Field Notes 2009-02-21, Essay
--Debi Cates
Clyde (Mrs. May) emailed us with excitement that Dr. Warren Conway of Stephen F. Austin University would be at the Tahoka Lake Pasture this weekend at the same time as our visit.
Having never met Dr. Conway, Donna and I did a little Google research and learned that he is, among other designations, a waterfowl researcher. We found one of his papers online, printed the twelve pages, and Donna read it aloud on the drive to the lake.
In that exacting science lingo, his paper outlined the techniques and results of locating, monitoring, and ultimately the statistical hatching success of four waterbird species over a two year period. Tahoka Lake was one of the sites monitored. The upshot of the paper was -- or as it seemed to lay persons Donna and me -- the most important aspect of nesting success in the Playa Lake Region of Texas was water. Not predators, not disease. As you'd guess, normal rains meant a higher success rate than abnormal ones (too much or too little) but also natural water sources, like the spring that feeds Tahoka Lake, are imperative for the birds' selection of nest sites.
Meeting him in person, we learned Warren is originally from Rhode Island, now a naturalized Texan after living here more than a decade. It was his research that led to a long friendship with the May family. He is one of the members of the advisory board for TLP, hand picked by Clyde as someone she hopes will help it become the protected wild resource she wisely envisions it should be.
Warren is intimately knowledgeable about the lake. He and Lance May, Clyde's son, had been good friends for many years, and they spent many hours and days hiking there. Since Lance's untimely passing three years ago, Warren is now glad to see Clyde's grandson, Kelson, following the footsteps of his uncle, living there and spending as much time as possible exploring and learning about the lake.
Donna and I liked Warren immensely. He is one of those people, like Burr Williams, that while possessing deep knowledge can easily converse with mere enthusiasts in every day language. Not having met many scientists in my life, I was also delighted that although a Texas waterfowl specialist, he is unabashedly curious about all that he observes, plants, mammals, fossils, rocks, song birds and more.
Six of us, Warren, Kelson, Donna, my niece, me, and Tiffany -- Mrs. May's dog, another one with intimate knowledge of the lake, probably in ways we humans will never know -- loaded up, drove to the gate, and stopped there on the road on the Northwest edge of the property. The younguns, Kelson, McKayla, and Tiffany, headed out on their own adventure, while Donna, Warren, and I stuck to our plan by beginning a walk the fenceline.
The owner to the north has dammed the spring, and legally too. From Warren we learned there is only weak water protection law in Texas. We stopped to look through Warren's binoculars at the ducks on the owner's man-made pond. Almost instantaneously, Warren spotted three different kinds of ducks, including some "Buffleheads," a name I had never heard and that we laughed about as being a good possible alternative to "knucklehead" should the need ever arise. He told us how he has seen almost every species of waterfowl at TLP that one would expect for this area in Texas, and then some. It was quickly apparent that he admires the May property of two and half sections, recalling many instances and places of beauty it posseses. He reminded us it has never been tilled and, with the vast number of cotton fields surrounding it, he pointed out that it has become a buffered oasis and a remarkable place to observe a kind of ecological purity.
Upon reaching the spring, we had to cross the mucky, slow-moving water not once but twice because it is now fed only by overflow rivulets of the dammed pond. After crossing, we headed southerly, hugging the Northeast ridge. In that area so near to water, we found several instances of wildlife activity. Warren pointed out branches of a medium-aged mesquite where bark had been rubbed off, likely by a mule deer buck, either displaying or scratching an itch. Later, in a hollow of an old gnarled mesquite I discovered a cache of crumbs by something who had eaten, to my surprise, the dried yellow berries of the local nightshade. In the hollow also were bleach white snail shells and the cracked open seeds.
Along the way Donna gathered specimens of scat, putting them into containers we brought for that purpose, photographing them and any tracks she found. As an amateur pair, she is the budding wildlife expert and I am the budding plant expert -- emphasis on budding, not expert. On the ridge, we three found two mysteries we pondered: first a pile of undigested sorghum and second, even more mysterious, a scattering of a starkly out of place, unnatural blue substance, like Miracle Grow granules, that was perhaps either vomited up or urinated on. We based that observation on its odor which was weird, but natural.
