Canyonlands
Vista
I’ve had the chance to hike a lot of
the coastal National Wildlife Refuges
i
in Texas
ii,
but had never been out to Balcones Canyonlands NWR, west of Austin.
The refuge exists primarily to protect two endangered bird species;
the Golden-cheeked Warbler and the Black-Capped Vireo. However, it’s
also archetypal Hill Country terrain, with lush river bottoms in
canyons, and rugged uplands of scrub and oaks.
Trees,
go home. You are obviously drunk, based on your careless disregard
for slopes.
I’d always meant to go in the spring
of the year, but had always gotten lost in other pursuits. This year,
a colleague from Austin mentioned he was taking a group of friends
iii
up there, and invited me along. I jumped at the suggestion, and that
was that.
I left Houston at 4 am in the morning
to make the 3.5 hour drive to west Austin. Normally this is a pretty
beautiful drive; it’s not far outside of the Houston city limits
iv
that exurbs give way fairly quickly to rural prairie, and then to the
rolling lands of the eastern Texas interior. Houston never sleeps.
There’s always traffic. However, outside of the metro area, things
get small and slow pretty darn quick. What is usually a pretty mix of
scenery was mostly just inky black nothingness for the first couple
hours. Still a bit drowsy, and speeding into the night at 75 mph, it
was like test driving a Kerouac novel.
Light was just starting to peak when I
skirted around Austin, and west into the Hill Country. As always,
there was a transition period when my flatlander perspective adjusted
to the topography. It’s a testament to just how flat is my fair
City by the Swamp, that the merest rolling hills inspire in me a
Maria a-la Sound of Music desire to stop my car and go running into
the hills, twirling about in their topographic majesty. In case
anyone’s wondering, this is not, I repeat not, recommended in
Texas. The closest approximation of the exuberance that is legally
allowable would be a meaningful squint into the distance and a
somber, “shore is hilly here, I tell you what.” And that’s if
one was truly overcome.
As with most NWRs, the road into the
refuge suddenly transitioned into a crushed rock slip-and-slide
v.
My poor Mazda 3
vi
struggled up and down deep slopes in the canyons, making my way to
the trailhead.
Overlook
Vista, Vista, Forest Trail
While I was just happy to be out
hiking in a new place, the rest of the crew, many of whom were quite
serious birders, were there on a mission. Golden-cheeked Warblers
frequent the oak-lined ridges of the area, and we were out to find
them. We lucked out fairly early on, with several birds singing in
the treetops despite the cloudy and windy conditions
vii.
Yep.
That’s a bird. I can now, without a doubt, guarantee it’s not
endangered due to some habit of being overly trusting of humans.
Sadly.
We had hoped to get better looks on our
way back down the road to the cars, but the birds were stubbornly
staying deeply intertwined in the foliage throughout our hike.
Undeterred, we packed up and made our may further into the refuge to
seek the second endangered species of the refuge, the elusive
Black-capped Vireo. Yes, this is another little bird.
Hiking
back to the car
The vireos live in dense low-lying
vegetation, often detected by their territorial singing
viii.
Or at least, that’s ostensibly what I was told would be the case.
At the higher elevation shinnery observation deck, we mostly just
detected strong cold winds, which, unlike the Vireos, do not take a
great deal of experience to detect.
Shinnery
landscape, Cactus and wildflowers, Shinnery fenceline
I did find a new species there anyway
(later in the day), but he was significantly less endangered than the
Vireo.
I’m
a Rufous-crowned Sparrow, not a Vireo. But honestly, for a handful of
seed, I’ll be whatever bird you want…
Still, one out of two endangered
species was pretty cool. On the way back we made our way down through
a creek bed, which has to be one of the prettier pieces of country
I’ve come across in quite a while
ix.
Azure
skies, emerald pools, singing birds, shady lanes with dappled
sunlight shining through oaks and willows...I think when the original
settlers came, they must have seen this, and decided the state was
worth settling based. This magnitude of their error must have arrived
up on them in August in Houston. Or pretty much any day, ever, in
West Texas.
I parted ways with my colleague and
hiked around the refuge for a while before making heading home. One
of the other areas of the Refuge is the Doe Skin Ranch. I didn’t
stop to read the historical plaques for the area, but I’m sure the
story went much like most of the other dryland farm
sites...”enterprising farmer moves to Texas in blaze of
logic-defying Manifest Destiny…tries to farm scrubland…fails
miserably…later on someone decides this is historically
noteworth…his shame lives on for the ages.” Still, it had some
nice trails, scenery and wildlife, as monuments to stupid farming go.
