Blog#14 Moving along the Gulf-Texas is a big state

Day 17–Making my way towards Louisiana

Below is the answer to yesterday’s quiz:

The rest of him. American Aligator

I forgot to mention yesterday, driving from town to town along the Texas Gulf Coast is not as simple as one would think, (FYI—one of those little towns out there is Refugio—home of Nolan Ryan. Billboard says so) . They have many, many intersecting two lane highways running through large ranches and farms. I call them highways because the speed limit is 60-70 MPH. There are few turnoffs—long driveways, really. These highways are called Farm to Market roads, or FMs, and they are numbered… But not in any sort of way that makes sense. (Political history stuff—they actually explained it at a historical marker in one of the pullouts I visited. Obviously, I am not the first to mention this goofy system). When you’re out there on some of them, you don’t meet another car. And any houses are set way inside the property lines, usually only a bump on the flat horizon. Therefore, when you have been leisurely trolling wildlife refuges and not paying attention to your fuel level, it is more than a little nerve-racking when that little light comes on and you have no idea how far it is to a gas station. Because out here in Big Ol’ Texas, cell service is discriminate. And you were birding, not checking ahead on that Google map when it was still visible. The cherry on top of this dung cake is now your tire low pressure light comes on. You have AAA, and that is about as useful out here as a nail without the hammer.

The wildflowers of Texas-they grow along most roads and highways

More wildflowers

Luckily, when this occurred in my travel into Rockport, there was a small gas station/quick stop market several miles out of town as I was driving in. Unfortunately, only the store had reopened—Harvey had put the gas pumps out of business. I stop and looked at my tires, they seem okay. I drive on. But there were only closed up shops and debris, so in a half mile or so, I think it best to go back to the store and ask.
Back I go, gauge now reads I am loosing yardage fast. (At 70 MPH, no great surprise. I slowed to 55 MPH to conserve. There weren’t many behind me to care) I walk into the store and ask the cashier, who has two customers there chatting with him, how far to any gas station. The local couple there grimace a bit, sorta apologetically, and say I have to go “across the bridge.” No other pumps between. “My car says I can go 10 miles”, I tell them. The man nods his head and says, “You’ll make it”. The woman says, “We’re going into town. If you don’t make it, we’ll look for your car and help you”. (She maybe thinks I won’t make it). I tell them I’m the Oregon plates, thank them, and set off.
Complete strangers, just lived through Harvey, and very typical of every Texan I have met so far.

These are good, decent people.

Off one of those FMs, one of the small towns out there.  I liked the look.

I head off toward “the bridge” and in 3-4 miles (felt like 9), I cross the very long bridge into Rockport. Okay, I’m not sweating so much now. And that is important, because I can’t remember if my campground that night has showers.

I drive another 1-2 miles, and have yet to see a gas station. Could I have missed it? Being a somewhat slow, but Clever American Woman, I check to see if I now have my old friend back with me, Google maps. I do. I ask for gasoline and immediately have directions to Valero, one of the big companies down here. I follow the directions and find the station with no difficulty. Except Harvey has put it out of business. I start sweating again.

I give Google another try, and this time I succeed in finding an Exxon not far away that is up and running. Saints be praised, as the good Catholics say. I fuel up, then give $1.50 to the air machine and cannot find the PSI rating on my tires. Damn Les Schwabb. Out of Oregon, every fueling station is self pump, so they have no attendants, so no one to ask for help. I finally see it, with my readers on, but cannot get the pressure to come up. Stupid stupid and it’s stupidness, as my daughter Kayla would say. I go in and ask— they think the air machine works, “Doesn’t it, Brenda?” A shrug from Brenda. “There’s another one up the road”, so off I go.

I give the next machine $1.50 and am able to fill my low front tires. The PSI is set on the machine to 32, and my tires need 44. But I learn how to adjust it and the machine measures it for you. Tires full, all warning lights off, freedom of the road ahead.  And now I top off the tank before each jaunt.