Warren then saw an ancient find, one he had not seen before so it must have been washed out by the rains as he had predicted: the fossilized remains of an ammonite lodged in hunk of rock. I reached in my pocket so we could photograph it with its exact location as per my GPS unit. It wasn't until then I realized to my dismay that somewhere along the way the unit must have fallen out. Suddenly all those beautiful clumps of grass that we had meandered through looked like thousands of ominous hiding places. It seemed near impossible that I would find it again and silently berated myself for losing my prized Christmas gift on the first outing with it. Warren and Donna also doubtful about finding it again, teased how it would be far future scientists who would be the ones to unearth its remains and ponder its meaning. Warren surmised its red color would give rise to theories about the owner -- symbolizing either a person of importance or aggression.
Unwilling to not at least try to find it, I insisted Donna and Warren continue their search for artifacts while I would double back for my own search.
After backtracking along the stream, keeping an eye to the ground, I reached the point where we had climbed down the ridge into the spring. There I stopped for a cigarette, a pee, and a few moments of simple communion with nature. I was lamenting the loss of the GPS, but I had the presence of mind to feel blessed to have lost it in God's country. It was still early afternoon, much warmer than we expected it would be, and it was amazingly still. Just before parting ways, Warren pointed out that if I ran into trouble (like cracking a leg bone in one of the many ankle deep holes that my ankles seem to find better than any one's) I could simply holler. It is so quiet at TLP they would easily hear me. In our urban lives we forget what real quiet sounds like. At home, even during what we consider quiet time, there are easily half a dozen identifiable sounds we are so accustomed to that we don't hear, like the sounds of traffic, dog barks, computer hums, and more. Here, it was so quiet that the sound of the slow running spring, a soft breeze among the salt cedar branches, and my own breathing could be appreciated.
Oddly but thankfully, down is much harder than up and soon I had, without a helping hand, hoisted myself up on the ridge to begin zigzagging back through the Dr. Seuss-like clumps of grass. When I wasn't sure where I had been exactly, I covered the area widely. Mostly I remembered exactly where I traveled, even without sand or dirt upon which I might have left tracks. Instead of tracks, through the vista of thick grass I recognized where I walked because of the things I stopped to look at, such as the lichen on a certain tree branch, a place where I photographed a lowly weed, or one of the places where we three had peered over the edge into the spring gully before we had descended into it.
By the time I got to the the fence once again -- still no luck with the GPS unit -- Warren and Donna had returned as well. That is where we stopped to ponder the blue mystery substance. By now our shoes had dried but it was time again to sink them into the thick muck to cross the spring. After we crossed over, we stood on the other side, along the low end of the western slope, and discussed that if I had lost the unit in the mud, it was a goner. We waxed philosophical how luckily it is only a couple hundred dollars and easily replaceable. It was during this pep talk I saw it, on the right, i.e., the correct side of the mud, resting at my feet on top of a clump of grass that now looked like a gentle nest to me.
We took a leisurely walk back to the gate and vehicle and stopped at several plants that we had zipped by before. I am proud to say that I could correctly identify for Warren exactly two plants. One was the balsam gourd, also known as snake apple, that had first caught my eye a few years back growing in an alley at home. At TLP I've noticed many specimens of the dried vine, markedly noticeable because of its remaining red color, winding through shrubs. However, to my Odessa-eye, they seem especially large. They also remain a little gelatinous still. Those differences bother me. I will be happy when spring comes and it will be no time before I can satisfy my niggling doubt about this winter identification when I see the unique leaves and unripe green striped fruit, both looking like a that of a miniature watermelon.
