I am not certain why John Sandford's writing appeals to me but here are four more titles of his books I've read recently:
1. Heat Lightning - late revenge for atrocities by Americans at the end of the Vietnam War.
2. Buried Prey - an old murder case is revived when bodies of two young girls are found.
3. Secret Prey - the CEO and president of the board of a Minnesota bank is murdered on the opening day of deer season.
4. Naked Prey - kidnappings, murder and drug running are the strange brew in this novel.
(I don't particularly like the titles of the "Prey" novels, but then titles are often tricky, I guess...)
These are all books about cops and thus about testosterone, tough guy posturing, profanity, sex, drugs, bad people, car chases, guns and the politics of police work. But if there wasn't nuanced character development in the men and women in Sandford's novels, and especially in the two main characters (Virgil Flowers and Lucas Davenport), I wouldn't keep reading his books. (I did think Secret Prey, written in 1998, was less credible than his other novels as it seemed coarser and less complex..but even so, I finished it.)
The good guys work for the BCA or the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in Minnesota. They are slightly rogue, smart (of course), appeal to woman (of course) and solve murders.
A couple of random excerpts:
"His (Virgil) thoughts all tumbled over each other, and he got nowhere. He cooled out by thinking briefly about God, and considered praying that there wouldn't be another murder and another middle-of-the-night call. He decided that praying wouldn't help, and went to sleep, and dreamed of the fisherwoman with strong brown arms and gold-flecked married eyes."
"Having been disinvited from lunch, Virgil went to an I-94 diner and had a chicken potpie, with roughly a billion calories in chicken fat, which added flavor to the two pounds of salt included with the pie. He cut the salt with three Cokes, and left feeling like the Hindenburg."
"He was back at this apartment in six minutes, and took another thoughtful six minutes to get into a pair of light khaki slacks, a short-sleeve white shirt, and a navy linen sport coat with a wine-colored tie. He hesitated over the short-sleeve shirt, because Esquire magazine despised them, but then, Esquire editors probably didn't have to walk through slum neighborhoods in ninety-degree heat."
There is always just enough non-cop commentary / description / dialogue to make the characters more real and certainly more interesting.
Another reason I like Sandford is that the milieu is usually Minnesota with evocative passages of the northern woods--the cabins and little resorts, small lakes, walleye fishing, long winters, bars in small towns--all a counterpoint to the action in The Cities (Minneapolis and St. Paul).
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
On the Road: Devil's Lake, North Dakota to Ashland, Wisconsin
It was 70 miles to Minnesota, but there is a little NWR 3 miles off US2 just west of Grand Forks, North Dakota which is the last town before Minnesota. The refuge is named Kelly's Slough. Maria and I stopped there one time, and I have returned at least twice since then. It is a watery place in the middle of farm country on a gravel road. Of course I had to check it out although there were very few birds around as the prairie potholes were mostly still frozen in spite of temperatures in the 50 and 60s. I saw only occasional ducks and many pairs of Canada geese who seemed to be patiently waiting for open water as they were usually perched on ice that was soon to disappear
As I neared Kelly's Slough, I saw a man with a spotting scope and binoculars near his car looking out over some actual open water. However, as I got closer, I realized it wasn't a gentleman after all but a woman close to my age. We chatted a bit about what she was seeing (tundra swans, some ducks) and I drove on, turned around and as I passed her (she was now in her car heading towards me) she motioned for me to roll down my window and told me about some more ponds up the road. I told her I "had to get home" and she asked where. When I told her Holland, Michigan, she got a look on her face and said, "You've GOT to be kidding!"
Her son teaches organic chemistry at Hope and her daughter-in-law is a physician in Holland. So it goes on the road. I often met people who either knew Holland directly or some place else in western Michigan.
On into Minnesota with a stop in Grand Rapids at a great coffee shop to get espresso along with an almond praline bar and a piece of feta-fennel quiche which I would eat for supper later (thinking ahead and not wanting vending machine food).
Through Duluth, over a high bridge, and into Wisconsin for 80 miles before the UP. Ashland, Wisconsin is a pleasant town on the shores of Lake Superior with many motels, about 50 miles after Duluth, and is the access point for Chaquamegon Bay and the Apostle Islands. I passed a large lodge-motel on the west end of town and drove on, but pulled into a parking lot to scout out where to stay. I was doing this more and more often: stopping and calling on my iPhone for rates. On a whim I called the lodge and they were very reasonable. I also called a motel in the first town in the UP (Ironwood) and was put on hold and then "the computer froze up" and then, after I patiently waited an hour (just kidding, but it seemed way too long) was told that perhaps the rate would be $85 which was a lot more than the nice lodge right on Lake Superior and which is where I stayed of course. I had a bit of a glitch getting Internet as I needed an Ethernet connection rather than WiFi and finally found out the cable they gas me did not plug into the port on the desk lamp but into the wall instead. A young girl at the desk came up and showed me this.
So I worked 4 hours and ate my feta-fennel quiche after I went back to the desk for a fork.
I actually set up my spotting scope and could easily see the golden "tears" on the swans out on the lake confirming they were Tundras, along with displaying Common goldeneyes. The males would suddenly and repeatedly throw their heads all the way backwards and then jerk them forward again. All to impress the females....
There was the lake to the north and a marsh to the south across the road. Of course, the rates in the summer go up considerably, but what a nice place to stay.
As I neared Kelly's Slough, I saw a man with a spotting scope and binoculars near his car looking out over some actual open water. However, as I got closer, I realized it wasn't a gentleman after all but a woman close to my age. We chatted a bit about what she was seeing (tundra swans, some ducks) and I drove on, turned around and as I passed her (she was now in her car heading towards me) she motioned for me to roll down my window and told me about some more ponds up the road. I told her I "had to get home" and she asked where. When I told her Holland, Michigan, she got a look on her face and said, "You've GOT to be kidding!"
Her son teaches organic chemistry at Hope and her daughter-in-law is a physician in Holland. So it goes on the road. I often met people who either knew Holland directly or some place else in western Michigan.
On into Minnesota with a stop in Grand Rapids at a great coffee shop to get espresso along with an almond praline bar and a piece of feta-fennel quiche which I would eat for supper later (thinking ahead and not wanting vending machine food).
Through Duluth, over a high bridge, and into Wisconsin for 80 miles before the UP. Ashland, Wisconsin is a pleasant town on the shores of Lake Superior with many motels, about 50 miles after Duluth, and is the access point for Chaquamegon Bay and the Apostle Islands. I passed a large lodge-motel on the west end of town and drove on, but pulled into a parking lot to scout out where to stay. I was doing this more and more often: stopping and calling on my iPhone for rates. On a whim I called the lodge and they were very reasonable. I also called a motel in the first town in the UP (Ironwood) and was put on hold and then "the computer froze up" and then, after I patiently waited an hour (just kidding, but it seemed way too long) was told that perhaps the rate would be $85 which was a lot more than the nice lodge right on Lake Superior and which is where I stayed of course. I had a bit of a glitch getting Internet as I needed an Ethernet connection rather than WiFi and finally found out the cable they gas me did not plug into the port on the desk lamp but into the wall instead. A young girl at the desk came up and showed me this.
So I worked 4 hours and ate my feta-fennel quiche after I went back to the desk for a fork.
I actually set up my spotting scope and could easily see the golden "tears" on the swans out on the lake confirming they were Tundras, along with displaying Common goldeneyes. The males would suddenly and repeatedly throw their heads all the way backwards and then jerk them forward again. All to impress the females....
There was the lake to the north and a marsh to the south across the road. Of course, the rates in the summer go up considerably, but what a nice place to stay.
Friday, March 16, 2012
On the Road: Havre, Montana to Devil's Lake, North Dakota
A sunny morning which was good but which also meant driving into the blinding brilliance of the sun rising over the prairie. Sunglasses only helped some, but since I hadn't started all that early, the sun soon rose above my windshield.
I truly love the beginning of new days. I loved packing up (I was efficient by this time and only had one trip from motel to car) and started out again. All the travel weariness of the day before was erased by a night's sleep.
I started to see grouse and pheasants grubbing on the sides of the road. While US2 is two lanes, the traffic is usually sparse and by the time I was 20 miles east of Havre, I could make a margin call with no issues so I did: a U turn and onto the shoulder (mostly). I crept up to a grouse while in the car and got very close. Perhaps grouse are not particularly smart? or have a poor sense of self-preservation? since they just stood still looking rather clueless, or perhaps they had intuition and knew I was not out to harm them. At any rate, I saw all the pertinent markings for a good ID. These were sharp-tailed grouse (LB) and I saw several. They look like prairie chickens but have black chevrons on their breast and bellies rather than black bars.
Montana is nearly 700 miles long and I usually underestimate how many miles until I get to Williston which is just over the North Dakota border. And then, way at the eastern end of Montana, there was major road construction...widening the existing highway. I had to wait for pilot cars twice. At one stop, I chatted with a Native American woman who was working at directing traffic (basically making sure cars stopped and then motioning them on when the pilot car approached). She was a great grandmother and attractive, looking to be in her 50s with smooth lovely skin. She said she has been doing this for many years with a few breaks for working as a Home Health nurse. She makes $30 an hour. She told me all about how she takes care of herself on this job...changing her footwear every 4 hours...how she had fashioned some slow drip thing she wears in her hard hat when it is hot.. how she layers her clothing.
For much of the time while driving these high plains, I alternated between listening to French radio (an AM station from Canada) and a Native American station. Most of the time, American radio was country or religious and pretty boring. I understood about 1% of the French but kept hoping it would suddenly click in my brain. I loved the sweetness of the Native American woman on one station who was called "Miss Fancy." She played an eclectic mix of music...drum, country western, a bit of rock and roll, about half done in Native language...perhaps Crow. There were tribute songs to birthdays and deaths and a pending marriage "at the casino at 3 p.m. on Saturday afternoon."
Williston is changing as is much of North Dakota because of the Bakken oil field and one sees evidence of the industry everywhere in western ND. Huge, monstrous equipment, oil rigs and derricks and storage units, thousands of trucks, hastily built "man camps" for the oil workers which essentially were enclaves of 50 to 100 stark rectangular, trailer-like structures lined precisely in a grid. Many were starkly new, but some were older as stuff was beginning to accumulate around individual units, and many had plywood enclosures attached to the entry areas. It seemed Soviet. Richard says prostitutes are also getting rich out there which I don't doubt. While there must be women working in the actual oil industry, testosterone was in the air, along with the dust and noise and the smell of money. A new version of the old West.
I didn't even want stay in Minot which was also bustling and so much busier than just a few years ago, so I continued to Devil's Lake and stayed in a Holiday Inn Express, another very pleasant and comfortable motel with reasonable rates this time of year. I guess the oil boom is mostly to the west as there were few workers here.
Another vending machine supper....
I truly love the beginning of new days. I loved packing up (I was efficient by this time and only had one trip from motel to car) and started out again. All the travel weariness of the day before was erased by a night's sleep.
I started to see grouse and pheasants grubbing on the sides of the road. While US2 is two lanes, the traffic is usually sparse and by the time I was 20 miles east of Havre, I could make a margin call with no issues so I did: a U turn and onto the shoulder (mostly). I crept up to a grouse while in the car and got very close. Perhaps grouse are not particularly smart? or have a poor sense of self-preservation? since they just stood still looking rather clueless, or perhaps they had intuition and knew I was not out to harm them. At any rate, I saw all the pertinent markings for a good ID. These were sharp-tailed grouse (LB) and I saw several. They look like prairie chickens but have black chevrons on their breast and bellies rather than black bars.
Montana is nearly 700 miles long and I usually underestimate how many miles until I get to Williston which is just over the North Dakota border. And then, way at the eastern end of Montana, there was major road construction...widening the existing highway. I had to wait for pilot cars twice. At one stop, I chatted with a Native American woman who was working at directing traffic (basically making sure cars stopped and then motioning them on when the pilot car approached). She was a great grandmother and attractive, looking to be in her 50s with smooth lovely skin. She said she has been doing this for many years with a few breaks for working as a Home Health nurse. She makes $30 an hour. She told me all about how she takes care of herself on this job...changing her footwear every 4 hours...how she had fashioned some slow drip thing she wears in her hard hat when it is hot.. how she layers her clothing.
