The Huachucas...gesundheit.

(This will be a quick one because the battery on the computer is running oooouuuttt…)

March 27
We drove today from the Chiricahua Mountain range to the base of the Huachucas, in the San Pedro Valley. The weather here in southeastern Arizona is a treat. Some wind to temper the heat and no humidity at all. Because of the lack of water in general (and especially this year), water sources are very important here…and not just for the human population. We visited a wildlife pond called Whitewater Draw, and though the levels were apparently low against the norm, it was great birding. Avocets and smaller shorebirds roamed the banks while a range of duck species dabbled and dove. A lone goose, identified by others as a Snow Goose, had lagged behind the rest of the long-gone wintering flock. Later, we realized it was actually a Ross’s Goose, more of a rarity, especially here. Either way, possibly an injured bird to be here by itself like this. Vermillion Flycatchers buzzed around the trees and a pair of Great Horned Owls roosted under a metal roof put up nearby over the picnic area. You could sit at a table and look right up at them (or draw/photograph them as the case may be).

In the afternoon, we had the car looked at by the prince of auto mechanics, who only charged us ten dollars to put the car on the lift, explain everything that could be causing the noise (which had subsided mostly anyway by now), replenish the fluids, and check the tires. From there, in Bisbee, we made our way to the San Pedro House for some pond and river birding in the evening. We had intended to camp here, but we got locked out at sunset and had a rather hard time finding alternatives. Eventually, we ended up in Miller Canyon, beyond the next town of Sierra Vista.

March 28
In the morning, we birded a little more down by the river but there wasn’t too much going on there, so we came back to Miller Canyon and enjoyed an impressive array of hummingbirds at the Beatty’s Orchard. We hiked up the canyon sluggishly in the afternoon and didn’t see much, so we returned to our campsite, where we were visited by a Forest Service ranger who was doing spot surveys for cavity-nesting owls. One of the sites happened to be right next to our tent. He was playing different owl calls and seeing what responded: only a Whiskered Screech at our site, but it was fun to hear about their project. They were worried about the effects of thinning deadwood on the birds that use those trees for their nests.

March 29
We took a “Nature Walk” in Ramsey Canyon, a famous Nature Conservancy preserve nearby. The walk was more enjoyable for its plant info and bad jokes than for birding, and it was more a crawl than a walk. We saw more hummingbirds and the always-enjoyable Painted Redstarts, as well as a few Empid Flycatchers which kept us puzzled for some time after (I think Pacific-Slope is the species I was seeing, but I’m not one hundred percent on it).
In the afternoon, we did some errands in town and then high-tailed it back to the canyons, this time to a bed and breakfast famous for its hummingbird feeders. We had heard reports of a Lucifer Hummingbird just arrived there, and sure enough we found it along with the six species present at Ramsey and Miller. So in sum, we saw Broad-billed, Broad-tailed, Black-chinned, Magnificent, Rufous, Anna’s, and Lucifer Hummingbirds. And numbers of all but the Lucifer, one of the true rarities here in the Southwest.
For the night, we returned to the Beatty’s Ranch where the enticement of a hot shower (which was more like warm and awfully short) won out over our tendency to avoid pay-sites. We got to wash dishes and cook in a real kitchen since one of their fancy cabins was empty, though, which more than made up for the shower temperature. We had a three-course meal (mac and cheese, popcorn, hot cocoa) which we enjoyed on the front porch, overlooking the distant desert and sky islands through the window of Miller Canyon.

Next, we’re headed to the Patagonia Lake area, where we’ll be camping and looking for Elegant Trogons. On the way, we may make a quick stop to look for some Mexican Spotted Owls at Scheelite Canyon, time permitting.

Don

Cheery Cow (a helpful homophone)

March 23 continued
After crossing the New Mexico border into Arizona and passing by the turnoff to Portal twice (our standard procedure is to pass by at least once before making a turn) we finally turned off onto a dirt road that saw us through to the base of the Chiricahua Mountains. Portal, true to its name, opens up into Cave Creek Canyon, our passage into the “sky islands” of the Sierra Madre. This term refers to the geographical isolation of the elevated ranges from the surrounding desert. And they really do appear that way from a distance, hazy, blue mountains rising up out of the flat desert scrub.
The light goes down behind the canyon walls quickly, but we managed to find a campsite soon after our arrival. Our greeters were two new bird species, our first Arizona birds: first the Painted Redstart and second the Bridled Titmouse. I had been hoping the Redstarts would have arrived by now, since we were now a bit ahead of our schedule. Well, they were not only here but the most abundant warblers in the canyons by far. In the evening, we went for a walk, and when we returned, we found a group right outside our site playing owl recordings to lure the territorial creatures in for a look. So we got to see a Whiskered Screech Owl on our very first night in its small corner of North American habitat. It felt good to be sleeping in a tent not in the desert but in the woods, now comprised of junipers and oaks and evergreens, too.

