The storm announced its arrival on the high seas as the boats began to leave the dock, passing the imposing Barra Lighthouse on their port side. The full moon and its tidal energy already made navigation difficult, foreshadowing a challenging trawling expedition.
Boats under twenty-four meters in length furiously rode the waves, which themselves were enraged by the interference of the celestial bodies. They ventured further from the shore, hoping to find vast schools of fish while the power of the waves broke over the bow. The sea's tempestuousness made casting the nets difficult, but at some point, nature ended up turning the wind in their favor. Now, they had to trust that in a few hours, the trawled fish would be worth the storm's wrath.
The lack of calm in those waiting hours confused the crew's emotions. "We'll have seagulls onshore when the fishing is done," remarked the boatswain. Daylight stretched with the returning boats, which were followed by yellow-beaked seagulls all the way to the Aveiro dock.
Guida landed on the bridge, near the master of the vessel “Eusébio”. Her skill always earned her one or two sea bass in her beak. She had been recognized since she wore the colored F753 band on her left paw, for migration pattern observations. Rescued while still young after fracturing her right leg, she had been ringed and protected ever since. "Here you go, Guida! These can't go to the fish market," said the captain. She grabbed the fish and promptly vanished before any hungry bird could steal her generous feast.
Satisfied, she perched atop the tallest lighthouse in Portugal, observing hundreds of other seabirds soaring among the boats in search of sustenance, where the sea and the estuary met. The bolder ones stole fish from the careless and exhausted fishermen, but it wasn't fatigue that diminished their joy when the night's fury gave way to the chatter of the yellow-beaked seagulls. A sign of fish in the market... A sign they had returned home.
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O temporal avisava a sua chegada em mar alto, quando as embarcações começavam a largar do cais e deixavam por bombordo o imponente Farol da Barra.A lua cheia e a sua energia na vazante dificultavam já o rumo e antecipavam uma penosa pesca de arrasto.
Barcos com menos de vinte e quatro metros de cumprimento galgavam furiosamente as ondas, também elas enfurecidas com a interferência dos astros. Afastavam-se cada vez mais da costa, na esperança de encontrar grandes cardumes, mas as forças das vagas entravam pela proa adentro…
Teremos gaivotas em terra à chegada da faina, comentava o contramestre. O dia espreguiçava-se com o regresso das embarcações que se seguiam escoltadas pelas patas amarelas até à doca de Aveiro.
Guida pousava na ponte, próximo do mestre da embarcação “Eusébio”. A habilidade oferecia-lhe sempre um ou dois robalos no bico. Era reconhecida, desde que mantinha a anilha F753 colorida na pata esquerda, para observação dos modelos de migração. Salva, ainda jovem quando fraturou a pata direita foi argolada e protegida até hoje. Toma Guida! Estes não podem ir para a lota, dizia o patrão. Pegava no peixe e prontamente desaparecia antes que alguma faminta lhe furtasse o gentil repasto.
Saciada, pousava no topo do maior farol de Portugal e observava centenas de outras aves marinhas planando entre os botes em busca de sustento, onde o mar e a ria se desposavam. As mais afoitas subtraíam o peixe aos pescadores despreocupados e esfalfados, mas não era a fadiga que lhes afastava a satisfação quando a ira da noite dava lugar à tagarelice das gaivotas de bico amarelo. Sinal de peixe na lota…Sinal que tinham regressado a casa.
Maria José Carvalho de Almeida, 2023
