Twitching in Texas & The Hunt for Yellow Rail (again) - NAK perspective

[i welcome this first entry to my Biggest Year Blog submitted by Nicholas Alexander Komar, my 29 year-old son and occasional birding partner. If anyone else wishes to write a cameo essay as part of this blog, you are welcome to do so, either by submitting it to me by text (970-449-3645 or email (mocinno65@gmail.com), or by using the comment field. - Nick Komar]

I’ve been closely monitoring my Dad’s Big Year progress. Every morning I log into eBird, find my Dad’s profile page, and look through his newly submitted checklists from the previous day. This lets me vicariously go birding to all the amazing places his journey takes him, while also making sure my Dad hasn’t succumbed to his crazy ambitions. At this stage in Dad’s Big Year, I know he has to grind for every new species. There is only about 6 weeks left, and the list of available targets is dwindling.

Living in Texas the past 5 years, I’ve learned that the Winter is a good time for Mexican vagrants to show up along the southern border. As part of my morning eBird stalking ritual, I check the Texas Rare Bird Alert. You never know what will show up in Texas, but my “holy s%!$” moment reached a new level when I read CATTLE TYRANT & BARE-THROATED TIGER-HERON. “How is that even possible??” I hollered from the bathroom. “Everything OK in there?” My girlfriend asked. “No, not really. A bird from South America just showed up at a downtown intersection in Corpus Christi, catching bugs around a dumpster… plus another Mega rarity that’s the 3rd record for the ABA.” My girlfriend slowly put her headphones back in and went back to work. I immediately texted Dad. 

Four days later, I picked Dad up at the Austin airport and we bee-lined to Corpus. Another target bird had been hanging around the area the last few weeks - BAR-TAILED GODWIT. My Dad already had seen this bird this year, but not in the Lower 48. We decided to quickly look for the Godwit on the way to downtown Corpus, but after checking the 2 most reliable locations with no luck, we refocused on the main target. 

We pulled up to the intersection of Chaparrel and Schatzell around 3:45 PM and immediately saw three other birders pointing their cameras at a tree. Chasing an ABA 1st record species should never be this easy. We got out of the car and walked over calmly. One of the birders photographing the bird started screaming with joy. An understandable response for any lister who probably made a big effort to be here, but in my head I thought “Jesus lady don’t scare this bird back to Venezuela.” The flycatcher was un-phased, and posed for photos for all to enjoy. We snapped off a few shots, submitted the most bizarre incidental checklist to eBird.org and carried on. CATTLE TYRANT #826. 

We re-directed our attention back to the Godwit. We again searched the areas it was last seen. I looked closely at every Marbled Godwit I saw, squinting and unfocusing my binoculars trying to make them look more pale and slightly smaller, but it wasn’t working. Finally, with only about 20 minutes of daylight left, we pulled back in to Sunset Lake in San Patricio County, and decided to check out a part of the park we hadn’t looked yet. I parked next to a red truck and could see a man holding a large camera walking the shoreline. I got out of the car and said, “You haven’t seen the Godwit have you?” His facial expression turned to dismay. “I was just taking photos of it right here. It flew off as you guys pulled in!” A classic Code-3 move. We laughed and complimented all the incredible photos the guy had just taken, while internally distraught. “Did you happen to notice which direction the bird flew off to?” He pointed down the shoreline as he continued to marvel at the wonderful sighting he just had. Dad and I sneaked off in the same direction. Able to express our panic freely again, we frantically searched the shoreline at various access points, but no luck. Daylight was running out. “Why don’t you go back and pull the car up and I’ll keep checking the shoreline?” My dad directed. I ran back to get the car, shared a few more false pleasantries with the man in the red truck, knowing we only had minutes to spare to find the bird. Then my phone starts ringing and I see Dad’s caller ID. I knew what this meant. I drove up the road and saw my Dad holding his camera up to his eye. Success!
It was 5:45 PM now and the sun had set. We decided to grab dinner and mull over our options. The Tiger-Heron was another 3+ hour drive south, but more importantly was being seen in an area that required permission to access. We had both reached out a couple days prior to gain access, but only managed to get on the waiting list for the next morning. We only had 24 hours left in Texas before we both were leaving the country for Thanksgiving break, and without approval on the Tiger-Heron spot, we decided to not drive south to the border, and instead try to squeeze one more target bird out of the Texas coast. Introducing our harrowing effort for the elusive, the cunning, YELLOW RAIL. 

