Bookends
Jackass PenguinsMy library at home has several sections of books. There is a section of travel books, a big section of bird books, a section of history books and a section of mystery novels. At the end of each section I put a bookend on the shelf to hold the books together. After leaving a space on the shelf, I place another bookend to mark the beginning of a new collection of books.
This also works for adventures. There are bookends to mark the end of one and the beginning of another.
We have just finished a month in Malaya and Borneo, which were foreign and exotic in the true meanings of the words. We are soon headed for three weeks in Sumatra that I’m sure will again be foreign and exotic. In between we have four days in Cape Town, South Africa, as a bookend to end one trip and then four days in Sydney, Australia, as a bookend to begin the next trip. The space on the shelf in between is four days in St. Louis to catch up on mail and business and repack our bags, both physical and mental.
July 21 Malaysia Airlines #645 Kuching, Malaysia to Singapore
July 21-22 Singapore Airlines #406 Singapore to Johannesburg, South Africa
July 22 South African Airways Johannesburg to Cape Town, South Africa
Sometimes travel is nothing but a big sit. On our last day in Borneo we enjoy the resort until 1:00 in the afternoon by sitting around the pool with a good book. Then it is time to sit in a boat and a van for five hours back to Kuching. There we sit in the airport for two more hours, followed by a two-hour sit on a flight to Singapore. After another two-hour sit in the Singapore airport, it is 1:00 a.m. and we are off to Johannesburg on a 10½-hour flight, another sit. Then we sit two hours in the Johannesburg airport and sit again for a two-hour flight to Cape Town. After sitting for 25 hours since leaving Batang Ai and gaining six hours on the clock due to changes in time zones, we have a full day of sightseeing and birding ahead of us. Physically, we are still on Borneo time, 4:00 in the afternoon, but the local clock says 10:00 a.m. Callan, a graduate student at the University of Cape Town, greets us at the airport, “Let’s go birding.”
July 21 Malaysia Airlines #645 Kuching, Malaysia to Singapore
July 21-22 Singapore Airlines #406 Singapore to Johannesburg, South Africa
July 22 South African Airways Johannesburg to Cape Town, South Africa
Sometimes travel is nothing but a big sit. On our last day in Borneo we enjoy the resort until 1:00 in the afternoon by sitting around the pool with a good book. Then it is time to sit in a boat and a van for five hours back to Kuching. There we sit in the airport for two more hours, followed by a two-hour sit on a flight to Singapore. After another two-hour sit in the Singapore airport, it is 1:00 a.m. and we are off to Johannesburg on a 10½-hour flight, another sit. Then we sit two hours in the Johannesburg airport and sit again for a two-hour flight to Cape Town. After sitting for 25 hours since leaving Batang Ai and gaining six hours on the clock due to changes in time zones, we have a full day of sightseeing and birding ahead of us. Physically, we are still on Borneo time, 4:00 in the afternoon, but the local clock says 10:00 a.m. Callan, a graduate student at the University of Cape Town, greets us at the airport, “Let’s go birding.”
It is wonderful to be back in Cape Town and back in South Africa. We were in Cape Town three years before and it is great to be back in familiar territory. South Africa is one of my favorite countries. Much of the country, or at least the deserts and mountains, remind me of the western United States. Here, the food is familiar; most people speak English; the roads are paved; there are good and familiar accommodations; and the birds are relatively easy to see. In short, it is a very comfortable place to be. This is a good four-day bookend.
Cape Town is less than two hours from the Cape of Good Hope, the end of Africa. There is nothing south of the Cape except ocean and eventually Antarctica. Callan and I stand on the edge of the rocks at the end of Cape Point where the last spine of land drops off a cliff down to the crashing waves. “Stand” maybe isn’t the right word. We crouch. The strong wind in our face makes standing very difficult. We are here at the end of our world to see the beginning of the seabird’s world.
