Birds in the Night

Leaning into port tack our starboard (green) navigation light lights up the water. Suddenly it shines more brightly. A blotch moves in the viridescent limelight. Then vanishes. Then reappears, flapping. A seagull, brilliant white in daylight, now reflected with the green of a streetlight in fog. It wheels and dives, flashing on and off as it slips in and out of the tiny spotlight on our bow.

Another gull joins the first, and then another. The sea, flecked with pale blue phospherescence, rolls away beneath us. The gulls beat their wings pacing Aleta, hovering when they can to better see the fish attracted by the light. With a splash one pierces the water, surfacing triumphantly seconds later with a little fish in its beak. The others, seeing what happened, squeal and squawk in jealousy, flapping angrily at the fisherbird trying to make him share or drop his prize.

Arrayed three, now four deep the birds take on a migratory line. Every so often one flies out and around to Aleta’s port side, punching up brilliant red, then fading back to green as a shower of spray lights up his companions on the starboard side.

These are good fishing grounds. The birds have flown alongside for the past 20 minutes happily enjoying the ebb and flow of Aleta’s dance with the waves. Then they are gone. To a bird.

We have two sets of navigation lights on Aleta. A tricolour at the top of the mast that we turn on at night when we’re offshore. It gives us hope we will be seen sooner. Sailing nearshore, along coasts and in harbours we use more traditional navigation lights, set down low at the bow and stern where people expect to see them.

Birds aren’t interested in the tricolour light. Sitting 60 feet up in the air it doesn’t attract fish, not even flying ones. But at night on starboard tack with a bit of heel, the green running light at the bow is a fish magnet and a gull’s Siren, inviting pleasant company to join us and break up the monotony of the midnight watch.