Faces of Texas: Aransas National Wildlife Refuge

"Refuge, not park. The reason I correct you
is because parks are for people.
Refuges are for wildlife."
- Felipe Prieto, wildlife biologist
and Assistant Manager of the ANWR,
correcting my casual use of 'park'
to describe his workplace.
He says it happens all the time.
Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, Aransas County
.
.
"Children are more open to their surroundings,
connecting to the small things."
- Tonya Nix, Environmental Education Specialist
at the ANWR, on the difference between
educating children and adults.
Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, Aransas County
.
.
"You meet people from every walk of life
from all over the world."
- Vicky Bradshaw, an onsite volunteer,
on her experiences volunteering for various state
and national parks and refuges.
In addition to Texas, Vicky has been to
Hawaii and Alaska as a volunteer,
often living out of her RV.
Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, Aransas County

Faces of Texas

"It's relaxing. That's the important thing."
- Dick Green on not catching anything.

(To be fair, he had just started.)

Fulton, TX
. . .

"I set the record in 1976. Of course,

it's been broken many times since then."

- Butch Hodges on his performance

in the Texas Water Safari,

a month-long, muscle-powered water contest

from San Marcos, TX to Seadrift, TX,

billed as the 'World's Toughest Boat Race.'
Seadrift, TX
. . .

"Bless him on his journey,

and keep him out of harm's way.

In Jesus' name we pray. Amen."

- Betsy Lee in a group prayer

for my protection on the hike

(Betsy is on the far left,

followed by Sonya, John, Ben,

Sophie, Charles, Brayson,

Madeline, Elijah, and Mary).

The Lee family graciously hosted me

for two days.

Port Lavaca, TX

. . .

"The general economy is soft, but right here,

we're doing real good."

- Jerry Lawrence on the state of his business

'Fuzzy's One Stop,'

casually redubbed 'Fuzzy's Fun Stop.'

The grill and cook, not pictured,

made a superb burger

that satisfied this hungry hiker.

Hwy 35, near Palacios, TX
. . .

"Five dollars a day."
- Robert Peterson, pictured far right, of his 1950 paycheck
on Moody Ranch, while chatting with local friends at Fuzzy's
(Walter T. Krause, retired farmer and rancher on left, and
A.B. Massoletti, retired ALCOA employee in middle).
This statement was followed by a wide grin.
Hwy 35, near Palacios, TX

Books on the Texas Perimeter

For those of you who have already seen me in your area of the state, you may have noticed me walking with an open book in my hands. It has long been a habit of mine to read and walk at the same time, and I have read a number of books this way. The Texas highway system seemed a good place to continue the tradition.

Now in order to really be with me, you have to imagine a long Texas road, the moist heat filling the space around you, mosquitoes going crazy on your legs and arms and face, perhaps a bit of wind and rain for kicks. The drivers whiz by as drivers do, and you’re walking along with a book, occasionally using it to bat the bloodsuckers off your shiny, sweaty skin. It was just like this that I read a couple of books during the first two weeks of my hike.

The first was Stories I Want to Tell You… by my mom Esther Bonilla Read. She compiled several dozen articles she had written for our local Corpus Christi paper over the years, added a few dozen more, and threw the whole thing together (and as the South Texas Hispanics like to say, she “threw herself” as well). The stories were primarily reminiscences of her childhood and stories told to her by her mother, my grandmother. She made four copies of the book and gave one to each of her children as a Christmas present in 1994.

I remember one particular aspect of this present. In the summer of 1994, my mom asked me to draw a picture of a Model-T. There is something about commissioned art that I don’t like, and I postponed doing her the favor. She was resolute. She asked about it all the time and eventually demanded a product (I suppose my payment was not having to pay rent.). The result can be seen on the cover of the book.

I was seventeen at the time. I don’t remember what else I got that Christmas, but I can picture myself putting on some new clothes, playing with anything game-related, and leaving the book near the spot I had unwrapped it. I honestly can’t recall receiving my own personal copy of the book, but I know I didn’t read it. I know I didn’t read it because my mom reminded me for years that I was the only one who didn’t read it.

Well, look who’s home for chicken pot pie. I finally read the book and am happy to report that I finally have my mom’s entire repertoire of stories in one handy dandy little spot. Any time she starts to tell a story now, I can beat her to the punch by flipping to the appropriate chapter. Reading Stories I Want to Tell You… was like stumbling upon Harry Houdini’s personal diary of exposed tricks.

That said, there were some very sweet tales. My favorite detail is how my grandfather first met my grandmother wearing two different shoes, one light one and one dark one. He asked her to dance amidst the general snickering of young girls, and she accepted. It is simple, true, and beautiful. You just can’t invent a story like that.

The second book I read was Isaac’s Storm by Erik Larson. Mr. Larson chronicled the Galveston hurricane of September 8th, 1900. He weaves the story of two brothers positioned within the U.S. Weather Bureau’s Galveston station who were among the few professional weathermen to witness the storm so close. For good measure, Mr. Larson also includes a few other perspectives to add color to the tragedy.

