Flights of fancy
For most of us, the wind is kind of a pain in the ass. That's just the way it usually is. Yes, it can add pleasant sound effects to existence, it can add pleasant air movement to a scorcher of a day, but it can also just as often be … a pain in the ass.
There is one species, though, that I'm sure truly celebrates the wind. They celebrate it because they get off on it. Literally. The wind appears to be essential to their concept of happiness. The stronger the wind, the better. They party in the wind, goof off in the wind and just flat out have a ball in the wind. When it's windy, the word goes out, and these guys get together and commence to some serious clownin'. The wind makes these jokers happy the way a bottle of vanilla-flavored Grey Goose puts the sparkle in Lindsay Lohan's step. You know who I'm talking about?
Ravens never met a zephyr they couldn't surf, handle, ride, glide and slide. Big enough to not be completely dominated by the wind, but small enough to whizz around like electrons in the ether, I've seen them often enough now to know that when they take to the afternoon winds, they're doing pretty much the same thing a bunch of surfers in Hawaii do when the word hits that the surf is up. Ravens ride air the way surfers ride ocean, and for each, when their chosen medium is happening, they both react in a similar way. (1) Drop everything, (2) begin riding the heck out of the chosen medium and (3) get all goofy in the head because riding the chosen medium is the greatest thing ever and the key to a fine life on this planet.
You know who else has a great time? Pelicans. I've been spying on these gnatty bumpos, too, and I think I've got their little good-time shindigs sussed out. Frequently, you'll see great columns of these white giants, floating high in the sky above the lake, making lazy circles in groups of 30, 40, 50 or more. I've seen enough of these pelicanic pow wows to know that they're not (1) hunting, (2) scouting or (3) courting. None of that survivalist biological jive. What they're doin' is (4) hangin'. Just being sociable, enjoying the fact that they're huge, winged birds with bellies full of fish and why not get together with some of the gang and catch a thermal and float up to about 1,000 feet and dig the situation and see what it all looks like from up there? Let's face it, this has got to be an absolutely dandy way to blow a nice morning. And pardon my rampaging anthropomorphism!
I've got those gulls out at Pyramid figured out, too. I now know what gives them profound and utter happiness. It's called a six-pack of little chocolate doughnuts, stolen from the bed of my truck.