RESOLUTE BAY - Mark Mallory walks with his head down as he’s dive-bombed by several small, white seabirds that resemble tiny pterydactyls when they’re upset, as they are now.
They shriek, stretch their tiny talons out and open their bright red beaks as they take turns swooping for his head. The air is full of shrill peeps and agitated kik-kik-kiks.
These birds are Arctic terns, demonstrating one of their unusual traits: group defence. When a perceived predator - whether a glaucous gull, or a Canadian Wildlife Service researcher, such as Mallory - comes near a nest, nearby terns take flight to help their besieged neighbour.
Terns have been known to draw blood from those who stumble too near their nests, but these ones seem content with buzzing Mallory’s head, pulling up about a foot before making contact. He wears a thick toque just in case.
Terns are just one bird that inhabits this unnamed gravel island, which is about three kilometres long and one kilometre wide in Penny Strait, and pocked with patches of purple saxifrage. There are also lots of Ross’s gulls, and Sabine’s gulls.
All three birds are small, agile fliers that nest in the High Arctic. But it’s still unclear why they’re here together. They seem to eat the same food, so why hasn’t one species pushed the others out?
Arctic terns nest along the gravel shores and boggy tundra of this small island in Penny Strait, about a half hour flight north by Twin Otter from Resolute Bay.
One possible answer is the terns’ group defence. Do terns also protect these gulls, and vice versa? Mallory is here with six other researchers for two months this summer to find out.
They’re also interested in how climate change may affect the birds. Because all three species depend on open water, Mallory says a warmer climate may benefit them, at least in the short term.
Mallory’s team will also shoot several terns to test for parasites, and for avian flu - terns are a possible carrier of the disease.
But mostly, they will be spying on birds.
“This is the laziest pair I’ve seen so far. I have to regularly put a finger over my pulse, to make sure I’m alive,” Mallory banters during a bird watch, July 4.
“I think I may have mentally deficient terns.”
Nesting terns only do so much. They roll their eggs over. They straighten their necks and peer around, alert. They yawn. Each motion is noted by researchers, who will later crunch the data to better understand how terns exert their energy.
There are believed to be one million Arctic terns worldwide. They live for as long as 34 years.
Mark Mallory of the Canadian Wildlife Service fends off a dive-bombing Arctic tern with one hand as he retreats from an inspection of a nest to count eggs.
Terns spend most of their time in the air, flying 19,000 kilometres each year from their High Arctic nesting grounds to the Antarctic coast during the winter. The average tern flies a distance equal to traveling to the moon and back during its life.
And because terns visit the Arctic and Antarctic when it’s summer in both places, terns see more daylight than any other species.
Until recently, terns were also believed to migrate further than any species on Earth. They’re only outdone by the Sooty Shearwater, a seabird that frequents New Zealand, and also makes stops at Japan, Alaska and California. A 2004 study showed they fly a remarkable 74,000 kilometres in a year.
Right now, male terns on this island are courting mates. Two males fly in a “pursuit flight” after a female. “She’s trying to see who’s the better suitor,” Mallory says. “Often one male peels off when he’s outmatched.” One does.
Other males snag baby Arctic cod from the ocean, fly to their partners and hover - terns are one of the few birds able to hover, too - to present a “nuptial gift.” It’s the tern’s equivalent of a bouquet of roses.
Once hitched, tern couples hunt for the perfect nest site. When they find one, they engage, in Mallory’s words, “in a little hanky panky.”
“I’ve got a male who’s all interested, and I’ve got a female who’s effectively saying, ‘No way.’” Mallory says later during the watch.
Mark Mafei repairs a bird blind vandalized by a polar bear who visited during the night and swatted out the windows.
“I’ve got copulation,” he calls out. “Okay, he fell off.”
Once eggs are laid, the couple take turns guarding the nest while the other partner searches for food. Males and females spend equal time on the nest, as far as Mallory can tell, in shifts of about an hour and 10 minutes.
Terns sit on their nests for about 21 days, and stick around for about 10 days afterwards. While they’re here, Mallory and his crew will spend innumerable hours watching terns and cataloguing their behavior, to better understand “how they tick.”
This study of bird behavior will stretch over several summer field seasons. But after a few days, it doesn’t look like terns offer much solidarity with other bird species pestered by researchers.
“Sorry, where’s your tern card? I’m afraid I can’t leave my nest,” says Mallory. When you spend this much time with birds, you end up speaking for them a lot.
“They’re a big, happy family - with very clear prejudices.”
Not all bird behavior can be explained. Terns colonies occasionally take off in a “panic flight,” where they fly off for no apparent reason.
Such research is done at the mercy of the weather. Too wet, and the birds will likely abandon their nests if disturbed. Too foggy, and it’s too easy for polar bears to sneak up on the researchers. And bears are here. During the night, the small wooden bird blind was vandalized by a bear, who knocked in the door and swatted out the windows.
Research at the island is one of five major projects conducted by the CWS in the High Arctic this summer, at a total cost of about $500,000, with support from the Polar Continental Shelf Program.