March 24
We woke up early and enjoyed the amazing slabs of rock across the river gradually lighting up with the rising sun. We hustled off to the South Fork trail, thinking this would be the best time for birding this famous section of Cave Creek. What we had counted on was that the birds didn’t like the cold any more than we did, and that canyon wasn’t going to warm up for another couple hours, not until the sun got over the steep walls. So we kept a brisk pace and tried to warm up, spotting the occasional Painted Redstart, Acorn Woodpecker, or Kinglet. We gave up and decided to have breakfast where it was warmer. And sure enough, the birds were much easier to find there in the parking lot. We found a new warbler, early for the season, a Black-Throated Gray. And talking to some other birders we realized that probably some of the strange-looking Kinglets we’d been seeing were actually Hutton’s Vireos.
We checked out a new campground called Sunny Flats -- because as nice as the shaded forest was in principle, the reality was that a little more sun in the morning wouldn’t have killed us. We also ran across a number of birdfeeders, over-run with Pine Siskins, and some sugar feeders for the hummingbirds as well. Today was our first experience with the larger hummingbirds, the Magnificent and Blue-Throated varieties, as well as the staple Southwest hummer, the Broad-tailed, with its distinctive flight trill produced by the wingtips.
In the afternoon, we explored the Southwest Research station, where we had perhaps our best find yet. A Buff-Breasted Flycatcher. These guys are mostly found just in the Huachuca Mountains, but there is a small, more recently established breeding colony here in the Chiricahuas as well. The catch is, it’s not usually spotted at the breeding grounds until more than a month from now. We then went on a walk to a natural spring feeding in high above the creek on the mountainside. About a mile from the end of the loop, we second-guessed ourselves and decided it might not be a loop, so we turned around and went all the way back before encountering a sign informing us of our folly. I arrived back at the campsite and remembered I still hadn’t called Mom on her birthday, so I drove back to the research station and covertly used their phone while Abby started boiling water for a classy ramen-noodle dinner back at the new campsite.

March 25
We started out birding in “downtown” Portal, where we gleaned some area knowledge from a local birder. Birding is all about insider advice, who’s seen what where, and that means schmoozing. Except that you’re trying to schmooze a group of people who are not known, not in the least, for their social skills. So it can get interesting. But what birders may lack in talking grace, they make up for in hospitality. Our next stop was a good example. A nature guide named Dave Jasper lives near Portal. He lets any birder who wants come onto his property, in the middle of the Big Thicket where certain difficult-to-see desert species can be found, and sets them up with feeders galore and lawn furniture to park in. There, we saw a huge mass of Gambel’s Quail, who communicate with what we thought sounded like alien water-droplet noises. We sheepishly put a bunch of coins in the “seed fund” box (because we only had 20’s) and headed back to Portal. At this point we were hungry. Also, the Portal café had a bathroom for customers only, so we decided, to hell with the expense, we’d have some Mexican food. This is how logic works in the backcountry. The enchiladas were not undercheesed, and I was delighted.
Next, we headed for another site listed in our bird-finding guide. One lesson about these kinds of guides—even the most up-to-date of them are often not updated enough. So that if you are directed to a desert pond, a sort of bird’s oasis paradise where waterfowl are all but compelled to stop on their long journeys through the arid parts of the country, it may be bone-dry when you get there. The Willow Tank was one such dried up well.
But luckily we did have other business out this way, in Rodeo, just across the border into NM. Namely, getting fuel for the car since there was none in Portal. And getting a shower (remember when Abby said we hadn’t showered in six days, then figure that statement was made two days ago…okay, don’t think too hard about it). The shower consumed our supply of quarters about as fast as I’ve been known on this trip to consume a bag of sour gummi-worms. That is, stunningly fast. But it felt heavenly nonetheless. My hair looked like someone else’s, finally having been washed. And I even managed to shave two week’s worth of “beard” (a.k.a. chinstrap). Though this involved running between a faucet in one room and a mirror in another, and I missed more than one large patch on the initial try.
The next big event was finding out that we’d been operating on the wrong time zone for the past several days. Apparently Arizona doesn’t do daylight savings. This helped explain more than one mildly confusing incident or conversation recently. We headed off to Paradise, a subsection of Portal, and watched the feeders at another house opened up to the public through the good graces of the owners. There we were amazed by a pair of Rufous Hummingbirds, their metallic gorget feathers just starting to come in, and a black-hooded Scott’s Oriole. The “unimproved” road surface that took us to Paradise did not get any more improved on the way over Onion Saddle to the far side of the mountain range, where we planned to spend the next day. We spent the night in Pinery Canyon, and there Abby made a delightfully goopy dessert that combined all the dessert-like things we had in the car, including brownie mix, knock-off oreos, peanut-butter and chocolate chips, and cocoa powder. The only thing left to do was sleep on a meal like that (I think we had some soup prior to this as well, but that’s not the stuff one remembers, is it?).

