Texas Hamilton

Andrew Griswold, Director of EcoTravel
35 Pratt Street, Suite 201
Essex 06426
860-767-0660
Fax: 860-767-9988
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Travels Through Texas

by Carol Hamilton

Having stopped by Connecticut Audubon in Fairfield one day, I was drawn into a conversation with Jay Hand, a naturalist, who was enthusing about a recent birding trip to Texas. My curiosity was piqued. Later, I counted my life list and realized that in one week of travel, his sightings, 240 in all, were only slightly fewer than my entire life list. With visions of birds I’d only spotted in field guides dancing in my head, I signed up with Andy Griswold for the April 1997 Texas tour.

Could an intermediate birder still known to make some far-out identifications survive on a 1600 mile trip with presumably serious birders and return wiser and better for the experience? Here are some highlights!

Days One & Two. Thanks to CT Limousine, I’m cooling my heels at LaGuardia while the group is happily pursuing warblers at Brazos Bend near Galveston. Later on, my roommate tells me how they sat, surrounded by woodland at High Island while warblers in full breeding plumage and voice darted about them. There were plenty of these elusive birds to satisfy even the inexperienced birder.

Day Three. If your idea of vacation includes a leisurely morning in the sack, avoid this tour. At 6:30 a.m., I’m tucking into my Cornflakes, when I hear a "thunk" at our Galveston Motel window. A moment later, we are surrounding Jay, who is cradling a lively yellow breasted chat. I like the idea of having birds brought to me, but Andy and Jay have other ideas. Off we go to Bolivar Flats, where hundreds of white pelicans flanked by rows of black skimmers and other shorebirds stand in stunning contrast to industrial Galveston and the shipping channel. Between my camera and binoculars, I’m on optical overload.

Day Four. From Port Lavaca, we’re headed down the Gulf Coast to Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. Atop a platform, we’re awed by the pristine beauty and awkward grace of a half-dozen whooping cranes. Despite an abundance of other sightings, including a white-tailed kite, all pale by comparison.

Day Five. The group has bonded, swapping travel tales and birding trips. Our ritual of van window washing pays off as Andy and Jay, whose visual fields rival raptors, call forth buteos; zone-tailed, Harris and white-tailed. My modest sights are set on the low-flying black and white crested caracaras. Our van rolls through King Ranch, by peach-colored scissor-tailed flycatchers into subtropical Brownsville where we’re buzzed by buff-bellied hummingbirds.

Day Six. Outside Bentsen State Park, the bucolic calm along the Rio Grande is shattered by whoops and hollers. Jay has a Mississippi kite “in glass” (I’m learning birder lingo). Later, after our daily stop at Dairy Queen, our pursuits turn nocturnal. Drenched in mosquito repellant, we train our flashlights on a small tree cavity, where, right on schedule, the elusive elf owl appears at 7:l5pm. Looking none too happy by his uninvited guests.

Day 7. Near Bentsen and into chaparral country. Over another ample picnic lunch, we are serenaded by an old truck revving up (actually a cactus wren nesting nearby). Just as we are convinced Jay has lost us for good on remote back roads, we spy a slough filled with waterbirds among which paddles his prize, a least grebe. Andy assures me the fighting cocks I’m seeing in someone’s backyard don’t belong on the lift list, but I redeem myself with a black-throated sparrow, which does.

Day 8. In Salineno, I’m after a green jay when I’m drawn to a whispery “chuh-chuh” in the brush from which a small flock of chachalacas exploded. Yesterday we heard a group in full chorus - an unforgettable musical experience. We’ve become dedicated birders, unable to pull ourselves away from the black-bellied whistling ducks perched in our Uvalde motel yard in time for dinner.

Day 9. We’re in hill country where the trees are alive with warblers, buntings and vireos … black-capped and Bell’s. Along a river, we fan out to track the path of a green kingfisher. We’ve just about given up on the Vermilion Flycatcher when one obligingly appears on a telephone wire, with the added bonus of his mate on her nest nearby.

Day l0. This day of farewells is brightened by vibrant carpets of wildflowers along the interstates, among them coreopsis, Indian paintbrush and blue bonnets. Last night we took count. 257 birds were identified. l5 were unique to Texas. We regaled Andy and Jay with doggerel. They, in return, presented us all with awards. Mine was, “Last to return to the van”. But that’s the problem with Texas … so many birds, so little time. I’ll be back!