Campfires, Fresh Air, and Leisure With Leann (while watching birds of course)

Leann, Opie and Barbara

A scheduled September visit from So-Cal daughter Leann was the perfect excuse to plan the camping trip to Kohler-Andrae State Park just a bit south of Sheboygan, WI.  The 988 acre parcel of donated land, located on the Western shores of the mighty Lake Michigan is a very popular destination for many.  I had booked the four-day trip more that six-months prior just to secure the particular site we had erected our tents upon.  Several years ago we had the fortune of coaxing dozens of birds into the site with a bag of seeds and I was hopeful we could have a similar experience with Leann in attendance.

Black-capped chickadee

The weather was appropriately warm during the days and cold enough to make the campfires more enjoyable.  There was hardly an annoying bug as we relaxed in our anti-gravity lawn chairs, hiked the trails through the woods and on the boardwalk over the dunes, and ate many tasty meals on the picnic table by lantern-light. The straight and tall Red Pines that lined the sandy ground we temporarily lived among; whispered in communion with the soft breezes overhead.  Thankfully, our section of the campground was the more peaceful and less "family-centered."  We just had the occasional walked-dog saunter by, to stir up a barking fit from Opie, our 11 year-old miniature poodle.

Downy woodpecker

As I had hoped; the pines were alive with a variety of bird life.  The fact that I had sprinkled a quality Scott's birdseed at the base of many of them; helped lure in the avian feeding frenzy.  Red and White-breasted nuthatches flew back and forth from seed pile to tree bark, alternating seed-hiding and seed snatching.  Northern cardinals and Black-capped chickadees flitted about; also eating their fill of the tasty nuggets.  Each one of these flying creatures brought their own kind of amusement to Barbara, Leann and me.  Some with their communicative squeaks and others with the way their unruly feathers were arranged.  I took dozens of pictures for no real reason; other than the fact that I like to do it.  There's always the chance for that one extra-special image that makes it into a frame to help decorate the house.

Kohler-Andrae State Park is also home to the Black River Marsh boardwalk (of which I have written before in this blog). One of the more successful experiments conducted there, has been the near eradication of the invasive Purple Loosestrife plant via the introduction of a European beetle that feeds exclusively on it. Cattails have now begun to grow with wild abandon along with other natives; to assist with the bio-cleaning of the groundwater.  The only issue I have is the height of them at the end of the boardwalk screening the open water from view.  I have seen some interesting waterfowl in the past and if I stand on my tiptoes and peek between the wind-blown greenery; can still kinda' see a Wood duck or two. 

  

The open grass areas next to the roadway near the big water, provided a multitude of other bird life to be seen.  Clay-colored sparrows, Eastern Bluebirds, Nashville and Palm warblers flitted about catching insects while someone was busily setting up the reservable Park shelter for a wedding event.  Grasshoppers and Monarch butterflies hopped and flew from place to place.  A Black and white warbler twirled its way around a dead-fall in search of something suitable to eat.  I kicked up an Osprey that was sitting, looking over the lake.  It flew away with me clicking the shutter trying to salvage a shot.

To the victor...

ToAll in all, the trip was amazingly relaxing and restorative.  Leann beat Barbara and I at Ladder Golf so that's something.  Our firewood lasted until we packed up and drove like a bat, to get back to Milwaukee for the first Green Bay Packer game of the season.  So try Kohler-Andrae State Park if you can; for great camping and great birding too.

Bird List for this trip:

1. Canada goose
2. Wood duck
3. Double-crested cormorant
4. Turkey vulture
5. Osprey
6. Sora rail
7. Sandhill crane
8. Rock pigeon
9. Mourning dove
10. Ruby-throated hummingbird
11. Downy woodpecker
12. Hairy woodpecker
13. Eastern wood-peewee
14. Great-crested flycatcher
15. Warbling vireo
16. Blue jay
17. American crow
18. Black-capped chickadee
19. Red-breasted nuthatch
20. White-breasted nuthatch
21. Eastern bluebird
22. American Robin
23. Gray catbird
24. Pine warbler
25. Palm warbler
26. Black and white warbler
27. Clay-colored sparrow
28. White-throated sparrow
29. Northern Cardinal

Black-and-white-warbler

The last dandelion of summer

Eastern wood-peewee

Who are YOU lookin' at!?

