All hail the sardine run!

migrating sardines

Walking home the other day on a rare sunny evening, not that it’s summer or anything, I realised I was wearing black from head to toe. I’m not sure when the conscious thought came to mind but it suddenly dawned on me unbidden and mundanely that I was not dressed in summery attire. There I was walking down the hill looking at nothing in particular because there was nothing of note to capture my attention except the usual chavvy trash with the rather talented potty mouths yelling at each other, when I had that eureka moment of very little import to the rest of humankind. It’s no big deal, it’s a boring fact but there it is – it seems I wear black even in June. But then June has thus far been a shameful example to its hosting season. Is it surprising I’m fashionably challenged right now?  Summer here has so far been rather damp and unimpressive. So churlish you would consider throwing several squibs at the grey, colourless sky just to spite it; or at least to make yourself feel better: constant clouds that I love to hate and wish would make their cumulus-selves more useful in REAL drought faring countries! The next ass to declare drought in the UK will be met with the deadliest telekinetic thought I can muster. I have yet to see a duck sweat in this so-called summer season. Have you ever seen a bird sweat in the heat? No, neither have I. I’m sure it’s not a commonly sought pastime, although I’d rather that than experience stinking human trolls on public transport. Still, the fact remains that I was wearing black. And I think that this unconscious preference is symptomatic of my state of mind.

Medvedenko: Why do you always wear black?

Masha: I’m in mourning for my life. I’m unhappy.

Is this what I am feeling? Is my wearing the dark garb the slippery road to gothic, sullen angst? Am I not too old for this kind of nonsense? Well, I’m at an impasse I think. It’s time to re-evaluate the old life path. It’s not unhappiness or depression or anything like that, it’s far worse, it’s insane boredom. I am so bored I could eat my socks. My focus is a blur and the optometrist has left the building. So what did I do today to make myself feel less bored? I watched something that made me think: eat or get eaten. Never, ever watch a BBC wildlife documentary and be taken in by David Attenborough’s dulcet narration because you will see nature at its most gruesome. You will see things get eaten by other things and you will start wondering whether life is really just about the menu and who is actually up for the main course.

I always root for the underdog. I will automatically dislike anything (I don’t care how hungry) that goes after the poor sucker running, swimming or flying for its life. I don’t care how illogical and totally ridiculous that may sound seeing as this is what nature is all about in part, it’s just the way I felt today. In today’s Great Events in Nature it was the ‘sardine run’ in focus. The little silver unassuming fish had every aquatic predator chasing them and lunging into their defensive bait balls to feed on them. Swallowed whole I tell you, without so much as being given the courtesy of a chew and a taste before the ignominy of sliding down a gullet.

Every few years these amazing little fish: the sort you will usually buy tinned in oil or occasionally from the fishmonger looking limp and well behaved, will migrate. Rather than I bore you to tears with the facts I’ll let Wiki do it:

“The sardine run of southern Africa occurs from May through July when billions of sardines – or more specifically the Southern African pilchard Sardinops sagax – spawn in the cool waters of the Agulhas Bank and move northward along the east coast of South Africa. Their sheer numbers create a feeding frenzy along the coastline. The run, containing millions of individual sardines, occurs when a current of cold water heads north from the Agulhas Bank up to Mozambique where it then leaves the coastline and goes further east into the Indian Ocean.”

For a sardine it was like participating in the restaurant from hell. It was a fish horror bloodbath! Sushi on the menu for all freeloaders: Gannets, sharks, dolphins, humans – even a whale! Where are the Japanese when you need them? (I jest of course) I’m sure Salmon could tell a few stories round a watery campfire too about their migrations upriver. Not that any survive after spawning – but in anthropomorphic terms they must think: - Screw it (a contradiction)! I’m not spawning! Sex equals death. Ok, I’ve lost my mind...

So I’m at an impasse. I need to get out more and stop watching Animal Planet and the Eden channels. As educational as these programmes are and as much as I love natural history I need to stop wearing black. It’s time I stopped mourning the fish and pull out a few colourful items from my wardrobe. But then, this is UK weather we’re talking about here – not much scope for colour is there?