Oh, wait. Maybe it’s
“Tora! Tora! Tora!” that is the famous movie.
You know the one; about the attack on Pearl Harbor, produced with the 1970 timeframe
storytelling.
Let me try again:
Ask a Gulf Coast non-birder if they’ve ever heard of a Northern Cardinal
and you’ll most likely hear: “Sure, it’s
the Redbird, right?”
Or ask a Gulf Coast non-birder if they’ve ever heard of
a Northern Mockingbird and you’ll most likely hear a personal story of angst. A frequent example that I hear: “It’s that bird that lives in the tree
outside my bedroom window and wakes me up too early with its non-stop loud springtime
spring-forward singing!!!”
Or they’ll reply with even more angst: “It’s that ding-dang bird that lives in my front-yard
trees and dive-bombs me when I’m taking the trash out to the front curb.” (Because the Mocker is in her springtime nest
protection mode)
But if you ask a Gulf Coast non-birder if they’ve ever
heard of a Sora, they’ll definitely reply with:
“A what?”
Some of my best birding memories are about the
bird. Sometimes the memories are about
the events that lead to the find. And
every once in a while, the memories are about both; and that’s my Sora story.
Let’s start with: What is a Sora? Well, here’s a picture. See her?
She’s looking right at you. Well
I almost didn’t either.
Look more closely at the bottom right area of the above
photo. She really is looking right at
you. Sora’s are close relatives to a
family of birds called Rails, with many birding field guides referring to a Sora
as a small Rail. And why does the word “rail” seem familiar to you?
These secretive birds, when looking right at you, are
quite simply “as thin as a rail” and can disappear from viewing, especially
when wearing their feathered camouflage that so perfectly matches their living-room
habitat. And you thought the expression “thin as a rail” came from the
railroad. Guess where the railroad
system got the term?
But I’m getting ahead of this little story. Some number of years ago I was slowly birding
Brazos Bend when a man and woman walked quickly and quietly past me, both
wearing binoculars. They were walking at
a purposefully-fast pace that didn’t match the binocular-wearing
stereotype.
The man and woman abruptly stopped some fifteen yards
ahead of me and so I abruptly stopped to watch these watchers. I don’t remember if it was the man or the
woman, but one silently pointed down and into the swampy marsh, behind shrubs
and trees. They both raised binoculars,
for no more than fifteen seconds, and then turned to each other and high-fived with
the biggest grins that silence would allow.
These two adults performed a trail-side dance in
double hand-locked high-five mode. They
ignored this watcher, even when ending their silent dance and walking back in
the direction they came. They walked
back past me, sharing not even a “hi”, and at this point I mainly focused on pretending
NOT to be staring.
Well, what was a girl to do? I slowly and quietly walked to their binocular
viewing position. And there she was: a new lifer.
From my field guide studies I knew I was sighting a Rail
relative, but I had to look up this amazing bird to identify the specific
species: the Sora.
That Brazos Bend day I kept binoculars on the Sora some
fifteen minutes, watching her feed and move slowly and silently about the
marsh. I wondered and was amazed by two
things: this lovely new lifer, and the
two humans who not only gifted me with her sighting, but only viewed her for
some fifteen seconds. I’ll always wonder
about their effort to view; and then dismissing to dance after some fifteen
seconds.
This story ends by moving forward in time: my first condo-on-wheels trip to West Texas
and a first planned destination stop at the lovely Davis Mountains State Park. I’d studied and studied Western birding field
guides to prepare for this trip. I felt
prepared and hopeful to sight some new lifers, all western specialties that frequented
the area.
On the way to Davis Mountains a spontaneous stop opened
my eyes to the secret wetland garden of west Texas: Balmorhea State Park.
After the long drive it felt good to get out of the car
and walk with binoculars; the dry air and desert habitat gave immediate pleasure
to this Gulf Coastie. From a quick look at the Balmorhea State Park map I was
drawn to an area called the reconstructed desert wetlands.
I walked to this desert wetland area, sighted movement
and raised my binoculars. And what was
the very FIRST bird this Gulf Coastie sighted way out west? The Sora.
I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. But there she was, moving about in this west
Texas desert wetland; behaving exactly as she did at Brazos Bend. That sighting is one of my all time
favorites; reality didn’t meet expectations.
And oh what a surprise that can be!
And so those are my Sora stories. This week gave me my Sora photos. My birding style of standing and watching and
looking for movement allowed me to catch the sighting of the Sora in the first
photo. If I hadn’t stood silently and
stared and scanned for some five minutes, I would have missed this sighting.
As soon as I sighted her movement, I ducked down behind
a shrub, in my awkward squatting mode. I
was rewarded with the Sora coming out and moving in my direction!
I captured these photos before my knees gave out,
causing me to stand, which resulted, of course, in the Sora quickly and quietly disappearing
from view.
I now have three Sora stories; and three almost good
Sora photos.
And next time you hear someone say “thin as a rail” you
can ask them if they’ve ever heard of a Sora.
