Best meal of the trip: blackened mahi mahi at the Pharr/McAllen location of the local Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen chain, sort of a Gulf Coast inflection of our Legal Sea Foods.
Author: David Gorsline
RGVBF 2011: 5
We wrapped up the Rio Grande Valley Birding Festival with a bang, visiting the South Padre Island area. The resort area on this barrier island is, um, more built up than its counterparts in, say, North Carolina. Nevertheless, there are some protected green spots that serve as migrant traps and places for wildlife to overwinter. And SPI seems to be much less popular this time of the year than it is at spring break; we saw lots of deeply discounted accommodations on offer.
Kevin Karlson led this trip, and even he was knocked over by what was probably the best bird of the festival, a Long-eared Owl (Asio otus) that turned up in the greenery behind the convention center. The flats on the lagoon were also good for Royal and Sandwich Terns (Sterna maxima and S. sandvicensis).
A boat trip, leaving from Port Isabel in view of the lighthouse, provided good looks at Franklin’s Gull (Larus pipxcan).
Back at the festival HQ in Harlingen, I finally stopped to look at a large flock of black birds in the city park and found what everyone had been saying was easy to find. Mixed in with the Great-tailed Grackles (Quiscalus mexicanus) were 30 to 40 Bronzed Cowbirds (Molothrus aeneus).
I had a great four-plus-day visit through a good variety of habitats, with a trip list count of 125. Yet I left a good number of birds on the table for my next trip to south Texas. (I’m looking at you, Ladder-backed Woodpecker.)
RGVBF 2011: 4
Justin Rink led Friday’s field trip to the upper Rio Grande Valley, with stops at the town of Salineño and Falcon State Park, near the line between Starr and Zapata Counties.
The morning was brisk along the river. Starr County is an upland relative to the bottoms of Brownsville and Harlingen. I regretted leaving my sports gloves behind in Reston as I lugged the cold tubes of the tripod about. But we had nice looks at several birds, including A-quality views of Lincoln’s Sparrow (Melospiza lincolnii) and Pyrrhuloxia (Cardinalis sinuatus). We looked at two of the three valley speciality orioles, Altamira and Audubon’s; seen across the water, these birds are the first for my Mexico list.
At the county park, some of my busmates spotted Greater Roadrunner, but I was content with multiple looks at Cactus Wren (Campylorhynchus brunneicapillus) (a big eight-inch wren warrants a big scientific name) and Lark Sparrow (Chondestes grammacus).
Back at home base in the afternoon, I followed tips from the festival guide and my seatmate to pick up Black-bellied Whistling Duck (Dendrocygna autumnalis) at the Harlingen Country Club (20+ of them) and Green Parakeet (Aratinga holochlora) on the wires above the intersection of Dove Avenue and 10th Street in McAllen (holy Michael J. Fox, more birds than I could sort through).
Boys’ club
Via The Morning News, Garry Wills provides some notes on how Shakespeare (and his contemporaries) structured plays to fit the company of actors at his disposal.
The trickiest job was to write for that rare commodity, the boy actors who played women. These were hard to come by and train in the brief time before their voices broke. That is why women’s parts make up only thirteen percent of the lines in the plays. The playwright had to know what stage of development each apprentice had reached. There were usually just two or three boys in the public plays (though more were available from choristers when a play was given at court or in a great family mansion). The boys’ memories were such that Shakespeare wrote shorter parts for them than for adult actors—an average of three hundred or so lines to the adults’ 650 or so lines per play. But when he had a spectacular boy like John Rice, he was able to write as big a role for him as that of Cleopatra (693 lines).
BYOB
The streetscape in south Texas is dotted with coin-operated water vending machines, like this example from Watermill Express in a convenience store parking lot on U.S. 281 in Pharr. What a great idea! A simple way to cut down on the amount plastic that goes into water bottles!
Now, it’s probably a litle naive for me to be so enthusiastic about a business model that perhaps depends on the unreliable quality and quantity of municipal water supplies in this part of the world. (I found the tap water potable, but some profess to dislike it, seeing as how the lower valley is downstream of several large states.) And providing drinking water for farm laborers working in the hot sun isn’t the same sort of problem as hydrating your kid’s soccer team.
Nevertheless, I wish companies like this well, and I hope that they can expand northward.
I dropped a quarter in the slot, placed my festival-issue water bottle under the spout, and pressed the button. The bottle holds much less than a gallon, so some of my purchase was wasted. The water isn’t chilled, but it’s wet and tasty.
I also saw drive-up ice dispensers around town. And the drive-through espresso huts that you see in the Atlantic Ocean tourist communities are replaced here by Hawaiian ice kiosks.