For much of the time while driving these high plains, I alternated between listening to French radio (an AM station from Canada) and a Native American station. Most of the time, American radio was country or religious and pretty boring. I understood about 1% of the French but kept hoping it would suddenly click in my brain. I loved the sweetness of the Native American woman on one station who was called "Miss Fancy." She played an eclectic mix of music...drum, country western, a bit of rock and roll, about half done in Native language...perhaps Crow. There were tribute songs to birthdays and deaths and a pending marriage "at the casino at 3 p.m. on Saturday afternoon."
Williston is changing as is much of North Dakota because of the Bakken oil field and one sees evidence of the industry everywhere in western ND. Huge, monstrous equipment, oil rigs and derricks and storage units, thousands of trucks, hastily built "man camps" for the oil workers which essentially were enclaves of 50 to 100 stark rectangular, trailer-like structures lined precisely in a grid. Many were starkly new, but some were older as stuff was beginning to accumulate around individual units, and many had plywood enclosures attached to the entry areas. It seemed Soviet. Richard says prostitutes are also getting rich out there which I don't doubt. While there must be women working in the actual oil industry, testosterone was in the air, along with the dust and noise and the smell of money. A new version of the old West.
I didn't even want stay in Minot which was also bustling and so much busier than just a few years ago, so I continued to Devil's Lake and stayed in a Holiday Inn Express, another very pleasant and comfortable motel with reasonable rates this time of year. I guess the oil boom is mostly to the west as there were few workers here.
Another vending machine supper....
Thursday, March 15, 2012
On the Road: Lolo, Montana to Havre, Montana
This morning, it was 30 degrees with a very light snow. Missoula is notorious for inversion weather so I guess this was not that unusual. Weather check via iPhone assured sunshine and warmer temperatures at Shelby, Chinook, Choteau and Havre so I headed in that direction. (Kalispell would have been 120 miles directly north of Missoula but I went east first and then north on the east side of the mountains.)
I went along the Blackfeet river (A River Runs Through It) and into sunshine...through Lincoln, over Rogers Pass and turned north on US287, listening several times to Leonard Cohen CD I had bought at a Starbucks. I have run out of superlatives to describe the Western landscape, but this road seduced me the first time I traveled it, in the spring of 1992. I remember having to stop for a flock of sheep which were blocking the road, and a chagrined cowboy in chaps and on his horse apologizing to me. The mountains rise form the prairies abruptly to the west and this road runs parallel to what is called the Rocky Mountain Front for 100 miles. It passes through the small towns of Augusta and Choteau and a couple of large Hutteritte colonies, over open rangeland, up and down substantial hills and across small creeks. Golden grasses and grains stretch forever to the east and to the mountains in the west. It is usually windy.
I made a short side trip just south of Choteau hoping to find Lapland Longspurs but only saw a soaring Bald Eagle and Horned Larks which I saw in every state whenever I slowed down enough to check out the small birds at the sides of the roads. They are quite tame and I could often see them clearly...even their little black horns and yellow (or sometimes white) throats.
The detour was the Bellview Road, and within a mile there was an odd sight: a dozen military personnel working in a small fenced enclosure doing something. Once, years ago, I was stopped in this area because of fire restrictions, and the official who questioned my intentions and asked why I was wandering about off the main road, told me I had probably been at the "underground missile site" when I told him I had gotten a bit lost and had just turned around at a small fenced enclosure. So today, I figured something similar was in progress, and later, after I drove due west for 6 miles and had turned around, I passed a large black pickup parked along the side of this remote road with the words "SECURITY" on it and also saw a couple of Humvees painted in camouflage. Of course I was curious but of course I had the sense not to stop and take photos. I did feel they were checking me out though.
On US2, I passed a golden eagle pair sitting on a huge stick nest near a small pond, water being uncommon in this part of Montana.
I stayed in Havre in a Best Western which was wonderful. What a difference $20 makes in motel amenities and services. I had a large suite on the second floor and worked four hours with a stable Internet connection watching the late afternoon / evening sky from my second-floor room.
I began craving a salad and soup so called the restuarant across the street (The Duck Inn) since they were advertising things like king crab and huge red meat entrees. What I wanted was a salad with lots of crab and avocado and fresh iceberg lettuce and a wonderful dressing and a perfect hot delicious soup. But that wasn't to be; the pleasant woman didn't "get it" and wanted me to call the adjoining bar as they had "soup" and could help me. I knew it wouldn't meet my standards, so I ate from the vending machine in the motel...popcorn and sun chips.
I went along the Blackfeet river (A River Runs Through It) and into sunshine...through Lincoln, over Rogers Pass and turned north on US287, listening several times to Leonard Cohen CD I had bought at a Starbucks. I have run out of superlatives to describe the Western landscape, but this road seduced me the first time I traveled it, in the spring of 1992. I remember having to stop for a flock of sheep which were blocking the road, and a chagrined cowboy in chaps and on his horse apologizing to me. The mountains rise form the prairies abruptly to the west and this road runs parallel to what is called the Rocky Mountain Front for 100 miles. It passes through the small towns of Augusta and Choteau and a couple of large Hutteritte colonies, over open rangeland, up and down substantial hills and across small creeks. Golden grasses and grains stretch forever to the east and to the mountains in the west. It is usually windy.
I made a short side trip just south of Choteau hoping to find Lapland Longspurs but only saw a soaring Bald Eagle and Horned Larks which I saw in every state whenever I slowed down enough to check out the small birds at the sides of the roads. They are quite tame and I could often see them clearly...even their little black horns and yellow (or sometimes white) throats.
The detour was the Bellview Road, and within a mile there was an odd sight: a dozen military personnel working in a small fenced enclosure doing something. Once, years ago, I was stopped in this area because of fire restrictions, and the official who questioned my intentions and asked why I was wandering about off the main road, told me I had probably been at the "underground missile site" when I told him I had gotten a bit lost and had just turned around at a small fenced enclosure. So today, I figured something similar was in progress, and later, after I drove due west for 6 miles and had turned around, I passed a large black pickup parked along the side of this remote road with the words "SECURITY" on it and also saw a couple of Humvees painted in camouflage. Of course I was curious but of course I had the sense not to stop and take photos. I did feel they were checking me out though.
On US2, I passed a golden eagle pair sitting on a huge stick nest near a small pond, water being uncommon in this part of Montana.
I stayed in Havre in a Best Western which was wonderful. What a difference $20 makes in motel amenities and services. I had a large suite on the second floor and worked four hours with a stable Internet connection watching the late afternoon / evening sky from my second-floor room.
I began craving a salad and soup so called the restuarant across the street (The Duck Inn) since they were advertising things like king crab and huge red meat entrees. What I wanted was a salad with lots of crab and avocado and fresh iceberg lettuce and a wonderful dressing and a perfect hot delicious soup. But that wasn't to be; the pleasant woman didn't "get it" and wanted me to call the adjoining bar as they had "soup" and could help me. I knew it wouldn't meet my standards, so I ate from the vending machine in the motel...popcorn and sun chips.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
On the Road: John Day, Oregon to Lolo, Montana
Today was definitely an early spring day with many changes in the weather....
I left John Day by 8 a.m., dismayed when I looked out the motel window to see snow on the ground and snow still coming down, but I drove a long way today and saw the most amazing country. Between John Day and Ontario, Oregon, I had to go over more mountain passes which were snow-covered with poor visibility. I just went slowly hoping it wouldn't get worse. Usually, I was behind another car or truck so I could follow their tracks.
Finally, near the eastern side of the state, the snow stopped briefly, but then it started again in Idaho. Such was my day....intermittent snow showers and then relatively dry roads. I took a wrong turn in Idaho and soon realized I was heading south instead of north and turned around only to immediately see a coffee shop. I decided to get an espresso; it was the Big Star Coffee Shop. How cool is that?
I drove straight north in Idaho to Riggins (the "whitewater capital" of the country) beyond which town the route became incredibly scenic as it followed the Salmon River with massive mountains all around and then went over what is called the White Bird Grade into Grangeville. This is Nez Perce / Chief Joseph country. There are several memorials and signs explaining their travails. I could see into heaven on the top of White Bird Grade....
Driving in the early spring before significant snow-melt adds a dimension that highlights the mountain geometry, the little valleys and avalanche chutes, the thousands of trees, the peaks above the treelines. It would be challenging in mid-winter if the roads were even open, and sometimes these passes are closed temporarily. Today, however, the roads were mostly dry. The snow on the mountains from Riggins nearly all the way to Lolo, Montana, kept me awestruck as the magnificent vistas changed with each curve in the road. Words are not adequate to describe what I saw. And then, rather suddenly, coming down the other side of White Bird Grade, the sky turned a brilliant blue with bright sunshine and snow-covered evergreens and a horizon 50 miles distant.
I got gas and a sickeningly sweet Hot Buttered Rum cappuccino in Grangeville where several inches of snow had obviously just fallen, but which was already melting.
So, I decided to continue on over Lolo Pass, along the Lochsa River ("winding road next 99 miles") to Missoula. The first part was a short scenic byway, route 13 to Kooksia, through the Nez Perce Indian rez along the Clearwater River which was a lovely, fast-moving stream, the sun glinting off the water and rocks and sun-warmed banks. Several fly fishermen were chest-high in the cold water. I was glad that the Nez Perce live here and that it isn't a hyped up tourist spot.
I obviously did get over Lolo Pass but not without apprehension. The Lochsa is a designated Wild and Scenic river. There is almost no commerce on US 12 along this route, and the road runs with the river on one side and mountains on the other. There were occasional pullouts but often barely any shoulder. I kept having some niggles about snow over the pass. I called "511" for a road report and was advised about "slush and icy patches" which didn't seem TOO prohibitive. It is a two-lane of course and 18-wheelers also use this route to get across the mountains (the Bitterroots) so one has to pay attention and be sharp-eyed as there isn't wiggle room, especially not on "slush and icy patches."
I was keeping track of mileage and hoping I would get to Montana before dark. At 40 miles from the pass, slush and icy patches began and continued for 42 miles. I just went slowly and kept steadily climbing. Wherever there was shade, there was slush and the road became increaingly snow-covered. Then there would be half a mile of exposed road which would be relatively clear. I began to wonder if I was perhaps a bit reckless, but I sure as hell was not going to turn back.
The Lochsa is one definition of natural beauty. The river rocks were covered with several inches of snow, as well as the log jams and little islands. It is a fast river, but there are also a few still pools and shallow pebbled sandbars...Andree and Steve once saw a bear swimming across this river and I watched kayakers run significant whitewater while driving this route. It's one of my favorite roads.
Then, as the road really began to climb (like the last 5 miles before the summit), surprisingly, the driving got much better. There were high protective swow banks on either side, the road widened and there was more gravel for traction, especially along the edges. (No salt is used out west, or at least not in Idaho or Montana.)
And I was over Lolo Pass (still in daylight) and down, down, down to the town of Lolo, where I saw a Day's Inn and impulsively pulled in. Which was a mistake as this was by far the worst motel yet on my trip: Door was open to my room; dead fly in standing water in the bathroom; heat was marginal and I finally covered up one-third of the heater as it was blowing cold air even though I had turned it up to 80; there was a discarded empty small catsup container on the floor; AND, the Internet connection was slow and unstable causing two hours of frustration.
Why did I stay?
I was too tired to change rooms or motels, and of course didn't immediately realize the heat / Internet issue. This motel was also run by East Indians which happened several times across country, and usually they were efficient and helpful but not so here.
I left John Day by 8 a.m., dismayed when I looked out the motel window to see snow on the ground and snow still coming down, but I drove a long way today and saw the most amazing country. Between John Day and Ontario, Oregon, I had to go over more mountain passes which were snow-covered with poor visibility. I just went slowly hoping it wouldn't get worse. Usually, I was behind another car or truck so I could follow their tracks.