Black-crested
Titmouse, Lark Sparrow, Old Wood, Doe Ranch Vista, Doe Ranch Remnants
The trip back, even after an early
start and 9 hours of hiking, was really enjoyable, with vast swathes
of bluebonnets and paintbrushes lining the roads
x.
Before I left the Hill Country entirely, though, I decided to stop
get some Kolaches
xi.
I got a bit turned around and ended up stopped at the surprisingly
inferior Weikel’s instead of waiting ten minutes and enjoying the
vastly superior Hruskas
xii.
Still, a good way to round out a Hill Country sojourn.
Happy
water tower octopus on the hillside of 71 says “y’all come back
now, y’hear?”
NOTES
i
Unlike some western states in which a large portion of area is
contained in public lands of one type of another (National Forests,
etc.), Texas’ public lands make up a relatively small percentage
of the state. However, Texas, as it never tires of letting you know,
is pretty gol’dang big. Even though its public lands are a small
percent of its overall land, a small percent of a really big area
still equates to a LOT of public land. National Wildlife refuges
make up a goodly portion thereof.
ii
Some snarkier folks might argue that the entire state is a refuge
for the feral and wily Redneckius texianus, the Common Texan.
There are several subspecies of texianus, including
Redneckius texianus austinus, identified by its ironic mustaches
and incessant vocalizations, Redneckius texianus houstonus,
easily recognizaebly due to it’s the gaudy plumage and
voluminous hair of its females and a general attraction to
godforsaken swamp habitat, and Redneckius texianus
dallasfortworthus, remarkable for its disquietingly symbiotic
relationship with Bos taurus.
iii
The friends ended up being some senior level staff and other
luminaries from the TCEQ, the state’s environmental agency, to
whom I am a contractor. I was worried that might be awkward, but
everybody was pretty cool.
iv
With the caveat, of course, that Houston is so large that its city
limits are often 15-20 miles from the urban core. You can drive for
an hour or more and still be within the boundaries of the City. And,
by the way…Houston City Limits? Not half as cool as Austin City
Limits.
v
My going theory on this is that the sounds of cars skidding, drivers
cursing, and occasional crashes serves as a warning signal for
wildlife, thus fulfilling the goal of the refuge.
vi
When I bought the Mazda, I was facing a dilemma….most of my
commuting is highway and city driving where compact gas savers
shine. However, I like to hike in a lot of remote places where cars
really just shouldn’t be. I had to either get an impractical
off-road worthy vehicle for intermittent wanderings, or a sensible
sedan for the bulk of my travel. My ultimate compromise was to get
the sensible sedan, but then abandon all semblance of care for its
well being. Some day I am going to attach a camera to my car and
send the tape into Mazda. They will either make it into a promo ad,
or send that old Japanese guy with the dog to personally slap me in
the face for the wanton disregard I have had for their automobile.
vii
While I’ve never been the sort who chases rarities all over the
countryside, there is something undeniably cool for anyone with a
bent toward the natural world, when you get the privilege of sharing
space with an endangered species. You get a momentary sense of awe
that you’re seeing something that may not always be there. It is a
nice balance to the sometimes sneaking sense of silliness about
driving 400 miles to chase 4 inches of bird.
viii
An awful lot of birdwatching, as it turns out, is really
bird-listening. A four-inch bird is almost invisible in a 40 foot
tree without some cue to its location. The folks I was with were
quite expert at calls, which was a great benefit. I like to say I’m
an expert at bird calls, but only in the sense that I can relatively
accurately confirm to you that what we’re hearing is, in fact, a
bird call.
ix
“Pretty piece of country” is an approved Texasism.
x
If there’s a part of Texas that really is God’s country ,
it’s the rolling hills and prairie between Houston and Austin.
Much farther west and you are in desert, and much further east and
you’re in swamp and pine. It probably helps that I’m almost
always driving this stretch in beautiful morning or afternoon light,
accenting the rolling hillsides and majestic old live oaks standing
solitary in abandoned fields where longhorn cattle graze in front of
weathered old barns with Texas flags painted on the side. This
description is one Texas cliché short of a Thomas Kinkad painting.
xi
Kolaches are a remnant of the strong German/Czech influence in
eastern Texas. They’re essentially overly-glorified danishes and
stuffed rolls. That being said, they come in a wide array of fruit
and meat versions. Being 1) local delicacies and 2) edible, they
meet the primary qualifications for getting in my stomach. Houston
has a lot of kolache places, most oddly enough, run by asian
immigrants. The really good stuff, however, is what you get in the
small towns off 71 between Houston and Austin.
xii
Having strong preferences on the local regional delicacies is a
classic sign that you have been somewhere for a while.
