Turns out, that was most likely the last thing a brave man said earlier this month, when sometime after midnight, he decided it would be a good idea to go swimming in a marina in Orange, Texas. There had been an 11 foot alligator hanging out, and advisories had been duly posted in attempts to deter drunk east Texans from swimming there. Our intrepid explorer, full of confidence and testosterone, need not heed warnings about a goddamned gator. This is America, and Obama wasn't going to take a moonlit romp in the water from him. So, despite the pleadings of marina employees, this man rationally gathered all the information at his disposal, his knowledge of living in alligator territory for his 28 manly years, and decided to say, "Fuck that alligator." It didn't work out. And thus, this man was the first Texan to be killed by an alligator in two centuries. (I'm not making this shit up, those were his actual last words, aside from the probable "Ouch" and/or "Oh no!")
This is a different alligator, obviously. I have no intention of swimming with it.
A little while back, I packed a bag and headed down to Corpus Christi, that dirty little city which turned me in to the man I am today. Birding was not a priority, but I did spend a few hours in Port Aransas and the surrounding area.
|Common Gallinule at the Leonabelle Turnbull Birding Center, Port Aransas.|
|Roseate Spoonbill. People like spoonbills.|
|Least Bitterns are often difficult to photograph.|
|I wonder how many Texans have perished in the gaping jaws of Willets. Surely, more than one in the last 200 years.|
|Couch's Kingbird at Hazel Bazemore Park in Calallen.|
|Black-necked Stilt. Shorebirds at Hazel Bazemore don't often number very high, but they're usually cool with being crushed.|