Seems like every time I go to Texas I see an interesting behavior–often on the part of the birds, too.

Beth and I explored Jesse Jones County Park yesterday, and I returned there this morning for a few hours before my plane left. In spite of the fog, there was a lot going on, and I took the time to enjoy some typically “eastern” birds I don’t often see in Arizona. Red-shouldered Hawk and Pileated Woodpecker were noisy and conspicuous, and passerine singers included Yellow-throated and White-eyed Vireos and Hooded and Prothonotary Warblers: nothing out of the ordinary, but old friends too seldom met these days.

After typically tantalizing brief views (and non-views) these last days, I made a particular point of watching Red-eyed Vireos. I had crippling views of one perched, unnaturally still, on a low branch; as I watched, it strained once, twice, three times, and cast a startlingly large, smooth pellet, the first time I’d seen this behavior in any vireo. It makes sense, though, given the size and texture of the animals these fierce little predators eat, and I should consider myself fortunate to have witnessed an act so intimate on the part of a bird so hard to watch closely.

We ended our trip this morning, reluctantly, with a last visit to High Island. Boy Scouts Woods remained disappointingly slow, though we did encounter Wood Thrush and Rose-breasted Grosbeak for the first time. A perched female Merlin of the dark, boreal race was a treat, and the third (!) individual we’d seen this week.

With so little to hold our attention at this site, and so many birders massed there, we decided to make a final quick run around the picnic tables at Smith Oaks to see what had shown up there. It was a good idea, too, as we quickly doubled, then tripled our warbler count for the day; most of the newly arrived birds were Yellow-rumped Warblers, but we also found Orange-crowned, Northern Parula, Common Yellowthroat, and a Black-throated Green Warbler, only the second for the entire trip. Red-eyed Vireos were singing around the parking lot, and another Rose-breasted Grosbeak was at the ‘alligator pond’.

We were scanning the western pond, finding little but a few Greater Yellowlegs and Tricolored Herons, when a distinctive whining squeal made us spin around: Great Kiskadee!  Beth and Darlene saw the bird fly out of the willows and briefly take another perch; by the time I had stepped around the tree blocking my view (habitat, habitat, everywhere you look there’s habitat!), the bird was in flight, but thanks to Beth’s great directions I had clear views of the bright rufous wings and tail, yellow underparts, and strikingly striped head. The bird landed for a few seconds across the lake, then continued north to parts unknown. This is a rapidly expanding but still rare species so far north on the coast, a great ending to a great Upper Texas Coast trip.

We decided to keep to the coast again today, and gradually made our way down the Bolivar Peninsula as far as the Flats, that most marvelous of Houston Audubon’s many marvelous sanctuaries.

But first a leisurely lunch stop at Rollover Pass, where the tide was higher than on either of my two other visits this week and the birds that much closer. A dozen Black Terns in varying degrees of formal attire were loafing on the sandbar, and thanks to them I had my biggest tern day ever: Royal, Caspian, Sandwich, Gull-billed, Common, Forster’s, and Least Terns were all present and all busy, the Royals and Sandwiches downright immodest in the amorous flush of spring. If you count the hundreds of Black Skimmers as terns, too, that gave us 9 species for the day.

We found a crowd at Bolivar Flats in the late afternoon, drawn by a report of a Pomarine Jaeger the day before. I was entranced by the plovers, as always, which included numerous Piping Plovers, a few Snowy Plovers, and at least one pair of Wilson’s Plovers; but Karen was doing her duty, and it was just a few minutes before she announced that she’d found the jaeger. And there it was, a hefty black bird headed out to sea, where it flew around for a good hour, at distances rarely less than a mile, occasionally harrassing a passing Laughing Gull paying no heed to the Royal Terns. I could see white only at the base of the primaries beneath, with no additional comma on the primary coverts, but even light-morph jaegers, even at close range, are difficult, and I was soon content to let this one go as a “sp.” It was a large bird, powerfully built, but impressions don’t mean much when they’re based on as little experience as I’ve had with any of the jaegers (especially since moving to Arizona!).

None of us felt that we needed a consolation prize, but scanning with our scopes soon picked up at least 3 Northern Gannets, including a glistening white adult, all of them actively diving among the abundant Brown Pelicans and terns. We decided that if the jaeger should go after a gannet, we’d call it a Pomarine and be happy! Never happened, so we avoided the temptation of a too-easy identification.

What would an Aimophila Adventures tour be without an Aimophila sparrow? We set off in a night so dark as to seem endless, seeking a county road near Jasper renowned for its Bachman’s Sparrows. It was a long drive, and it was still surprisingly cold when we got up there this morning, but the sparrows were singing when we arrived, and it took us only about 3 hours to finally get one of the secretive trillers in the scope. These are beautiful, richly colored birds, big-billed and short-winged, with a song that is typically Aimophila in being unlike the song of any other Aimophila! The final trill reminds me a bit of Baird’s Sparrow in tone, and certain songs very closely recall Spotted Towhee in their pattern. A life bird for 2 members of the group, and after all that peering between the pines, I think we thought we deserved the bird! Fortunately, they really do sit still for long periods, and we watched the most cooperative individual through the scope for a good 20 minutes, leaving him still singing when we left.

The other typical birds of the pine forest were conspicuous, too: Pine Warblers were everywhere, giving the usual lousy views of bellies at great height. Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmouses were singing loud, joined by Carolina Wrens and Blue Jays. Darlene spotted a Pileated Woodpecker, and finally we picked up the distinctive flat chucking that announced the arrival of three Red-cockaded Woodpeckers, piping and chattering as they chased each other around the trees. Brown-headed Nuthatch stood us up, though.

Wonders and portents, all these great birds, but I think even in the face of lifers and rarities, what impressed the group most was a common bird: a pair of Wood Ducks perched at a Pileated Woodpecker hole, against a complex background of light and shade that in a painting would scream of kitsch. But it was real, one of the “realest” mornings I’ve had birding in a long time!

I spent my sixth birthday on Galveston, my only enduring memory of the day the pain of the first major sunburn of my young life. Every time I return, though, I think of that May day xx years ago, wondering what birds I must have missed by digging in the sand and splashing my little sisters.

We went down the Bolivar Peninsula this morning and crossed on the ferry to Galveston this afternoon. I’d scouted the sites we visited on Friday, but today, of course, was Sunday, and conditions had changed: the tide of human visitors was at peak flow, and some of our locations were covered with human fishermen where only herons and shorebirds had been day before yesterday.

East Beach was especially crowded, as I should have expected. But we found that wandering out an old stone seawall got us close to the one sandbar still occupied by birds: there were Sandwich and Royal Terns aplenty, with Reddish Egrets hunting the shallow edges around them. Shorebirds gave great close-up views, though I failed in my early attempt to transform one of the Black-bellied Plovers into a golden-plover. It has been interesting these last days to see the variable extent to which the individual waders have assumed breeding plumage; Willets can be found in both heavily marked alternate feather and completely gray winter plumage.

Our major targets, though, were rails, and Yacht Basin and Sportsmen’s Roads came through, as they always do. Clapper Rails were conspicuous by both sound and sight in the muddy ditches, and I was reminded once again of how peculiar the rallid notion of privacy is: they sing in hiding, but bathe in public!