Excerpt from, Evolution of  a Birder...

We walked about fifty feet, and I was looking ahead when something scurried from right to left not more than three feet in front of me. I signaled Bob to stop. We both froze in our tracks. I knew what it was. I knew what it had to be. We then inched forward, and he flew to a branch about 10 feet from where we stood. He was at eye level, a handsome male. We stood for a long, long time looking at him and he at us. He was wary but not too excited. We decided to see how close we could get. We walked right by him and on down to the pond and then back. He was still there. As we crept closer, he casually moved farther out on the branch. We took one last look at each other then went back to the car. Finding the treasure you seek is always rewarding. It was a lovely day. We had our Spruce Grouse.

I know now that seeing the Spruce Grouse in his northern habitat turned me into a birder. I shall never forget seeing his dark, black belly, the comb of red above his eye, the distinct, white barring on his sides, and the chestnut tip of his tail. It was a magical moment.

Excerpt from, Adventures in the West...

 We found the narrow but deep Rye Canyon, where a man told us he had seen an owl.  It began to rain, so we stopped for a bit and sat in the bus, enjoying a light snack in the drizzle. Bob played some owl tapes.  The windows were open to prevent fogging.  When I looked up, there right in front of us perched on a pole was a wonderful Great Horned Owl.  He was obviously glaring down at us. I didn't blame him.  It was a shabby trick to draw him out on a rainy day.  Then, two Kestrels came along, and he was subjected to their harassment.  I felt sorry for him.  He retired to a small cave in the canyon. 

Excerpt from, Adventures in the West...

In Galveston, we found a VW garage to make an appointment for a tune-up the next day. We found Galveston Island State Park, reserved a campsite, then set out to investigate some areas we thought looked promising. We went back on Route 87 to find the Bolivar Flats on Bolivar Peninsula just north of the ferry. We saw a blotch of pink in a pond to the right. It turned out to be a marvelous Roseate Spoonbill! We missed the ferry road but spied a Long-billed Curlew. What a mind-boggling, long bill! Finally, we did find the ferry road and the Bolivar Flats. Oh boy, what a day! Many more Long-billed Curlews, terns, dancing Reddish Egrets, rails scooting in and out of the grass, both Night-herons, nesting Least Terns, EVERYTHING! What a spot! The sun dipped down creating a lovely sky. Returning to Galveston, we stopped for some chowder to absorb all we had seen. We had a window seat in the restaurant. Soon were joined by Richard N. Dicranian, (Dick), who worked in the VW garage. He saw us sitting there so wanted to warn us that a storm was on the way. He gave us his home address telling us to come over if the storm did get bad. We decided Galveston was a great town; really, nice birds and nice people, too. 

Excerpt from, Adventures in Mexico,                                               

South of the Brownsville Dump...

…after consulting Edwards' book, we headed for Río Corona on Route 101, about seventeen miles north of Victoria. Our search led us to a beautiful area with a river. Lush, tropical vegetation surrounded us as we spent the next few hours dazzled by all we saw. 

Bob wanted to see a motmot, and we found one. He was a handsome Blue-crowned Motmot who swung his rackets for us. We were thrilled! In this green, jungle world, we also saw a Green Parakeet, a Red-crowned Parrot, a Yellow-headed Parrot, and many more Brown Jays. Then, we spotted a Becard's nest, and later the bird known as the Great Kiskadee flew around us. We saw the diagnostic markings of a nice Altamira Oriole and a Hooded Oriole. 

We were in a happy daze as we walked back to our bus which was parked near the river, so we decided to relax under the inviting, old tree on the riverbank and enjoy a cold beer from our well-stocked cooler. Ever since last summer, we had mused about naming our faithful bus, and now our search was over. We named her Motmot, and as we toasted Motmot with some beer, which would be cerveza for the next six weeks, a Ringed Kingfisher flew by as if to offer his approval. As we sat on the roots of the old tree, a woodpecker flew into his home just across the river from where we sat. I saw the red on the head and claimed a Pale-billed. He poked out his head from the hole to show us his lineated cheek stripe. He did this several times to make sure we identified him correctly. An Anhinga perched on a tree to air out his wings as a cormorant flew down river. What a great spot! We drove back to Victoria, pushing Motmot at one point to try to catch up to what we thought might be a possible Moscovy Duck. We didn't catch up, but later on, just about as we reached Victoria, Motmot's headlights reflected the eyes, like lovely jewels in the night, of a Paraque.

Excerpt from, Other Avian Memories...

The red roofs of Florence were below.  We hiked on, thoroughly immersed in history and the terrain, when a rather large, crow-sized, brown bird flew into the field to our right.  The wings were black, flashing white when he flew from location to location foraging for food.   

  Our binoculars were in a backpack. We got them out to focus on this cinnamon-brown bird. He flew several more times from spot to spot looking like a huge butterfly.  The field must have had a lot of good grubs, because he was active. When we finally focused on the bird, we saw his glorious, full headdress and his long decurved beak. We couldn't take our glasses off the bird, because this was our very first Hoopoe!  What an unexpected stumble!  We weren't even looking for the bird.  He came closer, so the viewing was wonderful.  We were probably looking at him for at least ten minutes, cheering him on as he caught tantalizing tidbits.   At one point as I perused the scene, my glasses focused on a sight beyond the bird.  It was a building.  It was an abbey, and on the balcony all the sisters were lined up looking at us.  Did they know we were looking at a bird?  Did they think we were brazen tourists?  Did they think we were spying on them?  

We decided to bid our Hoopoe farewell and move on.  After all, he was in good hands in his field by the abbey.  These days, I often smile, when I recall the afternoon we saw our first Hoopoe and brought out the sisters.