Bukhaw. That is all they said. I’m quite positive of this, as one of them landed violently on a perch next to us, paused just long enough to pass a sharp, rude glance my way, and spouted the word coldly from his beak. Bukhaw. Now imagine this on a grand scale, much like the constant hum of a beehive at work or a monastery in deep prayer, except this was neither productive nor holy; it was a tornado of hungry birds. Smack dab in between the Santa Cruz Boardwalk and the Wharf, this raging tornado in the mighty Pacific took my roommate and I by surprise as we were trying to walk off our lunch at the Falafel Hut. The only thing missing was a cameo appearance by Hitchcock himself, as his winged brushstrokes of death were written all over the place. Bukhaw!
I would hate to be the one to clean that thing after this.
“It’s not a boat, it’s a yacht!”
That is not static on your screen, that is a bird tornado.
A ghastly vision of boats and birds.
-photos courtesy of Andrew.