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.