Finally, near the eastern side of the state, the snow stopped briefly, but then it started again in Idaho. Such was my day....intermittent snow showers and then relatively dry roads. I took a wrong turn in Idaho and soon realized I was heading south instead of north and turned around only to immediately see a coffee shop. I decided to get an espresso; it was the Big Star Coffee Shop. How cool is that?
I drove straight north in Idaho to Riggins (the "whitewater capital" of the country) beyond which town the route became incredibly scenic as it followed the Salmon River with massive mountains all around and then went over what is called the White Bird Grade into Grangeville. This is Nez Perce / Chief Joseph country. There are several memorials and signs explaining their travails. I could see into heaven on the top of White Bird Grade....
Driving in the early spring before significant snow-melt adds a dimension that highlights the mountain geometry, the little valleys and avalanche chutes, the thousands of trees, the peaks above the treelines. It would be challenging in mid-winter if the roads were even open, and sometimes these passes are closed temporarily. Today, however, the roads were mostly dry. The snow on the mountains from Riggins nearly all the way to Lolo, Montana, kept me awestruck as the magnificent vistas changed with each curve in the road. Words are not adequate to describe what I saw. And then, rather suddenly, coming down the other side of White Bird Grade, the sky turned a brilliant blue with bright sunshine and snow-covered evergreens and a horizon 50 miles distant.
I got gas and a sickeningly sweet Hot Buttered Rum cappuccino in Grangeville where several inches of snow had obviously just fallen, but which was already melting.
So, I decided to continue on over Lolo Pass, along the Lochsa River ("winding road next 99 miles") to Missoula. The first part was a short scenic byway, route 13 to Kooksia, through the Nez Perce Indian rez along the Clearwater River which was a lovely, fast-moving stream, the sun glinting off the water and rocks and sun-warmed banks. Several fly fishermen were chest-high in the cold water. I was glad that the Nez Perce live here and that it isn't a hyped up tourist spot.
I obviously did get over Lolo Pass but not without apprehension. The Lochsa is a designated Wild and Scenic river. There is almost no commerce on US 12 along this route, and the road runs with the river on one side and mountains on the other. There were occasional pullouts but often barely any shoulder. I kept having some niggles about snow over the pass. I called "511" for a road report and was advised about "slush and icy patches" which didn't seem TOO prohibitive. It is a two-lane of course and 18-wheelers also use this route to get across the mountains (the Bitterroots) so one has to pay attention and be sharp-eyed as there isn't wiggle room, especially not on "slush and icy patches."
I was keeping track of mileage and hoping I would get to Montana before dark. At 40 miles from the pass, slush and icy patches began and continued for 42 miles. I just went slowly and kept steadily climbing. Wherever there was shade, there was slush and the road became increaingly snow-covered. Then there would be half a mile of exposed road which would be relatively clear. I began to wonder if I was perhaps a bit reckless, but I sure as hell was not going to turn back.
The Lochsa is one definition of natural beauty. The river rocks were covered with several inches of snow, as well as the log jams and little islands. It is a fast river, but there are also a few still pools and shallow pebbled sandbars...Andree and Steve once saw a bear swimming across this river and I watched kayakers run significant whitewater while driving this route. It's one of my favorite roads.
Then, as the road really began to climb (like the last 5 miles before the summit), surprisingly, the driving got much better. There were high protective swow banks on either side, the road widened and there was more gravel for traction, especially along the edges. (No salt is used out west, or at least not in Idaho or Montana.)
And I was over Lolo Pass (still in daylight) and down, down, down to the town of Lolo, where I saw a Day's Inn and impulsively pulled in. Which was a mistake as this was by far the worst motel yet on my trip: Door was open to my room; dead fly in standing water in the bathroom; heat was marginal and I finally covered up one-third of the heater as it was blowing cold air even though I had turned it up to 80; there was a discarded empty small catsup container on the floor; AND, the Internet connection was slow and unstable causing two hours of frustration.
Why did I stay?
I was too tired to change rooms or motels, and of course didn't immediately realize the heat / Internet issue. This motel was also run by East Indians which happened several times across country, and usually they were efficient and helpful but not so here.
On the Road: Eugene, Oregon to John Day, Oregon
I left Eugene late morning. Andree brought the kids to school and then ran. Steve was sleeping as he worked until 2 a.m. and I wanted to say goodbye before I left so I walked through Hendricks Park to the coffee shop.
Hendriks is a wonderful and large city park, about 75 acres, and 25% of it has hundreds of rhododendrons and an area of native plants; the remainder is native trees like Douglas Firs and Big-Leaf Maples. Some rhodies were already in full and glorious bloom and others had buds soon to open. I saw several Varied Thrushes working through some grass, just like Robins do. I spotted a RC Kinglet and even saw the tiny red slit on the head and then saw a chickadee which turned out to be a Chestnut-backed Chickadee, a bird I had never seen before! It was very windy and I think the presence of so many birds was partly a fall-out. Usually it is difficult to even see birds here because there is so much cover, and the trees are gigantic, but earlier I had seen Song Sparrows (darker and rustier than those I see in Michigan), many twitchy Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Black-capped Chickadees.
Small branches were littering the ground from the srong wind, which Steve said was not that common.
Andree called to say an oil truck had overturned four miles west of Oakridge and that major road across the Cascades was closed, but I hadn't planned on that route anyway. There isn't a whole lot of choice going east. Steve and I looked at a web cam of the McKenzie River route and I almost decided to just take the interstate to Portland and go along hte Columbia River as there was some snow at the higher elevaton near the pass. But, then I just decided to go for it since I really did not want to go north at that point.
Mostly, it was OK, although the roads definitely did get snow-covered and "chains or traction tires" were advised. I drove very conservatively and was glad to get to Sisters.
From there, I headed east-northeast through high desert country, much of it rugged and scenic, with a few widely-spaced small towns, ranches, massive rock formations, winding roads and national forests. The skies were grey and the wind continued blowing tumbleweeds across the road.
I got to the mid-Oregon town of John Day while it was still light and had horrid nachos in a restaurant across the street from the marginal motel. I only ate a bit of them, took the rest to the motel and left it there the next morning. There was only one other gentleman in the restaurant, also eating by himself. And no wine....
Hendriks is a wonderful and large city park, about 75 acres, and 25% of it has hundreds of rhododendrons and an area of native plants; the remainder is native trees like Douglas Firs and Big-Leaf Maples. Some rhodies were already in full and glorious bloom and others had buds soon to open. I saw several Varied Thrushes working through some grass, just like Robins do. I spotted a RC Kinglet and even saw the tiny red slit on the head and then saw a chickadee which turned out to be a Chestnut-backed Chickadee, a bird I had never seen before! It was very windy and I think the presence of so many birds was partly a fall-out. Usually it is difficult to even see birds here because there is so much cover, and the trees are gigantic, but earlier I had seen Song Sparrows (darker and rustier than those I see in Michigan), many twitchy Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Black-capped Chickadees.
Small branches were littering the ground from the srong wind, which Steve said was not that common.
Andree called to say an oil truck had overturned four miles west of Oakridge and that major road across the Cascades was closed, but I hadn't planned on that route anyway. There isn't a whole lot of choice going east. Steve and I looked at a web cam of the McKenzie River route and I almost decided to just take the interstate to Portland and go along hte Columbia River as there was some snow at the higher elevaton near the pass. But, then I just decided to go for it since I really did not want to go north at that point.
Mostly, it was OK, although the roads definitely did get snow-covered and "chains or traction tires" were advised. I drove very conservatively and was glad to get to Sisters.
From there, I headed east-northeast through high desert country, much of it rugged and scenic, with a few widely-spaced small towns, ranches, massive rock formations, winding roads and national forests. The skies were grey and the wind continued blowing tumbleweeds across the road.
I got to the mid-Oregon town of John Day while it was still light and had horrid nachos in a restaurant across the street from the marginal motel. I only ate a bit of them, took the rest to the motel and left it there the next morning. There was only one other gentleman in the restaurant, also eating by himself. And no wine....
Saturday, March 10, 2012
On the Road: Susanville, California to Eugene, Oregon
It was now Wednesday and I missed arriving in Eugene to help celebrate Andree's 40th birthday party which was the day before. I had talked with Steve while driving through Sedona and thought briefly about trying to get there in time, but it was 1200 miles and they were going to a winery at 2 p.m. on Tuesday. No way could I make that.
It was sunny again, and I drove through a McDonald's for coffee but it was actually a Taco Bell (I THOUGHT I was at a McDonalds but obviously wasn't paying attention) so I ordered coffee there and then somehow it was also a Cinnabon place and I ordered four mini fried sugar-coated doughnut things with a vague lemony cream filling which, of course, were delicious. But as I was driving out I spotted an adjacent Starbucks so poured out my Taco Bell/Cinnabon drink and got Starbucks coffee.
The first 20 miles north of Susanville were very birdy: a pond with many assorted ducks, a large flock of Snow Geese, Western Meadowlarks, and a running-over-the-ground flock of California Quail. These are one of the quail species with that adorable little curved topknot feather on the top of their heads. They are about pigeon-sized and were hanging out near a farm field, frantically running here and there in a pack.
Maria, I thought of Debbie as I was headed mostly northwest and skirting Mt. Shasta with more majestic landscape and still some snow, Ponderosa pines and, every so often, a flash of blue as a Western Bluebird flew across the road. So the colors were: green, white, blue (sky and bird) and all the muted earthy colors of browns, reds, greys and yellows.
I was approaching the border between Oregon and California when I realized I was driving through the Modoc NWR and immediately there were eagles and hawks and cranes and ducks. I stopped and watched several Northern Harriers flying low over the marshes with their signature white rump patch, and then saw a larger bird, circling and soaring just to my right. I got very good looks and nothing was ringing a bell, so I went to the field guide, and it was a classic juvenile Golden Eagle with the white patches in the dark wings and dark terminal band on the still white tail....definitely another unforgettable moment of this trip. And, perched on irrigators on the other side of the road were at least six more eagles. The highway wasn't exactly the place for a spotting scope so I went on without positively identifying them as Balds or Goldens but I think both were present. A single Sandhill Crane flew right across the road in front of my car and a large flock of Snow Geese were in the fields. One more time.... these national / state refuges draw me in and are the true rest stops on a long trip.
After leaving Klamath Falls (where Steve and Andree lived for 2 years after his residency) I drove north until I could head to Eugene over the Cascades. It was still sunny with blue skies. The firs, cedars, pines and hemlocks in Oregon are three times the height of comparable Michigan evergreens and, as there was still quite a bit of snow at higher elevations, it was (what adjective haven't I used??) one more very lovely drive. The air was fragrant and cool, but the sun so strong that the snow-melt on the road was steaming. I followed a huge hay-hauling truck down the mountain at 20 mph as there were still some icy spots, and the road was all down hill with hairpin curves for miles.
I got totally lost in Eugene, as the very first iPhone direction was a non-existent exit but after repeatedly pulling off and again consulting my iPhone from my "current location" and with some memories of a previous visit, I finally found the SODAs, relieved to not have to drive for several days.
I love their home and will write and send photos soon...
It was sunny again, and I drove through a McDonald's for coffee but it was actually a Taco Bell (I THOUGHT I was at a McDonalds but obviously wasn't paying attention) so I ordered coffee there and then somehow it was also a Cinnabon place and I ordered four mini fried sugar-coated doughnut things with a vague lemony cream filling which, of course, were delicious. But as I was driving out I spotted an adjacent Starbucks so poured out my Taco Bell/Cinnabon drink and got Starbucks coffee.
The first 20 miles north of Susanville were very birdy: a pond with many assorted ducks, a large flock of Snow Geese, Western Meadowlarks, and a running-over-the-ground flock of California Quail. These are one of the quail species with that adorable little curved topknot feather on the top of their heads. They are about pigeon-sized and were hanging out near a farm field, frantically running here and there in a pack.
