Return to the nest

Being a "winter Texan" may appeal to folks from climes far more wintery than our slice of heaven in central Arizona, but for me, I'm ecstatic to be back home where the sun shines, the skies are brilliantly blue and alligators don't roam.  I have no doubt that if I resided in a place where snow falls and remains in dirty mounds for months and lakes freeze solid, I might appreciate south Texas from January to April, but I don't live in those places.  After our wet, windy and cold jaunt to the Gulf Coast, I satisfied my curiosity about South Padre Island as a snowbird haven.  Don't get me wrong: south Texas is a great place to visit, but I'm not pulling up stakes any time soon.

We made our escape with an even icier storm nipping at our heels.  First stop on our run for home was to visit kin in San Antonio, special people whom we had not seen for a crazy long length of time.  John & Karen invited us to park Woofie at their house so we could have time with them and Karen's mother, Sue - my special friend/former mother-in-law.  It did my heart good to be with them!

 

One more sleep-stop after that in Anthony, New Mexico: there I noticed white-winged doves, which reminded me that we had identified them at Port O'Connor and forgotten to include them in the bird list.  I wonder if we spaced any others?

As we pulled into a fuel station somewhere in the hill country, we ran across a bird that would be impossible to forget - an emu.  Although it was confined behind a fence, it obviously had miles of ranchland to roam.  Despite that, its need seemed to be for companionship; it paced up and down a small section of fenceline watching the comings and goings of people at the rest stop.

I certainly could not resist getting up close and personal.  Even though the emu seemed drawn to people, at our approach, it displayed behavior that felt less than inviting by drawing its head back, seemingly the better to snatch my nose from my face or my fingers from my hand.  I could be wrong, not being privy to emu emotional expressions; however, that beak was pretty intimidating, and I'm pretty sure it was frowning at me. 

 

 

We somehow managed to hit Tucson in the middle of its renowned gigantic gem & mineral show when lodging maxes out as thousands of people descend for an orgy of rock selling and buying.  It made finding a space to rest our heads for a couple of nights a tad challenging, but the señor was up to the task.  We don't feel a need to return anytime soon to that "interesting" park; at least we were off the streets.

A much-needed visit with our friend Laura was the impetus of our Tucson stay, although we managed just enough time upon arrival to stretch our legs after so much riding while checking out the avian life at the Sweetwater Wetlands.  We were a tad disappointed that many of the ponds were dry, but we identified some birds to add to the trip list before giving up due to cold wind: Gambel's quail, Abert's towhee, white-crowned sparrow, cinnamon teal, Cooper's hawk and ruddy duck.

  

 

What better way to top off a journey than to spend a day with a dear friend, seeing her in new habitat while catching up on mutual news and views - life is good!

 

RAIN!

Holy criminetly - I have never in 75 & one-half years seen rain like that!!!  Port O'Connor sent us off in grand style!  We hooked up in rain and lightning, but other than the fear factor, that wasn't too awful (and the fear was only mine; Chris thinks he's immune to lightning).  The señor did the outside work while I secured Woofie's interior (a lot of bouncing on the road can cause unpleasant consequences, as we have discovered several times), so he got the wettest.  

We innocently went on our way with San Antonio as our destination - raining hard but nothing alarming: right up until it was alarming.  Even though we were already driving in rain, we could see the wall ahead of us . . . and then we hit it.  The "it" was terrifying: I think it must have been like being in a hurricane.  Visibility ceased for far too long of stretches; once in a while, we caught a glimpse of the white fog line and that kept us inching along.  The yellow center line was only a memory.  Gratefully, there was next to no traffic, and eventually, all transformed into solid slate gray skies, to which we have become accustomed here, and a rainfall that was no longer horrendous.  Prior to that crazed event, the sea-level ground was saturated; afterward, it looked like we were driving through a lake.

What an experience - hopefully never to be repeated!

The sun does shine . . .

Prior to that bizarre experience, during our final days on the coast, we enjoyed an entire day and a half of sublime weather, a lovely departing gift.  As we explored the region, we found many different micro-environments - all wet, of course, but varying in a number of ways.

One stop was along a channel off Powderhorn Lake, where we caught pretty fish called sheepshead.  I had never heard of them (or most of what we caught, actually).  They were attractive enough to be aquarium fish.

I keep my binoculars and camera with me while I am fishing because . . . well, you just never know.  A great blue heron perched across the channel from me at first, but then opted to relocate to my side and to pose a bit for his portrait.

Another couple was fishing across the way and catching nothing while we were having great luck.  We were also popular with blue crabs that were in a race with the fish to get to our bait.

In a completely different setting at Lavaca Bay, our angling netted not a thing; however, it was fun and relaxing to watch dolphins and a few loons, something we seldom see at home.  To toot my own horn, I did spot the first loon to be noted on Goldwater Lake.

One fair-weather day, we were given the gift of our RV park manager's private dock.  Like everyone we have ever encountered in Texas, Captain Rod was thoughtful and generous, and this journey was no exception.  At the appropriately named St. Christopher's Marina, we relaxed on a well-equipped dock complete with comfy chairs and even a fish-cleaning station.

As we whiled away the hours, we watched boats and ships of every ilk coming and going from the nearby ramp or passing by on the intercoastal waterway.  We saw everything from kayaks to yachts to fishing charters to huge tugs pushing barges.

 

I was flamboozled by the boat lined with palm fronds, though.  What was the purpose?  Is it for sneaking up on the fish?  As Darren would say, "I am not knowing".

I had to include the next photo with a hearty laugh.  It was the only shot I could get of the monster that Chris hooked and fought to the surface, right up until it snapped the line at the last minute.  He said it was a black drum, and certainly was not one that he would be able to land with our light tackle.  It was amazing he got it as far as he did - it was huge - at least three feet and 30 pounds!

During a stint of successful angling on the Guadalupe River . . . and some relaxing in the brief morning sunshine and warmth . . .

 

 . . .  we determined that we had caught six different species of fish on that journey: black drum, freshwater drum, whiting, channel catfish, sheepshead and white catfish . . .

 

 

 

 . . . some more lively like this one.

 

 

 

The river bank was a thicket of impenetrable vegetation, most of it plants that we didn't recognize, leaving the water accessible in only a few places that had been cut through.

 

 

 

 And then . . . and then . . . an alligator - two to be exact, and of the right side up variety!

 

 

 

That big boy tolerated my camera-clicking presence for only a short while before he magically disappeared with a great splash into water that I hadn't thought was deep enough to hide his hide.  I was pretty excited about those sightings!

 

 

 

We spotted them when we wandered a back road that may or may not have been posted as private property; that sign was a little ambiguous, but the gate was open.  It was along a channel off the Guadalupe very near to where it emptied into the bay.  All was marshy and intriguing.  I fully expect there were many more gators; however, I declined to search them out on foot. 

 

It was beautiful back there, in the mysterious way of swampland with the only cypress trees we noticed on that trip along the water-hyacinth-adorned stream.

 

 

We upped the bird list with spotted sandpiper, red-tailed hawk and sandhill crane (heard but not seen) - and saw a lot that we had identified previously . . .

 

 

 

 . . . and were thrilled to get a better look at an anhinga that was content to accept our presence.