March 26
In the morning, we drove the final leg to the Monument, which is not an obelisk or statue but a National Park area with a different label. The difference, we learned from one of the ubiquitous placards, is that a Nat. Park is an act of congress, whereas as all the other things (Monuments, Historical Landmarks, etc.) are just created because the president wakes up one morning and says so. Well, it was a smart president who set this one aside. We took a “hiker’s shuttle” up to the very top, which meant that we could hike down through all the different elevations rather than hiking up through only the first few. The driver of the van may have been old enough to drive, but she sure didn’t look it. At least the roads are paved. The federal government is good for something, I guess.
The hike down took us through fields of bizarre rock formations. These structures are created by erosion and form drip-sand-castle columns and improbably balanced boulders on narrow pedestals. You can even climb a ways inside certain “grotto” areas on the way down. The birds were better once we got out of the wind on the very peak, but up there we contented ourselves with the geological. And the placards of course. One memorable one described a legend of the leader of the Cochise tribe, whose face appears in profile on the adjacent mountainside, in a rock formation called Cochise Head: a loose conformation of chin, nose, and oversized forehead. The sign noted that he even has an eyebrow, formed by a 100-foot Douglas Fir tree. It also went on to say that he was one of the few Native tribal leaders who was friendly to the settlers, up until one of them tried to arrest him, which began “an unfortunate 11-year war.” Woops!
The trees here are very visibly a mixture of Rocky Mountain types (Douglas Fir, Ponderosa Pine), Sierra Madre types (Pinyon Pine, Alligator Juniper), and desert lowliers beneath (Agave, Yuccas, Lechuguilla). We were particularly pleased to find in the middle elevations a couple of Mexican Chickadees, pretty similar to the Black-capped variety from home but only to be found in these mountains with the United States. On the way down, we also ran into a few migrant species which we had to fix in our brains until we got back down to the field guide. We knew they were vireos, but there are a number of vireos we wouldn’t know yet. This one turned out to be a Plumbeous Vireo. The computer spellcheck suggests that perhaps I mean, “Slumberous,” but I assure you, dear reader, that is not what I mean. One of the great joys of bird identification is the silly names. I will cling to this one, though I’m no more sure than my computer that it actually means something.
We decided to camp nearby in another “dispersed” camping site, which means that you don’t have to pay to sleep on the ground. This makes intuitive sense to me. The unfortunate part of this afternoon’s junket was that the car started making an awful knocking noise as we took the tight turn onto the makeshift campsite road. It continued to make this noise as we maneuvered into position near our chosen piece of flat ground. At least we were a little closer to civilization (it’s all relative of course), so we planned to get it looked at in Bisbee, a town I’m only familiar with from the movie “3:10 to Yuma,” where it appears as a mining town full of wranglers and ne’er-do-wells. You can see why this was such a natural choice for honest automobile service.
We used the remaining part of the day to take another little hike, where I attempted to take a decent photo of Abby drawing. This is not some meta-artistic nonsense, don’t worry. Abby just needs an artist photo for an upcoming workshop she’s giving at the Acadia Birding Festival back in Maine this coming June. Anyway, posed pictures are neither of our thing. We did hear a Northern Saw-Whet Owl calling on our way back down, which is a rare treat in this area, pretty removed from its usual haunts. I had heard them before responding to a tape recorder in Hopkins Forest in Williamstown at the banding station but had never heard one out of the blue like this. It must have been a good night for owls, because later in our tents I was reading “Once and Future King” (which contains a famous screech owl named Archimedes) and heard a Northern Pygmy Owl, a regional cavity-nesting owl down here. Owling, a subset of birding, requires a little more imagination than song-birding, if I may coin a new term. It’s actually not the norm to see the bird in question. So you fall asleep reconstructing its image in your mind from the pictures you’ve seen in field guides and magazines and maybe, if you’re lucky, on a day-time roost. But mostly you just enjoy the haunting, other-worldly noise and feel good to be near something that can make such a sound.

Don

Guadalupe AZ and New Mexico

March 21
During the night, we heard a “goatsucker” calling...specifically a Common Poorwill. Goatsucker is the amusingly inaccurate name often applied to a group of nocturnal birds that give distinctively strange calls in the night. I had never really given this group of birds (also sometimes called Nightjars) much notice. But in Southern Texas, the call of the Common Pauraque, largest bird in the group, was so pervasive that I’ve had to stand up and take notice. The way you identify a bird you can only hear is by using recordings. We only have a car stereo, so this kind of identification only happens when we hit the road. So listening to all the goatsuckers and confirming what we’d heard was our morning’s business. We left Big Bend and headed north for the Guadalupe Mountains National Park, after doing our now-standard set of chores on the way out (wash dishes, replenish water supply, ditch garbage, fill gas because who knows when the next station will be). West Texas has a lot of desert and not a lot of towns. We managed to grab some groceries and use the internet (who knew we would stop at so many McDonald’s on this trip?) and not waste quite as much time as usual. I also discovered that, for the first time in days, the cell phone was getting reception. So I called the campground at Guadalupe, excited that I could get through. I was not so excited to hear that they were full. Spring Break. Curses. We went for a two-or-so mile hike and drove across the border into New Mexico and enjoyed our first night of “dispersed” camping, which essentially means that you drive down a marginal dirt road on Bureau of Land Management land and camp wherever you feel like it. Which in this case meant wherever there was space away from the cow herds. I don’t know how a person would have known about this “primitive camping opportunity” unless they had first been turned away from the “developed” sites. The price was right—I’ll say that much.



