I found the road just north of the tiny town of Las Animas. After about a mile, the pavement stopped. After about three miles of cattle ranches, the fences stopped. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Here is a Western Kingbird.

Here is a Burrowing Owl that flew from the top of a fencepost and landed on a Yucca stalk just far enough away from the road so that my camera couldn’t focus on it.

But I could see it well through my binoculars and it was a very exciting find. The only other time I’ve seen a Burrowing Owl was way back in 1980 when a very lost owl spent a summer in a power-line clearing along the Interstate in Hammond, Indiana.

Here’s where civilization stopped. The fence ended where a very large tire rested against a cattle guard. A flock of Lark Buntings were foraging through the grass next to the fence (next post).

 For the next six or seven miles, the only evidence of civilization was the road itself.

There were other birds around, lots of them. But they were all Western Meadowlarks and Horned Larks (below, standing on a dried cow pie).

There were also Pronghorns, four of them. They were by the road when I first saw them, but they quickly ran off, stopping occasionally until they disappeared over the nearest ridge. Pronghorns make no attempt to hide. Their defense is amazing eyesight and the ability to outrun anything that might want to chase them.

The tallest objects in the area were yucca flowers …

and Prickly Pear, some of which were in bloom.

But you’re never as alone as you think you are. I got out of my Jeep and walked into the prairie to take the photo above when my phone rang. It was Lindy complaining about something that happened at work. I listened patiently, but I was secure in the knowledge that there wasn’t a thing I could do about it, so I heard her out and then resumed my solitude.

I took this photo as I walked back to my Jeep. By this time, I’d reached Blue Lake, a small reservoir in the middle of nowhere.

I spotted a dirt track (I can’t even call it a road) that led out onto a levy and turned onto it, very glad that I’d rented a four-wheel drive vehicle.

The mudflats around the lake, and the shallow lake itself, were crawling with birds. There were ducks and geese and sandpipers and gulls and terns and a grebe and a pelican and coots and who knows what else. I couldn’t identify a lot of it because I didn’t have my spotting scope, but the likelihood of any of it being a lifer was remote — the birds I was looking for were dry-land lovers. Still, it was an enjoyable half hour.

Most of the birds in this photo are Wilson’s Phalaropes, with some Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs scattered about and who knows what else. I’d never seen more than four phalaropes at a time before.

 The large bird on the left with the rust-colored head is an American Avocet. The three medium-sized gray birds are Willets. The smaller birds are Wilson’s Phlaropes.

A Long-billed Curlew (left) and a Whimbrel (also a type of curlew) flew in together and landed on the other side of a narrow channel, giving me a chance to compare the two species side-by-side. Another Long-billed Curlew flew off shortly after I’d arrived, and that one was larger than this one with an even longer bill.

This was a lot of fun, but these weren’t the birds I was looking for. I headed back the way I’d come, driving slowly with the window open and stopping to check out every bird I saw, almost all of which turned out to be Western Meadlowlarks and Horned Larks. I did see two of the Pronghorns and the Burrowing Owl again, and this Loggerhead Shrike.

On the 10-mile drive out to Blue Lake, I hadn’t seen another car or person. When I drove back off the levy, there was a guy fishing in the channel, and a guy passed me in a pickup a little bit later. I hadn’t seen all the birds I’d wanted to see, but I’d seen some very cool stuff and got the definite feeling I was in the real West. There was even an animal skull out in one of the fields.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012 — 2:42 pm

Bent’s Fort National Historic Site, Colorado

As I toured the fort, I wandered out into this courtyard. Behind the wagon in the shed on the left there is a wood pile.

A small cottontail was sitting along the wall near the pile. It let me get close enough to take this photo, then it hopped into a gap behind the pile and disappeared.

I decided it was a Desert Cottontail because:

1. Desert Cottontail is the only cottontail found in that part of Colorado.
2. Desert Cottontail is the only cottontail listed on the Bent’s Old Fort mammal list.
3. It has black whiskers.