Maria, I thought of Debbie as I was headed mostly northwest and skirting Mt. Shasta with more majestic landscape and still some snow, Ponderosa pines and, every so often, a flash of blue as a Western Bluebird flew across the road. So the colors were: green, white, blue (sky and bird) and all the muted earthy colors of browns, reds, greys and yellows.
I was approaching the border between Oregon and California when I realized I was driving through the Modoc NWR and immediately there were eagles and hawks and cranes and ducks. I stopped and watched several Northern Harriers flying low over the marshes with their signature white rump patch, and then saw a larger bird, circling and soaring just to my right. I got very good looks and nothing was ringing a bell, so I went to the field guide, and it was a classic juvenile Golden Eagle with the white patches in the dark wings and dark terminal band on the still white tail....definitely another unforgettable moment of this trip. And, perched on irrigators on the other side of the road were at least six more eagles. The highway wasn't exactly the place for a spotting scope so I went on without positively identifying them as Balds or Goldens but I think both were present. A single Sandhill Crane flew right across the road in front of my car and a large flock of Snow Geese were in the fields. One more time.... these national / state refuges draw me in and are the true rest stops on a long trip.
After leaving Klamath Falls (where Steve and Andree lived for 2 years after his residency) I drove north until I could head to Eugene over the Cascades. It was still sunny with blue skies. The firs, cedars, pines and hemlocks in Oregon are three times the height of comparable Michigan evergreens and, as there was still quite a bit of snow at higher elevations, it was (what adjective haven't I used??) one more very lovely drive. The air was fragrant and cool, but the sun so strong that the snow-melt on the road was steaming. I followed a huge hay-hauling truck down the mountain at 20 mph as there were still some icy spots, and the road was all down hill with hairpin curves for miles.
I got totally lost in Eugene, as the very first iPhone direction was a non-existent exit but after repeatedly pulling off and again consulting my iPhone from my "current location" and with some memories of a previous visit, I finally found the SODAs, relieved to not have to drive for several days.
I love their home and will write and send photos soon...
On the Road: Nevada
I left Cedar City, drove straight west into Nevada and after an hour turned directly north to Ely. It was one of the most scenic roads I've been on, in spite of it being Nevada, with 100 miles of mountains to the west and the east, very little traffic, sunshine...all making for good early morning travel. I bought a hot dog for breakfast at the convenience store where I started north...just a plain old-fashioned hot dog with onions, pickle relish and catsup. A sweet-looking Shih Tzu came up to my car with me like she wanted to come along (or maybe it wasn't a Shih Tzu but it was a dog I wouldn't expect to see there.)
I came upon carrion in the road with ravens lifting off at the last possible minute but also one large bird. I was 90% certain it was a Golden Eagle, just not 100%, and by the time I could slow down and stop (remember, I was usually driving 75 mph and road margins were variable, although often I could and did stop in the middle of the road since the traffic was that sparse), it had flown too far to ID.
Ely seemed a rather dreary town with no visible aesthetic qualities...a working man's town with bars and casinos and old hotels.
I headed west on "The Loneliest Road in America" which is US50. I went over seven passes and then would drop down to desert again. The landscape became drier with very few homesteads, ranches, towns...and only occasional minor roads leading off to the north and south. I found a country music station on the radio and listened to songs with lyrics like "Tequila makes her clothes fall off.." or "She thinks my tractor is sexy...." and the music was appropriate for the mood on this road in this state. But then the DJ mentioned the "storm...coming this way...looks like it is currently in Eureka..." which was exactly where I was headed. I looked to the northwest; jeez...there WAS significant cloud cover. For awhile I skirted the edge of it convincing myself I would just miss it which was wishful thinking. The few towns were all about 75 miles apart but US50 does have occasional traffic and I had enough stuff in the car to survive should I get stranded, but still....
After Eureka, I was headed to Austin and the temperature began to drop and the sun began to disappear...and bits of snow started blowing in the strong wind, at first only sideways across the road which remained dry. BUT, as I headed up the pass before Austin, the temp dropped a degree every minute and got to 22 and the snow was sticking and I was swearing, figuring I would have to stay in Austin. It was only noon and the few motels didn't exactly meet my criteria which isn't even all that demanding. I had Birkies on and stepped out into a couple of inches of snow, so I changed to wool socks and tennis shoes and went into the gas station where three gentleman of various ages briefly looked me up and down when I inquired about the road west. They told me it would be fine..."it isn't sticking..." so I went on and it WAS sticking off and on for about 25 miles, but then generally was OK. Lonely, for sure, but OK. I felt reprieved and drove and drove and drove, even briefly seeing the sun. The clouds were dramatic and made the trip all part of the adventure. There was almost nothing indicative of humans along the road (except the highway itself) but it wasn't what I would call boring, though most people would and did when I was asked about my travels (at the motel that night and a Starbucks I happened upon near Reno....).
I only saw a few flocks of twittery birds and stopped once to see what they were: Snow Buntings. I turned around to take a photo of a tree with 1000 shoes on the branches and wondered if this spot was perhaps near Burning Man. (It wasn't; I just googled it...)
I got near Reno mid afternoon, stopped for gas and saw a Starbucks across the street. It was an OASIS! I got an chicken salad sandwich for my dinner later on, coffee and a salted caramel bar. Remember, Deborah, you first told me about these in Holland one birding day marathon? So I was happy, eating zuzu, drinking good coffee again.
I did the interstate for a little bit and then took US 395 north to Susanville, another road with the snow-covered Sierras on the left, and the high dry desert to the east. The sun was out and I had survived Nevada but this 600-mile day was really too much.
I stopped for the night in Susanville, California, ate my Starbuck's sandwich and worked for 4 hours.
I came upon carrion in the road with ravens lifting off at the last possible minute but also one large bird. I was 90% certain it was a Golden Eagle, just not 100%, and by the time I could slow down and stop (remember, I was usually driving 75 mph and road margins were variable, although often I could and did stop in the middle of the road since the traffic was that sparse), it had flown too far to ID.
Ely seemed a rather dreary town with no visible aesthetic qualities...a working man's town with bars and casinos and old hotels.
I headed west on "The Loneliest Road in America" which is US50. I went over seven passes and then would drop down to desert again. The landscape became drier with very few homesteads, ranches, towns...and only occasional minor roads leading off to the north and south. I found a country music station on the radio and listened to songs with lyrics like "Tequila makes her clothes fall off.." or "She thinks my tractor is sexy...." and the music was appropriate for the mood on this road in this state. But then the DJ mentioned the "storm...coming this way...looks like it is currently in Eureka..." which was exactly where I was headed. I looked to the northwest; jeez...there WAS significant cloud cover. For awhile I skirted the edge of it convincing myself I would just miss it which was wishful thinking. The few towns were all about 75 miles apart but US50 does have occasional traffic and I had enough stuff in the car to survive should I get stranded, but still....
After Eureka, I was headed to Austin and the temperature began to drop and the sun began to disappear...and bits of snow started blowing in the strong wind, at first only sideways across the road which remained dry. BUT, as I headed up the pass before Austin, the temp dropped a degree every minute and got to 22 and the snow was sticking and I was swearing, figuring I would have to stay in Austin. It was only noon and the few motels didn't exactly meet my criteria which isn't even all that demanding. I had Birkies on and stepped out into a couple of inches of snow, so I changed to wool socks and tennis shoes and went into the gas station where three gentleman of various ages briefly looked me up and down when I inquired about the road west. They told me it would be fine..."it isn't sticking..." so I went on and it WAS sticking off and on for about 25 miles, but then generally was OK. Lonely, for sure, but OK. I felt reprieved and drove and drove and drove, even briefly seeing the sun. The clouds were dramatic and made the trip all part of the adventure. There was almost nothing indicative of humans along the road (except the highway itself) but it wasn't what I would call boring, though most people would and did when I was asked about my travels (at the motel that night and a Starbucks I happened upon near Reno....).
I only saw a few flocks of twittery birds and stopped once to see what they were: Snow Buntings. I turned around to take a photo of a tree with 1000 shoes on the branches and wondered if this spot was perhaps near Burning Man. (It wasn't; I just googled it...)
I got near Reno mid afternoon, stopped for gas and saw a Starbucks across the street. It was an OASIS! I got an chicken salad sandwich for my dinner later on, coffee and a salted caramel bar. Remember, Deborah, you first told me about these in Holland one birding day marathon? So I was happy, eating zuzu, drinking good coffee again.
I did the interstate for a little bit and then took US 395 north to Susanville, another road with the snow-covered Sierras on the left, and the high dry desert to the east. The sun was out and I had survived Nevada but this 600-mile day was really too much.
I stopped for the night in Susanville, California, ate my Starbuck's sandwich and worked for 4 hours.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
On the Road: Grand Canyon to Cedar City, Utah
I had to go east at first to get around the Canyon. Along this route were several ramshackle, wood structures, open on one side, that the Natives use to sell their arts and crafts. Occasionally, there was one person with his/her jewelry laid on a table, but this is not the tourist season. I would see a few hogans but many more trailers, surrounded by litters and discards, in the open with no trees. I only saw sheep once, and also two men on horseback one time, raising a dust trail in the distance.
Arizona and then Utah is a panoply of red dotted with trees and scrub and sage in various colors of grey and green and the blue sky. Along the route around the Grand Canyon to the east and north are the Vermilion Cliffs. I tried to think of the precise color and rust comes the closest. It is a melange of browns and reds, the brown muted the reds but not dominating. There are striations of the colors and sinuous, smooth wave-like formations of striking beauty.
In Utah, I drove through Zion NP and was literally breathless with the beauty of the gigantic rock formations. It is another place where words fail and photographs only touch on the reality, which truly is overwhelming.
I WAS not prepared for the "dark tunnel." There had been signs about "tunnel escorts for $15" at the entrance but I hadn't paid attention, thinking these were for trucks. As cars approached the tunnel, drivers were advised to take off sunglasses, keep lights on and watch for bicyclists. Periodically, there were windows where the stone had been cut through to to allow natural light, but it was DARK! The road beyond (from east to west) wound down to the valley with hairpins and precipitous dropoffs, all requiring attention, though there were pull offs.
Our protected national places are the grace notes in our landscape.
I took an Interstate north to Cedar City, Utah, and stayed at The Crystal Inn since it had a big sign out front stating "Special Prices for Tonight Only." It was one of the nicest motels I've stayed in and I ate in the restaurant which had an English theme with menu items like Bangers and Mash and waitresses sort of dressed in old English style. There was classical music and heavy silverware and napkins. I had salmon baked in parchment with a buttery wine sauce, fresh herbs and citrus slices. And a good hot fudge sundae for dessert. Even the ice cream was above average. I took half the salmon with me.
The darling waitress told me all about taking an "alcohol class" just last week. This was in response to my questions about Utah and alcohol. She said people think Utah is so restrictive because they often stop there after being in Vegas where there is "so much alcohol" but that, really, Utah can and does serve alcohol everywhere. In general, the state regulates this, although individual towns also can as to when, how much, where, etc. So, for instance, four people can go in a bar and one will order fries and then all can be served a drink, which is done, and no one even eats the fries.
There was an Asian family with two young kids parked near my room and they had everything from their vehicle piled on the grass...a significant mound of clothing and maps and shoes and toys and various containers. The Dad was sorting, discarding and re-arranging and I could totally relate. I did the same thing since it was still relatively warm and sunny.
Cedar City has mountains to the south and east and homes on hills easily seen from the parking lot. One could live in a worse place.
Arizona and then Utah is a panoply of red dotted with trees and scrub and sage in various colors of grey and green and the blue sky. Along the route around the Grand Canyon to the east and north are the Vermilion Cliffs. I tried to think of the precise color and rust comes the closest. It is a melange of browns and reds, the brown muted the reds but not dominating. There are striations of the colors and sinuous, smooth wave-like formations of striking beauty.
In Utah, I drove through Zion NP and was literally breathless with the beauty of the gigantic rock formations. It is another place where words fail and photographs only touch on the reality, which truly is overwhelming.
