The Winged Sentinels of Ocean City: How Raptors Reclaimed the Boardwalk from Aggressive Gulls

To experience the quintessential summer in Ocean City, New Jersey, one must typically endure a rite of passage: the grueling, bumper-to-bumper crawl across one of the four bridges connecting the mainland to this eight-mile sliver of coastal paradise. Once on the island, the challenge intensifies as visitors navigate a dense phalanx of colorful umbrellas, sun-drenched beachgoers, and the rhythmic roar of the Atlantic. For decades, the reward for this struggle was a peaceful day on the sand, but by the mid-2010s, a new and more aggressive obstacle had emerged. Those who managed to claim their square of territory would soon find themselves under the shadow of a different kind of local: legions of seagulls, flocking in formations so thick they seemed to blot out the summer sun.

This was the reality of the Jersey Shore experience until very recently. Angelina Caselli, who has worked in Ocean City since 2019, recalls a time when the seagull population reached a tipping point. During the peak season, when the town’s population balloons from a quiet year-round community to a bustling metropolis of nearly 150,000 people, the gulls became more than a nuisance; they became a tactical threat. Caselli describes a scene of avian chaos where the birds lost all fear of humans. At the height of the infestation, one could throw a pizza crust into the air and watch it bounce off a seagull before it even hit the ground.

Estimating the exact number of gulls is a difficult scientific task, but Caselli suggests the population hovering over the boardwalk likely numbered in the thousands—perhaps 3,000 or 4,000 at any given time. This concentration of scavengers turned a simple stroll with a slice of pizza from Manco & Manco into a high-stakes game of protection. Fries, cotton candy, and caramel corn were no longer treats to be savored but valuables to be guarded against swarms of winged pickpockets. A momentary lapse in focus was all a dive-bombing gull needed to snatch a meal directly from a tourist’s hand, often leaving behind scratches or a shaken child.

By 2026, however, the atmosphere on the boardwalk has undergone a profound transformation. On a typical scorching Friday in mid-July, the sky is remarkably clear of the white-winged thieves. Where thousands once loomed, barely three dozen can be spotted. The reason for this shift lies within a modest building resembling a backyard toolshed located near the city’s famed boardwalk. This structure is a mews, a traditional home for raptors, and it currently houses an elite squad of thirteen predators: a pair of dark-feathered Harris’s Hawks named Marco and Polo, an imposing Eurasian Eagle Owl named Ozzy, and ten specialized falcons. A fourteenth bird, a vocal hawk named Karen, is currently on assignment at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City, protecting high-rollers from similar avian intrusions.

These birds are the primary tools of East Coast Falcons, a North Jersey-based professional abatement outfit. Their mission is a sophisticated blend of ancient tradition and modern wildlife management: patrolling the boardwalk to maintain a "landscape of fear" that keeps seagulls at bay. Angelina Caselli, now the manager of the abatement program, explains that falconry is the original form of biological control. While the practice dates back thousands of years as a method of hunting, its application in Ocean City is strictly preventative. The goal is not to kill the gulls, but to harness the natural predator-prey relationship to encourage the gulls to return to their natural food sources—crustaceans and fish—rather than human snacks.

The decision to employ raptors was born of desperation. For years, Ocean City officials attempted to mitigate the seagull problem using conventional methods. They installed plastic owls, strung miles of fishing line, and utilized loud noises and pyrotechnics. Public service announcements blared over the boardwalk speakers, reminding visitors that feeding wildlife was a prohibited offense. None of it worked. The gulls, which are highly intelligent scavengers, quickly realized that the plastic owls were stationary and the noises were harmless. Some studies even suggest that gulls can track human eye movements to determine when a person is distracted, making them exceptionally effective at theft.