Whirling in the wind and skimming the waves hundreds of feet below us are pelagic birds, the true birds of the sea that never go to land except to nest. The rest of their lives they eat, sleep and travel on the winds and waves. Brown Sooty Shearwaters and white Cape Gannets are the large birds zipping in and out of my binocular view. I am careful not to get seasick watching the waves rise and fall below me in my binocular field as I lose track of the horizon. Then I see smaller white birds, the size of doves. Prions!! Broad-billed Prions!!!
As a land-locked birder from the northern hemisphere, I never thought I would ever see these white ghosts from the cold Antarctic waters. Yes, they do go north into South African waters during the July, which is winter in the southern hemisphere, but generally prions do not come close to land. Usually a birder must go out to sea on the big waves in a small boat to find prions. In the past small boats, big waves and Ranger Rick have not always been a good mix. Seasickness and the ranger are old friends. So this is fantastic, I get to see seabirds while standing on solid ground, even if the wind is doing its darnedest to blow me off the cliff.
Jackass Penguins are named for the sound they make. They bray like donkeys. A South African endemic, the Jackass Penguin nests in burrows among the rocks just behind the beaches near the Cape of Good Hope. Humans also like to nest (build houses) near beaches, so here we are in a community where humans and penguins both nest together. The main penguin colony is fenced off to keep out dogs and provide some privacy for the birds. However, the penguin colony has expanded recently and the penguin suburbs are now in the surrounding human suburbs.
“Yes Shirley, that’s a penguin standing in the driveway. There’s another under that Ford van.”
We stop our car at the corner where there is a penguin on the curb seemingly waiting to cross the street. We pull up beside him and look out the car window. He looks at us and cocks his head and looks us all over. I wonder if he is checking off an American birder on his humanlist just as we check off an African penguin on our birdlist? We each watch quietly for a moment and then we each go our separate way. “I wonder what he was thinking?”
The following day we are in sheep and cattle county north of town and driving dirt country roads looking for larks and cisticolas, the LBJs (little brown jobs) that birders find so interesting and non-birders wonder why. Periodically there is a flash of color from a yellow Bokmakierie or some other colorful bird but generally the colors are browns and earth tones. This is winter in Africa and even the grasses are brown.
The following day we are in sheep and cattle county north of town and driving dirt country roads looking for larks and cisticolas, the LBJs (little brown jobs) that birders find so interesting and non-birders wonder why. Periodically there is a flash of color from a yellow Bokmakierie or some other colorful bird but generally the colors are browns and earth tones. This is winter in Africa and even the grasses are brown.
The Bokmakierie is a common bird here. Birders might describe it as looking like a cross between a shrike and a meadowlark. For non-birders the Bokmakierie is a cardinal-sized bird that is yellow on the front with a black band across its chest. It has a delightful song and we have seen dozens of them on this trip. “Look there’s another Bokmakierie.”
Now in the late afternoon sun, we stop to look at another LBJ. Then scanning the land behind me for more birds, I spot a bush on the slope with a Bokmakierie in full sun catching the light just right. That yellow glows like a small sun in the middle of the bush. It is like seeing the bird for the first time all over again. It is absolutely beautiful! This is what I like about birding. I can see a bird for the hundredth time and get excited. This is a hobby that can last me a lifetime. I don’t always have to see new birds to have a wonderful time.
By the third day we are in the Karoo Desert several hours north of Cape Town. I think that I was born to be in the desert. I love it here. I am glad to be back after three years. I still remember each individual rock formation and isolated hill.
By the third day we are in the Karoo Desert several hours north of Cape Town. I think that I was born to be in the desert. I love it here. I am glad to be back after three years. I still remember each individual rock formation and isolated hill.
We are walking the slopes of one of these hills that stand alone in the brown desert and I can see for miles in all directions. The winter sun is bright and the air is warming quickly so I can hike in shirtsleeves. Somewhere here I hope to find a Karoo Eremomela (another LBJ) in the knee-high bushes on the slopes. Callan and I have walked for an hour with no sign of the bird. Other LBJs have flitted past but no eremomelas. No matter, I’m having the time of my life wandering on hills and rock formations in the desert.