Eastern Bluebird

Clay-colored sparrow

Fleeing Osprey

White-breasted nuthatch

Kiddo and the tall cattails

Weekend at Weborg

The week after Memorial Day was beautiful.  The weather was mild and sunny, and the rain held off until we needed to leave.  Thankfully, eleven months prior I had decided to set my alarm for a specific time to alert me to the fact that I needed to log into the Reserve America camping reservation site to grab a (highly prized) campsite at Weborg loop; Peninsula State Park, Fish Creek, WI.  These twelve specific State-run campsites are among the most highly coveted in all of Door County.  The reason is that they are more intimately situated far away from the vast majority of the other sites, all electric with their own toilet and shower facility, tout recently upgraded electrical infrastructure, have incredible views of nearby Fish Creek, WI across a beautiful bay, and are (wait for it…) privy to some of the park’s most desirable bird watching ecosystem.

Our site (106) was chosen because it exposed a lovely water-view and was on the “end” nearest the overflow parking lot.  It was a wide open spot with the most available clear, grass and dandelion landscape.  About the only drawback to the site only effects “tent” campers like us.  Unfortunately rules are rules and “camping” (via RV or tent) must only occur on the designated areas.  Well, the State-designated area for any tent is at the end of the gravel drive in a non-descript “circular area” of more gravel; that’s it.  What that means is that in order to have any smooth and soft area under your feet is to layer many tarps down under the tent before you set it up.  The second pain is that you’ll need heavy duty tent stakes (like landscaping nails) in order to anchor the tent corner loops through the hard-packed gravel substrate.  For your information; tent kits don’t generally contain that industrial-grade style of anchoring hardware…good luck.  Rule-followers that Barbara and I are; we complied even though our camp-neighbors didn’t seem to get the same memo.

Firewood is another bugaboo (pun intended) as you are no longer “allowed” by the State to transport any firewood INTO a State Park unless you can certify that it was purchased (according to their website) ten miles or less from that particular Park.  I state it that way, as a sign within the Park listed the (old) distance of 25 miles…go figure.  The rationale is that pesky Emerald Ash Borer and what it can do to a stand of trees if it is accidentally “imported” from one besieged woods to another unsuspecting glade of fresh and vulnerable trees….Mmmwhahahaha…  Anyway, obtaining firewood was now quite “locally” monopolized and everyone must pay the price; regardless.

I was standing next to the end of the obligatory State Park campsite-picnic table cooking bacon the first  morning in camp when I had an idea.  There was this old Coleman, white gas, single burner contraption that my friend Dave Dombrowski gave me; and I thought I’d see if it worked.  Dave, a habitual rummage-saler and scrounger; picked it up “cheap” somewhere and never used it.  He gave it and some other cool camping stuff to Barbara and me during a visit to their home.  Well, (I reasoned) it was kinda-sorta like the Coleman lantern I had along on this trip; pump it up to add pressure to the liquid gas so that it atomized at the point of flame contact.  How hard could it be to resurrect the old contraption?   I “pumped it up” and turned the gas valve to let the pressurized gas flow to the burner.  I held a stick lighter there and a small flame began to sputter.  I watched and thought, “oh, this may actually work as a small stove burner…,” when that sputtering flame began to build, and build, and flow underneath the burner to the gas tank, and build…I shut off the valve…it got bigger and bigger and bigger.  I panicked and grabbed the entire fire-engulfed thing and flung it to the grass behind me.  Just then I heard a sweet but concerned female voice call out, “Are you OK?”  Then, for whatever God-blessed reason, the antique rummage-sale-deal / turned-conflagration, blessedly self-extinguished as it tumbled along the lawn.  Whew!  I answered, “I am now,” in a sheepish but grateful voice as I looked over to the tent window where Barbara stood watching the exciting scene unfold.