RGVBF 2011: 3
Thursday’s morning field trip left the afternoon free, so I followed the advice of the festival brochure/checklist and sauntered over to Hugh Ramsey Nature Park in Harlingen, a “99% guaranteed” spot for Buff-bellied Hummingbird (Amazilia yucatanensis). I got good looks at this target bird, both immatures and adults. The park, wedged between Harrison Avenue and the Arroyo Colorado, features numerous plantings of native flora (with interpretive markers) and feeder setups, both of which do a good job of attracting native fauna.
Many stretches of the lower arroyo trail are overgrown, and the numerous social trails and occasional trash mark this sector as a party stop. Blue-gray Gnatcatchers (Polioptila caerulea) wheeze their songs, providing some competition for the steady drone of traffic on Loop 499.
Wildflowers keep the lepidopterans happy, like these two Queen butterflies (Danaus gilippus). Odonates are also active even this late in the year.
On the upper slopes of the park, north of the parking area, sunnier conditions prevail, supporting this impressive patch of prickly pear cactus. This is Cactus Apple (Opuntia engelmannii); some of the plants are in fruit. Rodents skulk beneath the cactus’ protective lobes.
The hummingbird feeders are positioned in conjunction with plantings of Turk’s Cap (Malvaviscus arboreus), the local hibiscus that provides nectar for the hummers. A deck with benches is situated with the blooms at eye-level.
At a platform feeder, a thuggish group of House Sparrows stationed lookouts as they chowed down; they were soon evicted by a Long-billed Thrasher (Toxostoma longirostre).
As the sun settled toward the horizon, a herd of eight or more Plain Chachalacas (Ortalis vetula) assembled, ready to make their own lumbering run at the feeder. I have never seen a more bovine member of class Aves.
The park is an absolute gem. I regret that I didn’t have more time to return and explore it more.
The How and the Why
Sarah Treem’s The How and the Why explores some interesting topics in the way that science is practiced today, most notably, the apparent lack of interest in aspects of human biology that are specific to females: why does menopause occur? what function does menstruation serve towards the perpetuation of the species? But the piece suffers from a severe case of theatrical compression that compromises its believability.
Zelda Kahn (played by Liz Pierotti), a senior professor of evolutionary biology, meets for the first time a young unpublished researcher (graduate student? post-doc? the text isn’t clear) named Rachel Hardeman (with whom she shares a past that will come as little surprise). After some awkward moments that owe something to Oleanna, Rachel is invited to explain the gist of her research, which she does in a spirited monologue (played well by the passionate Nora Achrati). Although Rachel doesn’t yet have the data to back up her hypothesis, after one or two gently probing questions Zelda becomes a champion of her work and arranges for Rachel to present at an imminent conference—an slot has opened up unexpectedly. Look to plays such as David Auburn’s Proof for a more nuanced look at how minds are won in math and science; aha! moments like this don’t happen.
There’s also some confusion in language. The characters toss around the word “abstract” to refer to Rachel’s work, as if it comprised all the methods, evidence, reasoning, and citations. Anyone who’s ever cracked a journal understands that an abstract is no more than a précis of one paper: 150 words that tell you why you want to read the whole article.
The second act takes place after the conference, where the two scientists meet in a seedy bar (well designed by Richard Montgomery: nothing says underground rock club better than a row of 12×12 columns plastered with old show posters). Rachel’s youthful reaction to the Q&A after her presentation is plausible—she feels personally attacked, and is considering abandoning her research—whereas Zelda’s exhortation to buck up and continue working is undermined by Pierotti’s tentativeness in her role. Zelda needs to show more starch. On the other hand, her wisdom is an effective foil to Rachel’s fresh inventiveness.
- The How and the Why, by Sarah Treem, directed by Lee Mikeska Gardner, 1st Stage Theatre, Tysons Corner, Virginia
RGVBF 2011: 2
We rolled down Texas 511 south of Brownsville, past the port, through the checkerboard of residential properties, scrapyards, auto repair shops, and trucking establishments; crossed the red palings that comprise a section of the incomplete barrier between the two countries; and entered the Sabal Palm Sanctuary. The 500-acre property includes one the last vestiges of original Rio Grande Palmetto (Sabal mexicanus), also known variously as Sabal Palm or Mexican Cabbage Palm. Our guide David Benn pointed out a key ID characteristic: the edges of the petiole on most palms you see in Texas (most of them introduced) is toothed, but in the Sabal Palm it’s smooth. As the tree grows taller, eventually the dead leaves along the trunk (the “boots”) drop off.
Oh, and the birding was good, too. The day started wet and chilly, so we hunkered down in a semi-blind at the edge of an artificially-maintained resaca, an oxbow lake that was once a loop of the rio. Lots of ducks to look at, and I got my first good view (of many to come) of Great Kiskadee (Pitangus sulphuratus).