In the still desert air there are no sounds except for our occasional conversations or some birds’ occasional conversations. Two hours pass and then suddenly there it is, the bird, our goal. Surprisingly, it looks much prettier than its picture in the book! It is not just a little brown job; it’s a little colorful job that only looks brown without binoculars. It is great to reach the goal and this is another check on the birdlist. But the most fun is not in finding the bird; it is in searching for the bird. How true that is of most of life. It is the search that is important, not the attaining. That’s been true in both my professional career and my personal life. It has taken a quiet morning in the desert to discover it again.
July 25-26 South African Airways #211 Cape Town to Atlanta, Georgia via Johannesburg, South Africa, and Sal, Cape Verde Islands
July 26 Delta Airlines #206 Atlanta to St. Louis, Missouri
Ah! Three nights sleep in a good bed in a Cape Town B&B. On the fourth day we bird until it is time to catch our 5:00 p.m. plane. Then it is back to sitting: two hours on the plane before a one-hour stopover sit in Johannesburg. Then there is a seventeen-hour sit on the plane to Atlanta, which includes a one-hour stopover for refueling in the dark of the night in an airport at Sal in the Cape Verde Islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Arriving at Atlanta leads to a four-hour layover (sit) before a two-hour flight to St. Louis and a chance to sit in a taxicab. So on this trip we sit for 26 hours and gain seven hours on the clock. It is 2:00 in the afternoon, St. Louis time. Can you say, “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” Ms. Shirley and the ranger can’t. Hello Harry and Marie, there are two zombies walking into your house.
Four days in St. Louis gets us acquainted with whatever we missed in the United States while we were gone. There are three months of Time Magazine waiting for me. When I read them all at once, it is surprising how little has happened. Family is waiting and it is nice to see familiar faces again. It is also nice not to eat rice for a few days—although it does sneak in there once. Ted Drewes Frozen Custard comes through again, both a cherry concrete and a jumbo hot fudge sundae in four days. A half-day’s birding across the Mississippi River in Illinois adds ten more birds to the year’s list. We head out to a baseball game where my beloved St. Louis Cardinals not only lose, they lose so badly that the score looks more like a football game than baseball. The Cardinals may not let me into the ballpark again. They lost every game I attended this year.
July 25-26 South African Airways #211 Cape Town to Atlanta, Georgia via Johannesburg, South Africa, and Sal, Cape Verde Islands
July 26 Delta Airlines #206 Atlanta to St. Louis, Missouri
Ah! Three nights sleep in a good bed in a Cape Town B&B. On the fourth day we bird until it is time to catch our 5:00 p.m. plane. Then it is back to sitting: two hours on the plane before a one-hour stopover sit in Johannesburg. Then there is a seventeen-hour sit on the plane to Atlanta, which includes a one-hour stopover for refueling in the dark of the night in an airport at Sal in the Cape Verde Islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Arriving at Atlanta leads to a four-hour layover (sit) before a two-hour flight to St. Louis and a chance to sit in a taxicab. So on this trip we sit for 26 hours and gain seven hours on the clock. It is 2:00 in the afternoon, St. Louis time. Can you say, “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” Ms. Shirley and the ranger can’t. Hello Harry and Marie, there are two zombies walking into your house.
Four days in St. Louis gets us acquainted with whatever we missed in the United States while we were gone. There are three months of Time Magazine waiting for me. When I read them all at once, it is surprising how little has happened. Family is waiting and it is nice to see familiar faces again. It is also nice not to eat rice for a few days—although it does sneak in there once. Ted Drewes Frozen Custard comes through again, both a cherry concrete and a jumbo hot fudge sundae in four days. A half-day’s birding across the Mississippi River in Illinois adds ten more birds to the year’s list. We head out to a baseball game where my beloved St. Louis Cardinals not only lose, they lose so badly that the score looks more like a football game than baseball. The Cardinals may not let me into the ballpark again. They lost every game I attended this year.
