“For lack of attention, a thousand forms of loveliness elude us every day.” – Evelyn Underhill
Last Sunday, my girlfriend, two friends, and I had a remarkable experience in High Island, TX: a quiet Sunday morning hike in coastal woods slowly transitioned from seeming “birdlessness” to finding ourselves literally surrounded by tens of migrant bird species just-arrived from Central and South America. It felt like a Big Bang of birdlife; it felt as though God had just decreed, let there be birds. We were in the midst of a “fallout” of songbirds precipitated by a storm the night before and by abatement of the south wind that had previously allowed them to skip the island entirely.
At Boy Scout Woods (BSW), the warblers trickled in slowly at first. We saw male birds almost exclusively the entire weekend–in many species, males migrate first–indicating that females may be seen in the next week or two. A hooded warbler started the show by appearing suddenly at Prothonotary Pond, then a magnolia warbler and a northern waterthrush became visible. Soon, the treetops were alive with black-throated green warblers. Occasionally found solo, but usually in mixed flocks, we eventually saw bay-breasted, Tennessee, Canada, Nashville, and chestnut-sided warblers, as well as American redstarts and a common yellow-throat, punctuated by sightings of other species: a peregrine falcon and a broad-winged hawk flying inland, a green heron at Prothonotary Pond, an immature orchard oriole singing far beyond the boardwalk.
Sighting a warbler–a tiny, quiet bird constantly on the move–or any other “new” bird is quite thrilling, even addictive: one raises one’s binocular in eager anticipation of identifying the species before the bird moves out of view.
By noon, in the small parking lot and adjacent street alone, in the span of fifteen minutes, I saw four male indigo buntings, at least four female indigo buntings, male and female summer tanagers, innumerable black-throated green warblers, two male Baltimore orioles, a male rose-breasted grosbeak, and a male scarlet tanager. Soon after my girlfriend and I left for Smith Oaks, our friends saw a male painted bunting in the parking lot. Very few of these birds will stay for the summer; most will radiate to their breeding grounds in the northeastern US and Canada. (In fact, when I returned to High Island today, I only saw two of the above species at BSW: the rest may already be at their summer homes.)
At Smith Oaks, where I hiked for about an hour last weekend, I saw numerous male and female Baltimore orioles, summer and scarlet tanagers, gray catbirds, a black-billed cuckoo (we saw a yellow-billed the day before at BSW), a brief flash identified by others as a vagrant black-whiskered vireo, and, at water drips in the forest, males in breeding plumage of the following warbler species: Blackburnian, Magnolia, Tennessee (unclear if male), chestnut-sided, American redstart. So many species observed in so little time amongst the lovely old oaks and other trees! (The birding was so good this week along the upper Texas coast that even I–a casual birder who doesn’t aim to maximize the number of species seen, unlike more “muscular” birders–ended up seeing sixteen warbler species, including the rare golden-winged warbler.) A short walk away, the famous High Island rookery teemed with nesting wetland species we observed and photographed the day before: roseate spoonbills, purple gallinules, common gallinules feeding with their chicks, neotropic cormorants, great egrets, snowy egrets, and other species. Down the road, Bolivar Flats–we didn’t go there this trip–hosted numerous shorebird species, including (rumor had it) red knots and piping plovers, the latter of which I saw in February on a birding trip with two other friends.
Such irruptions of songbirds and other bird species are a rare occurrence for the occasional visitor to High Island, but do occur with some frequency during spring migration, especially following storms or when there’s a north wind. However, I’ve met serious birders who have visited High Island for years without experiencing such a “fallout” of birds.
We met many other birders while there, including the ever-helpful and enthusiastic Houston Audubon Society volunteers who manage High Island’s nature sanctuaries. It was a joy to help others see the birds we saw and to allow them to help us see what they were seeing. Birders are a diverse bunch: while many were casual, some were very professional, taking high-quality photographs of the birds they encountered. Most birders are warm, engaging, and helpful people; I was surprised to find that a few were rather cold and businesslike and seemed to be there just to lengthen their lists of species seen.
I visited High Island for the first time about nine years ago. Since then, I’ve unintentionally built up a store of happy memories associated with this tiny, unassuming salt dome in the Texas backcountry. One of my first visits was with my friends, Jeff and Noam. On that trip, we serendipitously chanced upon the Texas Birding Classic. We were seen as “rare birds” by Texas Parks & Wildlife for being young men out birding–this was even rarer then than it is today–and were interviewed on the spot, had many photos taken of us, and were given free T-shirts (I still wear it; a songbird is displayed on the front with “Portable Audio Device” written under it).
A year ago, serendipity struck again: I found one of those photos while hiking Lost Maples State Park! At the end of a long hike, my girlfriend rested by a bird blind while I went to get the car. When I returned, she recommended I check it out. I glanced at the sign in front of the blind and immediately saw myself in a photo taken with a Texas Parks & Wildlife staff member that day I birded High Island with Jeff and Noam nine years ago: