I washed and treated my finger with ointment. As we pulled away, we took a close look at the gull. He was already working on his feathers with his beak. A few nearby pelicans looked on, monitoring his recovery.

We cruised up the bay, happy to have helped a bird that most "yachtsmen" would rather shoot for leaving guano on their toys. We lamented that we couldn't have done more, wished we had a huge ranch somewhere that would be a refuge to all the animals distressed by man. Someday.

An hour later, we returned, passing the mooring can. The bird on it was the same color, the same size but not as disheveled. He looked pretty good. We hoped it was him, that maybe he got himself a fish to eat and that the hook wasn't bothering him. More wishful thinking.