There is time again for another dinner with all of Shirley’s St. Louis family. This time the ranger gets the questions.
“Why do you like to travel so much?”
“That answer is easy. I have always traveled since I was a boy. My parents taught me to travel and I never stopped.”
“Why did you become a ranger?”
“Well, I guess the answer to that is simple but it is not short. Let me tell you a story.”
Why did the ranger become a ranger? The answer comes from long ago when Ranger Rick was still called Ricky. Every year his family took a big family vacation—the kind where you drive thousands and thousands of miles and try to see everything possible in two weeks. They covered a lot of ground but one of the things they always stopped for was national parks. When Ricky was eight the family visited Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado.
Why did the ranger become a ranger? The answer comes from long ago when Ranger Rick was still called Ricky. Every year his family took a big family vacation—the kind where you drive thousands and thousands of miles and try to see everything possible in two weeks. They covered a lot of ground but one of the things they always stopped for was national parks. When Ricky was eight the family visited Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado.
Mesa Verde is Spanish for green tabletop. When viewed from the river valley below, the tree-covered plateaus of southwestern Colorado look just like green tabletops. These plateaus are cut by a number of sandstone canyons that drain the high country. Erosion through thousands of years cut a number of large shallow caves and undercuts in the steep faces of these canyons. In these caves, protected from weather and the sudden approach of enemies, ancient Indians built stone villages and homes 800 years ago. These cliff dwellings are now the centerpiece of Mesa Verde National Park.
Ricky and his family spent the day touring the ruins. He hiked all the trails. He climbed ladders up into ancient houses. He climbed the cliff face using the Indian’s handholds and footholds. I’m sure he even climbed on top of the walls of the ruins in violation of park rules. But when a boy is eight, he has to climb. His parents told him that these were the old homes of Indians but little Ricky did not see any Indians. He saw only places to climb. His parents showed him where the Indians used to farm but Ricky did not see any Indians. He saw only good rocks for throwing. In the park museum Ricky saw arrowheads and baskets and pottery and even a mummy of a dead Indian but he did not see any real Indians. His parents told him that the Indians left Mesa Verde a long time ago because of a big drought but Ricky still looked. There were probably Indians left here somewhere.
That night in the campground there was supper by lantern light. I don’t remember what all we had but I do remember that there was chocolate pudding. And after dinner I got to do the dishes. That’s important when you are eight. After all the dishes and the camp stove were put back in the car, we didn’t go to bed right away. Instead, we walked all the way across the campground to where a park ranger was going to give an evening campfire talk. I got to carry the flashlight.
In the early 1950s the campfire circle did not have electricity so the park ranger didn’t use a microphone. There was no electricity so the ranger didn’t give a slide show. The ranger did not have any audiovisual aids; the ranger had only himself and his campfire.
I got to sit down close. I watched the ranger build a fire and light it with only one match. I couldn’t do that unless I had a lot of newspaper so I was impressed. Then the ranger started talking to the audience but I wasn’t listening. I was watching the fire.
I’m sure that the ranger welcomed everyone to Mesa Verde National Park. I’m sure that he told everyone about all the ranger activities that would be available the next day but I didn’t hear. I’m sure that he answered questions from visitors but I was too busy watching sparks fly into the black sky. Fires are a big thing when you are eight and not allowed to play with matches unless your parents are around.
Then the ranger starting telling the audience about the Indians that used to live at Mesa Verde…how they moved here around 1100 A.D. and farmed up on the mesa top, growing corn and beans and squash. The ranger talked about how little meat the Indians ate, just an occasional deer or rabbit because game was scarce. The ranger told how the Indians later had to move into shallow caves and build new houses when dangerous tribes nearby began raiding and making war.
At first I wasn’t really paying attention to the ranger with his big Smokey Bear hat. Then I realized that he was telling stories and I liked stories. The ranger was telling about kids my age. He told how the girls would help their mothers and gather berries and take care of babies. The ranger told how boys my age had little bows and arrows and practiced shooting at trees. He said that when a boy, not much older than me, killed his first rabbit with a bow and arrow, it was a big deal in the village and everyone made a big fuss over the boy because there was now a new hunter in the community. I bet I could kill a rabbit if I practiced.
