiest in all of New England, in our opinion. The water absolutely has warmed up and it’s as clean as what comes out of your kitchen faucet. Take advantage of what’s right in our own backyard before fall sets in. It’s coming quicker than you think. Just make sure you lock up your supper.