March 22
We got a bit of a late start because one of us was having trouble waking up. The other of us busied herself with her artistic endeavors. I won’t say who was who, of course. In the morning (shortly before noon that is) we went for a longer hike through the McKittrick Canyon. Bird activity was minimal. This was probably partly due to the late start. But we are finding also that there is something of a dead space between when the wintering species leave and the nesting species arrive. For instance, one site we’d been considering in New Mexico is known for its ducks and cranes. But both of these groups have already cleared out. On the flip-side, we haven’t been seeing very many warblers coming through yet. I’ve heard other birders saying it could be starting up any time now. The problem is that I’ve been hearing that since we arrived in Texas. We did see one magnificent bird today, a Golden Eagle. First a distant look; later a closer one. We even saw it tuck its wings back and do a little dive. One of the neat aspects to this canyon hike was the incredibly clear water in the middle of it, a rare thing in this northern section of the Chihuahuan desert. At one point, we had a vantage over the shallow water and could see a group of five or so rainbow trout hunting bugs. There were also more trees, probably as a result of the water but also due to being further north than, say, Big Bend. So there were junipers, chinquapin oaks, and big-toothed maples throughout. There was a cabin along the way, built by an oil tycoon in the 1930’s and hooked up to a strange, stunted set of power lines heading all the way through the canyon. The Park Service operates it as a historical site now. One persistently annoying employee of the park gave us an unwanted dissertation on the place. We extricated ourselves from the place as quickly as possible (not as quickly as we would have liked, that is) and continued on to the farthest point of our day, called, “The Grotto.” It was a sort of mini-cavern, full of stalactites and stalagmites, underneath the boulder on which the ongoing trail was situated. You could see open space within much farther than you could actually move about, and we wondered what strange Chihuahuan wildlife made its home there.
In the afternoon we had another planning and campground-phoning session in the parking lot, during which we realized that tomorrow is Easter (we had no idea what day of the week it was, much less that Easter was approaching). After figuring out a vague plan for the next few days, we set off with the intention of going to the nearby Carlsbad Caverns, mostly because it is so close and pretty well-known. But then we realized on the way there that it would have closed already. As if switching into the Mountain Time Zone here wasn’t tough enough, it turns out that New Mexico doesn’t do Daylight Savings (although Texas does). It seems like I just got used to Central Time. Instead of the caverns, we went to Rattlesnake Springs, near the BML dispersed camping where we would be returning for the night. At the Springs, we found a number of fun songbirds like Say’s Phoebe, Vermillion Flycatcher, Black Phoebe, and in the waning daylight, a large feathered figure, strangely protruding from a tree limb, the Great Horned Owl. It’s always great to see an owl in good light, and this was no exception. I struggled to get a focused digital picture using my binoculars, while Abby did some sketches. The body of the owl was facing directly away from us, but that didn’t stop its haunting eyes from looking right at us.

--Don

March 23
We saw the Easter bunny this morning on our way out of the dispersed camping area…he was huddled under a creosote bush looking wet and cold, not the optimal condition for a desert cottontail. Yup, the weather today is a bit iffy. But fortunately we didn’t get the forecasted storm overnight while camping, or the predicted 60-mph winds. Just a bit damp and somewhat windy. Right now we’re on our way toward the Chiricahua Mountains and Portal, Arizona (via El Paso TX and Las Cruces NM), and we should get there by late afternoon. We’re pretty excited for the famous southeastern Arizona birding. We’re also excited to find a campground with showers somewhere…it’s been six days and counting.

--Abby

Big Bend

March 19.
Awoke to the giggling of a bunch of giddy pre-teen girls in the next tent. We left Cottonwoods in late morning, and drove to Chisos Basin campground to do some hiking on the nearby trails. After driving around the parking lot five times we finally got a spot when it was vacated by two motorcycle dudes. Saw a few new species, including Say’s phoebe, acorn woodpecker, and the jay formerly known as Mexican (our Sibley guide doesn’t have the new name – I think it’s gray-chested or something). Didn’t make it all the way up to Emory Peak, but still got great views the whole way, of the Chisos Mountains and the surrounding Chihuahuan Desert. Back at the bottom, we went to the little convenience store next to the visitor center and bought a little fold-up stove for $10, to keep us going till we find a replacement tank for the Coleman. On the way to our new campsite, we made a detour to the Hot Springs. Cliff swallow nests and ancient wall paintings adorned the cliffs along the river, while black phoebes and yellow-rumped warblers (of the western Audubon's variety) darted in and out of bug swarms high up on the cliffside. We spent a while sitting in the shallow hot springs with a whole motley crew of other park visitor, hopping over the stone barrier into the Rio Grande to cool off and swim a bit. Finally, we arrived at our new home, Gravel Pit 4. That’s the name of our charming backcountry campsite, whose claim to fame is that it’s the only one in the area with a tree.