The night grew darker and colder. As the ranger told more about the Indians, I watched the fire and listened to the stories. I watched the sparks rise and disappear. I watched the bright fire dance in the wind. I watched the ranger in the big hat. And then, out in the darkness beyond the fire, out beyond the ranger where the campfire light turns to black night, I was sure I could see Indians out there. And I was sure they were looking back at me! I shivered and scooted up close to my dad.
And that is why twenty years later Ranger Rick became a ranger—because a ranger in a big Smokey Bear hat told stories by a campfire and little Ricky could see the Indians.
July 31 Trans World Airlines #443 St. Louis to Los Angeles, California
July 31-August 1 Qantas Airways #8 Los Angeles to Sydney, New South Wales
Four days in St. Louis pass all too quickly. Thanks Marie, Harry, Sue, Randy, Norma and Jerry. We had a wonderful time. Now it is back to sitting: two hours in the St. Louis airport, four hours on a flight to Los Angeles, two hours in the Los Angeles airport and almost fifteen hours of non-stop sitting on the flight to Sydney, Australia. On this trip the sit is 23 hours and we lose 14 hours on the clock. Actually, it is already tomorrow because we crossed the International Date Line as well as the equator. Knowing where we are is hard enough but knowing when we are can really be confusing. Luckily this time we arrive at 9:00 p.m. local time, so we do not have to stay up all day. It is just rent a car, remember to drive on the wrong side of the road in Australia and whisk off to the hotel for a good nights sleep.
Through the internet, Shirley found us a harbor view room on the top (7th) floor of a small hotel overlooking Elizabeth’s Bay in Sydney Harbor. Behind us is the famed Sydney Opera House. In front of us is a sailing marina with dozens of boats rocking in the gentle waves. We have a balcony that overlooks not only the harbor but also a city park and some nice older homes.
My body clock doesn’t know what time it is, so I am wide awake at 5:00 a.m. and the first hint of dawn. I go out to the balcony to watch the flying foxes fly home to roost in the Royal Botanical Garden a few blocks away. Flying foxes are bats—huge bats. They are as large as a gray fox, without its tail, and have wingspans over six feet wide. They look like huge owls flying but their wing shapes give them away as bats.
July 31 Trans World Airlines #443 St. Louis to Los Angeles, California
July 31-August 1 Qantas Airways #8 Los Angeles to Sydney, New South Wales
Four days in St. Louis pass all too quickly. Thanks Marie, Harry, Sue, Randy, Norma and Jerry. We had a wonderful time. Now it is back to sitting: two hours in the St. Louis airport, four hours on a flight to Los Angeles, two hours in the Los Angeles airport and almost fifteen hours of non-stop sitting on the flight to Sydney, Australia. On this trip the sit is 23 hours and we lose 14 hours on the clock. Actually, it is already tomorrow because we crossed the International Date Line as well as the equator. Knowing where we are is hard enough but knowing when we are can really be confusing. Luckily this time we arrive at 9:00 p.m. local time, so we do not have to stay up all day. It is just rent a car, remember to drive on the wrong side of the road in Australia and whisk off to the hotel for a good nights sleep.
Through the internet, Shirley found us a harbor view room on the top (7th) floor of a small hotel overlooking Elizabeth’s Bay in Sydney Harbor. Behind us is the famed Sydney Opera House. In front of us is a sailing marina with dozens of boats rocking in the gentle waves. We have a balcony that overlooks not only the harbor but also a city park and some nice older homes.
My body clock doesn’t know what time it is, so I am wide awake at 5:00 a.m. and the first hint of dawn. I go out to the balcony to watch the flying foxes fly home to roost in the Royal Botanical Garden a few blocks away. Flying foxes are bats—huge bats. They are as large as a gray fox, without its tail, and have wingspans over six feet wide. They look like huge owls flying but their wing shapes give them away as bats.
