Waterside

As we explore our way around these lowlands, I am confounded by the water.  As Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote: "Water water everywhere, nor any drop to drink".  It is virtually everywhere in these parts, but I never quite know what body of water I am looking at - bay, slough, estuary, laguna, gulf, lake, swamp, bayou, channel, canal, or if I know what general designation it is, I can't discern if I am gazing across Matagorda Bay, Madre Laguna, Lavaca Bay, Hog Bayou or another specifically named body of water.

And speaking of Hog Bayou, we found our way back there (our first visit was many moons ago) for a spot of fishing, and even some catching, although we weren't sure just what we were catching.  We try to Google later to name the unfamiliar fish - Chris determined those were freshwater drum.  All things are different here, so it's just a matter of going with the flow (so to speak).

 

We did of course recognize the alligator, belly up though it was . . .

. . . and were delighted at the pelicans fishing around us.  Three of them were filling their gullets with small fish unlucky enough to be near the water's surface.  Those birds always make me think of pterodactyls with their goofy shapes that look awkward, but obviously are very efficient.

 

They hit the water with such force that it seems it should hurt, make a great splash in the process, then settle on the surface to toss the piscine snack out of their cavernous pouch back into their throat.  Then they give a satisfied little waggle of their tail before getting their cumbersome bulks airborne once again.

I have a fascination with the doin's of salt water fisheries, perhaps a throwback to very early times of being taken to fishing docks on the Pacific.  In all that time, I have learned next to nothing about the ins and outs of it, but the interest never wanes - maybe it's the novelty of it all to a desert rat.

At Matagorda Bay (the señor told me which water we were at), we saw lots of shrimpers; that seems to be a major industry there.  We also noticed a boat coming in loaded with crab traps (at least I think that's what they were).

Everywhere along that coast we see the destructive effects that salt air and salt water have on structures and boats.  Maintenance and insurance must be pretty pricey thereabouts.

Of course the truly devastating effects come from winds off the water - seasonal hurricanes can level every structure in their way.  The most commonplace method of construction in those high-water surge areas is to put them up on stilts. Underneath is convenient parking for vehicles and boats.

 

Hurricane-created ghost towns . . .

It's no particular surprise that we would get hooked on the history of the region; the ghost of the town of Indianola kept us occupied as we wandered the area it had been.  At first, we couldn't understand how such a major port could have existed on a spit of land as small as it seemed to be, even with knowing that the coastline had been altered by two 19th century hurricanes.

It took quite a bit of back road exploration, reading and map perusing to sort it out for us.  Located at Indian Point, the place was a major port of entry for immigration, especially from Germany.  With a population of 5,000, it was wiped out in 1875 by a hurricane, rebuilt and once more devastated by 1886, both times with a great loss of life.

Indianola was the Calhoun County seat.  To give an idea of how the coastline has been radically altered, the site of the courthouse is now 300 feet out in the bay. 

Nothing remains of the historic town, although the area has been resettled in more recent years, presumably because of its prime bay frontage.  As we explored one way and another, we found one of three old burying grounds on a narrow rise of land that is the only natural feature higher than inches above sea level.

I love the way they marked graves of unknown people: "Known only to God".

Some graves were marked as being for "Defenders of the Republic of Texas", clearly a military designation given by the Daughters of the Republic of Texas . . .

. . . and others were for "Citizens of the Republic of Texas", which would be prior to statehood in December of 1845.  The plaque pictured below was on a marker for Angelina Eberly, who was a principal in the oddly named Archives War.  

Seems there was the not-unusual consternation, feuding and shenanigans regarding where the Texas capital should be located, with General Sam Houston insistent that it be in his namesake city and Mirabeau Lamar, who succeeded Houston as Republic President, vying for a more central location, the present site of Austin.

