[null, {"document_url": "https://www.houstonchronicle.com/local/gray-matters/article/waterbirds-ecosystem-health-galveston-texas-13078757.php", "unformatted_src": "https://s.hdnux.com/photos/27/10/62/6065320/25/600x600.jpg", "src": "https://s.hdnux.com/photos/27/10/62/6065320/25/600x600.jpg"}, null]
Seagulls can be annoying. But so can we.


The easiest way to ruin a Galveston picnic or fishing trip is to have your space invaded by gutsy scavengers like pelicans, gulls and other waterbirds.

They are the beach mob of the animal kingdom, constantly surveilling your every move from above and assessing when to descend for a quick bite. Their boisterous squawks create an atmosphere of uneasy anticipation that can and does inspire a lifelong ornithophobia.

After all, our encounters with these feathered frenzies resemble scenes right out of Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds."

Unlike an awe-filled and rare spotting of an eagle or owl, these run-ins can be annoying. I can attest to that, being surrounded by two or three juvenile brown pelicans every time I cast out a line at Seawolf Park — though maybe I asked for it, since the popular fishing spot is on Galveston's Pelican Island.

RELATED: Can we enjoy and protect Galveston Bay?

For the most part, the birds are content stooping on jetties and piers, assessing the menu from what we reel in. But they also swipe at my bait when I'm not looking — and some particularly clever ones have even managed to maneuver my cooler lid open to snack on what I've caught. Though I do try to shoo them away, I eventually cave to their persistence and give them a few handouts.

The other culprit is the laughing gull. Though they like to tail ferry boats, they are not above perching on pelicans' heads to steal food from their pouches. Their pesky ubiquity has put them in the category of "nuisance wildlife," since they cause more aircraft collisions than any other species — though they also steal food from fishermen and from livestock, soil buildings with their droppings, eat the eggs and nestlings of other (sometimes endangered) seabirds and potentially harbor disease.

They can be, as I said, annoying.


But the ease with which waterbirds like these can be seen and observed by scientists, coupled with their position at the top of the food chain, make them great indicators of the health of our ecosystem on the coast.

The amount of time a bird spends preening its feathers after diving for fish can indicate whether there are chemical irritants in the waterways. Larger population declines can signal a more widespread problem affecting not only them, but the other organisms living among them. Dwindling bird colonies, in particular, can sound an early alarm for fishery collapse.

Unsurprisingly, the largest threat to these waterbirds is us. We disturb them and destroy their habitat. Before brown pelican populations declined and received endangered status from 1970 to 2009 due to exposure to the (now-banned) pesticide DDT, commercial and recreational fishermen killed them off because they were viewed as threats to fishing yields.

Though the federal government intervened in this case, waterbird populations are still under constant danger from what we leave behind on coastlines. Fishing gear, plastic pollution and chemical leakages from agricultural waste and oil rigs all pose risks to their reproductive health and survival.

RELATED: Plastic bags and bottles are hurting Galveston. Why do lawmakers oppose bans?

Just as we enlisted canaries in coal mines, we use the deaths of coastal birds to tell us how toxic we are. Of the hundreds of species that use the coast as a permanent home, breeding ground or pit stop along migratory routes, 26 are colonial waterbirds – the pelicans, gulls, terns, black skimmers and egrets we encounter regularly on the beach.

Along coastal landscapes in their natural habitats, these birds are admired by birdwatchers and photographers from all over the world. They feed on fish and other aquatic invertebrates, ensuring that the highly productive, shallow aquatic ecosystems they inhabit are kept in check from domination by any one plant or animal species.

But the moment their presence encroaches on our landscapes and recreational activities, whether soaring above our beach towels or approaching our patio tables at an ocean-facing restaurant, we swat them away.

It seems as though we paint some waterbirds as villains, spectacles or measuring sticks, depending on how we want to distract ourselves from our inability to fairly share natural spaces. But birds and humans are on two sides of the same coin – one group tries to interpret and adapt to the odd rituals and behaviors of the other in order to spend the least amount of energy possible to get by.

As habitats continue diminishing in favor of coastal development, we have to ask – who is really invading the other's space? A seagull lands in heavy crude oil washing up on East Beach in Galveston in 2014. More than 160,000 gallons of oil leaked into the bay after a barge collided with a ship near the Texas City Dike.
Photo: Jennifer Reynolds, Associated Press

Fortunately, we already know how to share and give strangers elbow room. We do it all the time, whether it's shifting over in our seats on public transportation or distributing ourselves evenly on a beach. The simple act of minding our own business, in combination with containing our own messes, keep us in happy equilibrium with each other.

Extending this silent empathy to the wildlife around us as we enjoy the coast could be the single most powerful key to conservation.

Get the Gray Matters newsletter. It eventually caves to your persistence and gives you a few handouts.