ALAMO, Texas — Birding guide Roy Rodriguez takes one look at the mini-binoculars I'm holding and chuckles.
"Those are only good for going to the opera," he says, handing me a pair of real birding "bins," as he calls them. When I raise them to my eyes, all the shapeless, colorless blobs that have been hovering in a nearby tree suddenly snap into focus.
 PAMELA LEBLANC/Cox Newspapers Red and Louise Gambill of Reynoldsville, Ohio, are avid birders who have spent the past 25 winters in the Rio Grande Valley. 'We just love the outdoors, and it gets us exercise,' Louise Gambill says. Among the birds they've spotted is the collared forest-falcon, a rare under-the-canopy bird from Mexico. For a larger, high resolution image, click HERE |
Between the kiskadees, with their lemon-yellow bodies and raccoonlike bands of black across their eyes, and the Altamira orioles, decked out in enough orange and black to serve as a centerpiece for a Halloween party, I can't draw my eyes away.
"It's Discovery Channel every morning," Rodriguez says.
He's right. We're in a little clearing outside the Casa Santa Ana, a small bed and breakfast in Alamo that caters to birders. A mixture of peanut butter, lard and corn meal is spread on tree branches, and orange and grapefruit halves are nailed to tree trunks to attract the birds.
A parade of feathery creatures is putting on a show for us: A trio of hefty chachalacas hop into the lower branches of a mesquite tree. A black-crested titmouse zooms past, and a flash of brilliant green means the green jay has dropped by, too. They all scatter when a sharp-shinned hawk swoops overhead.
I've come to the Rio Grande Valley for a crash course in birding. One in five Americans is a birdwatcher, according to a U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service study released in July. I've never quite understood the fuss, but suddenly, with ornithologic drama unfolding as the bird of prey disrupts the peace, I see the appeal.
South Texas is one of the best places in the country to watch birds. Overlapping habitats make it an appealing home for more than 150 species. It's the only place in America to see 35 of those birds, and dozens more migrant and wintering species show up every year. Now and then something really rare shows up, and a buzz ripples through the worldwide birding community.
"Lifers" bent on adding another species to their lifelong bird lists jump on airplanes and head to town.
"We always expect the unexpected here," Rodriguez says.
A native of McAllen, Rodriguez got interested in birding in 1997, when he attended a birding festival on a whim, paying $25 to follow a guide. "I got blown away that day," he says. "In less than four hours, we saw 80 species. I saw an Altamira oriole and a painted bunting in the same view, and I couldn't move."
Birding took over his life after that, and today he leads guided tours in Texas and Mexico for a living. He's even shown President Jimmy Carter the ropes, helping him add 35 birds to his life list.
In the past decade, federal, state and municipal governments have teamed with nonprofits to create the World Birding Center, a string of nine outposts that targets birdwatching tourists. Between those centers and several national wildlife refuges, visitors can bird much of the 120-mile stretch between Roma and South Padre Island.
The Rio Grande Valley Birding Festival takes place in November, and the McAllen International Birding Festival occurs during the April migration. And the newest facility opens this month on South Padre Island.
The best part about birding? It's nonconsumptive. No resources are used, no habitat destroyed. You just look.
After a lazy 45 minutes of watching the action in the clearing, Rodriguez, my friend Marcy Stellfox and I pile into my car. Rodriguez, armed with a well-worn copy of "The Sibley Guide to Birds," has promised to show us the birding highlights of the area.
We bounce down the two-lane highway to Estero Llano Grande State Park, one of the World Birding Center sites and our first stop. A small crowd has gathered on a wooden deck overlooking an artificially created resaca, or inlet, at the 200-acre park. Most have scopes or binoculars at hand.
We peer out over the water, and a regal-looking white bird with a wispy crown of feathers and bright yellow feet wades past: a snowy egret. Next to us are Red and Louise Gambill of Reynoldsville, Ohio. They've spent the past 25 winters in the Rio Grande Valley, and birding is a big part of their lifestyle.
"We just love the outdoors, and it gets us exercise," says Louise, 81. Red, 84, nods in agreement. It's not unusual for them to rise at 4 or 5 a.m. to prowl the area parks, looking for birds. That's how they once spotted a collared forest-falcon, a rare under-the-canopy bird from Mexico.
"It took a few mornings, but we did it," Louise Gambill says. A light mist falls from the sky, but the pair heads down a path, arm in arm.
Our next stop is the Frontera Audubon Center, a 10-minute drive away. We've heard that a crimson-collared grosbeak has been spotted there, along with a blue bunting. Both are unusual, and birders are burning up pavement to see them.
"There's nothing more exciting than a rare bird," Rodriguez chuckles as we pull into the parking lot.
We check in at the visitor's center, then follow the path outside, where the sound of a trickling stream attracts birds. We admire a lesser goldfinch, then spy Bill and Beth Taylor, of Dayton, Ohio, lurking around a bend.
I can tell they're serious — Beth is wearing a hat decorated with pins from every birding center you've never heard of, and Bill, 69, is quick to tell me how he traded golfing for birding 25 years ago when green fees got too expensive. They've birded in all 50 U.S. states and all 10 Canadian provinces.
"The Valley is head and shoulders above the rest," Beth Taylor says. "The weather is nicer, there's better birding, and the people here have to be the friendliest people we've ever met."
So far Bill has inked in 762 species on his life list; Beth is trailing with about 520. Right now, they're surveying a potato tree where that crimson-collared grosbeak reportedly has been feeding on berries this week. At the moment, there's no sign of the bird.
"We heard about her and said, 'Let's get it while the getting's good,'" Bill Taylor says. "Birding takes priority over just about everything. ... We'd rather bird than eat; we'd rather bird than sleep."
He pauses.
"Wait, hold everything," he says urgently, then creeps down the trail.
It's a false alarm. No grosbeak appears, so we press on. On the way out of Frontera Audubon Center, we pause to admire lush tropical plants and watch two pine siskins bathing in a stream.
By lunchtime, we've spotted 64 species. Stellfox and I are impressed, but Rodriguez is underwhelmed. "It's not uncommon to break 90 on a regular day," he says. During migrations, that number easily reaches 130 species; on really good days, it hits 160.
Our plan for the afternoon? I'd like to see an owl, and Rodriguez says he knows where we can find one.
A trail of dust rises behind our car as we go off-road again, eventually turning down a dirt lane between two sprawling onion fields. We slow at the third culvert, and Rodriguez scans the ground.
"Not here," he says. We get out anyway, and inspect the cement passage under the road. Burrowing owls nest and roost in all kinds of nooks and crannies, from prairie dog tunnels to pipes. We find some droppings and what looks like the desiccated remains of a mouse. Clearly an owl has been in the neighborhood.
We climb back in the car, tires scrunching as we roll slowly away.
Then — 50 yards past the culvert — a pair of huge yellow eyes. Rodriguez yelps, pointing between the long, parallel rows of onion plants. Our owl.
The squatty little owl gazes back at us, swiveling its head slightly. We snap away with our cameras, admiring its stout, feathery body, pointy beak and stick-like legs. It's not clear who is more intrigued — the three of us or the owl.
Another one to mark off the life list.
Pamela LeBlanc writes for the Austin American-Statesman. E-mail: pleblanc(at)statesman.com.