After 40 wagons removed the Republic's archives overland to the proposed central capital, a clandestine effort to spirit them back whence they came was spotted by Eberly.  She fired off a cannon (perhaps she had one stashed in her back yard as a novelty during barbecue parties?) to alert Austin residents of the thievery afoot, at which time the records were restolen, to remain in Austin to this day.  There's much more of interest regarding that finagling.  Here's a link to more about it at the Texas State Library in case you want to read about the ins and outs of all the political wrangling of the day: https://www.tsl.texas.gov/treasures/republic/archwar/archwar.html.  They carried on then just as they carry on now, sad to say.

We have utilized those records in the past when we visited the archives in Austin to learn about our Texas ancestors.

Critters of the land, water and air . . .

As we explored the varied ecosystems in the area, we ran across a large turtle.

He was not of a sociable bent, and preferred not to come to the door at our call.

Birds not of a feather . . .

. . . sometimes flock together anyway.  We watched and photographed the two birds in the photo below, bemused at their behavior.  One was a snowy egret, the other a white ibis.  It clearly was not happenstance that they were together.  As we observed, they spent a great deal of time searching among the reeds for something of interest.  We could not get very close, but it was plain that they were pals (in professional bird-speak).  It seemed that the ibis was the head honcho; the egret displayed great interest in whatever his companion did, nosing (or should I say beaking) into whatever was turned up by the other.

We have several times noticed similar behavior with disparate pairs; maybe they have something to teach us.

It's a whole different world out there . . .

. . . intriguing to me, partly because it is so different from lands closer to home and partly because of its relative inaccessibility.  No matter how much I stand on my tippy toes, I cannot see what is on the other side of all those reeds - frustrating!

A cartoon collision . . .

We did witness one hilarious cartoon-like event overhead, though - so wish I had a video of it!  We were watching a place pretty far off that we could see held hundreds of white ibises and who knows what else.  We turned with binoculars deployed and said something about "Here come even more!"  There they flew: a beautiful orderly formation of ibises bound to join their fellows.  And there, at a 90-degree angle to that vee came a flock of black grackles.  It's anybody's guess why no effort was made to avoid a collision, but the two flocks flew right into each other.  One minute all was orderly and as it should be, the next minute squawking chaos with birds literally being thrown every which of a where.  As quickly as they could, they straightened their hats & ties (in a manner of speaking), realigned themselves and continued on their way.

In, on, around and over the various waters, we managed to add a few more birds to the trip list.  They were neotropic cormorant, eastern meadowlark, white-tipped dove and Mexican duck.  That last is categorized in our older bird book as a subspecies of mallard; however, some research about avian DNA (but they're not on Ancestry) reveals that although their appearance is very similar to female mallards, it has been determined they are not related at all, and have been categorized as their very own species.

On one of our dumb (or, as I prefer to think of them - daring) drives into the ubiquitous swamplands, we came across this interesting piece of equipment that is evidently able to traverse back country not feasible for more common tractors.

And there you have it . . .

. . . . a glass house.  Presumably those folks don't throw stones, but they certainly do have an interesting feature balanced of their deck railing.

In the category of "Now I've seen everything" . . .

Desperate

Desperate? Who us?  Yes, it was our last day at Port Isabel and yes, we did opt to breakfast outside overlooking the water, and yes, our toast did get a bit soggy because it was, after all, not exactly raining, but more of a misting.  I just couldn't bear not being out there no matter the conditions!

For the past four days, we have seen not the slightest hint that there is a sun in the sky.  There was positively no opportunity for outside activities unless we were: 1. Willing to be nearly blown off our feet, 2. Get wet, 3. Be cold and 4. All of those, so we accepted Mother Nature's conditions and went on our way, awed by that environment that is so different from what we are accustomed to.

We had already been to one section of the Laguna Atascosa Refuge - miles and miles of bayside beaches and vast tidal flats stretching off as far as the eye could see; next we wanted to explore another region of the same refuge, many miles away and in an entirely different ecosystem.  

