avatarUlf Wolf

Summary

The text describes the majestic gliding abilities of birds of prey, particularly the osprey and the Wandering Albatross, and the awe they inspire in the observer.

Abstract

The author vividly recounts the experience of watching an osprey glide effortlessly through the air, likening its grace to that of a sleeping angel. The osprey's silent flight, even in light drizzle, contrasts with its predatory nature, yet the author is captivated by its flying prowess. The narrative then shifts to the Wandering Albatross, a master of wind gliding with an impressive wingspan, which can glide with minimal energy expenditure due to its wing-lock mechanism. The author marvels at the bird's ability to exploit different wind layers to regain altitude without flapping, a technique that has fascinated explorers for over a century. The text concludes with a note about the necessity of strong winds for the albatross's survival and the author's appreciation for the gliding of the osprey, despite the calm weather conditions.

Opinions

  • The author expresses admiration for the osprey's gliding skills, despite acknowledging its role as a predator.
  • The Wandering Albatross is portrayed as a remarkable creature, with the author emphasizing its gliding efficiency and the engineering marvel of its wing-lock mechanism.
  • The author is impressed by the albatross's innate ability to navigate wind layers for altitude control, viewing it as a brilliant survival technique.
  • There is a sense of wonder in the author's tone when discussing the natural design that allows these birds to glide with such ease and beauty.
  • The author seems to have a personal connection to gliding, drawing parallels between the albatross and man-made gliders, and appreciating both for their design and function.

Gliding

Bird of Prey

Silent through the air The hawk is made for gliding Drops of rain agree

It’s a wonderful sight, the gliding bird. The osprey.

No, he’s not a dear friend to smaller life. Yes, he’s a killer. But oh, my God, what a flier. Seeing him glide by, not a ripple of wing, still at speed and as graceful as a sleeping angel, seeing this makes my day.

And then he disappears into the light drizzle and is gone. I look around for others (there are quite a few ospreys here this time of year), but he’s the only one. I wait for him to come back, which they often do, keeping an eye out for edibles, but he’s decided not to — or found some that-a-way.

Seeing him makes me think of other gliders, specifically the king of them all, the Wandering Albatross. With a wingspan that can reach twelve feet (that’s twelve as in six plus six feet — walk it out on the ground, say four longish, i.e., three-foot steps, to get a visual — it’s enormous, almost prehistorically enormous), he is a master rider of winds.

I read somewhere that the Wandering Albatross expends less energy gliding, sailing, riding (or however he thinks of it) in the air then resting on the water.

Impossible, you say. On the surface, yes (pun intended). But nature, that fine designer of amazing survival techniques, has engineered wing-locks in this bird’s skeleton so that once spread and in position for sailing/gliding, the wings snap into place and remain there without the bird having to lift as much as a feather (so to speak) to keep them spread. The perfect glider.

Our sweet man-made gliders (I’ve always loved those) have a similar design — very long, thin wings, just like the Wanderer.

And with wings in place, now he just glides, riding the wind.

Amazingly, he knows how to use the different layers of wind to regain altitude if he’s lost some and needs to climb back up to his cruising ditto.

This is how that works. The closer to the ocean surface, the slower and weaker (relatively speaking) the wind. It stands to reason, for the water offers enough drag/resistance to slow the belly of the bottom-layer wind down a little. So, the layer closest to the surface is the weakest. How deep is this layer? you ask. Say, three to six feet, I answer. But that, in the spirit of full disclosure, is just a guess; I haven’t a clue.

Be this, however, as it may; the next layer up is in turn slowed some by the weaker layer beneath (though not as dramatically) though still stronger than its surface-bound sibling. Next layer above that is also affected by the layer below, and so, again, is a tad stronger than the layer beneath while a little weaker than the layer above it — and so on up the layers to where they cease to exist altogether and all is just roaring, layer-less wind.

Well, when the Wanderer decides that it’s time to gain some altitude, without unlocking the wings and actually flap (which takes a lot of energy, way too much), he dives with the wind (to gain maximum speed) for the surface but before he reaches water, he banks a one-eighty into the wind and lifted now by stronger and stronger layers of wind he soon regains his cruising altitude to set a new course and so keep sailing.

Brilliant technique, observed and documented by amazed explorers over a century ago.

It goes without saying (but I’m saying it anyway) that the Wandering Albatross needs the wind as much as it needs food and can only be found where strong winds live, down by and below the roaring forties.

No roaring forties here today, though. Calm. A light drizzle. And this was not a Wandering Albatross but an Osprey. Still, the gliding steals just as much of my breath.

© Wolfstuff

Gliding
Bird Of Prey
Hawk
Hunting
Wolfku Musing
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