In the uplands, Black-crested Titmice (Baeolophus atricristatus) made our acquaintance, and we found more of that gluey Texas mud; back at the visitor center where a feeder is set up, an Olive Sparrow (Arremonops rufivirgatus) broke out of its skulk to become identifiably visible.
Bored
Nicholas D. Higgs et al. report evidence from a 3 million-year-old fossilized whale skeleton of tracks similar to modern Osedax, a bone-devouring annelid worm that is one of those icky critters I find fascinating.
RGVBF 2011: 1
My first field trip at last week’s Rio Grande Valley Birding Festival was led by Bill Clark, and our targets were raptors of the valley. Bill did not disappoint, and I checked off fourteen raptor and scavenger species that day, including four lifers and several good +1 sightings.
We began at the Cannon Road tract in Hidalgo County, where we found sugarcane fields prepared for harvesting. A firebreak is raked into the road surrounding the field, and then the chaff is burned off the field before the cane is cut. Burning the field flushes small rodents and lizards, and the local raptors tuck in like they’re at Golden Corral when a new tray of meatballs has just arrived.
Looking at this image, you can also get a feel for the consistency of south Texas soils. The hardpan is locally known as caliche; when it gets the least bit of moisture (a line of rain had blown through on Tuesday evening) it turns into some of the stickiest gumbo I’ve ever encountered. (On my last morning in town, I blundered into a wettish patch; I left a track of dried mud through the airport, into the aircraft, and finally left most of it at the curb at BWI.)
We got back on the road, and stopped at a recently burned cane field along U.S. 281 to watch the bird life on display. We moved on to Anzalduas Park, located on the Rio Grande River. There is a small companion park in Tamaulipas state across the border. Due to the river’s meanders, this is one of the places where you can look due north into Mexico.
At Anzalduas and every other venue along the river, the apparatus of the Border Patrol was in blatant evidence. We got to know the green-striped white SUVs quite well.
Fortunately, the birding was quite good. Although we missed our target Gray Hawks, I saw my first Green Jays (Cyanocroax yncas)—first of quite a few for the trip.
We then bolted southwest down the highway into Cameron County for a couple of spots that Bill knew to be reliable for Aplomado Falcon (Falco femoralis), the lead-colored falcon. Extirpated in the northern part of its breeding range, the bird is being reintroduced into south Texas via captive breeding.
Up and down Texas 100, we passed Bobz World, the Lone Star’s answer to South of the Border. Like the web site says, you gotta see it to believe it.
Methuselah lived more than 900 years
Great photographs by Domingo Milella of a grove of Great Basin Bristlecone Pine (Pinus longaeva) in California’s White Mountains.
Gone
Demented is different to drunk. I think people get demented the same way they get annoying. The thing you don’t like about them just gets worse, until one day you find that’s all there is left of them — the fuss and the show of it — the actual person has snuck out the back and gone home.
—Anne Enright, The Forgotten Waltz, “Save the Last Dance for Me,” p. 194
Birding haiku
From one of the Vardaman chapters, a wonderful evocation of kettling vultures, rising on a thermal:
Now there are seven of them, in little tall black circles.
“Look, Darl,” I say; “see?”
He looks up. We watch them in little tall black circles of not-moving.
—William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying
Sooner or later, we all go through it
The Dalecarlia Tunnel carries the Capital Crescent Trail under MacArthur Boulevard in southwest Montgomery County, close to the District line. Built in 1910, the 341-foot long tunnel originally carried a spur of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad.
Stand and deliver
Michael Grabell, reporting for ProPublica, recaps the shameful railroading process that has placed hundreds of X-ray machines of doubtful safety in U.S. airports, in a misguided attempt to improve security. The depleted Food and Drug Administration chose not to regulate these nasty boxes.
The government used to have 500 people examining the safety of electronic products emitting radiation. It now has about 20 people. In fact, the FDA has not set a mandatory safety standard for an electronic product since 1985.
The Transportation Security Administration has no peer-reviewed research to back up its claims that the X-ray-based body scanners are safe, Grabell reports. On the contrary,
Research suggests that anywhere from six to 100 U.S. airline passengers each year could get cancer from the machines. Still, the TSA has repeatedly defined the scanners as “safe,” glossing over the accepted scientific view that even low doses of ionizing radiation — the kind beamed directly at the body by the X-ray scanners — increase the risk of cancer.
Mind you, the TSA and its contractors have rolled out two different body-scanning technologies, one using potentially harmful ionizing radiation, the other employing (perhaps relatively harmless) millimeter-length electromagnetic waves. But how is the flustered traveler to understand which machine the bored functionary is directing him to, and the concomitant health risks?