Dropping in on Prairie Dogs

       In Prairie Dog Town this afternoon, I spotted species of flowers I had not seen before. Urgently, I will photograph them, for unless we have another year of unusual moisture, I may not see these flowers again for several years.
       As I approached the town, already within ear-shot of the dogs barking my presence, I spotted a Jackrabbit.

Entrance to the Prairie Dog Town seemed impassable through the high growth of flowers. I made my way along the wheat field, but returned to the road to find another spot. Finally, I found my way across the tall, thick grass and found the town. I was rewarded by the sight of the dogs there, including the mischievous "mooning" by a pup.

Bird life, as always, was active and prolific at Prairie Dog Town, particularly at this time of year. No Burrowing Owls sighted. Many Mourning Doves, Scissortails, Sparrows, Redwing Blackbirds, Great tailed Grackles, Lark Sparrow, Bullock's Orioles.

Drilling in a Sorghum Field

There are drills perforating the land to find oil.

A drill rig stands within a crop of Sudan sorghum.

The operator of the rig.

He gathers drilled basalt.

A drill bit behind the boots of an oilman.

Nearby, we saw a well head.

Here, a drill rig prepares the hole for a pumping unit.

The trucker measures the amount of water in his truck with a post.

Water flows through the valve.

Two views of the reserve tank.

The drill post and one of the stakes that maintains it upright.

Four men tighten the valve.

A leak in the valve released vapor. 

The men worked until the sun set over the crops.

In the foreground, the "slush pit."

The water truck driver heads for home, too.

On our way home, a full moon rose over wheat fields. 

Bullock's Oriole at the Nancy

           There is a part of the ranch that I like to call "The Nancy." It was a gentle woman named Nancy who sold this parcel of land to us. This afternoon I explored the Nancy after we chained the Mesquite plants. In regard to chaining, two bulldozers attached with each end of a large chain. The chain is the same size employed by ships as large as cruise ships to hold their anchors. Together, the bulldozers pull the chain across the land, uprooting dense Mesquite plants. Soil conditions for this method of curbing the Mesquite occur only once every ten to fifteen years. In chaining, we regain the natural grasslands and cacti that the Mesquite overwhelmed by their prolific expansion from the southern part of Texas. A couple of months after the chaining, the grasslands have emerged healthy and dense, and so have the Prickly Pear cacti, able to grow with more sunlight.

Below, a Bullock's Oriole and its nest.

          Other birds I sighted on the Nancy were Cardinals, Brown-headed Cowbird, Redwing Blackbird, Starling, Great-tailed Grackle, Bufflehead Duck, Scissortail, and perhaps the Great Crested Flycatcher.

          Back at home, I finally found photographic proof of the Carolina Chickadees visiting my feeders!

Helicoptering Over Flowers

MyMrMallory flew the helicopter to a friend's ranch. We flew around the city to the north.

The view shows Scott Avenue leading into downtown Wichita Falls. I relished the opportunity to take photographs. 

On the way, we got lost, so we landed at JoAnn's church to phone our friends for directions. The church is surrounded by numerous species of spring flowers.

That's MyMrMallory in the background with his cellphone, receiving instructions from our friends.

The Municipal Airport lies nearby. In the photo I show runways 17/35 under renovation.

Our friends asked us to fly up the road for five miles, then turn east at the blue silos, pictured above.

Most of the countryside still looks colorful with flowers.

An orange tractor provided color, too, to the countryside as seen from the helicopter.

We landed in fields of flowers.

My friends flew with MyMrMallory checking on the ranch. I remained on the ground taking pictures and  feeling impressed by the prolific flowers.

VERY old barn and a road grater.

In addition to the flowers, the wildlife in the countryside seems fabulous this time of year. A Bullfrog jumps away from me and into the water. 

A Little Girl for a Puppy

       Don brought an abandoned puppy to Lucy Park, hoping a potential owner would come to get her. She lay on the concrete, half asleep, half forlorn-looking. I leaned down, scooped her up in my arms, and held her in my lap, but clearly, this did not comfort the dog. She lay her muzzle across my arm and sighed. After a while, a little girl came walking up.
        I said, "Are you the new owner of this puppy?"
        She said, "Well, if my Mom lets me have it."
        I handed her the puppy. The little girl sat on the concrete with the pup.
        It happened rather quickly. The pup began to whine and lick the little girl's cheeks. The little girl giggled. Then the mom appeared and saw her daughter with the puppy.
        Groan. "We have four dogs already," she said with an entonation that gave me the sense she would be taking home a fifth. After an hour at Lucy Park, the mom, the little girl, and the puppy got into their van and drove home.