One important factor that (in hindsight) I wish I’d been briefed upon, was the fact that clouds of mosquitos had recently hatched and were now hungrily awaiting fresh camper-grade hemoglobin.   This interesting factoid of nature is one that is not difficult to understand; birds eat lots of bugs = lots of bugs bring lots of birds.  The hard part of that simple equation is that undesirable bugs also enjoy bothering humans and pets while waiting being eagerly eaten by our desirable avian friends.  Enter Deep Woods Off wipes…LOTS of them!  Long pants and sweatshirts also help; but the temps predicated (at least my hot persona) the wearing of shorts and short sleeve shirts.  No problem, as the trade-off was the great outdoors and plentiful quantities and varieties of birds…just don’t accidentally lick your fingers…yuuuck!

I have written before in this blog about Peninsula StatePark, so I won’t belabor and regale you with rehashed specificities regarding the layout or amenities, as you can read about that yourself.  What I will say is that we both thoroughly enjoyed our time in camp for various reasons.  One such enjoyable time came on one early morning, when Barbara and I accidentally wandered into a “Nature Walk” that was about to start near the Weborg Marsh trail.  A small group of four women (three of which appeared to have on “official-looking” uniforms) stood talking near the roadway as we approached.  Two of the officials finished up their brief nature-walk primer to the third (youngest of the three) and the four of us (now) wandered east into the woods on a small grass and weed path led by that one remaining official State Park representative.  Her name is Katie and she explained to Barbara, me and the third nature-walk attendee that she was “new” and would do her best to impart some basic forest and avian knowledge.   She did fine.  Was she as knowledgeable as I am with birds?  No, but I am 52 years old and have been birding since 2003.  The few feathered facts she did know were more than enough for a casual camper to be fascinated with.  I did learn some plant and species information such as, what “Bloodroot” looks like and that a pretty, purple, smallish flower was called a “Dwarf-like Iris.”  I also remember something about a “Canada May-something-or-other” and that there are several types of Solomon’s seal varieties depending on the bloom; but she’d have to get her book to know which one.  I think I also know what Poison Ivy looks like compared to another plant which looks like Poison Ivy.  At least I hope I can tell the difference.  The tour lasted about 45 minutes and ended with all four of us chatting in the roadway next to our campsite.  Overall; Katie was youthfully delightful and energetically adequate as a tour guide in her wide-eyed “newness.”

Water in the bay on one of many sunny mornings sparkled like a million diamonds with the slight breeze encouraging it.  Bird watching (particularly warbler-watching) was amazing by late-May standards in Wisconsin.  I was fortunate to see many FOYs during the few days we camped.  The two of us (and sometimes Opie) saw birds while hiking and biking.  At one point; we even took a side trip into “town” (about six blocks) to a small hardly-used Town Park, to walk (with Opie) along the serpentine trail that extended out the back of the grounds.  On another day-trip we rode our bikes up a paved road in the State Park to the very peak of altitude to look from Sven’s Bluff, out onto Green Bay and the islands that can be seen from there.  I heard an unfamiliar bird sound.  Tracking it down eventually yielded a lovely Mourning warbler that was in the woods opposite the overlook.  Black-throated green warblers could also be heard high in the quickly leaf-advancing tree-tops.  The forest floor here was (in large patches) almost completely covered with Lily of the Valley and the beautifully cloying scent of them (my favorite scented flower) filled the air as we rode.  Trillium dotted the landscape and in certain areas had already turned to the signature pink shade as they had aged.  Garlic mustard seemed to be handled in most areas of the Park; however they still had large swaths to eradicate.  Poison had been sprayed on some sections and marked accordingly alongside the paved road as bicyclists of varying prowess and intelligence (the groups without any helmets) rode both their personal and rented machines.