For the other identification, I was also able to put my 2009 Master Naturalist training -- exactly one field class so far -- to good use. Warren asked about the green and red-tinged, compact, little plant so often under our feet, and now and then blooming, the only plant thus far in such a spring-like state. It was the imported filaree that Burr had discussed with our class! Although Burr will read this, I must confess I did incorrectly call it a "filigree," indicating how my mind works: it does look something like a filigree with its tight and deeply pinnated leaves that overlap one another into a beautiful circular pattern. Hard to believe that such a plant is so common now when it has only been in North America for a relatively short period, brought unintentionally by Spaniard explorers, in particular in the guts and hay of their horses.
Warren asked me about several other plants, but soon learned the extent to my training and self-taught education. The casual observer might not find all that much difference between the plants of the Lubbock area with the plants of the Odessa area, 120 miles away -- not all that far in Texas terms. They are both part of the Llano Estacado, and do possess a vague similarity. Both have the gnarly mesquite and hackberry, the weedy filaree and alley mustard, and colorful purple Tahoka daisies. However, I am keenly aware there remains an interesting world of difference, much for me to observe, photo-document, and learn.
While we waited at the gate for Kelson and McKayla's return, we asked Warren about his take on the current state of affairs for nature in Texas. His opinions and observations were grounded in a combination of deep abiding love for nature, his scientist's objectivity, and enjoyment as an lifelong casual hunter. He was able to illustrate that those three points of view need not be necessarily at odds. He gave us some hopeful examples of that wider view taking hold among the general population, ranchers, legislators, and others. In particular he talked about a piece of federal legislation that would put a surtax on things like binoculars so that other nature-lovers, not only hunting enthusiasts, can partake in the financial and philosophical responsibility of wildlife preservation.
It's hard not to overstate the importance of wild places to the informing of a balanced mindset. Long wild places like Tahoka Lake Pasture are becoming more and more rare all over the world. There is no substitute for the eons of balance and perfection it represents. I am reminded of something else in that paper by Warren, Dr. Warren Conway in this instance, that we read on the way to the lake, "The lack of nesting in man-made wetlands highlights the need for conservation and management of playas, as man-made wetlands cannot compensate for natural wetland losses..." Unlike my nearly lost GPS unit, it's not a matter of just manufacturing another Tahoka Lake when it is lost.
--Debi Cates
Clyde (Mrs. May) emailed us with excitement that Dr. Warren Conway of Stephen F. Austin University would be at the Tahoka Lake Pasture this weekend at the same time as our visit.
Having never met Dr. Conway, Donna and I did a little Google research and learned that he is, among other designations, a waterfowl researcher. We found one of his papers online, printed the twelve pages, and Donna read it aloud on the drive to the lake.
In that exacting science lingo, his paper outlined the techniques and results of locating, monitoring, and ultimately the statistical hatching success of four waterbird species over a two year period. Tahoka Lake was one of the sites monitored. The upshot of the paper was -- or as it seemed to lay persons Donna and me -- the most important aspect of nesting success in the Playa Lake Region of Texas was water. Not predators, not disease. As you'd guess, normal rains meant a higher success rate than abnormal ones (too much or too little) but also natural water sources, like the spring that feeds Tahoka Lake, are imperative for the birds' selection of nest sites.
Meeting him in person, we learned Warren is originally from Rhode Island, now a naturalized Texan after living here more than a decade. It was his research that led to a long friendship with the May family. He is one of the members of the advisory board for TLP, hand picked by Clyde as someone she hopes will help it become the protected wild resource she wisely envisions it should be.
Warren is intimately knowledgeable about the lake. He and Lance May, Clyde's son, had been good friends for many years, and they spent many hours and days hiking there. Since Lance's untimely passing three years ago, Warren is now glad to see Clyde's grandson, Kelson, following the footsteps of his uncle, living there and spending as much time as possible exploring and learning about the lake.
Donna and I liked Warren immensely. He is one of those people, like Burr Williams, that while possessing deep knowledge can easily converse with mere enthusiasts in every day language. Not having met many scientists in my life, I was also delighted that although a Texas waterfowl specialist, he is unabashedly curious about all that he observes, plants, mammals, fossils, rocks, song birds and more.