The result of delving into eBird historical data for Yellow Rail along the coast of Texas in November led us to San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge in Brazoria County. We got there at 8:30 AM on Saturday morning. Yellow Rail winters along the Texas coast, but are seldom reported in November. Checklists with large numbers of Yellow Rail get submitted almost each December in this area, but almost always as part of a banding project, or the Christmas Bird Count nocturnal surveys where participants are granted special access to take all-terrain vehicles through the marsh to flush up and count the birds for population study. With some reports tallying over 30 individuals, we thought surely we’d be able to get just one bird during the day, right?! 

As we entered the wildlife refuge, I rolled down the windows as I normally do to indicate that we have entered the birding zone. I slow way down and Dad and I start listening for any birds we can pick up and add to our checklist. However, within seconds, a fear we both had before getting there was confirmed. Mosquitos. Lots of mosquitos. Luckily, this was not our first rodeo and we came prepared with heavy-duty, long-lasting, mosquito-choking repellent. Although, it was about to be tested like never before… We got to the auto-loop around Moccasin Pond. Our plan was to stay on the road and play a tape near good habitat. We drove by a 12 foot alligator resting calmly on the marsh’s edge, seemingly satisfied by its last meal. We got to our first spot and stopped the car. Mosquitos bombarded the windows like blood-thirsty kamikaze pilots. Dad and I looked at each other. “We’ll wait until they calm down. They are probably attracted to the movement or exhaust of the car,” Dad said as I was already layering up in every piece of clothing I had trying to hide all potential points of entry. Finally we got out of the car, bathed ourselves in Deet, and started listening for rails. Dad and I have birded from Argentina to Alaska and experienced plenty of buggy situations. So far the mosquitos at San Bernardino NWR were bad, but manageable. “So far” being the key words here…

Our idea of playing a tape from the road was not yielding any results. We had to come up with a new plan if we were going to get this bird. We noticed a wet grassy track off the road which led to some more suitable habitat. We changed our shoes to waterproof boots and started to march. As we walked through the vegetation, it seemed as though more and more mosquitos began to take notice. We took turns reapplying each other with Deet, figuring this is our only shot to get this bird so we just got to keep moving. We turned off the wet grassy track and fully plunged into the marsh. There’s no way we don’t flush up a Yellow Rail now! We marched through the sawgrass reeds and murky water. “Hey Dad, do you think they call it Moccasin Pond because of the Water Moccasin snakes found here?” But Dad didn’t acknowledge. He needs this Year Bird. We pushed forth. With every step the saw grass stabbed my shins and my wer socks exposed that my “waterproof” boots were really just water resistant. But worse yet, it seemed like the buzzing around my ears was intensifying. With every step we were awakening more and more mosquitos, and now the whole swamp was aware of our stupidity. I looked down. Every inch of my body had a mosquito perched and trying to feed. I look over at Dad. He was about 20 feet away, and was wearing a green shirt. Although his shirt looked brown now, as I noticed the hoards of mosquitos on his back. I twist my neck to try and look at my own back. I could see mosquitos landing on each other because there was no more room. We had walked about 75 yards into the marsh and had stirred up millions of mosquitoes. Fearing death, I yelled out, “DAD WE GOTTA GO!” He yelled back, “YEP!” Accepting defeat, we ran out of that marsh as fast as we could, arms flailing around our heads trying to keep the mosquitoes from going in our mouth on each breath. With every swipe of my arm my hand would cut through the blanket of bugs. We eventually made it back to the car, and spent the entire drive back to Austin swatting mosquitos that managed their way into the interior of the car: about 100. It was the worst mosquito event in our lives. 
The madness in the marsh flushed up several Wilson Snipe, Seaside Sparrow and Sedge Wren, but no rails. Perhaps the Yellow Rail, unlike us, is wise enough to stay clear from the infested coast until colder temperatures drive the mosquito activity down. This nemesis bird remains at large. Now off to El Salvador for a week to see family, and AOU birds, of course.