I WAS not prepared for the "dark tunnel." There had been signs about "tunnel escorts for $15" at the entrance but I hadn't paid attention, thinking these were for trucks. As cars approached the tunnel, drivers were advised to take off sunglasses, keep lights on and watch for bicyclists. Periodically, there were windows where the stone had been cut through to to allow natural light, but it was DARK! The road beyond (from east to west) wound down to the valley with hairpins and precipitous dropoffs, all requiring attention, though there were pull offs.
Our protected national places are the grace notes in our landscape.
I took an Interstate north to Cedar City, Utah, and stayed at The Crystal Inn since it had a big sign out front stating "Special Prices for Tonight Only." It was one of the nicest motels I've stayed in and I ate in the restaurant which had an English theme with menu items like Bangers and Mash and waitresses sort of dressed in old English style. There was classical music and heavy silverware and napkins. I had salmon baked in parchment with a buttery wine sauce, fresh herbs and citrus slices. And a good hot fudge sundae for dessert. Even the ice cream was above average. I took half the salmon with me.
The darling waitress told me all about taking an "alcohol class" just last week. This was in response to my questions about Utah and alcohol. She said people think Utah is so restrictive because they often stop there after being in Vegas where there is "so much alcohol" but that, really, Utah can and does serve alcohol everywhere. In general, the state regulates this, although individual towns also can as to when, how much, where, etc. So, for instance, four people can go in a bar and one will order fries and then all can be served a drink, which is done, and no one even eats the fries.
There was an Asian family with two young kids parked near my room and they had everything from their vehicle piled on the grass...a significant mound of clothing and maps and shoes and toys and various containers. The Dad was sorting, discarding and re-arranging and I could totally relate. I did the same thing since it was still relatively warm and sunny.
Cedar City has mountains to the south and east and homes on hills easily seen from the parking lot. One could live in a worse place.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Grand Canyon
I found a coffee shop (after a several-day hiatus from good coffee), had my Americano, a freshly made scone and also bought several assorted bottles of juices. It is so DRY here, with humidities in the teens. I talked a bit with a young hippieish kid who said he was on his way to church. The guy behind the counter asked him when church started and the kid said "20 minutes ago." I got the impression he only went to do the music, like the rock and roll. They told me his Dad roasted the beans when I complimented them on the coffee.
It was early, and I knew I wouldn't be able to check in until mid afternoon, so took my time and read awhile at a table in the sun. Grand Canyon is 60 miles due north of Williams. I got there at noon and immediately went into the Visitor Center bookstore and bought books and DVDs. There were at least a dozen places to buy stuff in this general vicinity. Going to the Grand Canyon means resisting temptation to wander through these shops as they are EVERYWHERE. Over the top with the thousands of items.
Even this time of year, there were more people than I expected. The summer crowds must be insane. Remember Old Faithful Maria? It's probably like that. But I liked the mix of people that were there this early Sunday in March:
1. Foreigners...German, French, Japanese....
2. Young couples with their small children.
3. Young hikers, fit, handsome, laden with gear. One group was cooking their evening meal right off the Rim Trail Sunday night enticing passersby. It smelled delicious...like a spicy chili.
4. Older hikers, fit handsome and less laden with gear. One group of three were headed down the Bright Angel Trail at sunrise Monday morning.
5. Teenagers in groups, probably on school trips.
6. Middle-aged and older couples quietly gazing, photographing and walking slowly along the rim.
7. A few Native American families.
8. Occasional a single older man or woman (maybe travelling like me?) standing quietly looking out over the stunning Grand Canyon in an atmospere of blue skies, sunshine, no wind, clear air, leftover snow patches, juniper trees...Everyone has either been there or seen photos and it really is impossible to describe the view and sensation of awe when standing on the rim.
At one point, a guy walked very close to the edge to take a picture, and his family erupted into excited Japanese obviously cautioning him about being too close.
At sunrise, there was a family with a couple of young kids wrapped in blankets, sitting on the wall.
Early Monday morning, a gentleman I had seen ambling about the previous day stopped and aaked me where the coffee was. I had scouted out this information the night before and asked him if he knew where the bar was. "Oh yes, I know the bar, I certainly know the bar," he said. I told him the bar was the coffee shop for a few hours every morning. He was wearing a long wool double-breated overcoat.
A group of 10 of us sat on wooden log benches Sunday afternoon and listened to a Forest Service ranger talk about California Condors...how they were nearly extinct in the 80s and how there are now close to 400. She kept talking about how they "pull" them in for various reasons, one of which is when they need treatment for lead poisoning. She said, "This is not a hunting problem; it is an ammunition problem" and, while not mandated, most hunters are slowly but voluntarily changing to copper ammunition. Condors only lay one egg every two years; they are believed to live 50 years. I asked how they "pull" them in and the ranger said they put out carrion. She didn't get too specific about all their management techniques as I know there is controversy about these issues. All the Grand Canyon Condors are also tagged and have radio transmitters. Their wing span is 9 feet! No, I didn't see one, unfortunately.
I had a small cabin close to the rim in the Bright Angel Trail area with no frills but renovated bathroom and a reasonably comfortable bed. Directly east along the rim is the grand El Tovar hotel. I think Obama and his family stayed there not long ago.
Part of the several-mile long Rim Trail runs in front of all the cabins, El Tovar, the shops and restaurants, and at first I was barely able to get close to the edge but that feeling eased somewhat. I certainly was not the only one. People were hiking the trails but "ice crampons" were recommended. I was envious of those who could and did hike but also knew it would be foolhardy without training and certainly not on icy trails where a misstep would send me plunging several hundred feet. One couple had returned after going to the bottom. They came up a day early because the woman was so cold, she "couldn't feel her feet" even though they had good sleeping bags. The Bright Angel Trail is 9.5 miles down and then, of course 9.5 miles UP again. I met another guy ready to leave from one of the other trailheads. He was from the Chicago area and had hiked the Canyon before but was now going to take "these old guys" on a 4-day hike. He showed me (we were at a view point where we could see the Colorado River) where they were going to camp each night. One time, looking with binocs, I could see two yellow rafts on a tiny beach. (The River is not always visible from the rim.)
The Kolb brothers (Ellworth and Emery), Captain John Hance, Fred Harvey and Mary Colter...all are still are very much in evidence in the bookstores, museum exhibits, on informative plaques, in the lookout studios and the old, round, stone watchtower near the eastern end.
I saw three birds I thought were life birds for me and none of them were: the first was the very tame Western Scrub Jay which I had seen in Oregon. The second was a Pigmy Nuthatch. I had had a glimpse of one at my neighbor's feeder in Kalispell, but not such a great look that I knew exactly what they looked like. This sighting was much better. The third bird had a milk-chocolate brown triangle on its back. It looked like a sparrow...but turned out to be a Dark-eyed Junco (one of the "grey-headed") species. It looked very different from the Michigan juncos, obviously. I also saw one strikingly handsome Stellar Jay (not a LB) and Common Ravens were everywhere and very tame.
Again, the lingering snow patches made it all even more beautiful...
I headed east the next morning, driving along the rim and pulling off at several viewpoints. There were four female elk along the side of the road. A woman with a long lens and wearing a long skirt was photographing them. Most peoople congregate in the El Tovar / Bright Angel area so these spots were very peaceful with absolutely no sound in the cool early morning sunshine.
It was early, and I knew I wouldn't be able to check in until mid afternoon, so took my time and read awhile at a table in the sun. Grand Canyon is 60 miles due north of Williams. I got there at noon and immediately went into the Visitor Center bookstore and bought books and DVDs. There were at least a dozen places to buy stuff in this general vicinity. Going to the Grand Canyon means resisting temptation to wander through these shops as they are EVERYWHERE. Over the top with the thousands of items.
Even this time of year, there were more people than I expected. The summer crowds must be insane. Remember Old Faithful Maria? It's probably like that. But I liked the mix of people that were there this early Sunday in March:
1. Foreigners...German, French, Japanese....
2. Young couples with their small children.
3. Young hikers, fit, handsome, laden with gear. One group was cooking their evening meal right off the Rim Trail Sunday night enticing passersby. It smelled delicious...like a spicy chili.
4. Older hikers, fit handsome and less laden with gear. One group of three were headed down the Bright Angel Trail at sunrise Monday morning.
5. Teenagers in groups, probably on school trips.
6. Middle-aged and older couples quietly gazing, photographing and walking slowly along the rim.
7. A few Native American families.
8. Occasional a single older man or woman (maybe travelling like me?) standing quietly looking out over the stunning Grand Canyon in an atmospere of blue skies, sunshine, no wind, clear air, leftover snow patches, juniper trees...Everyone has either been there or seen photos and it really is impossible to describe the view and sensation of awe when standing on the rim.
At one point, a guy walked very close to the edge to take a picture, and his family erupted into excited Japanese obviously cautioning him about being too close.
At sunrise, there was a family with a couple of young kids wrapped in blankets, sitting on the wall.
Early Monday morning, a gentleman I had seen ambling about the previous day stopped and aaked me where the coffee was. I had scouted out this information the night before and asked him if he knew where the bar was. "Oh yes, I know the bar, I certainly know the bar," he said. I told him the bar was the coffee shop for a few hours every morning. He was wearing a long wool double-breated overcoat.
A group of 10 of us sat on wooden log benches Sunday afternoon and listened to a Forest Service ranger talk about California Condors...how they were nearly extinct in the 80s and how there are now close to 400. She kept talking about how they "pull" them in for various reasons, one of which is when they need treatment for lead poisoning. She said, "This is not a hunting problem; it is an ammunition problem" and, while not mandated, most hunters are slowly but voluntarily changing to copper ammunition. Condors only lay one egg every two years; they are believed to live 50 years. I asked how they "pull" them in and the ranger said they put out carrion. She didn't get too specific about all their management techniques as I know there is controversy about these issues. All the Grand Canyon Condors are also tagged and have radio transmitters. Their wing span is 9 feet! No, I didn't see one, unfortunately.
I had a small cabin close to the rim in the Bright Angel Trail area with no frills but renovated bathroom and a reasonably comfortable bed. Directly east along the rim is the grand El Tovar hotel. I think Obama and his family stayed there not long ago.
Part of the several-mile long Rim Trail runs in front of all the cabins, El Tovar, the shops and restaurants, and at first I was barely able to get close to the edge but that feeling eased somewhat. I certainly was not the only one. People were hiking the trails but "ice crampons" were recommended. I was envious of those who could and did hike but also knew it would be foolhardy without training and certainly not on icy trails where a misstep would send me plunging several hundred feet. One couple had returned after going to the bottom. They came up a day early because the woman was so cold, she "couldn't feel her feet" even though they had good sleeping bags. The Bright Angel Trail is 9.5 miles down and then, of course 9.5 miles UP again. I met another guy ready to leave from one of the other trailheads. He was from the Chicago area and had hiked the Canyon before but was now going to take "these old guys" on a 4-day hike. He showed me (we were at a view point where we could see the Colorado River) where they were going to camp each night. One time, looking with binocs, I could see two yellow rafts on a tiny beach. (The River is not always visible from the rim.)
The Kolb brothers (Ellworth and Emery), Captain John Hance, Fred Harvey and Mary Colter...all are still are very much in evidence in the bookstores, museum exhibits, on informative plaques, in the lookout studios and the old, round, stone watchtower near the eastern end.
I saw three birds I thought were life birds for me and none of them were: the first was the very tame Western Scrub Jay which I had seen in Oregon. The second was a Pigmy Nuthatch. I had had a glimpse of one at my neighbor's feeder in Kalispell, but not such a great look that I knew exactly what they looked like. This sighting was much better. The third bird had a milk-chocolate brown triangle on its back. It looked like a sparrow...but turned out to be a Dark-eyed Junco (one of the "grey-headed") species. It looked very different from the Michigan juncos, obviously. I also saw one strikingly handsome Stellar Jay (not a LB) and Common Ravens were everywhere and very tame.
Again, the lingering snow patches made it all even more beautiful...
