Inland, Dreaming of Waves

From Birding Heaven to...

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Not a restful night. Lots of people driving back and forth late at night and yelling.

Today I got up at 5, showered in the “private” bathroom, which was a little scummy (bandages on the floor, etc.), ate breakfast, packed up my truck, and strolled twice around the boardwalk near the campground. There weren't many birds, but I did see whimbrel, willet, white ibis, barn swallow, great-tailed grackle, snowy egret, and roseate spoonbill. There were spotted sandpipers on the rocks, and I had a prolonged view of a Savannah sparrow bopping around in a "dry" area. When I turned in the bathroom key, a friend of the camp host told me all about how many birds there would be if it weren't so windy. Thanks, Bub. I didn't know it then, but he was predicting the day ahead.

Then it was on to Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. I drove down 35 until I came to 239, and I took that to 2040, which led to the refuge. Aransas is surrounded by farms. I drove through them to get there and on the way out.

Aransas is located on Blackjack Peninsula and was founded in 1937. Its visitor's center was quite a bit bigger than the one at Anahuac, and the grassy grounds around the parking lot were populated by huge oaks—live oaks, I guess, although blackjack oak also grows there. I remember the trees as being quite majestic, unlike anything at Anahuac, which seemed to be mostly flat marshland, and Laguna Atascosa, which seemed to be mostly scrub.

I ended up buying a guide to the driving tour of Aransas, as well as some M&Ms. I was hungry again by then. Fruit for breakfast just doesn't last. I also watched a video and looked at some information about the Karankawa Indians, a group of related clans who were eventually wiped out by settlers who couldn't abide their independent ways (read: refusal to settle down, take up agriculture, and work for white people). The Karankawas may have been the descendants of some of the Indians bands that "enslaved" Cabeza de Vaca and his fellow survivors in the 1500s.

Here’s a quote from the display: “Their way of life was harsh, but the Karankawas were a proud and relatively happy tribe. They were unwilling to surrender ancestral lands and customs for those of white men. Early Texans found this attitude intolerable and wiped out all the native coastal people.” The Friends of Aransas booklet mentions that the remnants of the Karankawas migrated to Mexico in the mid-1800s. The booklet also says, “The Karankawas first encountered Europeans on November 6, 1528, when Alvar Nuñez Caveza de Vaca and his men were shipwrecked on St. Joseph Island (sometimes called San José Island).” But in the book I recently copyedited about Cabeza de Vaca, the tribes he traveled with have other names. I wondered if they called themselves Karankawas later, or if that was an alliance name, or if that name was imposed by others.

I did some birding outside the visitor’s center and among the oaks, but I didn’t go too far on the Rail Trail. Now I wish I had—I haven’t seen any rails on this trip, and I feel that I should have seen them—but I was wearing shorts at that point and decided I needed to put on pants around here to survive mosquito attacks. I did walk over to Alligator Pond/Thomas Slough. I took pictures of some pretty white flowers there (I think the plant was a sedge, as in "Sedges have edges."). There weren’t any alligators in view, nor many birds.

The next stop on the auto tour is Heron Flats Trail. There, like the marsh I birded this morning in Port Lavaca, hardly any birds could be seen. I did enjoy watching some black-necked stilts and great blue herons hunting.

On the way out, I explored the trail, which goes through brush and huge prickly pear and by some marshes and ponds. I saw an alligator lying in the sun all the way across the pond from me. I kept on going, getting increasingly afraid, and finally turned back and walked as quickly as possible past the alligator I had just seen. It made no sign of pursuing me, but I just didn’t feel safe. There was nothing to stop it from reaching me if it wanted to. A man I talked to in the parking lot told me the birding had been good earlier that morning. I had arrived too late—despite getting up so early.

A pattern of frustration was beginning to take shape. I kept driving and was happy to see Birding Trail #1. I ventured into the woods—they were very pretty, and it was nice to feel so solitary there (as if this trip has been anything but)—but the farther in I got, the more aggressive the mosquitoes became. If I stopped to look at a bird, small swarms formed around my hands and face and found a way to sting me through my clothes. I was able to see cardinals and catbirds, but that was about it. I couldn’t pause long enough to wait for anything more unusual.

I stopped at Dagger Point Trail, and it was the highlight of the auto tour. I took the short, easy trail, which wound along the coast. The mosquitoes were just as fierce, but I was able to walk down to San Antonio Bay and get a bit of a breeze. Dagger Point looks across the bay to the Intracoastal Waterway and Matagorda Island, though it was too hazy to see that far. Nearby are the wintering grounds for the only “naturally occurring” whooping crane flock in the United States, but by April they have migrated, to Monte Vista in Colorado and points farther north. If I had wanted to see cranes, I could have taken a boat tour. Apparently that’s the best way to see them, November 15 to April 15. I was a little late.

I saw a kettle of turkey vultures at one stop on the Dagger Point Trail.

I passed on several of the next auto tour stops, including Birding Trail #2, which sounded even buggier, if that is possible, than Birding Trail #1. Instead I went all the way to the boardwalk and Observation Tower. Somewhere in the refuge, I saw feral hogs. It may have been here or at Heron Flats. I’m pretty sure I saw a family of them. The next time I go on the trip like this, I’ll have to take better notes about what I see.

When I got back down to the parking lot and prepared lunch (red beans, salsa, and a salad, along with something to drink), I was pleasantly surprised by a turkey walking through the parking lot. It proceeded carefully across the grassy area in the middle of the parking lot, but didn’t seem at all put out by the cars and people in the area. After lunch I drove back to the Visitor’s Center and then took Highway 774 to Refugio and Highway 77. I had intended to head down 35 and go to Padre Island National Seashore—at one point I was thinking of camping there—but I gave up that idea. I also missed Goose Island State Park, which is famous for its birding. Oh, well—next time.

Highway 774 was a good road—there were hardly any other vehicles on that two-lane highway. I stopped a couple of times to look at a hawk. I believe both were red-tailed hawks. At Refugio I headed south to Kingsville, Raymondville, and Harlingen. Lots of Pirates Landings and Pirates Coves dotted the road signs. I kept looking for barbeque (I felt obliged to have barbeque in Texas), but I couldn’t find any, even in Raymondville, which is a sad-looking town that bills itself as the gateway to the Rio Grande Valley. I remember seeing a black man riding his bike along the street there, looking very poor.

In Harlingen I stayed at La Quinta, after driving in circles for a long time, crossing and recrossing the highway, trying to figure out where the hell I was on the map. There was a man across the La Quinta parking lot tending meat on a BBQ grill. I think there was a pool, but I didn’t use it. The bed had some lovely padding and was level, not tipped down like the one at the Quality Inn. The continental breakfast was not as good as at the Quality Inn, but what a sleep!

posted by Price of Silence @ 9:52 PM