Six of us, Warren, Kelson, Donna, my niece, me, and Tiffany -- Mrs. May's dog, another one with intimate knowledge of the lake, probably in ways we humans will never know -- loaded up, drove to the gate, and stopped there on the road on the Northwest edge of the property. The younguns, Kelson, McKayla, and Tiffany, headed out on their own adventure, while Donna, Warren, and I stuck to our plan by beginning a walk the fenceline.
The owner to the north has dammed the spring, and legally too. From Warren we learned there is only weak water protection law in Texas. We stopped to look through Warren's binoculars at the ducks on the owner's man-made pond. Almost instantaneously, Warren spotted three different kinds of ducks, including some "Buffleheads," a name I had never heard and that we laughed about as being a good possible alternative to "knucklehead" should the need ever arise. He told us how he has seen almost every species of waterfowl at TLP that one would expect for this area in Texas, and then some. It was quickly apparent that he admires the May property of two and half sections, recalling many instances and places of beauty it posseses. He reminded us it has never been tilled and, with the vast number of cotton fields surrounding it, he pointed out that it has become a buffered oasis and a remarkable place to observe a kind of ecological purity.
Upon reaching the spring, we had to cross the mucky, slow-moving water not once but twice because it is now fed only by overflow rivulets of the dammed pond. After crossing, we headed southerly, hugging the Northeast ridge. In that area so near to water, we found several instances of wildlife activity. Warren pointed out branches of a medium-aged mesquite where bark had been rubbed off, likely by a mule deer buck, either displaying or scratching an itch. Later, in a hollow of an old gnarled mesquite I discovered a cache of crumbs by something who had eaten, to my surprise, the dried yellow berries of the local nightshade. In the hollow also were bleach white snail shells and the cracked open seeds.
Along the way Donna gathered specimens of scat, putting them into containers we brought for that purpose, photographing them and any tracks she found. As an amateur pair, she is the budding wildlife expert and I am the budding plant expert -- emphasis on budding, not expert. On the ridge, we three found two mysteries we pondered: first a pile of undigested sorghum and second, even more mysterious, a scattering of a starkly out of place, unnatural blue substance, like Miracle Grow granules, that was perhaps either vomited up or urinated on. We based that observation on its odor which was weird, but natural.
Warren then saw an ancient find, one he had not seen before so it must have been washed out by the rains as he had predicted: the fossilized remains of an ammonite lodged in hunk of rock. I reached in my pocket so we could photograph it with its exact location as per my GPS unit. It wasn't until then I realized to my dismay that somewhere along the way the unit must have fallen out. Suddenly all those beautiful clumps of grass that we had meandered through looked like thousands of ominous hiding places. It seemed near impossible that I would find it again and silently berated myself for losing my prized Christmas gift on the first outing with it. Warren and Donna also doubtful about finding it again, teased how it would be far future scientists who would be the ones to unearth its remains and ponder its meaning. Warren surmised its red color would give rise to theories about the owner -- symbolizing either a person of importance or aggression.
Unwilling to not at least try to find it, I insisted Donna and Warren continue their search for artifacts while I would double back for my own search.
After backtracking along the stream, keeping an eye to the ground, I reached the point where we had climbed down the ridge into the spring. There I stopped for a cigarette, a pee, and a few moments of simple communion with nature. I was lamenting the loss of the GPS, but I had the presence of mind to feel blessed to have lost it in God's country. It was still early afternoon, much warmer than we expected it would be, and it was amazingly still. Just before parting ways, Warren pointed out that if I ran into trouble (like cracking a leg bone in one of the many ankle deep holes that my ankles seem to find better than any one's) I could simply holler. It is so quiet at TLP they would easily hear me. In our urban lives we forget what real quiet sounds like. At home, even during what we consider quiet time, there are easily half a dozen identifiable sounds we are so accustomed to that we don't hear, like the sounds of traffic, dog barks, computer hums, and more. Here, it was so quiet that the sound of the slow running spring, a soft breeze among the salt cedar branches, and my own breathing could be appreciated.