Wood frogs and toads began to strike up their cacophonous marshland band just as the sun began to set along the Sunset Trail.  Spring peepers joined in and crickets happily added their voice to nature’s evening chorus.  The air was cool enough for us to run the electric “milkhouse heater” that Thomas Devereaux (my father) had gifted to us the fall before.  We were glad to have had it packed along for this spring trip.  Each night after a time in front of the campfire sipping adult beverages; we climbed aboard the S.S. Air-Mattress and attempted to overcome the permanent (gravel-provided) downhill list.  This meant dragging yourself incrementally uphill throughout your night to keep from falling off and or/being uncovered by the sheets.  Opie didn’t help either as he is always (middle-up) in-between us, as his place of preferential sleeping/security position.  Either way; through exhaustion or necessity, one finally does eventually drift off to sleep regardless of the unending natural noise, or pitch of the mattress.   Ahhh...all the creature comforts of home…and we paid good money to live like this for a time.

Here's our birding species list for the four days:

1. Least flycatcher
2. Eastern kingbird
3. American redstart
4. Black-capped chickadee
5. Black and white warbler
6. Red-winged blackbird
7. Baltimore oriole
8. Common yellowthroat
9. Yellow warbler
10. American white pelican
11. American robin
12. Blue jay
13. Red-breasted nuthatch
14. American crow
15. Common grackle
16. Northern cardinal
17. Eastern phoebe
18. Herring gull
19. Northern flicker
20. Mourning dove
21. Common merganser
22. American goldfinch
23. Red-eyed vireo
24. Cedar waxwing
25. Song sparrow
26. Gray catbird
27. Turkey vulture
28. Northern rough-winged swallow
29. Great egret
30. Chestnut-sided warbler
31. Blackburnian warbler
32. Ovenbird
33. Indigo bunting
34. Black-throated Green warbler
35. Common loon
36. Great-crested flycatcher
37. Double-crested cormorant
38. Common nighthawk
39. Chimney swift
40. Chipping sparrow
41. Canada goose
42. Eastern wood pewee
43. Killdeer
44. Least flycatcher
45. Scarlet tanager
46. Wild turkey
47. Ruffed grouse
48. Barn swallow
49. Bald eagle
50. Hairy woodpecker
51. Ring-billed gull
52. Alder flycatcher
53. Red-bellied woodpecker
54. Common tern
55. White-breasted nuthatch
56. Pileated woodpecker
57. Solitary sandpiper
58. Mourning warbler

Blue Moon Weekend

Sky and Telescope asks, "When is the Moon 'blue,' in a calendrical sense? According to the Maine almanac, a Blue Moon occurs when a season has four full Moons, rather than the usual three. This type of Blue Moon is found only in February, May, August, and November, one month before the next equinox or solstice. According to modern folklore, a Blue Moon is the second full Moon in a calendar month. This type of Blue Moon can occur in any month but February, which is always shorter than the time between successive full Moons.  

I ask; "When is a Blue Moon drinkable?" Regardless of the real reason for calling a moon "blue," modern marketing rules:  Just make sure to drink a Blue Moon beer, under a Blue Moon.  We did.

It was Labor Day weekend 2012 and time to head "up the 43" to the north, for a late-summer camping trip.   The destination was Kohler/Andrae State Park.  I had fortuitously somehow found an electric site (only about a month prior) on Reserve America that had been released by whomever had earlier planned to use it.  Barbara and I loaded up the WPT with all our various sundry camping items,  the Canoe-dle and our bicycles for a three-day (roughing-it) relaxation period.   Our site was high on a rolling pine needle-covered hill of pure Wisconsin sand.  Tall, straight, mature White pines were all lined up in rows throughout our site; making it handy to tie ropes with fiberglass tarps in various places.  There was a small threat of inclement weather that never happened, but the tarps overhead did provide some welcome shade for our Cabela's brand, Zero-gravity chairs.