Some miles before we reached the visitors center, we were warned to watch for ocelots!  That was pretty unexpected.  In fact, the powers that be are so adamant about protecting that species that they have installed a series of serious speed bumps over which a person would not want to exceed the 25 miles per hour limit lest one's head be bounced against the car's roof.

We have met many super nice friendly folks in Texas this trip, as we have in all our other wanderings through the Lone Star State: two of them at the Refuge explained to us about long-range efforts to acquire land for wildlife corridors that will provide habitat for ocelots.  The plan is mired in controversy, I have learned, but for now is going forward.

Evidently, ocelots require a specific habitat, namely Tamaulipan thornscrub, which is made up of gnarly catclaw bushes, spiny hackberry and mesquite, a very dense vegetative stand, to thrive.  It was explained to us that several ocelots have been struck and killed by vehicles.

As much as I would have liked to see an ocelot out there, none made an appearance for us.  Birds, however, were far more cooperative.  We had scarcely entered the tunnels hacked through the underbrush than we identified two life birds: tropical parula and green jay (beautiful & far more colorful than the name implies), and it wasn't long before we spotted a third - long-billed thrasher.

The target bird for some of the folks we met, though, was black-throated blue warbler that has been seen in that spot.  Unfortunately, neither they nor we got that one.

 We really enjoyed our time wandering through there; the moisture had enhanced the smells of the mostly unfamiliar vegetation, providing wonderful scenes of rain-laden plants, but unfortunately playing havoc with bird photography.

 

 

Birdwatching and photography in the rain is an interesting proposition.  Both that day and the next, which was even worse, kept me busy with trying to keep the camera dry, camera & binocular lenses cleared and my glasses usable.  Most photos are poor and many unusable: disappointing but such is life.  At least there were breaks at times when rain transformed briefly into mist.

In addition to being cautioned about ocelots, there were warnings about alligators, too - more for human protection that for the critter in that case - but I'm certain it was too cold for those beasts to be out and about.  Even so, I didn't stick a toe in the water to test my theory.

That posting was at Laguna Atascosa - a huge body of water stretching beyond the horizon. . .

. . . and populated with a great many birds floating placidly.

There we added northern shoveler, American wigeon and gadwall to the trip list.

We enjoyed a trek out to Alligator Pond . . .

 

. . . and along the way, we amped up the list numbers with an awesome white-tailed kite (we watched it dive at a roosting crested caracara to no effect at all) summer tanager, Harris' hawk and northern harrier.

I thought this bark and exposed inner wood were beautiful!

 

Port Isabel lighthouse, more birds in the rain . . .

A morning in town gave us the opportunity to climb to the top of the Port Isabel lighthouse.  It operated on and off from 1853 to 1905, and has been restored as a State Historic Site.

The region was first explored by Europeans as early as 1519, although I have some difficulty understanding how or even why anyone would have trekked through that wholly inhospitable country.  I found an interesting timeline of exploration and settlement in a blog at https://portisabel-texas.com/blog/a-brief-history-of-port-isabel/.  I'll leave it to whoever wants to know a bit more.

 The view below overlooks the causeway to South Padre Island.  It is the longest bridge in Texas.

 

 This is a mighty amazing mesquite tree on the lighthouse grounds; it has headed off in multiple directions.

More rain pics taken on a walk out another boardwalk, this time at high tide with very different results.  The interior channels did not reveal a lot of birds, but we added marsh wren there and this very shy black-crowned night heron.  I worked so hard to get this shot that I'm including it despite how poor it is.  He had secreted himself so well that we almost missed him.

The rain had increased enough by the end of the walk that I should have just put the camera away, but I couldn't quite get myself stopped.

A few steps off the boardwalk took us into a different habitat altogether where we added gray catbird, the last for the trip list at Port Isabel, but no chance for a photo of it; however, there was another great kiskadee.

 

To show that birds are where you find them, after we departed Port Isabel heading to our next stop, we identified a loggerhead shrike when we stopped for our first fueling.