Article #30869

Frome, Somerset: Thirty miles from shore, they drift up the hill, dominate the church and fill the sky. But they still carry the whiff of salty air

As summer approaches, the pirates of the promenade will soon be back in the headlines again, for the chip thieves and overzealous nest defenders give gulls a bad rap. Our own unsalted birds, 30 miles from the ocean swell, offer a different take. May is the month when they are most ubiquitous, most vocal, most beguiling.

Up the combe they come, riding over the rising sun as I sit here to write and look out at the big sky. One glides before me, underwings dark, bib and belly uplit to cast an ethereal glow. A paint chart might well label this grey-tinted body hue “gull white”. Two bigger birds appear, slender wings slanting as they turn to flash a glimpse of upper, the thundercloud blue‑black of black-backed gulls. Others will follow shortly, an assorted collection of first years, second years, non-breeders, failed breeders and apprentices, their age flagged by the grey gradations of plumage.