When the sun comes up, the bats are gone and it’s the birds’ turn. I see Silver Gulls on the beach and cormorants on the boat dock. And then there are white birds—large white birds with yellow crests. These are cockatoos just like I’ve seen in a pet store. There are more than a dozen flying beneath my balcony on their way to a park nearby. They fly around and around with an awful squawk but a beautiful flight. A kookaburra and flocks of Australian Ibis fly by. There is even a New Holland Honeyeater, a life bird, perched on a TV antenna of a nearby house. What a beautiful place and a wonderful way to wake up on our first morning in Australia.
We have a new friend that we met through a birding bulletin board on the internet. Reg Clark graciously offered to take us birding near Sydney. The birding is great; the company is even better. Everyone is patient while I try to remember to drive on the left side of the road. On the second day we stop for a picnic in one of Australia’s national parks.
We have a new friend that we met through a birding bulletin board on the internet. Reg Clark graciously offered to take us birding near Sydney. The birding is great; the company is even better. Everyone is patient while I try to remember to drive on the left side of the road. On the second day we stop for a picnic in one of Australia’s national parks.
We no sooner sit down at a picnic table than the Laughing Kookaburras arrive, six of them. A kookaburra is a member of the kingfisher family but much larger than any kingfisher I’ve ever seen—and it doesn’t eat fish. It lives in the dry forest and eats bugs—and sandwiches as we find out. While we are busy watching one kookaburra, another one swoops down and takes part of Reg’s sandwich right out of his hand. It is a diversionary tactic they have practiced before, I’m sure. All six sit in the trees around us and watch for another opportunity but we have grown smarter, if a little bit late.
Shortly thereafter, as we are walking through the forest of eucalyptus trees (often called gum trees here) we can hear a whole family of kookaburras laughing in the trees. Yes, literally laughing. That’s the sound that they make. I remember the song I learned as a child in school:
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree.
Merry, merry king of the bush is he.
Laugh Kookaburra, laugh Kookaburra.
Gay your life must be!
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree.
Merry, merry king of the bush is he.
Laugh Kookaburra, laugh Kookaburra.
Gay your life must be!
What, no headhunters? No late night rides through elephant herds? No Stone Age men with blowguns? What kind of adventures are walks on Karoo hill slopes and Laughing Kookaburras?
The answer is, “sometimes the best kinds of adventures.” We've had exciting times over the past four months in foreign and exotic places but sometimes it is nice to go where the language is English, the roads are good, the food is familiar and the adventures are pleasant walks in the bush and the forest. These are the bookends that separate one trip from another and one part of life from another. Who knows what awaits us next in Sumatra but we are refreshed and rested and eager to start anew. Thanks, Reg in Sydney, and Callan in Cape Town and for helping us have a good pause among the familiar before we jump back into another jungle.
It is time to add up the year’s birds again and see how the ranger is coming on his millennial goal.
Tally for 2000
Eastern United States 136
Cayman Islands 49
Ecuador 669
Missouri 16
Illinois 10
Southern Africa 399
Singapore 61
Malaya 186
Borneo 74
Cape Town 91
New South Wales 87
Total 1778
The answer is, “sometimes the best kinds of adventures.” We've had exciting times over the past four months in foreign and exotic places but sometimes it is nice to go where the language is English, the roads are good, the food is familiar and the adventures are pleasant walks in the bush and the forest. These are the bookends that separate one trip from another and one part of life from another. Who knows what awaits us next in Sumatra but we are refreshed and rested and eager to start anew. Thanks, Reg in Sydney, and Callan in Cape Town and for helping us have a good pause among the familiar before we jump back into another jungle.
It is time to add up the year’s birds again and see how the ranger is coming on his millennial goal.
Tally for 2000
Eastern United States 136
Cayman Islands 49
Ecuador 669
Missouri 16
Illinois 10
Southern Africa 399
Singapore 61
Malaya 186
Borneo 74
Cape Town 91
New South Wales 87
Total 1778
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