Inland, Dreaming of Waves

Don't flash the pelicans, please

Wednesday, April 25, 2007, Daytime

Last night I ended up at a La Quinta near the Texas Travel Info Center. As I said, getting to the hotel was confusing. I kept driving in circles, crossing underneath the highway.

But all was much easier this morning, after a good night's sleep. I simply took 106 east out of Harlingen, through Rio Hondo, on the way to Laguna Atascosa Wildlife Refuge, which literally means “Lagoon Muddy Wildlife Refuge.” On the way into the refuge, I saw two new life birds. The first was a golden-fronted woodpecker climbing around a snag. And the second was a little blue heron standing in a marsh along the side of the road. Its color was unearthly: as blue as slate, with a two-tone bill. I stayed and watched it for a long time.

As soon as I got out of my car at the visitor's center, more new species just feet away: javelinas, green jays, bronzed cowbirds, and others hanging out near the bird feeders and water drips. The javelinas would place their front hooves on the trunks of the trees, though I'm not sure what they were trying to reach.

There was a rather fat man with white hair at the desk in the visitor's center. He took a great deal of care explaining to me where I should go and what birds I might have a chance of seeing. We briefly debated whether I should make much of an effort to see more waders, plovers, ducks, and such, since I had seen so many already. He was the second memorable guide I found: the first was Beverly at the Gilcrease Museum in Tulsa. I went outside and started exploring the grounds. I wandered along the paths, searching the trees for warblers. As has been the case throughout this trip, I didn't have much luck finding them. Finally I got warbler neck bad enough to get in the truck and drive down Bayside Drive.

The best action was happening at Pelican Lake, where I did indeed see a brown pelican, as well as lots of waders, sandpipers, and both whistling-ducks. Either they're late migrating or they breed in Texas; most of the other ducks had already headed north by the time I arrived, though of course mallards could still be found, as well as blue-winged teal. I stopped at Redhead Ridge overlook but didn't see any of those ducks there—again, already gone north for baby-making time.

I remember two things about the rest of the auto tour at Laguna Atascosa: the gigantic prickly pear along the side of the road, blooming away as if there were no tomorrow; and the couple on the backside of the road, who had stopped their bikes and were looking intently at something on the right-hand side of the road. I stopped and got out to see what was so important, and they showed me the Harris's hawk that was being pestered by a smaller bird.

It's something I've always loved about birds, how LBBs (little brown birds) like finches will dive-bomb a hawk in the area, how crows and other birds will make sure every other bird in the neighborhood knows that a raptor in on the prowl. I guess I'll always sympathize with the Davids of the world, no matter how much right Goliath might have on his side.

And it's not that I'm against predation: that would be ridiculous, since I have every intention of eating meat for the rest of my life. I may not kill the animal myself, but that doesn't make me more virtuous than those who do; if anything, it makes me a coward. I'm just a predator two or three times removed. And I was certainly cheered by the sight of a kestrel eating a starling in my backyard last year; in fact, I wished that falcon could eat a few million of them.

Damn those fans of Shakespeare, anyway! I wonder how they'd feel if we could send back to England all the descendants of the starlings they released so many years ago.

But I digress.

The white-haired man at the visitor’s center told me how to get from the refuge to South Padre Island (510 to 100). On the way out of the refuge, I saw dickcissels singing from power lines and stopped to admire them.

It was easy to get to South Padre, but as I was approaching the Queen Isabella Memorial Causeway (a bridge) I hit a bird! And from the looks of it, as it slid from my grille over the hood and up my windshield, it was one of the golden-fronted woodpeckers I’d just seen. I saw and killed a life bird in one day! I wanted to cry.

I had trouble finding the Convention Center, which had been recommended as a good birding spot. It seemed I was driving down the road forever. When I got there, I soon discovered my clothing was reactionary—I was dressed for Aransas the day before, covered from head to toe to protect against mosquitoes that here were driven away by Gulf breezes—and soon was far too warm. I had to go back to the truck and put on some shorts and a t-shirt. Nothing like changing clothes in a large public parking lot.

Thus (un)equipped, I could stand to bird the marsh. I didn’t see any rails (my efforts de-railed again!), but there were alligators like this one underneath the boardwalk, and wading birds and sandpipers farther out, including a large group of black skimmers. You can see pictures of the trail at this link: http://sopadre.com/aboutus/photo_trail.php.

