Whooping Crane Territory

 I headed for Goose Island State Park, Texas, near Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, winter home to the endangered whooping crane. 

Those of you who've known me for many years will appreciate the appropriateness of Goose Island.

Like Fripp and Dauphin Island, Goose Island is a barrier island.  Most camp sites are tucked away in the woods, but a few are on a spit of land fronting the bay.  Since I will be spending the next few months in the desert, I opted for a water view. 

I wondered about this fancy shelter at each site, but then realized that the campsites by the water get a lot of wind, so it's difficult to put up and keep up a canopy.  That's fine with me, as the canopy on my camper is difficult for me to unroll and stabilize.  Notice that I've tucked myself a bit behind the shelter; that is partly for privacy and partly to maximize my view.

My view.  Even though I wasn't on the front row, I had no complaints.  I was close enough to the water, and there was lots to do, such as....

A very strenuous activity:  sitting in the sun, relaxing.

Walking to the pier...

Fishing.... or, for me

Birdwatching.  I certainly was not graceful clambering on the roof of my car, but I did get a good view of

Whooping Cranes and Sandhill Cranes.  My view through the binocs was certainly better than my photographs, but I want to prove that I actually saw both these wonderful birds.

For the past three years, several bands of  whoopers have been "off the reservation" so to speak.  I saw them on Goose Island, rather than Aransas National Wildlife Refuge.  They were hanging out at this little pond, with a few cows, and a small RV park on the other side.  Apparently, the pond owner puts out deer seed.

The drought of the past several years has caused a decline in the blue crab population on Aransas, and whoopers love blue crabs.

Apparently, there is a difference of opinion as to whether whoopers should be provided food on Aransas, and, at the moment, the purists are prevailing, so no human provided food is available on Aransas, and some whoopers are voting with their wings and moving to spots such as this pond, where someone is putting out deer corn. I have no dog in this fight.

The pond is about 200 yards from the road, and neither my camera nor my photo skills accommodate that distance.  When I first saw the smaller gray birds, I assumed they were whooper offspring, and someone nearby verified that.  Wrong!  They are sandhill cranes.  Now for more big, white birds....

White Pelicans!  I think "ordinary" pelicans are other-worldly creatures, but the white pelicans are downright odd, as if they can't decide whether they're pelicans or weird whooping cranes or swans...or a bit of all three. The web site to which I've linked says they're common in the east, though I've only seen them in the west, including in Utah, which is where I saw them for the first time.

Like whoopers, they have black on the underwings, which is quite visible when they fly.

They're in a tizzy because a fisherman is throwing fish innards into the water from a cleaning station.

Guess he's not getting his share.

Vultures are in abundance on Goose Island, at least at this time of year.  Here one posed for me.  Actually, he's letting his wings dry.  As ugly as they are, they fascinate me.

Roseate spoonbills and red-headed ducks.  This pond is not the whooper pond, and I could get right down to it.  I pulled out a chair from my van, and just sat there for a while, with my binocs, though I didn't need them for everything.  Yellow-rumped warblers were flitting about; I've never seen so many in one place.  A birder told me later that they'd just arrived, so I guess they were hungry and horney.  I also saw pintailed ducks, one bufflehead (apparently a bit ahead of his brothers), a white ibis, all at this one little pond.

Hunting blinds dotted the water, and hunting club cabins hugged the shore.   Having neither a fishing rod nor a gun, I headed to my own rendezvous with death.

A charming entry.

Carving on a headstone.

The inscription on this stone noted the man had served in the Texas War of 1836, though not at the Alamo.   Whether his stones are consciously modeled on the Alamo, I don't know, but there is a resemblance.  See below.

The Alamo.

The rose on this stone is sweet, though I'm guessing the person who inscribed the stone was not one of her students. 

The Big Tree:  Do please check out this link.  While it's a tad hokey, it makes me smile.

This tree is a thousand years old. 

Forget the moisturizer. 

These are a few of the Big Tree's offspring.  As with the Big Tree, Aunt Vivian had many offspring, and they will carry her within themselves and within their own offspring.

If I were a thousand years old, I'd need a crutch, too.  I don't want to live forever, or even for 100 years.  I want the years granted to me to be vibrant.  Until six weeks before he moved on, Daddy flew his plane, played golf, worked out at his gym, worked in his garden, and walked from 4 - 5 pm daily.  That's a vibrant life.

Flutterby who posed for me.

Identified by Chick Gaddy as "a pipevine swallowtail (Battus philenor).   It lives on plants in the genus Aristolochia, the pipevines."  Chick and I went to college together back in the day.  Thanks, Chick, for the identification. 

Roughing It

Camping my way across the country can be rough.

 Yes, I occasionally bail out to a hotel.  After I left Dauphin Island, Alabama, my destination was Goose Island State Park, near Rockport, Texas, gateway to whooping cranes.  However, the two are about 660 miles apart, and in my wild, younger days, I could have gone that distance, nowadays, I'm older, wiser, and pulling a camper.  So my plan was to stay one night just across the Texas border, in a dog friendly hotel.  Turns out this one has a swimming pool and hot tub, of which I availed myself, as well as a nearby Mexican restaurant, where I sated myself.

After an early morning phone call from Mother about Aunt Vivian, and looking out the window at a grey, drizzly day, I decided to treat myself to another night, curled up in bed with a trashy book and trashy TV.

Then on to Goose Island State Park.....

On the Road Again

Just can't wait to get on the road again.... (try the link...it isn't what you think).  After a good dinner and warm breakfast, I pulled out of Mother's drive in South Carolina and headed for Atlanta, where I spent the night with my cousins John and Kathy.  My first destination was Dauphin Island, Alabama, a place I'd never been, never heard of, and about which I knew only what I found on the internet.  But, it was close to water, far from town, had a bird sanctuary and a few other places that might be of interest to me. And, like Fripp, it's a barrier island, so I'll feel at home there.

