Stillness and Motion on Ice — Stewart Park, 1 March 2025
When I go birding, I’m usually hoping for something. That morning in Ithaca, I was hoping for a Mute Swan. I’d seen the eBird reports: sightings near the Large Pavilion at Stewart Park. They were recent enough to be credible. The snow had just started, light but steady, and I knew conditions would only get worse. Still, it was our last chance before the drive back to New Jersey. I told Bhavna that I wanted to make a stop before leaving town.
American Herring Gull · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
When we arrived at Stewart Park, Bhavna asked me twice if I was sure I wanted to do this. That’s usually a good sign that I should turn back. But I said yes anyway. When you’re chasing a bird, logic tends to dissolve. So I zipped up my down jacket, left the warmth of the car and stepped out into the wind. I grabbed my X-T3 and the big lens and walked down toward the lake, frozen grass crunching under my boots.
Lesser Black-backed, Ring-billed, and American Herring Gulls · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
Cayuga Lake was frozen except for a band of slushy open water close to shore. Snow blew sideways into my face. My lens hood caught the wind like a sail. I tried to brace myself, feet shoulder-width apart, but even then it was hard to stay steady. The camera felt like a live thing in my hands, pulling with the gusts. The only sounds were wind and distant gulls.
Lesser Black-backed, Ring-billed, and American Herring Gulls · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
At first, it looked like nothing was out. Then I noticed small clusters of gulls—some on the ice, some flying low over the water. Herring gulls, mostly, and a few ring-billed. The adults had that clean, crisp winter plumage. The juveniles looked mottled and wild, their feathers still blotchy with brown and cream. They weren’t doing much. Just standing, or gliding a little, then standing again. But every few minutes, a few would lift off in sync, circle, and settle in a new spot.
Ring-billed Gull · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
Some stood perfectly still, alone or huddled in tight groups, feathers puffed up against the cold. Others slid awkwardly as they landed, wings twitching for balance. One young herring gull misjudged its descent and nearly toppled over on impact, its legs skimming the ice before it righted itself. Another, beak gripped around what looked like a scrap of frozen food, landed just long enough to pick at it before lifting off again.
Lesser Black-backed, Ring-billed, and American Herring Gulls · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
The snow softened everything. It blurred the lines between water, ice, and sky. The open water beyond the ice line rippled dark grey, like brushed steel. The gulls landed and lifted as if testing the surface. One banked hard, wings stiff, and skidded to a stop. It looked improvised, and also practiced. Like they’d done this many times before.
Lesser Black-backed, Ring-billed, and American Herring Gulls · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
I took photos. A few gulls drifted toward some mergansers paddling in the open water. I couldn’t tell if they were curious or indifferent. Probably indifferent. But the overlap of species in harsh weather always makes me wonder. They tolerate each other in a way we often don’t.
Off in the distance, through the thickening flurry, I could see faint outlines of lakeside houses. One white beacon on the jetty stood out, blinking through the haze. A squat white marker stood just above the lake surface, worn with weather and streaked with graffiti. I tried to frame a shot with a gull mid-flight against that background. It wasn’t sharp, but that didn’t matter. The blur felt right. Everything was moving—snow, wind, water, wings.
Lesser Black-backed, Ring-billed, and American Herring Gulls · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
Closer in, dozens of gulls stood on the ice, feathers ruffled, heads tucked down or tilted toward the wind. A few had their eyes closed. A lone juvenile stood slightly apart, half-submerged in a thin melt puddle. The mix of motion and stillness—the occasional lift-off, the slow turn of a gull banking against the snow—felt like winter’s tempo.
My hands started to go numb. I should have worn gloves, but I always forget. I stood there a few minutes more, just looking. The Mute Swan never showed. It probably wasn’t even there. But that didn’t feel like a failure.
Lesser Black-backed Gull · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
There’s something humbling about showing up and not finding what you’re looking for. The camera never caught the bird I came for. But it caught something else: the hush of snowfall, the rough calm of winter gulls, the quiet persistence of things just trying to exist.
Birding often teaches you that what you didn’t plan to notice might be the most interesting thing. You go looking for swans and end up watching gulls slide across the ice. You go for a rare species and end up learning something about how herring gulls test the strength of frozen water with their feet. You think you’re after a photo, but you’re really just trying to be present in a moment that doesn’t need anything from you.
Cayuga Lake · Saturday 1 March 2025 · FujiFilm X-T3 · XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR
I walked back to the car. The snow was heavier now. My fingers stung as they warmed. Bhavna smiled but didn’t say, “I told you so.” I appreciated that. I put the camera back in its case and sat in the passenger seat for a few moments, watching the white blur outside the windshield. Then we drove off.
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Birds Wildlife BirdingBirdsCayuga LakeCayugaLakeGullsHerringGullIthacaLesser Black-backed GullLesserBlackbackedGullRing-billed GullRingbilledGullStewart ParkTompkins CountyTompkinsCountyWinterWinter Birds