Daniel Kelchner, the city’s director of community services, noted that the aggressive behavior had begun to tarnish Ocean City’s reputation as a safe, family-friendly destination. The city needed a solution that was effective yet humane. Poisoning the birds or using lethal force was off the table due to ethical concerns and the protected status of migratory birds. It was George Savastano, the city business administrator, who discovered Erik Swanson and East Coast Falcons. Swanson, a master falconer who transitioned from training police narcotics dogs to working with eagles at the Turtleback Zoo in the early 1990s, proposed a pilot program in 2019. The results were so immediate and dramatic that the city has since renewed the contract multiple times. The current agreement, which runs through 2029, sees the city paying $369,996 annually for a full season of daily patrols from Memorial Day to Labor Day.

The logistics of the program are rigorous. To become a falconer in the United States, one must navigate a complex regulatory environment, including a 200-question federal exam on raptor biology and ecology, followed by a mandatory two-year apprenticeship. The birds used by Swanson’s team are all captive-bred, ensuring they are accustomed to human interaction and the sensory overload of a crowded boardwalk. Unlike wild raptors, which may go days without a successful hunt, these birds are maintained at a "hunting weight" roughly 10 percent above their leanest state. This ensures they have the energy and instinct to fly and intimidate gulls without being driven by the desperate hunger that leads to a kill.

The relationship between the falconer and the bird is built on mutual benefit rather than dominance. As Caselli explains, the birds return to their handlers because they trust that a reliable meal of high-quality quail meat awaits them, a much easier prospect than chasing a fast-moving seagull. During a typical shift, the falconers walk the boards with their birds hooded. The hood, a leather cap reminiscent of an old-school football helmet, keeps the visual predators calm by keeping them in the dark. When gulls begin to congregate, the hood is removed, and the raptor is released to take a commanding position atop a pavilion or hotel roof.

The presence of a single falcon like Cookie, a two-pound predator, is enough to clear a section of the boardwalk in seconds. On a recent patrol, a tourist dropped a bucket of caramel corn, attracting a swirl of opportunistic gulls. Caselli simply raised her arm, blew a whistle, and released Cookie. The gulls scattered instantly, recognizing the unmistakable silhouette of a predator. This reaction is deeply instinctual; while gulls have learned to ignore humans, they cannot ignore the threat of a falcon.

However, nature is not always perfectly predictable. Despite the team’s best efforts to keep the birds well-fed, the predatory drive occasionally takes over. Among the squad is Strawberry, a 22-year-old hybrid of a Gyrfalcon—the world’s largest falcon species—and a Barbary falcon. Known affectionately as the "turbo grandmother," Strawberry is a veteran of the abatement world, having previously protected blueberry fields. During a late-afternoon patrol, Strawberry took to the sky and, instead of merely scaring the gulls, successfully intercepted one.

The incident served as a stark reminder of the reality of biological control. Strawberry ignored the falconer’s lure, opting instead to perch atop the historic Flanders Hotel to consume her prize. In such moments, the falconers can only wait and monitor the bird’s location via GPS and radio-telemetry units attached to the bird’s legs. As Caselli noted, once a bird has a full belly, the incentive to return to the handler diminishes until the meal is digested. This was only the third lethal encounter of the season, a statistically low number given the thousands of gulls present, but a clear indication that the raptors remain apex predators at heart.

The success of the Ocean City program has sparked interest in other municipalities and industries facing similar wildlife conflicts. From airports using falcons to prevent bird strikes to resorts protecting outdoor dining areas, the use of raptors is becoming a preferred method of "green" pest control. In Ocean City, the investment has paid off not just in terms of fewer stolen slices of pizza, but in the restoration of a peaceful atmosphere. The gulls are still there, but they have moved back to the dunes and the water’s edge, where they belong.

As evening falls over the boardwalk and the neon lights of the ferris wheel begin to glow, the falconers finish their rounds. The gulls, now wary and observant, keep their distance, watching from afar as the "winged police" are tucked back into their mews for the night. The battle for the boardwalk has reached a state of equilibrium—a delicate, managed harmony between a seaside community and the wild creatures that share its coast. Through the ancient art of falconry, Ocean City has found a way to protect its tourists while respecting the natural laws of the Atlantic ecosystem.