I wanted to confirm my identification, so I asked the ranger if he knew what it was. He said, “If I catch it, I’ll call it dinner.”

This was the second sign.

 I was the only visitor for most of the time I was there. Two rangers, dressed in period costume met me as I walked in the front gate.

I like strolling around historic buildings soaking up the ambiance. What I don’t like so much is watching films or reading lengthy displays when I can be seeing things. Plus, I knew I wouldn’t have much time at Bent’s Fort, especially since I wanted to bird while I was there. I read quite a bit of the history of the site before I went and collected several brochures to read later. I spent about 45 minutes wandering about taking photos.

The original fort was built by built by brothers Charles and William Bent and their partner Ceran St. Vrain in 1833. It served primarily as a trading post on the Santa Fe Trail. The owners and local Indian tribes swapped goods shipped from the east for furs, mostly buffalo. It also served as a haven of civilization for trappers, traders, explorers and soldiers. Charles was killed by Indians in 1846. In 1849, William moved 40 miles away and opened another post. The old fort was burned, and the remains were carted away by settlers as building material. The reconstruction was built in 1976 on the exact site using similar materials based on research of historical documents and archeological studies.

Only Indians from friendly tribes were allowed inside the fort. Others had to trade through a small window in a separate trade room.

The two rangers were sitting by an open fire in the courtyard. The smoke from their fire, combined with the smell of the corral and the clean air of the desert made it easy for me to get the feel of the place, especially since there weren’t any other tourists around until just before I left the fort.

I kept hearing this loud squawking that I was unable to identify. When I got the corral, I discovered the noise was being made by a peacock. The Bents kept a few at the fort to amuse the Indians and perhaps to act as “watchbirds.”

When I left the fort I began the first of what I came to think of as my “Adventures in Time Management.” A trail led from the fort to the river, through a grove of cottonwood trees and around a marsh. I’d read that it was good for birds, and in particular Lewis’s Woodpeckers, which would be a lifer for me. I hadn’t gone far before I realized the trail was longer than I’d anticipated. I had about half an hour to get my car out of the lot and a mile and a half to walk.

It was a pretty nice day, but it was also the heat of the afternoon, the worst time to see birds. I didn’t see many and those I did see were common species I’ve seen on walks by my house — except that the Meadowlarks were Western and not Eastern. I didn’t get a hint of a Lewis’s Woodpecker.

I had to walk fast for the final half hour and made it to the parking lot with just two minutes to spare. A family of four had just pulled in and were strolling toward the fort, but they had no sooner reached it than they came hurrying back in the wake of the two rangers who were riding in a golf cart to lock the gate.

I pulled out and immediately saw a small parking lot by the road next to this structure.

There was also a sign that informed me that I could use the trails at my own risk even when the fort was closed. I was tempted to make another circuit, but my first had been so unfruitful that I decided to head to my next objective. But if I’d known about this other lot and parked there to begin with …

Anyway, the fort was well worth the trip even though I still hadn’t seen a wild rattlesnake.

I ordered the Pass Key Special without really knowing what I was getting. It turned out to be a rectangular Italian sausage patty on a bun with Provolone cheese and bits of bell pepper.

It was a little spicy and very tasty and, although a bit greasy, manageable as I ate and drove into the flats of eastern Colorado.

My goal was Bent’s Fort National Historic Site, 75 miles away. I knew it closed at 4:00, so I had time, but not time to spare. US 50 runs along the Arkansas River, so the landscape was greener than I’d expected.

The trip was unremarkable, but I always enjoy driving somewhere I’ve never been before.

That explains why I was up at 4:15 on a Tuesday morning and why I was riding in a stretch limo all by myself by 5:00. (It doesn’t explain why I forgot to turn off the house alarm and so suddenly closed the door in the limo driver’s face as he was reaching for my suitcase.)