I headed east the next morning, driving along the rim and pulling off at several viewpoints. There were four female elk along the side of the road. A woman with a long lens and wearing a long skirt was photographing them. Most peoople congregate in the El Tovar / Bright Angel area so these spots were very peaceful with absolutely no sound in the cool early morning sunshine.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
On the Road: Globe, Arizona to Williams, Arizona
Just read a few back-logged emails and Andree was BORN in Globe!
It was another cool, sunny, lovely morning and the drive today made up for El Paso.
Saw Brewer's Blackbirds in the McDonald's parking lot and a hawk which flew off before I could see it well enough to ID.
The road went mostly north, past Roosevelt Lake (actually a reservoir after the Salt River was dammed) and over passes, with reddish earth and saguaro and prickly pear cacti, and all that other southwest xerophytic vegetation. I stopped at an overlook and a bird was singing on a wire nearby. Through the binocs I could see it was a flycatcher but that was all. So, I set up the scope and saw it very well (this really is so cool) and noted field marks: pale orangey belly, dark tail and not much else. I could clearly hear its very distinct and simple song, as it singing constantly. It was a Say's Phoebe (LB). I couldn't resist and played its song on my Bird Jam app while looking at it through the scope. It perked and looked around, definitely hearing it. I am reluctant to call in birds using this method but many birders do. It seems too high tech and artificial to me, although I am not a purist in this regard. After all, here I was in the wide open with a pricey spotting scope.
Farther down the road, I pulled off for a hawk, which flew and which was a Red-tail, but there was also a Phainopepla (LB) perched on the hawk tree. It took a couple of seconds before I realized it was NOT a Stellar Jay as it had a crest. Phainopeplas are more slender, all black birds. I had never considered seeing one of these and only vaguely remembered from the hundreds of hours paging through field guides that there was a crested black bird with an odd name. Also, I hadn't researched Arizona birds, only the lower Rio Grande possibilities.
This is Mogollon Rim country (pronounced "muggy-own"), a escarpment running across Arizona for 200 miles, bisected by Interstate 17 and is the southern edge of the Colorado Plateau. It is high country and there were snow patches and Ponderosas...beautiful country.
By mid afternoon, I was driving through Sedona, Arizona, which is in the most spectacular natural setting. It is surrounded by red sandstone cliffs of truly stunning beauty. The town obviously has building codes similar to Nantucket as most are muted earthy colors and signage was discrete. I thought of Santa Fe...arts and money. Folks were milling around in the spring sunshine eating, drinking, strolling, visiting art galleries....and I think there was an art fair also. The road north out of Sedona was stunning, through Oak Creek Canyon, rivalling the Going-to-the-Sun road at times, precipitous, winding, narrow, spectacular views. There were creekside cabins and small resorts and B and Bs. Eunice, you camped in Sedona with your kids once didn't you?
I stopped to get oriented and a pair of Western Bluebirds were on a fence.
I thought I would stay in Flagstaff, but it was too busy so I drove west to Williams which was a good decision. Found a nice motel, ate a cheap and tasty meal at Rosalitas and slept 10 hours. Williams is also on old route US 66 and the town capitalizes on this, along with being a gateway town to the Grand Canyon. The main streets (one-way in each direction) were wide with few people this time of year.
It was another cool, sunny, lovely morning and the drive today made up for El Paso.
Saw Brewer's Blackbirds in the McDonald's parking lot and a hawk which flew off before I could see it well enough to ID.
The road went mostly north, past Roosevelt Lake (actually a reservoir after the Salt River was dammed) and over passes, with reddish earth and saguaro and prickly pear cacti, and all that other southwest xerophytic vegetation. I stopped at an overlook and a bird was singing on a wire nearby. Through the binocs I could see it was a flycatcher but that was all. So, I set up the scope and saw it very well (this really is so cool) and noted field marks: pale orangey belly, dark tail and not much else. I could clearly hear its very distinct and simple song, as it singing constantly. It was a Say's Phoebe (LB). I couldn't resist and played its song on my Bird Jam app while looking at it through the scope. It perked and looked around, definitely hearing it. I am reluctant to call in birds using this method but many birders do. It seems too high tech and artificial to me, although I am not a purist in this regard. After all, here I was in the wide open with a pricey spotting scope.
Farther down the road, I pulled off for a hawk, which flew and which was a Red-tail, but there was also a Phainopepla (LB) perched on the hawk tree. It took a couple of seconds before I realized it was NOT a Stellar Jay as it had a crest. Phainopeplas are more slender, all black birds. I had never considered seeing one of these and only vaguely remembered from the hundreds of hours paging through field guides that there was a crested black bird with an odd name. Also, I hadn't researched Arizona birds, only the lower Rio Grande possibilities.
This is Mogollon Rim country (pronounced "muggy-own"), a escarpment running across Arizona for 200 miles, bisected by Interstate 17 and is the southern edge of the Colorado Plateau. It is high country and there were snow patches and Ponderosas...beautiful country.
By mid afternoon, I was driving through Sedona, Arizona, which is in the most spectacular natural setting. It is surrounded by red sandstone cliffs of truly stunning beauty. The town obviously has building codes similar to Nantucket as most are muted earthy colors and signage was discrete. I thought of Santa Fe...arts and money. Folks were milling around in the spring sunshine eating, drinking, strolling, visiting art galleries....and I think there was an art fair also. The road north out of Sedona was stunning, through Oak Creek Canyon, rivalling the Going-to-the-Sun road at times, precipitous, winding, narrow, spectacular views. There were creekside cabins and small resorts and B and Bs. Eunice, you camped in Sedona with your kids once didn't you?
I stopped to get oriented and a pair of Western Bluebirds were on a fence.
I thought I would stay in Flagstaff, but it was too busy so I drove west to Williams which was a good decision. Found a nice motel, ate a cheap and tasty meal at Rosalitas and slept 10 hours. Williams is also on old route US 66 and the town capitalizes on this, along with being a gateway town to the Grand Canyon. The main streets (one-way in each direction) were wide with few people this time of year.
On the Road: Fort Stockton, Texas to Globe, Arizona
It was surprisingly cool this morning, in the mid 50s, and sunny. I got back on the Interstate and continued at 80 mph, and 100 miles later, pulled off at Van Horn to get gas and a possible oil change. First though, I got another "McDonald's bird" which is one that I see while parked near a McDonald's drinking coffee and eating a breakfast burrito. This was next to some kind of office with a covered awning walkway leading to the front door and I glimpsed a thrasher on the ground crubbing near some bushes. It flew before I could see it well, but I soon noticed there was bird activity under the awning roof tucked into openings, not totally visible. I could see comings and goings but had to be quick as the birds would disappear. I slowly got some field marks and looked at all the thrashers but none were as brightly marked. And then, as happens over and over and is a reward for persistence and patience, one of them hopped down on a curb very near the car, hopped off the curb and hopped in my direction, stopping for a few seconds so I could see it very well. You nonbirders (who probably will never even read this) cannot imagine how much fun this is: to get tantalizing glimpses of a bird for several minutes and then to have the same bird pop out into full view!
So, I now saw it clearly and it just wasn't a thrasher. I paged through the field guide and found it: a Cactus Wren (LB). The text actually mentioned how this large wren looked like a small thrasher.
I got two different directions to oil change places but couldn't find them so drove on. Van Horn has a wide main street which runs a mile and seemed to be a mix of ranching and Hispanic culture. I don't think of Hispanics as ranchers in west Texas but this may be ignorance on my part.
On the road again, headed for El Paso which was hell. I had in mind El Paso through the lens of a country-western song, a small, sleepy border town. It was 30 miles of traffic, malls and other commercial establishments built on gritty sand and small rocks with barely any greenery. It took an hour just to drive through. I saw a Honda dealership and got off the Interstate to get my oil changed and then had to drive around to an auto parts store to buy a new tail light which the oil changer man said was out.
The wind was gusting and there were wind advisories. I had to keep a good grip on the steering wheel. As I entered New Mexico, the sand began blowing to the point of very reduced visibility. I stopped at the Welcome Center to pick up a map, and the first things I saw was a sign warning of rattlesnakes.
At Las Cruces, I turned west. For all the rest of New Mexico and even part of Arizona, there were constant warnings of the possibility of dust storms and drivers were advised to listen to AM radio for more information which basically said the visibility could be zero and in that case one was strongly advised to pull off the road or at least proceed very cautiously sounding one's horn every few seconds. I never did have to do this, but it was a dismal drive.
The gas station attendant in Lordsburg, NM, said there were many bad accidents all the time on that stretch. He said the wind blows from spring to fall.
Maria had ordered some AAA maps and books for me and without an Arizona Welcome Center, I found an Arizona map in my passenger seat book bag (thanks, Maria) and found a route that bypassed Tucson and was off the interstates, PTL. I had had enough of homogenous, dulling, 80 mph driving and truck traffic had increased significantly. Not to deny their efficiency which I could appreciate at times.
It was 4 p.m. so I called ahead to Globe, Arizona, and made a motel reservation. The clerk thought I was about 4 hours away. It was a nice and pleasant drive north with one slow-down near the town of Peridot where there were also signs for Hallelujah Flat and Moonbase Road. The next day, Stephen told me Andree's mom had grown up in Globe (of which I was vaguely aware) and had recently been part of some settlement related to exposure from mining in this area. I will have to get the skinny on this in Eugene.
I drove through a Taco Bell and had three beef tacos which tasted good enough to me. The door to my motel room wouldn't close, so I moved next door. The proprietor/owner was an East Indian man, friendly, accommodating, efficient. The rooms were being renovated, and the new carpet was causing the doors to not close well. I made half a cup of coffee and worked four hours.
So, I now saw it clearly and it just wasn't a thrasher. I paged through the field guide and found it: a Cactus Wren (LB). The text actually mentioned how this large wren looked like a small thrasher.
I got two different directions to oil change places but couldn't find them so drove on. Van Horn has a wide main street which runs a mile and seemed to be a mix of ranching and Hispanic culture. I don't think of Hispanics as ranchers in west Texas but this may be ignorance on my part.
On the road again, headed for El Paso which was hell. I had in mind El Paso through the lens of a country-western song, a small, sleepy border town. It was 30 miles of traffic, malls and other commercial establishments built on gritty sand and small rocks with barely any greenery. It took an hour just to drive through. I saw a Honda dealership and got off the Interstate to get my oil changed and then had to drive around to an auto parts store to buy a new tail light which the oil changer man said was out.
The wind was gusting and there were wind advisories. I had to keep a good grip on the steering wheel. As I entered New Mexico, the sand began blowing to the point of very reduced visibility. I stopped at the Welcome Center to pick up a map, and the first things I saw was a sign warning of rattlesnakes.
At Las Cruces, I turned west. For all the rest of New Mexico and even part of Arizona, there were constant warnings of the possibility of dust storms and drivers were advised to listen to AM radio for more information which basically said the visibility could be zero and in that case one was strongly advised to pull off the road or at least proceed very cautiously sounding one's horn every few seconds. I never did have to do this, but it was a dismal drive.
The gas station attendant in Lordsburg, NM, said there were many bad accidents all the time on that stretch. He said the wind blows from spring to fall.
Maria had ordered some AAA maps and books for me and without an Arizona Welcome Center, I found an Arizona map in my passenger seat book bag (thanks, Maria) and found a route that bypassed Tucson and was off the interstates, PTL. I had had enough of homogenous, dulling, 80 mph driving and truck traffic had increased significantly. Not to deny their efficiency which I could appreciate at times.
It was 4 p.m. so I called ahead to Globe, Arizona, and made a motel reservation. The clerk thought I was about 4 hours away. It was a nice and pleasant drive north with one slow-down near the town of Peridot where there were also signs for Hallelujah Flat and Moonbase Road. The next day, Stephen told me Andree's mom had grown up in Globe (of which I was vaguely aware) and had recently been part of some settlement related to exposure from mining in this area. I will have to get the skinny on this in Eugene.
