May 27, 2011 ~ North Dakota
I headed west to Stanley and then north to Lostwood NWR. This country is so beautiful, to me anyway. And it was especially so on this bright spring morning. Lostwood is out in the open on the high plains, away from everything; there is a modest visitor center with a bunch of brochures and a whiteboard where folks could list what birds they had seen. No one came out to greet me or the other guy who drove in just ahead of me. Around the office there were some trees, a few buildings and vehicles but mostly it was rolling prairie with no trees and many potholes and small lakes. The wind was blowing hard, it was a bit chilly, and I was still somewhat tentative what with the GI upset the night before and not sleeping much.
So I left and headed vaguely north and west to the extreme NW corner of ND, kind of heading for Westby, Montana. I did eventually make it there but started going on gravel roads since so many fields were flooded and there were hundreds of birds taking advantage of this. I saw eared grebes (at one point there were three pair swimming just off the roadside!), willets, all kinds of other ducks and swallows, and I stalked (with the car) a Franklin’s gull, which was sitting in the muddy road. I crept closer and closer and got wonderful views. There were also marbled godwits which are magnificent large wading birds with long bicolored bills. I was on marginal country roads and came out north of the town of Bowbells, ND, and saw that the road I was on was blocked from that end. I made it around the barricade and got on a paved road.
Westby is JUST across the state line and is a Montana town…a small, old town, looking rather shabby and certainly without tourist amenities. While trying to find the City Park, I noticed a street named “State Line” so maybe half the town is really in ND. The park seems to belong to another era. There were tall trees, un-mown grasses, houses on the periphery here and there…a glade under the trees, some sports fields and picnic tables, but all seemed like they had been there for 100 years…to me, it was right out of a Willa Cather or Wallace Stegner novel. There were a lot of birds chirping and I saw a pair of thrushes, but birding here would require patience and time. Also, of course being me, I felt strange and out of place in this intimate little corner of the world, where undoubtedly everyone knows everyone else and who was this strange woman out there?
So I drove on to Plentywood, hoping there would be a motel there because it would have been a long drive to find one elsewhere. There was: The Sherwood Inn, where I stayed in a lower level dreary room. I ate an early supper at Cousin’s, a restaurant across the street and went to bed early, kicking myself for not asking for a second-floor room in the front which looked out into tall pine trees. At it was, my view was a street level parking lot. I read and went to sleep early.
May 28 ~ Montana
And got up early. I had a cup of motel coffee and there were at least nine guys hanging around in the small lobby. I think some were oil men, some fishermen and some ranchers. One had a shirt saying “Been there…Wrecked that.” It was dark and gloomy outside and raining.
Medicine Lake NWR is 20 miles south and I headed there. As I drove off the main road onto the refuge road, I started to see birds and immediately saw a life bird: a chestnut-collared longspur. YES! There were also many Western kingbirds. There is a large lake (Medicine Lake) to the south and a lot of protected prairie making up this refuge. I wondered how it would be to live here through the seasons.
I started on the auto route and watched a pair of harriers fly around and soon discovered that (guess what?) the auto route was closed. Jeez. I think it was because of flooding and horrid road conditions. So I took a dirt road north and a sign said I was leaving the refuge. At first I thought it was a field, but looked at the map and realized it was a county road. Eventually, I ended up at the other end of the refuge and drove around there for hours, since part of the auto route was open at that end. I did not see another soul in the refuge.
At one point there was water over the road, but I got out and saw that it was a short cement section over a low spot and only a couple inches deep so on I went. I had to pass cows that were unfenced and got onto a 2-track leading to the “Pelican Overlook.” I saw more willets and godwits; I watched an upland sandpiper for a long time; I saw the pelicans although it was too cold and windy to stand out for long; I kept hearing grass birds…probably the Sprague’s pipit and Baird’s sparrow I was hoping to see and didn’t. 
There were lots of yellow-headed blackbirds near the watery places and killdeer constantly doing their distress thing right in front of the car so as to lead me away from their nest and/or babies. And then all of a sudden my car wouldn’t start. I was slightly freaked as I really was MILES from a person or a building, it was cold and I was sure the cell phone (if it was even charged) would not work…Oh, f_____. Could I sleep out here? in my car with the cows around? Would they close the gates at dusk? Would I try to walk the 5 to 10 miles to get to a road through the cows?
Of course, the car started after a couple of minutes. I flooded it or something. I had been starting and stopping and not being very careful about putting the car in Park and constantly trying to start it in Drive, etc.
I finally left but thought I could go south and west on the country gravel roads instead of retracing my route, and I did, but a few places were iffy. Still, I was closer to farm houses and ranches, even if they were distant and on the horizons. At least I could SEE them.
I got to Hwy 2 and headed west, through Culbertson and the tiny town of Brockton and immediately got stopped by the Tribal Police for speeding through Brockton. I got a lecture about having to stop at ALL the small towns on the Hi Line (which is what Hwy 2 is called across northern Montana but which is called Grandma Bea Boulevard for the 1/4 or 1/8 mile that is Brockton. It says on my ticket “Grandma Bea Boulevard"). There are reservations all along here. I didn’t have cash, so the officer said to just make a U-turn on the road and go back to the Quick Stop in Brockton and he would meet me there and I could get cash with my debit card, BBB. Which I did and left the Quick Stop and a nice middle-aged Native woman asked if I “could spare 90 cents” which I could. We chatted a minute and I went on to Bowdoin NWF, another 100 miles or so down the road.
I got to Bowdoin well into the afternoon and took a couple of hours driving through this wonderful NWR. Again, being a Saturday, the visitor center was closed but the auto route was OPEN. It was perfect! I watched so many lovely birds like lots of Wilson’s phalaropes (one of the very few bird species where the female is more brightly colored than the male. I saw black-necked stilts on nests and calling and flying about and many American avocets, truly striking birds. I came upon a small group of white-faced ibises (remember Maria…they were in the pond close to the visitor center the time we went? This time, they were in a way different place.)
The weather was just stunning, with the immense Montana sky constantly changing with sun and occasional clouds. I saw only two other vehicles on the roughly circular 17-mile auto route.
The birds were not very skittish. There were more marbled godwits and lark buntings and bobolinks, along with many ducks. I saw a loggerhead shrike and magpies. I saw a flycatcher I couldn’t ID. This is, so far, my favorite NWR and it belongs to me (and to all of you!)
May 29 ~ Montana
A bright beautiful Sunday morning with even less traffic than during the week. I had about 5 hours before Kalispell and it was easy. At one point I pulled off on a road leading to some farms to photograph another old building. The road was muddy but I didn’t think anything of it until I was ready to get back in the car and realized my tennis shoes were loaded with gumbo mud…like a heavy paste about an inch thick. So, I tried to scrape some off on the edge of the door but finally just drove barefoot. On and on until I had one more birding thrill: I spotted a hawk on a road sign while flying by in my car. I turned around and got great looks at another life bird: a Swainson’s hawk.
The Rockies were visible for miles. I thought of adorable 4-year-old Ginny asking as she saw the Rockies for the first time from this approach: "Where's the door?" I went through the Blackfeet reservation town of Browning and then through Glacier NP and on to my house near Kalispell.
I know road trips help sustain me, both in the reality and the remembrance...Perfect spring weather and all the birds made this an especially grand traverse.
No comments:
Post a Comment