I was dropped off at the United terminal at 5:45. As usual, I was told to “have a safe flight.” I took this to heart and did my part by not opening any doors or firing any weapons while we were airborne.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen O’Hare as empty as it was this morning. There were no lines at security and I was at my gate by 6:00. Three women in United uniforms were working behind the desk. A young woman was sitting about 15 feet from them talking loudly into her cell phone about the “very nice” people at United who ignored her request and bumped her off a flight last night and another this morning without helping her or explaining anything to her and she had to walk all the way to the other end of the airport because that’s the only place they have “overnight stuff” and she was going to call United as soon as she got home to complain about how she was treated. Meanwhile, the three women pointedly ignored her. The young woman finally hung up and wandered off to parts unknown.

About two minutes later, a guy walked up to one of the women and began swearing at her. He was pointing to his foot (he was wearing flip-flops) and yelling that she had just turned and walked away from him when he’d told her he was dripping blood all over the place. Apparently, he’d cut his foot just before boarding and the United employees, and this woman in particular, had offered no help of any sort and hadn’t even held the plane while he took care of his foot and so he’d missed his flight. During the entire five minutes of his rant, the woman behaved as though he didn’t exist. He finally stormed off swearing.

I sat nearby and watched the show while eating a cranberry/orange muffin from which all the taste had been removed. Then I noticed that the gate number on my boarding pass didn’t match the information on the screen by the desk. This gave me an opportunity to deal with the women myself. I walked to the counter and stood there for at least a minute while the three of them ignored me and complained about passengers who “get drunk and wear flip-flops and then expect us to take care of everything.” Finally one of the women, without looking in my direction, said “Do you have a question?” in a voice that left me no doubt that I was way out of line for existing. Several snarky answers occurred to me, but I refrained. She answered my question, and I wandered to my new gate for a pleasant two-hour wait.

The plane to Denver was packed, and I got wedged against the window by a large man who dominated the armrest, not out of rudeness but out of necessity. Not that this made the flight any more pleasant for me.

I had 35 minutes between flights in the Denver airport. I bought a cookie and a bottled water and found my gate. If I had been lacking convincing evidence that this is a silly world, I found it here. The “gate” was divided into six lanes by post and strap dividers, and several of the separate passages were marked as different gates. (The one with the piece of blue carpet was reserved for first-class passengers and Mileage-Plus members. Those people really get the perks.)

There were three flights boarding at the same time. The woman announcing the flights had an intercom at her disposal and used it upon occasion, but most of the time she just yelled and very few people could hear her over the noise of the airport, so very few people had any idea what was going on. She would call for one flight and tell those people to walk down a particular lane. Then, before they got out of the way, she’d call for another flight and have them walk down a different lane. No matter what lane we walked down, all of us had to check in with her at the same podium and walk through that same door on the right. She wasn’t taking everybody from one flight and then going on to another one. All fights were loading at the same time. But here’s the thing. If anybody happened to walk down a lane not particularly designated for his or her flight, the woman made them walk back and return to her down the correct lane. It made no sense whatsoever. When we finally got through the door, we walked down a flight of steps to a long hallway off of which doors led to the tarmac where another, friendlier woman would look at our boarding passes and direct us to the proper airplane.

I think the flight attendant on this 20-minute trip was trying to make up for surliness of her coworkers. She was wearing gigantic neon-green sunglasses as she greeted us, and she referred to the pre-flight safety talk as her “safety dance.” I sat by a window on the right side of the plane and had a great view of the mountains.

I’d reserved a small SUV from Budget, but the Budget desk was empty. A guy at the Enterprise desk directed me down to the Avis desk where I filled out the paperwork. By 12:30, I was in my Jeep Liberty and on my way to adventure.

Or, I can allow my blog to appear on search engines and have no readers (except for the few of you who stop by once in a while because you like me and feel obligated) — and spam.

There’s not a day that goes by on which I don’t get several spam comments on one of my more recent posts. My filter catches most of them before they actually appear, but I have made it a habit to go out to my “spam-catcher” at least once a day had have a look.

It has to be the most ridiculous by-product of the computer age. The hope of the creators, I assume, is to get the readers of my blog to click on their links and visit their sites. I can’t imagine that they generate enough revenue to make it worth their while (especially not from my blog), and yet they never stop trying. Either that, or their hobby is being annoying.