I drove through a Taco Bell and had three beef tacos which tasted good enough to me. The door to my motel room wouldn't close, so I moved next door. The proprietor/owner was an East Indian man, friendly, accommodating, efficient. The rooms were being renovated, and the new carpet was causing the doors to not close well. I made half a cup of coffee and worked four hours.
On the Road: Zapata, Texas to Fort Stockton, Texas
I loved the early mornings and evenings in Texas with the breezes and balmy air. This morning, a bright red sun was rising and I drove to the Zapata City Library where White-collared Seedeaters are seen. I parked and immediately a pleasant, talkative gentleman out walking asked me about the ID of a certain noisy bird he sees, which was a Kiskadee. We chatted a few minutes about living in Zapata and how bad it was in Mexico and how no one goes there because of the danger and drugs and murders and then about the weather and how one acclimatizes. He was part Hispanic and had a slight accent. He told me how to get around the pond next to the library.
The Big Year couple drove up, also looking for the Seedeaters. The woman was pulling socks over her pants to guard against chiggers and ticks, and they headed straight into the dense cattails at the west end of the pond. I was only going to be here 15 minutes or so and walked around the pond, seeing a kinglet and Common Yellowthroat, both birds I see frequently on the Stu. No Seedeater BUT in the open park-like side of the pond, I saw a bright orangey-reddish bird and first though "oriole" but looked closer, saw an almost scarlet head and realized it was a Vermillion Flycatcher! This was sort of my arbitrary target bird for this trip. I got good looks as it flew quite near and perched briefly a couple of times. Of course, it made my day. (By contrast the Seedeaters are tiny sparrow-like birds with thick grosbeak-like bills.)
And then I headed west and drove the Texas highways for most of the next two days. At first, it was beautiful (all relative, I know, but I thought it was) through gently rolling hills and newly budding trees, with the sky a lovely soft blue...like those first early spring days in Michigan after the long winter. I saw a perched hawk and got out of the car but it was silhouetted against the eastern sky, so I drove on and within a mile got perfect looks at another one which was a Harris's, chocolate-colored all over with chestnut shoulder patches. And saw about five more as I continued driving west. Another LB.
The Border Patrol is a huge presence down here. I went through three "Inspection" points, and was questioned and "inspected" at two of them. There was always a beautiful drug dog straining on a leash held by on of the officers. The first guy was stern and brisk, asked a few questions, sized me up as no threat and I went on. The second gentleman was affable and smiled and sized me up, asked if I was "doing OK" and told me to "be safe" and sent me on, his dog held in check. They wear olive green uniforms and short-sleeved shirts and black leather gloves. The Border Patrol vehicles are white SUVs or pickups. I saw hundreds. For long stretches, there was fencing on both sides of the road and a cleared margin between road and scrub of 100 feet. Only occasionally tiny settlements and very minimal access off the highway for any reason.
It became much more dry with scrubbier flora. It was sunny, hot and breezy with the humidity continuing to decrease. I finally relented and turned on the air-conditioning. As I told Maria, I get stubborn and stupid about this but gave in by early afternoon. I turned north and got on Interstate 10 which was pleasantly and unexpectedly free from traffic with only occasional trucks. The speed limit was 80 and I drove several hundred miles that way, so eventually, driving 60 mph seemed incredibly pokey. There was no water evident anywhere, just "arroyos and draws" and no birds that I could see. I never did see a Roadrunner, barely any carrion and did not see one snake.
I stayed in Fort Stockton right off I10, walked to McDonald's and got a mushroom-swiss cheese wrap and a berry smoothie and worked four hours. The motels all have had very comfortable beds, with soft sheets and good pillows, and I've slept well.
The Big Year couple drove up, also looking for the Seedeaters. The woman was pulling socks over her pants to guard against chiggers and ticks, and they headed straight into the dense cattails at the west end of the pond. I was only going to be here 15 minutes or so and walked around the pond, seeing a kinglet and Common Yellowthroat, both birds I see frequently on the Stu. No Seedeater BUT in the open park-like side of the pond, I saw a bright orangey-reddish bird and first though "oriole" but looked closer, saw an almost scarlet head and realized it was a Vermillion Flycatcher! This was sort of my arbitrary target bird for this trip. I got good looks as it flew quite near and perched briefly a couple of times. Of course, it made my day. (By contrast the Seedeaters are tiny sparrow-like birds with thick grosbeak-like bills.)
And then I headed west and drove the Texas highways for most of the next two days. At first, it was beautiful (all relative, I know, but I thought it was) through gently rolling hills and newly budding trees, with the sky a lovely soft blue...like those first early spring days in Michigan after the long winter. I saw a perched hawk and got out of the car but it was silhouetted against the eastern sky, so I drove on and within a mile got perfect looks at another one which was a Harris's, chocolate-colored all over with chestnut shoulder patches. And saw about five more as I continued driving west. Another LB.
The Border Patrol is a huge presence down here. I went through three "Inspection" points, and was questioned and "inspected" at two of them. There was always a beautiful drug dog straining on a leash held by on of the officers. The first guy was stern and brisk, asked a few questions, sized me up as no threat and I went on. The second gentleman was affable and smiled and sized me up, asked if I was "doing OK" and told me to "be safe" and sent me on, his dog held in check. They wear olive green uniforms and short-sleeved shirts and black leather gloves. The Border Patrol vehicles are white SUVs or pickups. I saw hundreds. For long stretches, there was fencing on both sides of the road and a cleared margin between road and scrub of 100 feet. Only occasionally tiny settlements and very minimal access off the highway for any reason.
It became much more dry with scrubbier flora. It was sunny, hot and breezy with the humidity continuing to decrease. I finally relented and turned on the air-conditioning. As I told Maria, I get stubborn and stupid about this but gave in by early afternoon. I turned north and got on Interstate 10 which was pleasantly and unexpectedly free from traffic with only occasional trucks. The speed limit was 80 and I drove several hundred miles that way, so eventually, driving 60 mph seemed incredibly pokey. There was no water evident anywhere, just "arroyos and draws" and no birds that I could see. I never did see a Roadrunner, barely any carrion and did not see one snake.
I stayed in Fort Stockton right off I10, walked to McDonald's and got a mushroom-swiss cheese wrap and a berry smoothie and worked four hours. The motels all have had very comfortable beds, with soft sheets and good pillows, and I've slept well.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Salaneno Magic
I left Bentsen-Rio Grande and started west, stopping at another World Birding Center site at Roma Bluffs and never finding it, although I didn't spend much time scouting it out. Roma is an small and old town overlooking the Rio Grande, with fading adobe homes and I arrived at that time of mid-day lethargy when the sun passes overhead, beating, baking, burning....This was not a grand park venue, and I now knew how some of the refuges are not obvious (as the park in Weslaco). I actually got out of the car, should have asked the Border Patrol guy in his truck, realized I was at the City Hall, drove around the block where the minimal signs had directed me, but still wasn't sure where this was. And I was hot and tired, so I left.
I dithered about stopping at Salaneno, as it was the middle of the day (usually not the prime time to see birds and it WAS hot and sunny. But I did go and it was one of those perfect birding experiences! I had read for a month about the Salaneno feeders in "Cheryl's" yard which were open to anyone who stopped by, so I had asked for specific directions from Tom at Bentsen. "Turn left at the post office, drive straight on down to the river...it will get bumpy but keep going. The feeders are at the end of the road. She has chairs in her yard and people just bring a bag of bird seed or give her $5 or so..."
I was glad for the directions as Salaneno is not much of a town and there was only a sign on the highway to the post office. It was indeed a bumpy unpaved road ending at the river where two other cars were parked and a hand-painted sign saying, "Birders Welcome...Walk In."
It was less than a city block but hidden from the road. And wonderful! I stayed four hours, sitting in one of a dozen chairs right in front of her fifth wheel (or maybe it was a trailer) in the shade and, weirdly, no insects. There were two other couples there and Cheryl. The feeders/feeding stations (at least 20) were in front of us and birds came and went all afternoon. One reason many birders were currently stopping by (also me, although it turned out not to be that important to me) was the possibility of seeing a very rare bird, the Brown Jay, which has been coming "every day but four since last December." But it only shows up briefly and only a couple times a day, or even only once. Still, an amazing display and variety of other birds also hang out and I saw Northern Bobwhites, three oriole species! (the Altamira, Audubon's and Hooded), Pyrrhuloxias, Orange-crowned and Yellow-rumped Warblers, Kiskadees, Green Jays, RW Blackbirds, doves, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Cardinals....and several times, to liven things up, a Sharp-shinned flew in like a kamikaze pilot, wicked fast, maneuvering through the trees and brush, trying to snatch a meal, after which there would be bird-silence for 15 minutes.
And, a nice serendipity: The couple next to me were from Indianapolis and knew Don Gorney and Eagle Creek, etc. They were doing a BIG YEAR, had "started late..in February" but were there today to get the Brown Jay. They had arrived at 8:15 that morning and unfortunately just missed the Jay, which had showed at 8:00, but so it goes. I have their card; they will be blogging, and I will send the web site to Deborah (and Maria or anyone else if interested). They were tent-camping to keep expenses down, were probably in their early 30s, soft-spoken and gentle. The woman was British; both were obviously excellent birders. The guy said at one point, "I am thinking about all the things I am going to eat on the way to the campground." Once we were sitting and watching, it was a risk to leave to go back to the cars or visit the Porta-John because of the capriciousness of a Brown Jay. Is it a nice thought: hundreds of humans at the mercy of one bird.
The lady who is responsible for maintaining this bit of paradise is Cheryl Longton, and she was sitting cross-legged on a chair most of the afternoon, getting up occasionally to replenish the peanut butter, seed and oranges/grapefruit. She was a gracious, pleasant, loquacious, knowledgable middle-aged woman. She has a thick looseleaf binder where visitors have signed in over the years, all organized by states (US) and countries. Thousands have made the pilgrimage. The name before mine in the Michigan section was a couple also from Holland by the name of Bronkema. Cheryl mentioned "Sandy Komito" had showed up one time, and Benton Basham had been there several times.
The story is that a couple from White Lake, Michigan, had fed the birds there for 25 years but stopped when they were in their 80s. (Their name was De Winn or De Witt...something like that.) They asked Cheryl to take it over, and she has been doing it for five years. I think there is some connection with local or state birding groups but I got the impression it mostly is an act of love, without much official sanction or support. She and her husband (who was not around) will go back to Maine at the end of March and then return next fall. I would return just to sit there again, in utter bliss. Of course, everything conspired to make it a perfect interlude. (Maria, I so wish you could have been there, as it was easily accessible and comfortable birding...) I felt rejuvenated; it was a delicious respite from the dust, sun, roads, wind, traffic and general south Texas busyness.
The Brown Jay never showed. It didn't matter so much to me but the Big Year couple were there nine hours. I finally (reluctantly) left and drove to Zapata, after taking a couple of pictures of the Rio Grande, which at this point is a pleasant, not all that wide, gently flowing river in the late afternoon, trees and brush on both sides, and a couple of guys fishing. However, on the slight rise up from the river was a Border Patrol truck and a mounted scope focused on the river, or some other high tech surveillance.
On to Zapata where I stayed in a Best Western with a frustrating and marginal Internet connection so I typed an hour and quit. The motel offered a Happy Hour deal of "3 free beers and a snack." There is road construction along here and workers need to stay someplace at night; thus, the 3-beer inducement I figured.
I dithered about stopping at Salaneno, as it was the middle of the day (usually not the prime time to see birds and it WAS hot and sunny. But I did go and it was one of those perfect birding experiences! I had read for a month about the Salaneno feeders in "Cheryl's" yard which were open to anyone who stopped by, so I had asked for specific directions from Tom at Bentsen. "Turn left at the post office, drive straight on down to the river...it will get bumpy but keep going. The feeders are at the end of the road. She has chairs in her yard and people just bring a bag of bird seed or give her $5 or so..."
I was glad for the directions as Salaneno is not much of a town and there was only a sign on the highway to the post office. It was indeed a bumpy unpaved road ending at the river where two other cars were parked and a hand-painted sign saying, "Birders Welcome...Walk In."