While I was definitely not the only camper in the campground, I did ask for a remote, isolated, keep-me-away-from-everyone camp site.  They were quite accommodating, as you can see.  I turned the back of the camper to the main part of the campground, and faced the bird sanctuary.  For those of you who've seen the log cabin that's going up in Wise, you will not be surprised.

Sitting in a chair reading, with my feet on the blue chair.  I was easily distracted by this peaceful view. 

At this time of the year, the playground was empty, though I could see its attraction for the younger set. 

The campground was larger than I'd realized when I booked my reservation.  If I'd realized how big it was, I might not have gone there, which would have been a loss for me.  With the exception of this almost-antique RV, mine was the smallest in the campground.  I liked this little square, no-frills model.  Today's RVs are huge and round, not small and square, and they're certainly not corrugated and banded in blue.

My fellow campers came from everywhere:  Kentucky, Iowa, Indiana, Wisconsin, Illinois.  Most  stay for several months. I took this photo for my cousin who graduated from UK and is a devout Wildcat.

 

 

 Entering the bird sanctuary from the back side....

To find 85 acres of destruction, probably caused by a careless smoker. 

The fire occurred in August.  Just a few months later, nature has begun its comeback.

But this destruction could have been avoided, if that lazy, careless smoker had walked only a few more feet.

From the resilience of the land, to our use of the sea.  From Dauphin Island, I could see at least 10 oil rigs on a foggy day.   Altogether, there are about 80 wells in Alabama waters.

When I took these photos, I was doing the tree "for art's sake."  I didn't realize the rigs were in the background until I uploaded the photos.  I could see them from shore, just didn't see them in the camera.  There's something about the dead tree limb seeming to hold up the oil rig that appeals to me, though I have no idea why. 

Granted, I overdid the dead tree/oil rig pictures so let's just move right along to ......

I'm partial to cemeteries, though not of the process of getting there, so when I travel, I try to visit local cemeteries.  This one, the Dauphin Island Catholic cemetery, can be seen from the road to the campground, and I wanted to take a closer look at the Christmas tree.  It's next to the grave of a baby who died at two months of age.   I also visited the original Dauphin Island cemetery, which told me that in addition to the French, Greeks had settled here by the 1850s, something I wouldn't have known, had I not wandered the cemetery.   OK, now on to something cheerful....

Cousin Robby -- This one's for YOU

While not exactly a Potemkin Village, these abodes are not quite what they appear.

Perhaps a tad grandiose...

For an abode that is as third as wide as it is tall....  Must be for very thin people.   Or very tall people.

 

Actually, they're a front for very nice boat slips, instead of a back yard.

No porch, but a great porch swing. My kinda place.

A touch of color on a drizzly day.

Or perhaps not.  I will be duplicating this sign and posting it prominently at the entrance to the Coeburn Mountain abode.   And now on to....  Shell Mound Park.

I've long been interested in prehistory, so this shell mound was an attraction.  As with many such prehistoric features, most of it is hidden under vegetation, with a few shells scattered across the top.  It is also a bird habitat, though none of them were scheduled to appear that day.

Perhaps if the State of Alabama spent less money on Confederate flags and more on education, signage at state parks would be less embarrassing.  I spotted this mark of subliteracy at Fort Gaines State Park, whose claim to fame is the Battle of Mobile Bay in 1864, a battle soundly lost by the side that lost the stupid war which they started.  Even Jeff Davis might be a tad discomfited that the state that was the site of the last Confederate White House is also somewhere around #43 in public education.  Guess the results are apparent for all to see.   But there is a bright spot....

The Estuarium is fascinating, and with the guidance of a very knowledgeable docent, and an excellent short video, I learned much about the area.  For instance, Mobile is second only to Seattle in the amount of rainfall it receives annually.  That answered my question as to why it rained or was drizzly most of my stay.  And, Mobile Bay itself is only about 10 feet deep.  Of course, I learned too much about our degradation of the Bay and the Delta which feeds it.  As I looked at exhibits of creatures dating millions of years ago, and the long long list of geologic eras, I asked the docent how the many school children in this very Christian state who visit the facility deal with the non-Biblical time scale.  He said that it isn't the children who voice their disapproval, but their parents.  The docents are trained not to engage in such discussions, but it's clear they are disheartened by the number of people who completely deny the science that the Sea Lab devotes itself to.  

 I packed up on Friday morning, my camper folded itself into place, and the canines and I left to wend our way through Mississippi and Louisiana, toward Texas.  I had no planned stops but did see a sign and headed off the interstate to....

I saw no Mississippi sandhill cranes.  However, unlike other cranes, these Mississippi cranes do not migrate; moreover they are unique to this one 20,000 acre protected refuge.  This Refuge was founded as a result of one of the first cases based on the Endangered Species Act  to reach the US Supreme Court.  Interstate 10, that marvelous ribbon of highway, a legacy of Eisenhour, also brought about the creation of the Refuge.  In the 1970s, I-10 bulldozed its way through the cranes' habitat, their demise assured until the Refuge was created.   Without I-10, the cranes would have been safe.  Without I-10, fewer people, myself included, would be aware of them, because without I-10, I wouldn't be here.  And having made this trip several times before I-10 was completed, I can appreciate the opportunity to travel quickly and safely.  So I return to the road, leaving it only when I reach Texas, where the first mileage markers reads 880.  Yes, that's 880 miles across Texas.  I'm heading for the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge -- whooping cranes, this time. They'll probably be in hiding, as were all the birds at the Mississippi Refuge, except for one flicker who apparently didn't get the message that he wasn't on duty the day I was there.