Donation for Missi, Avian Ambassador

          BirdManBob introduced Missi, Wild Bird Rescue's Avian Ambassador, to one of her most generous supporters, a primary school student. For his birthday, the student asked his friends to donate funds to Wild Bird Rescue instead of buying gifts. Missi felt, as usual, comfortable before a camera and interested in her visitors. Missi's Mom felt proud of her. I saw her preening as she watched Missi visiting humans with great avian aplomb.

BirdManBob placed Missi on the student's hand.

Freedom for Owl

          BirdManBob asked MyMrMallory and me to release a Great Horned Owl. Just recuperated at the Wild Bird Center from head trauma, the fantastic bird can now live on its own in the wild. Here he is sitting just inside the opening of his carrier, looking wide-eyed (pardon the pun) at the forest spreading before him. After a few minutes of studying the wind, the temperatures, density, and dew point, he stepped out and took flight into the large trees along Holiday Creek.

Toward the End of Flowers

          By now, mid-May, flowers have pollinated and seeded. Some still bloom with great flourish, such as the Basket flower and the Indian Blanket framing the Black Angus and the Cattle Egrets in the photo above. Poisoned Mesquite plants stick up incongrously in the background.

Ocean

I was walking around in Archer County through late spring flowers and early blooms of Prickly Pear cacti when an unknown dog appeared to make my acquaintance. He approached me determinedly and stopped at about five meters from me, then looked up at me, panting, ears perked up. I said, "Hi! How are ya?" His ears lay a bit and he continued toward me. I stretched my hand to him, palm down, he sniffed it, and right then and there, in the midst of a flowery field, the dog and I became friends. He remained with me all morning, walking the hills, avoiding potential snake dens, plunking the tripod down for photographs, and chasing lizards and rabbits. After we returned to the old cabin, I called him over, "Husky! Husky!" He ran toward me and at my feet, he sat down. I reached to his collar, and working my way through his furr, found the tags on his collar: "Ocean" it said, and his address, Rattlesnake Road. "Ocean," I said, "I loved being with you. See you next time."

Cattle Egret and Cow. Fancy that.

If only I'd had a tripod, but still, I enjoy looking at this image, for it shows some of the flowers -- still all over the countryside, while a Cattle Egret benefits from the tumbling of insects from around the muzzle of the Black Angus.

American Robin

MyMrMallory and I watched this fellow for a while, and he watched us until his mate appeared with a beak full of nesting material. Away they flew into the top of a nearby tree.

I Brake for Birds

There he sat on a fence, calmly yet alert for insects, a scant ten yards away from the side of the road. I pressed the brakes on MyJalopy, put it in reverse, and stopped to aim my long lens. I brake for birds when I can.

Scissortail Flycatcher summering in Texas. 

Startling Snake

Impressive frog, I thought, for the size of its head, until I came home and did some post processing in the digital darkroom to enhance the colors of the image I took at Martin Park. The image revealed an adult Diamond-backed Water Snake with amazing yellow eyes. Another snake of this species I saw shortly after this one seemed about three feet long.