March 20.
Got an early start and drove to the Rio Grande Village campground, to walk on the nearby nature trail. Then on to Boquillas Canyon for a short hike. Though the parking lot began to fill up soon afterward, we were the only ones there when we arrived. As we crested the top of the first hill, we started to hear a distant voice singing in Spanish and echoing all up and down the canyon. We could see the guy in our binoculars, sitting on a rock on the Mexican side and taking advantage of the acoustics. He was holding sheet music, we discovered as we approached…then we came upon his donation jar, sitting on the ground next to a home-made sign informing us that “just listening ain’t going to cut it.” There were also piles of decorated walking sticks and things for sale, and on the way back we saw a different fellow on horseback crossing over the river to replenish the walking stick supply. Lots of infuriatingly tricky-to-identify swallows, as well as our first look at distinctive white-throated swifts. Back to Rio Grande Village to do dishes, get rid of trash, fill up water, and make a phone call attempt at the payphone. And by early afternoon we were back at the campsite, now glad of the shade provided by our tree. We read, lazed around for once, and gave the car a much-needed reorganization. Early dinner of mac and cheese with extra flavoring: weird brownish particles that came out of the pasta box (possible larvae), and questionable tomato sauce. Did some writing and painted a watercolor of the opposite riverbank in the fading light. More singing from over the border, noncommercial this time as far as I could tell.

Abby

Lost and Found

March 14
We left Tex and Lee’s for the last time this morning, which came even sooner than it usually does, after we’d stayed up late planning the next segment of our trip. We had one last stop in the McAllen area: Bentsen Rio-Grande State Park, a rather famous birding locale. We had been there for an owl prowl two nights prior, which made certain sections of the park seem oddly familiar, now that the sun was out. And today, the sun was very much out. The high was 104 degrees, we later learned. But we were well prepared with copious water supply and sunblock on our backs this time around. We made a beeline for the Hawkwatch tower, since that’s where the visitor’s log suggested the action had been the past few days. As it turned out, there were about as many people on the tower as hawks sighted all morning. We saw a few interesting new species (including Swainson’s Hawk) and moved on to the walking trails. There we found Verdin, a Southwest relative of the chickadee. When we stopped in back at the tower on our way out, there was a very experienced birder who knew a number of us were looking for a Northern Beardless Tyrannulet (which is a rare and prized bird to get here at Bentsen). He got everyone excited a few times mistaking a Verdin song for the Tyrannulet’s call note. Eventually, we gave up listening and headed back toward the car…but on our way, we got lucky and did hear the Tyrannulet. Best of all, a Verdin was calling on the other side of us for comparison. It’s always nice to find the birds you won’t have another shot at. The icing on the cake was a Hooded Oriole, an early arrival for the breeding season, which we saw at the feeders near the entrance.
Late as usual, we drove to Falcon Dam State Park, where we were happy to learn the camping only cost four dollars. I think I drank about a gallon of water before settling in for some well-deserved rest.

March 15
We spent the morning walking around the desert trails at Falcon State Park. Crested Caracaras, a bizarre combination of large falcon and vulture, were everywhere. We saw at least 30 sitting on one hillside, though we didn’t see any food source that would have drawn them there. We found one desert shrub that had a Pyrrhuloxia and a Green Jay in it, Texas analogues to the Northern Cardinal and Blue Jay, respectively. That has been the experience so far—most things, especially if you’re looking, are not quite the same.
In the late morning, we headed over to Salineno, where a US Fisheries and Wildlife tract of land has a great feeding station. Turns out the woman hosting the feeders used to live down the street from Abby in Massachusetts. We were rewarded with our third new oriole, this one yellow with a black head—Audubon’s Oriole.
We had been spoiled by short drives lately, so the four or so hours up to Lost Maples in the afternoon seemed pretty onerous. We didn’t even go looking for the White-collared Seadeaters in Zapata (the only place you can see them in the States, practically). On the basis that we needed to leave some life-birds for next time, of course. Instead, we had the largest chocolate shake in existence at McDonald’s and made liberal use of their free internet. Which meant that we got to Lost Maples at around 10:30 at night and then had to register and walk a mile in to our campsite in the dark. On the way there Abby decided to see if there was water in the streambed, by walking blindly into it. It turned out that there was.