The area close to the Convention Center was a great spot to view warblers, including Nashville, yellow, and chestnut-sided warblers and a common yellowthroat, as well as an indigo bunting, an Empid (a group of small, similarly colored flycatchers best distinguished by voice), and a black-bellied whistling duck (of all things) in the tiny pond near one wall of the Convention Center. I started out sitting against the wall, in the shade, next to another aging female birder and a man who was trying to photograph the warblers flitting about, and then moved back and forth from my shady seat to the cement benches in the sun. Both provided good views of birds (and birders and photographers).

Finally, I dragged myself away from the birds and headed for the beach, where I stood in the surf in bare feet and called Todd at work in Colorado, who didn’t appreciate the situation nearly as much as I did. I believe he asked if I was trying to torture him, or perhaps I gathered that from his tone.

At the entrance to the bridge from South Padre, I noticed a sign: “Watch for pelicans when flashing.” That made me laugh.

And then I was back on the mainland. Easy, right? Take 100 to U.S. Route 83 North to Harlingen—except I took 83 South and was having a great time, sailing along, until I came to what looked like a border station. I drove up, rolled down my window, and asked, “This isn’t Weslaco, is it?” The man at the border booth was kind to me. He told me funny stories about all the stupid tourists (he didn’t use that term, of course) from places like Florida who end up driving to the border by mistake; I guess he wanted me to feel I was not the only one. The Border Patrol has a special procedure for these situations: they make all the cars behind back up (luckily, there was only one) and then they send you through the special turnaround lanes (similar to the lanes cattle travel to the slaughter, only you’re still alive afterward).

That unintended detour probably cost me an hour, which became significant later in the day. I should have driven southeast, to Sabal Palm Grove, and birded there, but I didn’t think of it at the time. Instead I backtracked up 83 and headed to the Frontera Audubon Society Weslaco Thicket. By the time I found it—the entrance wasn’t exactly well-marked—it was 6 o’clock, and everyone had gone home for the day. But the sign said the place was “open” until 7, and having it all to myself was peaceful. I sat on a bench by the pool pictured here and ate dinner. At one point I noticed a woman come out of the house next door and eye me suspiciously. But as I was hardly hiding—my truck was parked in the circular drive right next to the street—there wasn’t much she could do. If she did call the police, they didn’t arrive while I was there.

I saw a buff-bellied hummingbird at the thicket, as well as white-winged doves. When I was done with dinner, I continued on to McAllen and the Bentsen–Rio Grande State Park, a World Birding Center. The gates were closed (beginning to notice a pattern here?), but I paid the fee and walked around, which was perfectly legal. (I wouldn’t want to break the law in Texas; they might become prejudiced against Coloradans.)

Night was falling as I ventured into the park, encountering a group of teenagers sitting above a lake. Eventually I ran into a couple returning from their evening birding trip, and the man told me about a ferruginous pygmy owl he’d seen and generously gave me his park map. I did my best to follow his directions (“in a leafless tree past the picnic area”) and eventually did locate an owl, perched on a branch high in the tree. Looking at Sibley’s today, I see that an eastern screech owl is much more likely in the Rio Grande Valley than the owl he claimed to have seen. And although I don’t recall the owl having ear tufts (like the screech owl), I can’t say for sure, and I think it was larger than a sparrow (again, like the screech owl). It wasn’t completely dark at the time: I could clearly see the owl on its perch and could make out some white on its breast and belly (which would indicate the pygmy owl). I suppose that man could have misidentified the bird, but at the time I thought I saw a ferruginous pygmy-owl.

In any case, it was way past time for me to be moving on, as much as I might want to camp somewhere nearby and bird the park the next day. It was late Wednesday night, and I needed to be in Albuquerque by late afternoon Friday. I had a good chunk of Texas to cross, as well as most of New Mexico. I headed for Laredo.

My plan was to camp at Lake Casa Blanca International State Park, on the eastern side of Laredo, but when I arrived at 20 till midnight, it was closed and had been closed since 10. I tried getting a room at Staybridge Suites but didn’t want to pay $139. The man at the nearby La Quinta said he was full; in my exhausted state, I suspected him of lying. He told me there were hotels farther up I-35, and I foolishly believed him.

posted by Price of Silence @ 11:38 AM