But the thing I enjoy about spam is reading the comments in the context of the posts themselves.

For example:

On a post about the birds I saw on a walk — You actually make it seem so easy with your presentation but I find this topic to be really something which I think I would never understand.

On a post about miniature golfing in a funeral home — Thanks a lot for sharing this with all people you really recognize what you’re speaking approximately!

On a post that contained a bird list and very little else —  I would prefer to thank you for your efforts you have made in composing this post. In fact your fanciful producing capabilities has prompted me to begin my personal blog now.

And on that same post — Disgrace on the seek engines for now not positioning this put up higher!

On a very short post about watching the Easter Bunny ride by on a firetruck — I want to give thanks a lot for that job you have made in writing this article.

On birding in a swamp — I should say, as a great deal as I enjoyed reading what you had to say, I couldnt support but lose interest right after a while.

On a page that contains links to other posts and nothing more — So i am satisfied to exhibit that I’ve an incredibly just right uncanny feeling I discovered just what I needed.

For whatever reason, a list I made of things I want to do in McHenry County seems to be the most popular target.  On that page alone, I have received the following comments.

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 This is a strange world.

In attempt to make sense of these, I translated the last four comments from English to Arabic to Icelandic to Portuguese to Yiddish to Basque to Chinese to English. Here’s what I came up with. (It’s a little frightening to me that these make no less sense than the originals.)

• Alpha I do not know that I can do here, but I think this is a big-time.
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As I got out of my car, I heard Purple Martins by the birdhouses along the Fox River. I wandered over and saw several males dive-bombing a starling that was taking up residence in one of the holes. A park employee wandered over and we talked for several minutes about his efforts to restore the martin colony that use to thrive here. As we were talking, a woman walked up to us. She broke into our conversation to say, “Excuse me for interrupting, but my husband is stuck in the bathroom.”

Spring migration has begun, but wasn’t in full swing yet. In about an hour and a half, I saw:

• Great Blue Heron
• Wood Duck
• Canada Goose
• Double-crested Cormorant
• Mallard
• European Starling
• Red-winged Blackbird
• American Goldfinch
• Blue-gray Gnatcatcher
• Northern Cardinal
• Sandhill Crane
• American Robin
• Song Sparrow
• Warbling Vireo
• Black-capped Chickadee
• Tree Swallow
• Blue Jay
• Mute Swan
• Hooded Merganser
• Hairy Woodpecker
• Barn Swallow
• Common Yellowthroat
• White-breasted Nuthatch
• Indigo Bunting
• Common Grackle
• Baltimore Oriole
• Palm Warbler
• Blue-winged Warbler
• Nashville Warbler
• Cooper’s Hawk
• Red-tailed Hawk
• Brown-headed Cowbird
• American Redstart
• House Wren
• Eastern Towhee
• Yellow Warbler
• Purple Martin
• Great Egret

It flew into a nearby bush where I spotted this half-grown Mockingbird.

A Northern Mockingbird singing at dusk in downtown Norcross, Georgia.

We opted to eat outside, on a back deck sandwiched between the dumpsters and the parking lot. When I go to a unique restaurant, I generally like to try the specialty, which in this case was molcajete (a meal cooked in a volcanic stone pot). Mine had steak, cheese, onions, tomatoes and cactus (and who knows what else).

This photo doesn’t really give you the full effect. When the server brought it out, he was trying to keep the heavy pot from slipping off the plate while at the same time holding it out at arm’s length to keep the boiling liquid from splattering in his face. I was a little afraid of it when he first set it down in front of me.

It’s eaten by spooning the contents onto soft tortilla shells. I enjoyed it and I managed to eat most of it.

I wandered around Norcross for a little while. The downtown section has several interesting restaurants and picturesque parks. The townsfolk were very proud of their town — there were historical markers about every 50 feet memorializing important spots — like where the mayor ate watermelon and belched. OK, I’m just kidding about that one, but they weren’t much better.

Somebody had gone about town committing random acts of knitting.