Hello folks who suspect supermarket browsers picking only “No Trans Fat” items might be trans‑fat phobic,
We all love to leave a legacy.
Some people want to be remembered for bringing donuts to the office every Friday. Others want to be known for taking their dogs on walks in baby strollers, or for having collected every Labubu doll ever.
Then there are legacies that still annoy us to this day—like Daylight Saving Time and QWERTY keyboard layouts.
But some legacies go a step further and haunt us like a curse we can't break.
This spring, I spent a day helping SFBBO conduct California Gull nest surveys. I've written about similar experiences in blog posts like this one and this one. But this time was different.
Let me give you some context: gulls prefer to nest where mammalian predators can't easily reach them, making islands ideal locations. Since we can't access these spots on foot, we have to use kayaks—at least until jetpacks become more mainstream.
Once we reach the islands, we complete the nest surveys as quickly and carefully as possible to minimize stress on the nesting gulls.
We try to time our surveys so that most eggs have been laid but haven't hatched yet. This timing is crucial—it minimizes the risk of chicks trying to run away when they sense humans walking near their nests. Even so, we usually encounter a few early hatchlings that have already emerged, staying close under the watchful and protective gaze of their parents.
Many of these islands are actually levees built to block tidal influence and create salt ponds. But some were platforms that supported refining and processing structures used by companies like the Leslie Salt Company. When salt production ended and the area became a wildlife refuge, these structures were simply left behind. Here's what it looks like from above on a map. And yes, I'm using Bing Maps—deal with it.
Then we encountered a heartbreaking scene: a California Gull with its wing impaled on rusty rebar—a remnant of the old salt processing structures. The rebar prevented it from returning to raise its young, cutting short the legacy it would have left through its offspring.
Naturally, we launched a GoFundMe campaign right away, rallying the public to help support its family and honor the memory of this gull who perished due to human error.
Then we spent every penny on Labubu dolls. Deal with it. That's the world we live in, hon!
That's not exactly the legacy we were going for. So the biologist hopped out of the kayak to free the gull. Naturally, the gull assumed the biologist was a predator coming to finish the job the previous humans had failed at.
The biologist carefully lifted the gull, gently freeing its impaled wing from the rusty rebar. And what does the gull do the moment it's free? Takes off without a single word of thanks.
Ungrateful birds!
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