My friend Deb and I had just rounded the band shell at Lake Harriet in Minneapolis last Sunday afternoon when we noticed a growing number of walkers gathering near a tall lightpost. Their murmur suggested trouble, so we headed over.
There, hanging upside down from the lightpost, was a frantic gull. One of its legs was wrapped in a line of some sort, most likely fishing line. Perhaps the bird had dipped into the lake and pulled the line up with it, snagging it on the post; perhaps it flew past the lightpost and the line snagged the bird on its way skyward.
Regardless, the trapped bird was flapping its wings to exhaustion in an unsuccessful attempt to spring free. It spun around, head downward, bumping the post with a thud, then spinning round again. I could only imagine how rapidly its little heart was beating.
The bird's desperation was expanding to the people gathered below it, all talking in low voices. What to do?
Everyone wanted to free it from this misery. But how do you free a gull tethered more than 12 feet above when you have no ladder, and the band shell tables are bolted to the ground too far away, and the victim is inclined to peck your face off if you get near it?
This is how:
A few women grabbed a sturdy trash barrel and pulled it over to the lightpost. A brave boy crawled on top of the barrel. Someone handed him a small pocketknife, which he placed in his mouth (causing this mother to gasp). The brave boy tried to pull himself up the pole, but it was too difficult a task. Wisely, he returned the knife to its owner, then jumped down. The gull swirled in torment.
A tall man was next. But even atop the trash can, he could not reach the bird. By now, the crowd had doubled. Everyone was looking up, focusing on the bird.