March 16
There are two specialty birds at Lost Maples that are found only in Texas and only really in the so-called “Hill Country”. These are the Golden-cheeked Warbler and the Black-capped Vireo, both endangered species with limited range. The vireos we didn’t think had arrived yet, so the warblers were our target species. Their song is similar to the Black-Throated Green’s, probably the most common warbler song in Acadia National Park where we had been spending our time until quite recently. And as luck would have it, I heard that song from the outhouse, first thing in the morning. Now I am not a particularly advanced pisher (pishing, for the non-birders, is the hissing noise birders make to try to draw in songbirds nearby). So I was pleasantly surprised when my pishing brought in a small flock of Ruby-Crowned Kinglets and Black-crested Titmice, the Mexican sister species to our Tufted variety. But I was downright shocked when the Golden-cheeked Warbler we’d been hearing landed in a branch not five feet from our heads. It was too close for binoculars even! What a striking little bird. We saw four of them in our walk, which despite some ominous weather and wind patterns brewing, was gorgeous in its own right. The landscape was like a mix of Northern juniper-oak forests and Southwestern canyonlands. It was especially neat coming from the flat, dry border zone. And it served as a kind of transition to the Big Bend area where we were headed next.
First, however, we decided to somehow misplace every object in our possession. You would think it would be fairly simple to keep track of one car-load of things. Sadly, this is not the case, and we redefined “losing streak” during our stay at this particular park. We did manage to rediscover all of the important things, such that only a few cheap (albeit useful) utensils are still missing. “Lost and Found” Maples, Abby suggested for its new name.
When we returned to our campsite for the night, our tent was inside out…as was everyone’s, from the look of it. The wind was fierce that night, but we moved our tent to a better spot and oriented it better toward the direction of the force. It was still a restless night, and we woke early the next morning, which was probably a good thing as we had a longish drive ahead.

March 17
A pretty boring day of driving…noteworthy for its lack of new bird species. This was the first and, as I write, the only day in which I did not get a life bird. Having averaged over ten new species per day my first week, this was a shock to the system. I suppose the life bird trend will inevitably end, but it sure has been fun while it’s lasted. We were delayed on the drive by grocery shopping and a trip to the hardware store to try to repair our funky Coleman stove. I also unintentionally drove about 20 miles out of the way at one point as we neared our destination, which didn’t help. And to make matters worse, as we approached, we found signs proclaiming full campgrounds, all of them, at Big Bend. We tried them anyway (the difference between a full and an open campground being one tent, after all) but they were completely packed. Spring Break finally got the better of us. We thought we were in the clear after we got away from Padre Island and the beaches, but apparently the National Park System sees a substantial increase in traffic at this time too. The “campsite” we ended up with was just outside the park in a town called Study Butte, behind a Motor Inn on a patch of grass with an annoying beeping piece of machinery. We didn’t bother setting up the tent, as we could see the wind hadn’t abated at all since the previous night, and the tents around us were all buckling anyway. This was a good decision for most of the night. Let’s just say that we didn’t set an alarm clock, but we woke up in a wet hurry first thing the next morning.

March 18
We somehow managed to visit all three major campgrounds at the National Park (and they’re each about an hour apart) before settling into a spot. It’s kind of a wild ride, because one day’s worth of campers are clearing out while a new day’s worth are clamoring for their spots. We got a backcountry permit, but it didn’t start until the following day, so we needed somewhere to camp and didn’t fancy going back to Study Butte again. The first campground by the Rio Grande had one empty spot, but we passed it up hoping for a better site. The most central of the campgrounds, Chisos Basin, was elevated enough to be in a cloud…while we were up there, the light rain actually started flaking up. That’s when I decided we’d try one more place. But halfway to the Cottonwoods campground I realized we were cutting it a little too close for desert-comfort on the gasoline front. So we ended up going back to Study Butte for gas, though thankfully not to stay the night. But when we finally got to the Cottonwoods, we did manage to get the one last open spot. Hoorah. By that time, we were too tired to do much else.
At the campsite, there was a friendly neighborhood wild turkey waddling around, along with an assortment of friendly neighborhood birder types (not all of whom were waddling). And Vermillion Flycatchers galore. Another bird I feel richer for knowing and glad not to have missed, in equal measures. We took a short hike in the evening in Santa Elena canyon, which was really neat. We got our first Western Screech-Owl on the way back, and ever since we’ve been working on imitating its call, so that we can draw out and/or terrorize resident songbirds with it in our future travels (it’s already worked on a Spotted Towhee).


Don

Rio Grande Valley

March 10.
We woke up on an empty, windblown beach at Boca Chica State Park, and went for a morning swim in the Gulf. Saw lots of shorebirds (as well as a falcon hat-trick: kestrel, merlin, and peregrine) before heading back toward Brownsville. We encountered a customs checkpoint on the way back, but oddly enough the immigration officer didn’t question our alleged U.S. citizenship. Our only stop in Brownsville today was the dump, which did not in fact contain any Tamaulipas crow (or many birds at all). Apparently it’s dried up, crow-wise, in recent years. However, the employee at the entrance only had to take one look at our binoculars before giving us a map of the dump and telling us where the birding section was.
Our main destination was Laguna Atascosa National Wildlife Refuge, a short drive north. We didn’t see any aplomado falcons as hoped, but on the highway near the refuge I glimpsed a scissortail flycatcher, an early one coming back north for the summer. It definitely felt like summer: the first actually hot day we’ve had. Saw our first altamira oriole near the visitor center, along with lots of other birds and a huge black snake. One of the trails we walked was called the Paisano Trail (paisano means “countryman,” and is also the Spanish name for the roadrunner). The first fellow-traveler we encountered was a roadrunner up ahead, striding purposefully down the path in the same direction as we were. A sudden rainstorm hastened our departure...we got back in the car and headed further north to Adolphe Thomae County Park. There we battled the wind in order to cook some mac and cheese (on the Coleman stove) and put up the tent.