When I camp, I also bring along some bird seed.  I have seen some of the greatest birds right in the campsite - so I always want to put out a small offering, just in case.  This time it was a blend of seed that I found on clearance at Puhl's hardware in Wauwatosa for $ 2.99.  It wasn't my first choice, but I've been under a bit of a tight budget for obvious reasons.  Cheaper seed blends like this one contain far more milo (grain sorghum) fillers, cracked corn and far less sunflower seed than more expensive brands but what the heck; it was all I had.  I sprinkled a small pile at the base of several of the pines.  I thought that the millet and milo might attract sparrows and juncos (which it did) but never did I expect the absolute flurry of "other" activity that the small amount of black-oil sunflower seeds delivered.

Barbara and I sat drinking our vintage (E bay) Coleman stove-perked coffee and were treated to the most Red-breasted nuthatches I had ever seen in one place, at one time!  In one would fly, and land on a tree trunk near the ground.  It would chatter some kind of greeting, or warning, or whatever and then drop to the pile of seed below it.  The small reddish brown, black and white bird would stir its longish beak in the pile and come up with a sunflower seed and take off to a nearby tree.  The tiny birds would not even eat the seeds they took; instead, they found some crevice or fold in the pine bark and (with amazing speed and accuracy) pounded in the seed - leaving it behind as they flew in for another.  This cycle was repeated over and over again as the two of us sat watching, and listening to the chittering.  Occasionally a Black-capped chickadee would get too near this shuttling activity and be scolded soundly for its proximity, but these little dynamos were equal opportunity complainers - they would dive-bomb the larger White-breasted nuthatches too with equanimity.

With their strong toes and claws and unique ability to "run" over tree bark in any direction; they would even first deftly pound a small divot into the bark, before depositing their seed.  Red-breasted nuthatches form monogamous pairs. They usually excavate their own nest-cavities in a rotten snag, often aspen, and require fairly soft wood to excavate. They will occasionally use a natural cavity, old woodpecker hole, or artificial nest box. Both members of the nuthatch pair create the nest hole, and the female actually builds the nest inside. Their nest is a soft cup of grass, needles, bark fibers, moss, feathers, and hair. Both sexes coat the inside and outside of the nest hole entrance with pine pitch that may help keep predators and competitors away. They sometimes use a piece of bark as a tool to transport the pitch to the nest, and then smear it on the entrance hole. They avoid the pitch by flying straight into the hole. The female incubates 5 to 8 eggs for 12 to 13 days. Both parents feed the young for 18 to 21 days on the nest, and for about two more weeks after they have fledged.

The entertaining feathered activity around the campsite continued off and on throughout the entire glorious day.  A crazy looking Northern cardinal with most of its head feathers missing would show up and take a few seeds, along with a (quite normal-looking) female.  Barbara and I speculated aloud as to that peculiar relationship.  Perhaps it was some sort of Phantom of the Avian Opera attraction?  A thirteen-lined ground squirrel ran in fast and low to the ground filling up its cheek pouch several times; taking the moist oral stash back to its burrow about 15 yards away.  Chipping sparrows and the occasional junco would join the others, but weren't interested in the sunflower seed like the nuthatches were.  The sun continued to shine through the pines and kept the air at a perfect temperature as we sat and relaxed; watching the free nature show.  An Eastern towhee crept out of the leaf litter it had been foraging through to investigate the seed piles, but didn't stay long before retreating once more to the security of the underbrush.

Later that evening as our (Emerald ash borer-free) fire crackled and cast its warmth in the direction of our chairs; we both unscrewed icy-cold bottles of Blue Moon as we watched the uniquely glowing orb rising above Lake Michigan, peeking through the dark pines.  Lifting them to our lips, we thanked God for the chance to be there in the first place, and for the glory of His creation that surrounded us.  

Yes, life is good....VERY good indeed.

Hiking the Appalachian Trail...The MOVIE

SMOKY MOUNTAIN MEMORIES

YOU asked for it...now HERE it is!

The MOVIE!

Enjoying a Rising Son Along the Appalachian Trail - P1

"A son is a mirror to the face of his father; be always mindful of influence and behavior which may  forever be reflected." 