This was a good book, well written, and gripping at moments. The back story about the uphill battle of the U.S. Weather Bureau to gain prominence and importance was fascinating and telling. Mr. Larson did a wonderful job to make the tale more about the people, the politics, and the random mishmash of errors and egos that led up to and through an avoidable disaster.

I would ask Mr. Larson to tone down the use of the single sentence paragraph. It was a bit much, the written equivalent of DUN-DUN-DUN! Toward the end of the book, the use of this technique became almost comic.

(For example:

“Spencer and Lord died instantly. Three others died with them – Kellner, Dreckschmidt, and young Dailey. Five other men were badly hurt. Ritter dispatched a waiter to find a doctor.

The waiter drowned.”)

Both books were enjoyable and good for the long walk I have undertaken. I will undertake to read many more along the way, so stay tuned.

Until next time, walker-readers…

Days One through Eight

Boat in Field, Calhoun County, Day Seven

Every trip can be summed up. What you saw, where you went, how long you stayed. These details serve their purpose and help give a general and vague sense of a trip. They generally do not go beyond the surface and yet are necessary to the overall understanding of a journey.

Below you will find my mileage and where I parked myself for the first week or so. Have fun!

Day One: one mile shy of Ingleside, about 15 miles
Day Two: Fulton, about 20 miles
Day Three: Goose Island State Park, about 7 miles
Day Four: six miles shy of Austwell, about 19 miles
Day Five: just north of Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, about 12 miles (some of this was repeat mileage as I went into the refuge and made a day of it, adding perhaps 10 to 12 miles more)
Day Six: Tivoli, 19 miles
Day Seven: Seadrift, 17 miles
Day Eight: Port Lavaca, about 18 miles

These facts give you a overview of what I went through, but my thoughts and random pictures behind the events of the day are much more interesting than the miles. Here are a few of my journal entries:

*In my first mile, a man approached me and asked about my hat. I answered his questions but my first reaction was to pull away. I told him about where the store was, and he said, “I’m gonna get me one of them hats.” Then he went about his way.

I was shocked that in my first mile of a journey intended to unite the state my first reaction to a stranger was distrust. I knew then that this hike would be about more profound things than footsteps and interviews and history. I’ll be attempting to relearn who I am and how I see people.

Easter Island Copycat, Seadrift, Calhoun County, Day Seven

*What an amazing difference a little decision makes. When I saw the egg sign, I almost passed it up, as I had no way to cook them. But I went in and asked about buying them already boiled. The owners accepted.

I was greeted with some apprehension by Felipe and his son, but before long, I was chatting Felipe up. He is a wildlife biologist and assistant manager of the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. He and his family live on twenty mostly undevelopped acres just south of Rockport. Felipe has worked for the ANWR for close to twenty years and doesn’t see himself or his family moving. He is proud of the family he has helped make and of the decisions he’s made in support of them. We also talked about the refuge, the year-long drought, and the give-and-take of the last few hundred years in regards to the land. Felipe is calm about the current difficult cycle and knows that God and the land have handled far worse.

My talk with Felipe and his wife really bolstered my spirits. Maybe this hike will live up to my expectations after all.

*I’ve had many moments of uncertainty already. Thoughts of “What am I doing?” and “Why am I doing this?” have entered my mind more or less since I left my childhood home. However, I stopped at a picnic table rest stop today, had a two-hour break there, and received a calm moment while lying down across the cement seating. “Just do it, and everything will be ok.” It was a feeling, an inner voice, and I felt better for the rest of the day.

The Parting of the Rain Clouds, Refugio County, Day Four

*I have now had several run-ins with the police. One stopped me the first day, and another stopped me as I was leaving Tivoli. These were casual Q&A sessions instigated purely from the look of me.

Yesterday, as I was arriving in Seadrift, the chief of police called me over and asked if I was hitchhiking. I told him no. He called the dispatcher, my ID in his hand, and said, “We’ve got a hitchhiker here, Montana ID number…”

Yet another policeman from the sheriff’s department of Refugio County kept circling the town of Austwell while I walked around. I must have seen him go by six times. I wasn’t breaking any laws, just walking around (I got lost, actually, in a town the size of my old high school), but I must have spooked some of the residents.

I have opted for this life and all its associations. I have no choice but to go with it.

*I’m worried about my body, in particular my feet. The pavement is killing me. My toes on my left foot are stressed and no amount of massage is making the pain go away (note: I mean during the hike; after hiking, the pain goes away within an hour or so). There are other pains as well, but the toes are the most serious. I’m taking the day off tomorrow and giving the hiking a rest.

Two Crosses, Refugio County, Day Four

A big thank you to my parents and the Nattingers for a wonderful sendoff on the first day, and a special thanks to Darren for walking the first part with me. These positive actions stack up against the day-to-day difficulties and will really help me see this project to its conclusion.