Oddly but thankfully, down is much harder than up and soon I had, without a helping hand, hoisted myself up on the ridge to begin zigzagging back through the Dr. Seuss-like clumps of grass. When I wasn't sure where I had been exactly, I covered the area widely. Mostly I remembered exactly where I traveled, even without sand or dirt upon which I might have left tracks. Instead of tracks, through the vista of thick grass I recognized where I walked because of the things I stopped to look at, such as the lichen on a certain tree branch, a place where I photographed a lowly weed, or one of the places where we three had peered over the edge into the spring gully before we had descended into it.
By the time I got to the the fence once again -- still no luck with the GPS unit -- Warren and Donna had returned as well. That is where we stopped to ponder the blue mystery substance. By now our shoes had dried but it was time again to sink them into the thick muck to cross the spring. After we crossed over, we stood on the other side, along the low end of the western slope, and discussed that if I had lost the unit in the mud, it was a goner. We waxed philosophical how luckily it is only a couple hundred dollars and easily replaceable. It was during this pep talk I saw it, on the right, i.e., the correct side of the mud, resting at my feet on top of a clump of grass that now looked like a gentle nest to me.
We took a leisurely walk back to the gate and vehicle and stopped at several plants that we had zipped by before. I am proud to say that I could correctly identify for Warren exactly two plants. One was the balsam gourd, also known as snake apple, that had first caught my eye a few years back growing in an alley at home. At TLP I've noticed many specimens of the dried vine, markedly noticeable because of its remaining red color, winding through shrubs. However, to my Odessa-eye, they seem especially large. They also remain a little gelatinous still. Those differences bother me. I will be happy when spring comes and it will be no time before I can satisfy my niggling doubt about this winter identification when I see the unique leaves and unripe green striped fruit, both looking like a that of a miniature watermelon.
For the other identification, I was also able to put my 2009 Master Naturalist training -- exactly one field class so far -- to good use. Warren asked about the green and red-tinged, compact, little plant so often under our feet, and now and then blooming, the only plant thus far in such a spring-like state. It was the imported filaree that Burr had discussed with our class! Although Burr will read this, I must confess I did incorrectly call it a "filigree," indicating how my mind works: it does look something like a filigree with its tight and deeply pinnated leaves that overlap one another into a beautiful circular pattern. Hard to believe that such a plant is so common now when it has only been in North America for a relatively short period, brought unintentionally by Spaniard explorers, in particular in the guts and hay of their horses.
Warren asked me about several other plants, but soon learned the extent to my training and self-taught education. The casual observer might not find all that much difference between the plants of the Lubbock area with the plants of the Odessa area, 120 miles away -- not all that far in Texas terms. They are both part of the Llano Estacado, and do possess a vague similarity. Both have the gnarly mesquite and hackberry, the weedy filaree and alley mustard, and colorful purple Tahoka daisies. However, I am keenly aware there remains an interesting world of difference, much for me to observe, photo-document, and learn.
While we waited at the gate for Kelson and McKayla's return, we asked Warren about his take on the current state of affairs for nature in Texas. His opinions and observations were grounded in a combination of deep abiding love for nature, his scientist's objectivity, and enjoyment as an lifelong casual hunter. He was able to illustrate that those three points of view need not be necessarily at odds. He gave us some hopeful examples of that wider view taking hold among the general population, ranchers, legislators, and others. In particular he talked about a piece of federal legislation that would put a surtax on things like binoculars so that other nature-lovers, not only hunting enthusiasts, can partake in the financial and philosophical responsibility of wildlife preservation.
It's hard not to overstate the importance of wild places to the informing of a balanced mindset. Long wild places like Tahoka Lake Pasture are becoming more and more rare all over the world. There is no substitute for the eons of balance and perfection it represents. I am reminded of something else in that paper by Warren, Dr. Warren Conway in this instance, that we read on the way to the lake, "The lack of nesting in man-made wetlands highlights the need for conservation and management of playas, as man-made wetlands cannot compensate for natural wetland losses..." Unlike my nearly lost GPS unit, it's not a matter of just manufacturing another Tahoka Lake when it is lost.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.