South to the Border II
Tuesday morning and off to South Padre Island, long enough after spring break to feel safe enough. Other than a flock of Eastern Kingbirds, nothing appeared distinctly enough at 70 mph to exclaim over. A distant white guy with black wingtips could have been a gull or a pelican, for all I knew. I’m not too good with recognizing how they fly.
From the bridge, I saw what I’d been expecting: many Brown Pelicans and Laughing Gulls. We breakfasted at McDonald’s, hurrying because we had to be back before 1:00. This outing was not specifically a birding one, but I wore my binoculars anyway—maybe one or two of these grackles would end up being boat-tailed.
When we finally got to the beach, my first contact was with several Willets and a few other shorebirds, little sandpipers who I must admit frustrate me greatly. They were entirely gray and white with nothing rufous about them. But what did that really tell me? I looked and looked and looked, wanting to punch myself because I didn’t know what to look for or whether I was being stupid because only one kind of gray sandpiper ever comes here in August.
After some post-study in Sibley, I came to no conclusion. It was only how they were acting that made me think they might not be Sanderlings; they weren’t in a flock and they weren’t following the ebb and flow of the waves like the ones I’d seen before.
A cute chirping above me diverted my attention to a Least Tern returning to a large flock a little way down the beach. I love those little guys, and watching them dive-fishing later made me once again marvel at those who say all these species are the result of random chance.
I was called away to swim (remembering with some ambivalence that this was not particularly intended to be a birding venture) and the water was the perfect temperature, unlike the sticky August warmth I had experienced in Galveston my first time in the gulf five years ago. Several terns flew over while I frolicked in the water. No binoculars. Would they have helped? One looked Common or Forster’s, one looked Royal—but, of course we’ll see more of them later.
Those terns did not reappear, but a dignified Great Blue Heron came in and waded with the usual regality I expect from these deceptive slow-movers. We got out of the water and wandered up the jetty, where Ruddy Turnstones fled us as we advanced. Pretty soon, the largeness of the boulders and the gaps between them activated my Fall-and-Die sensor and I turned back, still begging the sky to give my terns back.
We had already used up most of our time allotment, but I begged to be taken to the other side of the island, where on the way in I had spotted some promising sandflats. We parked in a semi-legal spot right before the entrance to the bridge. We’ll only be here for ten minutes.
I regretted that short time at my first glance. The first thing that caught my notice was a Whimbrel, a species I have only had one short look at, but which is appreciated by my unrefined birding senses because of its unmistakable bill. Marbled Godwits hammered the sand a little further off, and a dozen little plovers skittered around. Since I have only seen Wilson’s Plovers in breeding plumage, the only thing that made me certain about these was their remarkably heavy bills. One large plover wandered in the background, and I used at least four of my allotted minutes trying to take in as much of the Black-bellied Plover as I could. My roommate returned from her walk out on the pier much too soon, but in enough time for me to show her the beautiful Tricolored Herons and plovers.
As we drove back over the bridge, I looked up as we were passing a light post and saw one frame’s worth of a hawk with a clean white front. Oh, stop! But all circumstances were against me. I simply had to trust Sibley that the White-tailed Hawk is a ‘species of the Texas coastal savanna’ who sometimes enjoys a trip to the beach.
Once again exhausted from baking in the heat, I almost fell asleep on the way home. The feelings were similar when we left Samantha’s dad’s house ten minutes before six the next morning. After the first dark hour, I began to see ‘normal’ things I had missed because of the darkness on the way down: Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, Cattle Egrets.
Soon I saw what I thought was a Crested Caracara flying over, then almost made Samantha swerve of the road when I exclaimed over one perched in a tree. We saw several more later, but there is nothing like the first one.
The jubilation of my heart when we stopped at a rest stop overlooking a promising stretch of desert flora was increased fourfold by my roommate’s proposal that we stop for a few minutes and she would read while I saw what could be seen. The first thing that could be seen was several large sparrow-like birds on the chain-link fence. Though they sat still very agreeably, I could not recall seeing anything like them before. I noted as many things about them as I could: the small, dark ‘v’ on the breast, the striping on the face, the medium yellowish legs. I also heard a very high chip which must have come from the ones hidden in the brush. In fact, there was a lot of noise and movement in the brush that I could not manage to turn into anything more substantial. They were too far away. But when two roadrunners swooped down and a caracara flew over low, I felt I could not ask for much more. I was sneaking in an awful lot of cool birding for being a dependent lone birder.
Consultation with Sibley gave me a satisfying closure to the trip: those were Lark Sparrows. I had even thought they looked a little like larks. But what was best about the identification was that it was my first completely independent sparrow identification. I have often despaired over sparrows, as Jason and Dr. Johnson well know. Perhaps their time will come.
To sum up the four days of tumult, and to the great satisfaction of the guru, I am sure, I saw 41 species that I could confidently identify. In addition, I saw nine other birds about which I had strong theories, making a nice round 50 different species spotted. Of the 41 certainties, ten were life birds—about five percent of my entire life list. Every assembled piece of the puzzle makes the rest of them easier to place.