March 11.
On the way to Weslaco this morning, we stopped at Hugh Ramsey Park, a nice little river-side place, improbably situated right near the Harlingen airport. Saw a buff-bellied hummingbird and talked with a strange local birder, dressed all in white, who tried to help us find some green kingfishers (no luck). Then continued on to Frontera Audubon Sanctuary in Weslaco. Highlights included a ringed kingfisher, a beautiful gray hawk calling from the top of a tall palm, and a kiskadee hunting and swallowing a frog.
This evening we drove to McAllen to meet Lee and Tex Ray, our gracious hosts for the next few days (my Grandpa had put me in contact with Lee, his second cousin, when he heard we’d be in the area). We ate fantastic Mexican food at a location that shall not be named for purposes of local privacy, and talked enthusiastically about the Civil War, parrot invasions, Top Chef, and other subjects.

March 12.
Started our day with an 8:30 bird walk at Estero Llano Grande State Park. As usual, the other birders (middle-aged at the youngest) treated us like beginners until a few minutes into the walk, when we pointed out that the so-called American goldfinches identified by the leader were actually lesser goldfinches. Tons of new birds today, including black-necked stilt, stilt sandpiper, green kingfisher, sora, cinnamon teal, and sparrows (lark sparrow, clay-colored, and Lincoln’s).

Following a suggestion from the Rays, we decided to cross the International Bridge in Progreso. The debate over whether to count birds seen in Mexico became moot, when we only saw grackles and blackbirds crossing the river beside us. Don did see a bronzed cowbird (via its red eye) on the American side. It’s strange: the Mexican landscape looks a lot like the Texas one whenever you see it across the river, but that city certainly felt like Mexico when we crossed into it. Though we were only there half an hour or so, it was an interesting interlude.
We stopped in another park, Anzalduas, before going on to Bentsen-Rio Grande State Park for a night walk. There had been only one free spot, but we both ended up being able to go when some other people didn’t show up. It was a quiet night for birding…heard a great horned owl, lots of pauraques, and a few eastern screech owls (of the Rio Grande Valley variety, soon to be a new species, maybe…or so we hear). My major coup of the night was when I heard the very first elf owl of the season, IDed by the guide after I pointed it out to him. Lots of javelina and armadillos prowling around too.

March 13.
Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge all day today. Though we showed up a little late to the bird walk this morning, we had no trouble catching up…this was the slowest bird walk ever (a very large group of middle-aged to elderly couples). The birding was a bit slow as well, because it was cool and overcast in the morning. Then, of course, the rest of the day was scalding as soon as the sun came out, and we ended up a bit short on water and sunblock. We did see a bobcat, along with both lesser and greater yellowlegs, a scissortail flycatcher, and various ducks, herons, and shorebirds. But we broke off early and forged ahead on our own. In fact, we ended up having two very exciting hawk encounters later on: a dark ferruginous showing an all-white tail overhead, and a juvenile zone-tailed on the ground right next to the trail (so close that we got a good picture by diginoculing through Don’s binoculars). The IDs were confirmed by the resident hawk guy, who was quite excited.
Back in McAllen I swam in the Rays’ pool with Emily the spaniel, who performed incredible leaps into the pool in pursuit of her ring toy. We had a delicious and prep-intensive dinner courtesy of Lee (and Tex, who cooked the steak).

--Abby

Texas!

March 4 continued...

Crossed the Sabine River into Orange, Texas at 4:20 PM. and started birding within minutes at the Blue Elbow Swamp/ Visitor Center. Our first bird was a Pileated Woodpecker careening over the highway. Drove to Fort Anahuac State Park, in search of a campsite that may not have existed in the first place (at least we sure couldn't find it). In our fruitless search, we ran across a Great Horned Owl. This bird decided later to hoot insistently above our makeshift camp, which didn't make for a great night's sleep, but may have been some sort of omen?

March 5

We got up before sunrise and headed down to the fishing pier, where we encountered our first pelicans (both Brown and White), Little Blue Herons, Tricolored Herons, Roseate Spoonbills, Clapper Rails, and too many others to mention. In the afternoon we headed to Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, seeing lots of ducks and herons (and alligators) before moving along to the Bolivar Flats Sanctuary. There were so many shorebirds there, we knew we couldn’t identify them all before it got dark. The highlight was a flock of at least a few thousand American Avocets, some with their breeding plumage starting to come in. We took the ferry across the bay and camped for the night at Galveston Island State Park.

March 6
Our first bird of the day was an American Bittern posing in the grass outside our tent, while it was still dark out. We divided time that morning between the beach and the salt marshes across the road, where our path was blocked a couple times by large groups of ibises and cormorants on the footbridge. We watched Northern Harriers and Loggerhead Shrikes patrolling in the vicinity. When we started out for Rockport, the sky was getting dark. On the way, a thunderstorm engulfed us, and we decided camping might not be the best idea, so we pulled off at Fulton and spent the night in a motel.