It was less than a city block but hidden from the road. And wonderful! I stayed four hours, sitting in one of a dozen chairs right in front of her fifth wheel (or maybe it was a trailer) in the shade and, weirdly, no insects. There were two other couples there and Cheryl. The feeders/feeding stations (at least 20) were in front of us and birds came and went all afternoon. One reason many birders were currently stopping by (also me, although it turned out not to be that important to me) was the possibility of seeing a very rare bird, the Brown Jay, which has been coming "every day but four since last December." But it only shows up briefly and only a couple times a day, or even only once. Still, an amazing display and variety of other birds also hang out and I saw Northern Bobwhites, three oriole species! (the Altamira, Audubon's and Hooded), Pyrrhuloxias, Orange-crowned and Yellow-rumped Warblers, Kiskadees, Green Jays, RW Blackbirds, doves, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Cardinals....and several times, to liven things up, a Sharp-shinned flew in like a kamikaze pilot, wicked fast, maneuvering through the trees and brush, trying to snatch a meal, after which there would be bird-silence for 15 minutes.
And, a nice serendipity: The couple next to me were from Indianapolis and knew Don Gorney and Eagle Creek, etc. They were doing a BIG YEAR, had "started late..in February" but were there today to get the Brown Jay. They had arrived at 8:15 that morning and unfortunately just missed the Jay, which had showed at 8:00, but so it goes. I have their card; they will be blogging, and I will send the web site to Deborah (and Maria or anyone else if interested). They were tent-camping to keep expenses down, were probably in their early 30s, soft-spoken and gentle. The woman was British; both were obviously excellent birders. The guy said at one point, "I am thinking about all the things I am going to eat on the way to the campground." Once we were sitting and watching, it was a risk to leave to go back to the cars or visit the Porta-John because of the capriciousness of a Brown Jay. Is it a nice thought: hundreds of humans at the mercy of one bird.
The lady who is responsible for maintaining this bit of paradise is Cheryl Longton, and she was sitting cross-legged on a chair most of the afternoon, getting up occasionally to replenish the peanut butter, seed and oranges/grapefruit. She was a gracious, pleasant, loquacious, knowledgable middle-aged woman. She has a thick looseleaf binder where visitors have signed in over the years, all organized by states (US) and countries. Thousands have made the pilgrimage. The name before mine in the Michigan section was a couple also from Holland by the name of Bronkema. Cheryl mentioned "Sandy Komito" had showed up one time, and Benton Basham had been there several times.
The story is that a couple from White Lake, Michigan, had fed the birds there for 25 years but stopped when they were in their 80s. (Their name was De Winn or De Witt...something like that.) They asked Cheryl to take it over, and she has been doing it for five years. I think there is some connection with local or state birding groups but I got the impression it mostly is an act of love, without much official sanction or support. She and her husband (who was not around) will go back to Maine at the end of March and then return next fall. I would return just to sit there again, in utter bliss. Of course, everything conspired to make it a perfect interlude. (Maria, I so wish you could have been there, as it was easily accessible and comfortable birding...) I felt rejuvenated; it was a delicious respite from the dust, sun, roads, wind, traffic and general south Texas busyness.
The Brown Jay never showed. It didn't matter so much to me but the Big Year couple were there nine hours. I finally (reluctantly) left and drove to Zapata, after taking a couple of pictures of the Rio Grande, which at this point is a pleasant, not all that wide, gently flowing river in the late afternoon, trees and brush on both sides, and a couple of guys fishing. However, on the slight rise up from the river was a Border Patrol truck and a mounted scope focused on the river, or some other high tech surveillance.
On to Zapata where I stayed in a Best Western with a frustrating and marginal Internet connection so I typed an hour and quit. The motel offered a Happy Hour deal of "3 free beers and a snack." There is road construction along here and workers need to stay someplace at night; thus, the 3-beer inducement I figured.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Bentsen-Rio Grande State Park
Bentsen was the last big destination for me along the Rio Grande. There was a walk at 8:00 and fortunately I left with time to spare as I got totally lost trying to find it. I didn't trust the directions on the iPhone and drove around for 30 minutes until I finally asked someone who pointed me to a road I had been on 20 minutes earlier where the iPhone HAD indicated, but it was a non-paved, totally pot-holed road leading to Deliverance country... but which turned out to be the road I needed: "It gets a little bumpy...just keep going and it will take you right to the park..." Another guy was there also and they talked back and forth in Spanish trying to make clear exactly where I needed to turn as I wanted very specific directions, so he walked me to the edge of the road and pointed at the nearby turn-off and I realized it was the Deliverance road after all.
I got there at 7:55 and off we went. The group leaders (Carol and Tom) were another retired couple from Appleton, Wisconsin. They had sold everything, including their home, and had been "full-time RVers" for three years, traveling and volunteering at NWRs and organizing birding trips to Costa Rica very other year. I guessed they were in their early 60s. Carol talked and Tom carried the scope. There were a dozen people in our group. We started out, crossed a canal and someone called out "Green Kingfisher" which I saw, but only as it flew down the canal and disappeared into the brush, never to be seen again. I will count it but this was one of the few times the sighting wasn't optimal. Had I not been with those who knew, I would not have. After the walk ended, late morning when it was 85 degrees, I walked half a mile along the canal, hoping to flush or re-find the kingfisher, but didn't.
There was a handsome pair of Black Phoebes sitting on the bridge, looking quite similar to the Dark-eyed Juncos we have in Michigan and another life bird for me.
We walked a short distance to a feeding station, which I was beginning to realize was the place to "get" most of the birds. There were several Chachalacas, the gorgeous Green Jays, Kiskadees and a Long-billed Thrasher (LB) that skulked out briefly and then disappeared into the brush. This bird is very similar to the Brown Thrasher common in Michigan but has an orange eye.
For the next couple of hours we would get on and off a tram which travelled a continuous loop through the park. We would wander around specific venues that Carol and Tom determined, and then get back on the next time it came through and travel to the next spot. I only learned a couple of the trees as birding was my priority, but
two that I remember were Huisache with a profusion of small fuzzy round yellow balls covering the tree looking like those little things that some women wear on the back of anklet socks. The other was the Ebony tree....The park is one of the few protected riparian habitats along the Rio Grande, always a contrast to the developed landscape elsewhere as is true of all our national, state and county green spaces.
Thoreau: "In wildness is the preservation of the world."
It was sunny, mild, breezy...One time, we were on an observation tower for 30 minutes looking into Mexico and not seeing much but a hawk flying overhead that had people scurrying to field guides and scopes and binocs, but the consensus was that no one was certain of the ID, weirdly gratifying as this happens so often to me. The guides several times mentioned the floods, particularly the recent one in 2010 when much of the park was under water, which is good for the natural order but not so good for tourism. Some flora and fauna change when this happens also. Part of why it flooded had to do with an upstream dam which released water, and the Ferruginous Pygmy Owls disappeared afterwards and havn't been seen at Bentsen since. Oxbows are called resacas down here.
I wondered aloud if anyone was in the park at night, as that would be quite an adventure, and was told that the Border Patrol certainly was, "on horseback and ATVs" most nights.
Again, it was a nice group, middle-aged or older, between 50 and 75 years old. I was surprised at how many couples there were. If one partner didn't like birdwatching, it would be a stretch to go on these outings, although an act of true love....
There were four to six rarities that have been seen in one or another of these venues lately; I didn't see any, but overheard a gentleman with a British accent brag how he got the "Golden-Cheeked Warbler at Frontera." It requries a willingness to spend more time than I had, or be very lucky. But the chance of seeing a Rose-throated Becard, Plain Jay or White-collared Seedeaters moves people to travel thousands of miles, spending thousands of dollars as in The Big Year.
Tom asked if anyone had seen/read this book and told us about Benton Basham who lives in Estero and "probably has the biggest North American life list of anyone...about 850 birds. He is an elderly gentleman now and also lives in Tennessee but if you go to Estero, back to the Tropical area, you will see an old trailer...he lives there. He says he has a huge indigo snake living under his trailer, but is always willing to talk to people." (Basham was mentioned in The Big Year.) It is worth googling "Benton Basham" and choosing the "peregrinenet.org" link to read a little about him.
Everything (including the birds) settle down during the heat of the day. It was time for me to continue up the Rio Grande Valley, heading west.
I got there at 7:55 and off we went. The group leaders (Carol and Tom) were another retired couple from Appleton, Wisconsin. They had sold everything, including their home, and had been "full-time RVers" for three years, traveling and volunteering at NWRs and organizing birding trips to Costa Rica very other year. I guessed they were in their early 60s. Carol talked and Tom carried the scope. There were a dozen people in our group. We started out, crossed a canal and someone called out "Green Kingfisher" which I saw, but only as it flew down the canal and disappeared into the brush, never to be seen again. I will count it but this was one of the few times the sighting wasn't optimal. Had I not been with those who knew, I would not have. After the walk ended, late morning when it was 85 degrees, I walked half a mile along the canal, hoping to flush or re-find the kingfisher, but didn't.
There was a handsome pair of Black Phoebes sitting on the bridge, looking quite similar to the Dark-eyed Juncos we have in Michigan and another life bird for me.
We walked a short distance to a feeding station, which I was beginning to realize was the place to "get" most of the birds. There were several Chachalacas, the gorgeous Green Jays, Kiskadees and a Long-billed Thrasher (LB) that skulked out briefly and then disappeared into the brush. This bird is very similar to the Brown Thrasher common in Michigan but has an orange eye.
For the next couple of hours we would get on and off a tram which travelled a continuous loop through the park. We would wander around specific venues that Carol and Tom determined, and then get back on the next time it came through and travel to the next spot. I only learned a couple of the trees as birding was my priority, but
two that I remember were Huisache with a profusion of small fuzzy round yellow balls covering the tree looking like those little things that some women wear on the back of anklet socks. The other was the Ebony tree....The park is one of the few protected riparian habitats along the Rio Grande, always a contrast to the developed landscape elsewhere as is true of all our national, state and county green spaces.
Thoreau: "In wildness is the preservation of the world."
It was sunny, mild, breezy...One time, we were on an observation tower for 30 minutes looking into Mexico and not seeing much but a hawk flying overhead that had people scurrying to field guides and scopes and binocs, but the consensus was that no one was certain of the ID, weirdly gratifying as this happens so often to me. The guides several times mentioned the floods, particularly the recent one in 2010 when much of the park was under water, which is good for the natural order but not so good for tourism. Some flora and fauna change when this happens also. Part of why it flooded had to do with an upstream dam which released water, and the Ferruginous Pygmy Owls disappeared afterwards and havn't been seen at Bentsen since. Oxbows are called resacas down here.
I wondered aloud if anyone was in the park at night, as that would be quite an adventure, and was told that the Border Patrol certainly was, "on horseback and ATVs" most nights.
Again, it was a nice group, middle-aged or older, between 50 and 75 years old. I was surprised at how many couples there were. If one partner didn't like birdwatching, it would be a stretch to go on these outings, although an act of true love....
There were four to six rarities that have been seen in one or another of these venues lately; I didn't see any, but overheard a gentleman with a British accent brag how he got the "Golden-Cheeked Warbler at Frontera." It requries a willingness to spend more time than I had, or be very lucky. But the chance of seeing a Rose-throated Becard, Plain Jay or White-collared Seedeaters moves people to travel thousands of miles, spending thousands of dollars as in The Big Year.
Tom asked if anyone had seen/read this book and told us about Benton Basham who lives in Estero and "probably has the biggest North American life list of anyone...about 850 birds. He is an elderly gentleman now and also lives in Tennessee but if you go to Estero, back to the Tropical area, you will see an old trailer...he lives there. He says he has a huge indigo snake living under his trailer, but is always willing to talk to people." (Basham was mentioned in The Big Year.) It is worth googling "Benton Basham" and choosing the "peregrinenet.org" link to read a little about him.
Everything (including the birds) settle down during the heat of the day. It was time for me to continue up the Rio Grande Valley, heading west.
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