As you know if you've read any number of these blog entries; you get a mixed bag of content.  At times the subject is strictly about birds and bird-like information, and others it's hard to separate my musings from the story-line.  This latest entry is the wistful celebration of a fortunate Dad (who just happens to like birding).  I hope you find it entertaining as well as informative.

I've always tried hard to find ways to say, 'yes' to opportunity.  Surely not everything turns out the way it started in theory, but that's not a good excuse to not try something.  So it was with the plan.  Plan "A" was crafted carefully over the months after the initial "let's do it" was agreed upon.  My son Nelson and I decided to hike and camp the Great Smoky Mountains together in July of 2012.  We began with the idea some six-months prior, and I slowly filled in the missing pieces to make it happen.  He arranged his busy schedule to carve out a week of precious time and I did the same thing.  The trip began on the sixth of July in the early hours of that Friday morning.  We were to drive all the way to Pigeon Forge, TN and spend the night.  We'd head out of the highest point in Tennessee, Clingman's Dome the following morning as early as possible.  The trip was to take about four and a half days and cover over 45 miles.

After loading up the WPT with our backpacking gear, (mine was mostly borrowed) and some extra overnight clothing; we started the six hundred and sixty six mile drive.  The weather had been extra hot in the weeks prior; in the record-breaking ranges, and the day promised as much.  The compulsory stop for gasoline and a McDonald's steak, egg, and cheese bagel sandwich was also accounted for and executed.  I had previously "Googled" for directions to our overnight destination and had also printed them out.  Technology advances (such as Nelson's I-Phone) had practically made that process archaic if not quaint.  All one needs to do now is tap on the touch-screen of their handheld communication device of choice, and instantly (via GPS) your exact whereabouts are digitally displayed along your intended route.  Nelson, along with being a (almost 23 yr-old) recent undergraduate bearer of two music degrees; is also an accomplished passenger-navigator.  As a result, we had no problems with our directions to the southeastern edge of Tennessee.  Traveling around the traffic-challenged city of Chicago is however another matter for another blog.

Dumping the contents of my borrowed (exterior frame) Gregory backpack on the hotel bed; I sorted through the miscellaneous flotsam to determine just how to shave off a few of the over 45 pounds I had loaded into and onto the pack.  Now I'm not exactly in the greatest of physical condition, but I was fairly sure I could "handle" the weight, as it was (of course) strapped to my back.   However the more times I hefted it behind me, the less certain I was becoming of the poundage VS the distance(s) to be carried.  I also worried slightly about an unforeseen dislocation or nagging back strain.  Ultimately about a dozen instant meals were left behind as well as some extra "meal bars."  That shaved about four pounds off my total, but planning for a five-day hike meant extra gear was anticipated.  Confident we had what was necessary for the adventure, we walked down the steep driveway and across the six-lane, jam-packed in both directions, street to the Tony Roma's of Pigeon Forge for one last civilized dining experience (complete with beer, of course).

My oldest son Nelson is cool.  I know I am dating myself when I use that phrase, but that is just what he is.  He might disagree with me because he's pretty hard on himself at times in a perfectionist manner, but trust me; I know "cool" and he is it.  This is a kid who has been mostly on his own for the better part of five years since high school while getting his education.  He's experienced quite a slice of humanity in his short life.  He likes almost everybody and they like him after meeting him.  I am proud of his accomplishments in his chosen field of music (he primarily plays the saxophone) and I am impressed with his ability to smile in the face of adversity.  He has a clever sense of humor along with a positive outlook on life.  He tells me often that, "life is too short not to enjoy it."  Nelson is in great physical shape.  He runs as well as using his bike to get back and forth to work.  I knew he'd be just fine; it was me I was worried about...