From the bridge, I saw what I’d been expecting: many Brown Pelicans and Laughing Gulls. We breakfasted at McDonald’s, hurrying because we had to be back before 1:00. This outing was not specifically a birding one, but I wore my binoculars anyway—maybe one or two of these grackles would end up being boat-tailed.
When we finally got to the beach, my first contact was with several Willets and a few other shorebirds, little sandpipers who I must admit frustrate me greatly. They were entirely gray and white with nothing rufous about them. But what did that really tell me? I looked and looked and looked, wanting to punch myself because I didn’t know what to look for or whether I was being stupid because only one kind of gray sandpiper ever comes here in August.
After some post-study in Sibley, I came to no conclusion. It was only how they were acting that made me think they might not be Sanderlings; they weren’t in a flock and they weren’t following the ebb and flow of the waves like the ones I’d seen before.
A cute chirping above me diverted my attention to a Least Tern returning to a large flock a little way down the beach. I love those little guys, and watching them dive-fishing later made me once again marvel at those who say all these species are the result of random chance.
I was called away to swim (remembering with some ambivalence that this was not particularly intended to be a birding venture) and the water was the perfect temperature, unlike the sticky August warmth I had experienced in Galveston my first time in the gulf five years ago. Several terns flew over while I frolicked in the water. No binoculars. Would they have helped? One looked Common or Forster’s, one looked Royal—but, of course we’ll see more of them later.
Those terns did not reappear, but a dignified Great Blue Heron came in and waded with the usual regality I expect from these deceptive slow-movers. We got out of the water and wandered up the jetty, where Ruddy Turnstones fled us as we advanced. Pretty soon, the largeness of the boulders and the gaps between them activated my Fall-and-Die sensor and I turned back, still begging the sky to give my terns back.
We had already used up most of our time allotment, but I begged to be taken to the other side of the island, where on the way in I had spotted some promising sandflats. We parked in a semi-legal spot right before the entrance to the bridge. We’ll only be here for ten minutes.
I regretted that short time at my first glance. The first thing that caught my notice was a Whimbrel, a species I have only had one short look at, but which is appreciated by my unrefined birding senses because of its unmistakable bill. Marbled Godwits hammered the sand a little further off, and a dozen little plovers skittered around. Since I have only seen Wilson’s Plovers in breeding plumage, the only thing that made me certain about these was their remarkably heavy bills. One large plover wandered in the background, and I used at least four of my allotted minutes trying to take in as much of the Black-bellied Plover as I could. My roommate returned from her walk out on the pier much too soon, but in enough time for me to show her the beautiful Tricolored Herons and plovers.
As we drove back over the bridge, I looked up as we were passing a light post and saw one frame’s worth of a hawk with a clean white front. Oh, stop! But all circumstances were against me. I simply had to trust Sibley that the White-tailed Hawk is a ‘species of the Texas coastal savanna’ who sometimes enjoys a trip to the beach.
Once again exhausted from baking in the heat, I almost fell asleep on the way home. The feelings were similar when we left Samantha’s dad’s house ten minutes before six the next morning. After the first dark hour, I began to see ‘normal’ things I had missed because of the darkness on the way down: Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, Cattle Egrets.
Soon I saw what I thought was a Crested Caracara flying over, then almost made Samantha swerve of the road when I exclaimed over one perched in a tree. We saw several more later, but there is nothing like the first one.
The jubilation of my heart when we stopped at a rest stop overlooking a promising stretch of desert flora was increased fourfold by my roommate’s proposal that we stop for a few minutes and she would read while I saw what could be seen. The first thing that could be seen was several large sparrow-like birds on the chain-link fence. Though they sat still very agreeably, I could not recall seeing anything like them before. I noted as many things about them as I could: the small, dark ‘v’ on the breast, the striping on the face, the medium yellowish legs. I also heard a very high chip which must have come from the ones hidden in the brush. In fact, there was a lot of noise and movement in the brush that I could not manage to turn into anything more substantial. They were too far away. But when two roadrunners swooped down and a caracara flew over low, I felt I could not ask for much more. I was sneaking in an awful lot of cool birding for being a dependent lone birder.
Consultation with Sibley gave me a satisfying closure to the trip: those were Lark Sparrows. I had even thought they looked a little like larks. But what was best about the identification was that it was my first completely independent sparrow identification. I have often despaired over sparrows, as Jason and Dr. Johnson well know. Perhaps their time will come.
To sum up the four days of tumult, and to the great satisfaction of the guru, I am sure, I saw 41 species that I could confidently identify. In addition, I saw nine other birds about which I had strong theories, making a nice round 50 different species spotted. Of the 41 certainties, ten were life birds—about five percent of my entire life list. Every assembled piece of the puzzle makes the rest of them easier to place.
3 Comments:
My book doesn't have a Crested Caracara--only a "plain" one.
Hmm...are you looking at the chachalaca maybe?
Oh wow. I'm jealous, but that's so awesome, Lynn. Many congratulations.
Post a Comment
<< Home