March 7

In the morning, we took a Whooping Crane Boat Tour, which took us from the harbor to Aransas National Wildlife Refuge waters. There we got great close-up views of the cranes eating blue crabs and dwarfing all the other birds nearby. Other highlights included Long-billed Curlews, American Oystercatchers, and a Reddish Egret. We spent the afternoon on the land portion of the Refuge, where we found earlier migrants like the White-eyed Vireo lurking in the woods. A preview of the tropics, we saw a few Couch’s Kingbirds near the visitor center. We got pretty close to an alligator before realizing. The night was spent in Goose Island State Park, on the southern end of the peninsula where the cranes make their winter home.

March 8

Morning birdwalk on Goose Island with a crew of Winter Texans (mostly from Ontario and Minnesota). One of them offered to show us an Inca Dove nest near his campsite. While we were there, I put my binoculars on something neither he, Abby, or I could even make a stab at. It had a parrot bill, fed like a parrot, but was drably colored and didn’t make an appearance in any guide we could find. Abby made a sketch soon after, and hopefully we’ll be able to figure out the mystery bird (which will almost certainly be something exotic). In the afternoon, we drove down to Brownsville, where we camped in an RV park where a Pauraque was hanging out most of the evening, its bright eyes lit up by our headlamps near the tent.

March 9

This morning, we went to Sabal Palm Sanctuary where we got a whirlwind introduction to the birds of the Lower Rio Grande Valley, such as Green Jay, Plain Chachalaca, and Great Kiskadee. This sanctuary encloses one of the last tracts of un-farmed land down here, and it really felt like a jungle in there. We are beginning to see more warblers beginning the spring migration (Nashville, Black and White, Northern Parula, Orange-Crowned, Yellow-Rumped so far). Tonight we’ll be camping at Boca Chica State Park.

Hoping the wind lets up so our tent doesn’t try to blow away again,

Don

P.S. Sorry for the scatter-shot nature of our posts so far. Internet access has been tougher to find than anticipated (I’m posting this entry in a McDonald’s of all places). We have more pictures to upload too.

Spring-ish

Driving south at this rate is like fast-forwarding the rest of winter away. New birds (at least for the year) are already showing up in numbers. Though it’s hard to make reliable identifications from the major highways we’ve been on, the sheer number of options is making me antsy to get out of the car. The red-winged blackbirds are flocking and making that wonderfully mechanical noise I associate with springtime at Eph’s Pond in Williamstown MA, and if they’re ready, I think I am too. Meanwhile, in the grass world, green is definitely the new brown. As we drove through eastern Mississippi, red maples went from bare to budding to leafy. Puffy jackets have been replaced by t-shirts, and I’m looking forward to putting on shorts for the first time later today. Today, we’ll be proceeding through the bayous of southwestern Lousiana en route to the Texas Gulf Coast. We’ve only seen one roadside egret thusfar, but we’ll be on the lookout.
--Don

Go South

March 1.

2:13 PM. Off like a herd of turtles, as Grandpa would say. Our departure was delayed mostly (or at least ostensibly) by the snowy conditions that cropped up overnight. There was also a small matter of Don having neglecting most of his packing until the last minute. We made it from Connecticut to New York to Pennsylvania, encountering a friendly vole at a rest stop along the way. Stopped at a motel in Carlisle, PA for the night.

March 2.

Comparatively early start at 8:30…traveled through Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina. Warm and sunny conditions made for great roadside raptoring today, including American kestrel, Cooper’s hawk, sharp-shinned hawk, turkey vulture, and red-tailed hawk. AND…I saw a golden eagle soaring at low altitude just above the side of the highway in Virginia. At first I thought it was a big turkey vulture, but then it tilted and showed two unmistakeable white strips on its wings.

At 6:30 PM we arrived in Weaverville, North Carolina, and were welcomed into the palatial home of Marti Touchstone, a college friend of Don’s Mom. Marti introduced us to her Airedale trio - Pixi, Bubba, and Peach - and took us out to dinner (the local specialties include BBQ-somethinged pork, trout, and collard greens).

March 3.

Morning hike on the Blue Ridge Parkway with Marti and the three doggies. In the winter many sections of the parkway are closed unpredictably, which is inconvenient for driving, but we were able to walk along one of the closed sections to the head of a trail loop. We also got a better look at the impossibly quaint southern Appalachian community of Weaverville.

Despite our lateish start, we managed to drive all the way through North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama to Laurel, Mississippi by 9:40 PM (or was it 8:40? The time had changed at some earlier point, unbeknownst to us). As we sat in our fourth-floor motel room, a wicked thunderstorm passed over us and off to the northeast…but the tornado warnings in the region never materialized.

March 4.

Headed on our last leg south from Mississippi to Louisiana, turning west toward Texas.
P.S. Thanks so much to those of you who have written (I’ll get back to you ASAP…limited internet time for now).

--Abby