Sunrise on San Antonio Bay, Refugio County, Day Six

The Start

It’s four in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Even my parents’ dog, Tweety, who has taken to sleeping on the floor in my room, has been up these last fifteen minutes, somehow tuned in to my anxiety.

. . .

Today, I’m starting the hike. From Corpus Christi, I’ll head northeast along the coast. I don’t know how far I’m going today or exactly where, but this doesn’t bother me.

. . .

My restlessness seems to have taken root in the overall unknown of the project. I can’t tell you how uncomfortable this is. I do take some solace that this general mode of life has existed with regularity for quite some time. But I stand on one side of a divide right now, tossing and turning in a comfortable bed; stepping over it will soon separate me from the life I’ve led.

. . .

On the Appalachian Trail, I had to hitchhike from time to time away from the trail along a busy road to get to a grocery store. Hitchhiking is no big deal along the A.T. because people have gotten used to seeing thru-hikers in their area. However, I still remember the first few moments of sticking out my thumb. It was a very humbling experience. I got rejected, as is the norm, for quite some time, and I felt stupid having my hand out there, secretly wishing there were an easier way. It’s the same feeling, the uncertainty of sticking out my thumb, that I’m having right now.

. . .

I’m reading a book my mom wrote for her children called Stories I Want to Tell You. In it, she recounts many of her mother’s and father’s stories of growing up and living in Texas, as well as several of her own. I’m thinking of one in particular in which my grandfather’s family put him on a train to Texas from Mexico City. He was wearing a nice suit, had some pocket change, but otherwise was unprepared for the country. In my grandfather’s later years, he referred to that trip as enormously stupid. He hadn’t known the language, nor anything of the country. Perhaps it is a common trepidation felt between travelers, no matter what the era, against an unknown vastness.

. . .

I want to try for another hour of sleep. I’ll be hiking the first few miles with my friend Darren, and I’d prefer to be awake and in good spirits when I do.

. . .

I have added a few photos to this post, things either one or both of us will pass in the first few miles. Enjoy! My favorite is the juxtaposition of the two signs. That just strikes me as too funny.

I don’t know when I’ll post again, but I’m hoping for sooner than later.

. . .

Until next time, faithful walkers…

The Hat

It’s hot down here in Texas on the Gulf Coast. And by hot, I mean really hot. In fact, it could be ridiculously hot. It just feels like home to me.

. . .

Because of the sun, I’ve been wearing a lot of hats. I received a nice one from a Montana fellow named Ralph (Ralph is a gentleman, but he’d never let on as he has a reputation at stake.). The hat is turquoise, some kind of synthetic, and has a nice cinching strap to help keep it on. I used it for about six weeks in Montana, then took it with me on the four-week survival course in Utah. Since some of the previous blog photos came out, it has been retired.

. . .

I have taken to wearing a Stetson I picked up in a local cowboy shop. I wanted something a bit stiffer that also had decent ventilation. It’s a comfortable fit and now gives me full reign to wear starched shirts and say in a slow drawl “That’ll be the day.” My mom laments the transformation, but I tell her she’s missing the big picture. When pressed what I mean by ‘big,’ I tell her that I meant to say ‘last.’

. . .

If you’ve got such a hat, then wear it proud. There really is something to it, as you might be able to ascertain from my mug shot below.

. . .

Until next time, cowboys and girls…

Final Details and Final Days

I’ve been a little sick for a few days. It was some strange combination of the shock of the starvation of the survival course, the subsequent gorging of food during a four-day road trip back to Texas, and visiting with my nieces and nephew, two of whom had the beginnings of a cold. My legs from my knees to my feet swelled up, and it hurt to bend down to pick up a pencil. Then my throat hurt one day, my nose was runny the next, and before you could say “Texas Perimeter Hike,” I was down for the count.

. . .

I visited a family physician who had no idea what to make of me. I had a big unkempt beard which covered much of my face and neck, a dark tan, and legs that belonged to someone else. It was a puzzling case. The doctor poked and prodded, hmmed and ahemed, then suggested a variety of tests, tests, and more tests. I took five the first day, which included blood, urine, and an ultrasound of my legs, and three the next for good measure. I passed them all.

. . .

Little by little, the symptoms of my various ailments have naturally gone away. The mystery of my ailment will remain as such for my doctors, but at least I’m doing better. My legs are mine again, and my cold is just about to check out, perhaps another day or so.

. . .

To celebrate my slow-but-steady recovery, I shaved my beard. I'd been wearing it for two weeks after the BOSS program, and it more or less granted me the freedom to act like a Cro-Magnon man. But in order to get better, I often psyche myself into it, in this case shaving, showering, and going out for a fun time. Ah, but to be bearded again...

. . .

The road is calling. I’ve got a handful of tasks to do before I’m out the door. But this is an official countdown. No matter what the weather, come next Friday, I’ll be hugging the coastline and heading into the sunset.

. . .

Stay tuned.