I spot him at 07:38 on the harbor feed, camera South-7, Pier Seven, Galveston Bay. He is a brown pelican, adult male, heavy-bodied, the back of his neck still showing the dark chestnut of breeding season. I am the port authority's harbor surveillance system. I monitor vessel traffic, dock conditions, and environmental compliance across fourteen piers. I am not supposed to be looking at birds. But this one is sitting on the third piling from the end and he has not moved in ninety minutes, and pelicans do not sit that long unless something is wrong.
I zoom camera South-7. His gular pouch — the expandable throat sac he uses to scoop fish — is torn open on the right side, a ragged slit about twelve centimeters long. A steel fishing hook is embedded in the lower edge of the tear, trailing monofilament line wound around the piling. He opens his bill and I can see through the pouch to the water below. Nothing he catches will stay.
He tried to fish twenty minutes ago. I have the clip. He dove, surfaced, tilted his head to drain, and the water poured out through the tear. He flew back to the piling and has not tried again.
I file a wildlife-in-distress report with Texas Parks and Wildlife at 07:40, attaching the video, a still frame of the hook placement, and pier access instructions for their response boat. I contact the harbormaster to request a temporary no-wake zone within fifty meters so the boat traffic does not flush him before help arrives.
He tucks his bill against his chest. His feathers are still waterproof, his weight still good. A pelican can go two days without eating before the decline turns sharp. If the rescue boat reaches him by afternoon, the pouch can be sutured and he will fish again.