The next day held several surprises on the way to the beginning of the trail-head we had chosen.  First, mother nature had decided to deliver an aggressive storm in the days prior to our arrival.  The area was littered with the remnants of downed trees and limbs.  Our drive to the Sugarlands Visitor Center was quite a bit longer than the 18 miles it was supposed to be.  We were preempted first by an horrific traffic accident in the small village of Sevierville on Wears Valley Rd. that (as we later discovered) had tragically claimed the lives of three family members killed in a head-on traffic accident.  While we waited in line on the narrow and twisting section of road, we met Curtis Clarke from Allstate Insurance (who was attempting an 8:00 appointment) and had the unique and unexpected opportunity to sample the original "Grandmother's Cathead Biscuits".  Nelson had volunteered to gather the tasty breakfast while Curtis and I stood watching the long line of cars and flashing emergency vehicles in the distance.  Nelson returned with a bag containing two small biscuit-sandwiches.  He explained that "Cathead" meant literally the SIZE (or as they say down here, "s'aahs") of the biscuit and how he chose differently when provided the facts. The biscuit sandwiches (bacon and cheese, and sausage) were nonetheless delicious. An hour had passed with no movement, so with the aid of his I-Phone, we eventually navigated a new (unorthodox) route past the lengthening line of stopped vehicles.

Unbeknownst to us, the only road from Cades Cove to Sugarlands was closed and blockaded against through-traffic due to multiple downed trees.  We arrived at the "T" intersection and proceeded left.  The flashing lights of the National Parks Service vehicles and arms-crossed  officials standing on the roadway told us the unfortunate truth. This caused us to have to backtrack our entire route all the way into Pigeon Forge.  The accident was still in place as the State Patrol performed their triage and diagnostics of the disaster, so around the detour we navigated once more; finally pulling into Sugarlands around 10:30.  So much for the early start we had tried to get.  I filled out a back-country permit with our preliminary destinations for each day.  This listed the exact day and campsite we expected to overnight in for the entire week.  We each visited the restrooms and the gift shop before getting back in the truck to drive the 23 additional miles up to Clingman's Dome.  Up, up, up we drove to just about the 6000 foot mark to the parking lot.  I unlocked the three Masterlock padlocks on the gate of the WPT and we each claimed our individual burdens of gear.

The blazing sun was shining brightly at this extreme altitude and the temperature topped 90 degrees as we mingled with the dozens and dozens of giddy families who had driven up and parked with a far different expectation in mind. Nelson shouldered his pack with youthful ease, and a typical Nelson (this is so cool) grin.  I grabbed mine and labored it to my back; shoving my arms clumsily through the twin straps.  The 42-pound block of stuff on my back whispered into my ear, "what a fool you are Devereaux...ha, ha, ha..." as I began to trundle up the unforgiving side of Mount Crumpet.   But first, we needed to fill our water bottles...but how?

(This is the end of part one...)

Spring Break in the Panhandle (part one)

There’s nothing more satisfyingly recharging for a northerner, than to reverse migrate in the early spring. Leaving the frozen tundra of the upper Midwest for the milder, sunnier climes of the south, if even for a week, can drive out the long winter chill from your body faster than a frozen penguin on a tanning bed. That’s why, with extreme anticipation, the family and I set out for Panama City just ahead of Easter 2009. We’re campers by nature (and fiscal leaning) so the days of preparation specific to making that happen, are akin to readying the famed Lewis and Clark expedition. In the “old days” BK (before kids) my wife and I could throw a few things in a common suitcase, pack the nylon tent and chairs into the trunk, making sure to bring along a good novel or two, and off we would trundle. Not anymore. “Dad, can the power inverter handle both the DVD player AND the X-Box 360?” and “I know I have a lot of clothes and shoes, but that’s OK, there may be some cute boys…” are common questions and statements from today’s teen-travelers. Gone are the simpler days of butterfly nets and Golden books that used to entertain them for countless hours. Here now are electronic everythings, designed to fill every waking (and sleeping with your IPod earbuds in) hour from sun-up to sun-down. But it could be much worse I guess; they could have declined to go along at all. So I count my blessings as I peek under the Honda Odyssey’s undercarriage, brow furrowing, trying to gauge the narrowing distance to the road surface. Our ultimate destination lay 1100 miles ahead but the tank was full of $ 2.05/gal gas (instead of last spring’s $3.59). The oil and filter were both freshly changed; the washer fluid reservoir filled, ample snacks and hot coffee for the passengers gave every indication that we were READY. Just one more trip back to the locked house as we attempt to leave the driveway, one more quick potty stop before we turn determinedly southward, gleefully leaving Milwaukee in the rearview mirror.