These look like orchids!

Today I drove toward Corpus Christi, Bird City USA. I didn’t make it into the town—I was interested in High Island, one of two best birding spots on the Gulf Coast. The other is South Padre Island, and Brian and I, along with our good friends, Dan and Becky, went birding there last year. Enroute to High Island, I came upon Anahuak National Wildlife Refuge, so I detoured. Followed the signs and found the headquarters. Spoke with the rangers there and was told that the boardwalks at High Island are not free. The pass is $35, charged by the Audubon Society that built them and maintains them. (What I wasn’t told was that a day pass is only $8, the other price is for the whole year). I have my National Parks pass, so I chose to go to the refuge. Bad news, the refuge is not accessible from the headquarters. New boundaries/refuges combining and Harvey, again. I have to drive several miles to come at it from another side. Oh goody. The nice lady gives me a map, telling me that I can’t go in here(a mark on a very small, not-to-scale map), I need to go an additional 7 miles to the park access road. She wishes Google would fix that, they lead you to the wrong road. Okay, I’ve got it. Do I have to get back on Hwy 10, or is there a back way off the freeway? Yes, she tells me. She marks the route in black ink on a very small, not-to-scale, black and white map.  She has no highlighter.  For craps sake, the overhead lights in their building are on sensors and shut off if the rangers sit still. They went out as I opened the door to come in.  I thought they were closing until the ranger called out to me to come in. Cutting costs at all cost.  Black ink will have to do. Oh goody.
I set off and can’t follow the map without a magnifying glass. I set my friend, Google, to the task. Unfortunately, Google knows these back Farm to Market roads by other names—not numbers. It takes me only 10 minutes to get further and further lost. So screw it, I take the freeway.
I drive for 20 minutes on the freeway, then head toward High Island, watching for refuge signs. I remember I have to drive 7 miles past the main road that Google takes me to, so I once again ask Google to lead. And I drive for 30 minutes, not to end up at the road that is 7 miles short of the access, but back to the headquarters from a different FM road. Stupid American Woman.  Mon Dios, as Titi would say.

Yeah, right

By the time I reach the refuge, it is past 5 and the sun is setting.  It is windy and rainy and my photos are not so good. I make a command decision to skip the free camping at Surfside County Beach and get a hotel. Back in Lamar, Betty Stiles had asked where my next stop was. I told her I was nervous about camping in my car right on the beach- we don’t do that in Oregon. I told her I feared waking up in the dark with water lapping my tires, and she told me she had camped at that beach, and that had happened to her exactly. Another woman there, whose name I should have gotten, said she had the same experience. “You just have to watch your tides”. Oh, hell no. That is not going to happen.(I showed Betty my website front page, the photo of my car camp. She took one look and said I could stay at her house:) )

White Ibis, winter color

Tonight I am in Winnie, Texas. Yes, like Winnie The Pooh. Cute little town. I am at the Hampton Inn and Suites, in a suite. “It’s the same price, you might as well” the front desk gal said. The suite is plush by my standards. I may catch up on the blog.

White-faced Ibis (Don’t ask me why)

I asked about good food nearby, and was told by the front desk lady that next door was wonderful. Remembering my experience back in Lordsburg, with poor results from the recommendation there, I said to the gal, “Is it really good, or are you saying that   because it’s next door?”. You should have seen her head come up. Looking me square in the face with her chin out, she replied “Ma’am, people drive 3 hours to eat there. It is excellent”.
She was right. Al-T’s Cajun Cuisine. Great food, place packed. I decided to get in the Spirit of the South, so I tried crayfish etouffee. A solid choice, with enough leftover for dinner tomorrow.

Wrong color legs and eyes to be a Black Crowned Night Heron.  Brian?

Great Blue Heron

Hopefully the sun will shine tomorrow and I will get some photos of the Spoonbills. Hold on to your hats!