“Remember those days when driving around Chicago were as tedious as giving birth to a piano bench?” I remarked to my sleeping wife. “God bless the inventors of IPASS open road tolling,” I muse as the van breezes along the freeway bypass underneath the overhead scanners. Debit, debit, debit my butt off, you State of Illinois you; at least I don’t have to stop in your flat, Bear-loving, excuse of a state…ahem,…sorry.

The overnight at the Columbus, Indiana Days Inn was a welcome respite after pounding down the highway in the darkness. Those flip-over, make-em’ yourself, Belgian waffles at the complimentary breakfast bar make a great eye-opener too. Next stop would be Pelham, Alabama and the Oak Mountain State Park some 450 miles down the road. We finally arrived at around 6 PM after some pretty scary moments dodging tornadoes in Tennessee and big hail in Kentucky. I had just completed the ringmaster duties (sans red suit and cane) related to the circus of Jayco camper set-up, when I noticed the Purple Martin gourd colony in the turn-around near the lake. The sun was just starting to think about evening retirement so the birds had mostly taken their places in the nest openings. The greater Milwaukee area has a consortium of birding enthusiasts who are actively working towards increasing the likelihood that martins will find the area to their liking. HERE is a link to their Blog, outlining their commendable efforts. A curious southern drawl caught my ear and I turned my head towards the sound. Waddling slowly from a canvas compound set back in the woods ahead of me, ambled an enormous, t-shirt-bellied, NASCAR hat sporting, 100% pure, Alabaman specimen. He was yelling back over at his shoulder to a sleight, mouse brown-haired waif of a woman in sandals, that “you ain’t gonna’ touch my beer, you know? I’ll be back and I wanna’ see it all still there!” A White-throated Sparrow began singing its warbled song as the man approached a beat-to-death, rust brown Chevy Cavalier and pried open the driver’s door. I know my mouth was hanging slightly open as I witnessed the man turn his body, massive butt first into the now open car door, and proceed to wiggle back and forth as he levered his oil-stained, jeans-covered fanny into the void. “Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.” I thought as I couldn’t tear my eyes from the unbelievable scene. Like a front-end loader dumping a boulder into a baby buggy, the man eventually settled his largess onto the godforsaken front seat of the Chevy, then started working on swinging his tree-stump legs around into the driver’s well. I had seen enough of the logistical nightmare for one day, so I backed away from the slow-motion train wreck, to look for more birds.

The next day, some early morning birding yielded some nice sightings. The list of 30 compiled while there, is as follows: Great-crested Flycatcher, Ovenbird, White-throated Sparrow, Northern Cardinal, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Hairy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Eastern Towhee, Eastern Phoebe, Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, American Robin, Northern Mockingbird, Whip-poor-will, American Crow, Tufted Titmouse, Brown Thrasher, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Purple Martin, Chimney Swift, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Black-capped Chickadee, White-breasted Nuthatch, Carolina Wren, Eastern Bluebird, Blue Jay, Canada Goose, Cedar Waxwing, Red-eyed Vireo, Red-headed Woodpecker, and Brown-headed Cowbird. After we ate, we all packed up the site and headed for the highway once more.

You know how it is when you are on your way “to” your destination VS coming back “from” it? Well, the next 6 hours in the car flew by as the temperatures rose outside according to the proximity to the Gulf of Mexico. Sorties of Brown Pelicans could be seen soaring high in the sky from out of the car windows, as the swaying pine tree boughs slowly gave way to the bristling palm fronds. Paradise at last, was in reach. The cities of Panama City and Panama City Beach are located along the gulf between Pensacola on the west and Tallahassee on the east.

NOTE: Stay tuned to this blog for the second installment of Spring Break in the Panhandle…