Flying Foggy Five Miles

            For some weeks now, I've wanted my mechanic, "Bone," to fix a few little things in the Scissortail. The HSI does not "slave up" to the magnetic compass, the VOR radio needs a new battery, the right strut is leaking, and while he's in there, replace the battery to the ELT, if needed. But recent stormy weather and strong winds, seemingly unending, have kept me on the ground, and the Scissortail safe and dry inside Hangar 84, portside strut lopsided.
            Today, though, we had an opportunity to fly from Kickapoo to Municipal Airport, only five miles apart, to take the Scissortail to Bone, one of the world's greatest airplane mechanics. The ceiling above held at 4500 feet above the ground, and all I needed was 2400 feet. So MyMrMallory agreed to fly in the right seat with me into Municipal Airport.
            The flight seemed to proceed as expected in every way. I took off on runway 17 for a southwest heading over Lake Wichita, and then northwest, around the television towers and clear of Shepard Air Force Base's Class D airspace until their tower gave me permission to enter. At 1600 feet above the lake, I radioed the tower.
            "Good morning, Shepard. Cherokee Four Seven Romeo over Lake Wichita with information Delta inbound for 15."
            Tower's response, "Four Seven Romeo maintain clear of Class Delta airspace," indicated that while the tower acknowledged us, they had greater concerns at the moment, undoubtedly consisting of the wing returning from a two-hour training period over the Military Operations Area to the north. So we knew we'd fly for a while before they allowed us to land, which we often do while the tower fits us in with other traffic, both military fighters and commercial airlines arriving from the D/FW area. No biggy, as Meda would say, and we flew at 120 mph over the lake, around the towers, and north to the VOR.
            Two unexpected things occurred once we passed the VOR. Tower asked us to fly seven miles to the north, which would put us in Oklahoma, but still not of any concern. But the T-38's were streaming in to runways 15L and 15R, both on either side of runway 15C (15 Center), and between which we intended to land. MyMrMallory and I would frequently glance in the direction of the Air Force Base, looking for the runway, parallel to our heading, but we could not see it with the increasing fog.
           Looking ahead at the low clouds, the sun at my right penetrating through them, I said to MyMrMallory, "I hope that this is the nuttiest thing I do in my airplane."
           The fighters, unable to see through the low clouds, arrived on instruments. One of the fighters had experienced difficulty finding his intended runway, in spite the aide of computerized instruments and the tower's instructions. Finally, the clouds became thin enough for him to see the runway almost underneath him, and he radioed the tower to say he would land while he had the runway in sight. This put us next in line to land in the center runway, so tower instructed us to change our heading southward for a five-mile final into 15C.
           The position of the sun, though, reflected on the fog and mist before us, and we could not see more than a dark wall over where we knew lay Shepard Air Force Base. We chose not to land there, and to return to our original point of departure.
           "You tell them," I said, "because I don't know how to say it."
           "Turn left," said MyMrMallory, "and return to Kickapoo, if we can make it back."
           As I turned left, tower came on the radio.
           "Negative, Four Seven Romeo! Maintain one eight zero heading." The tone, urgent, made me realize that, indeed, turning our aircraft left would put us into the path of arriving fighters into runway 15L. Interestingly, though I felt then a high level of anxiety, I felt no fear, for I knew we would all work our way out this situation, and Golly was I too busy flying to feel fear. It seems, I've noted many times, imperative to talk, to be chatty on the radio, stating your position and intention at every turn, and to explain to the tower to whom you've given yourself and your aircraft, your situation. At this point, MyMrMallory took over the radio and told tower that we could not see the runway at five miles and that we would return to our point of origin.
           "Four Seven Romeo head for two one zero," the tower told us, and further instructed us that once out of their airspace, Class D, to remain clear of it.
            Over the VOR on our return, we began to wonder if we would have to land on runway 13 at Wichita Valley, for the fog and cloud cover seemed to descend and darken over the city and the area of our intended airport. But yonder the tall towers I could see the white, round roof of MSU's coliseum, always a welcome sight, so I turned the Scissortail toward it.
             MyMrMallory asked me to ascend from 1600 feet to 1800 feet to clear the towers, and just to remind me of the quality of the radars employed by the Air Force and of their constant vigilance, just barely before ascending 100 feet, tower radioed us.
             "Four Seven Romeo verify your intentions to land at Kickapoo!" MyMrMallory replied affirmative, and that we had Kickapoo in sight.
             Sometimes I cannot tell whether towers feel any emotion about saying good-bye to airplanes they've guided along the way. I wondered today if our tower felt relieved that our little aircraft left its airspace, and consternation about our little aircraft having made a fuss in the middle of all those jets.
             Now past the towers and heading toward the landing strip at which I've landed so many times, joyfully, I resumed control of the radio to announce my position to the local traffic, which, for the conditions, seemed fairly busy. The odd flyer in the Eagle who landed on the 17 from the right, rather from the left, took off as we approached at one mile. We could see him and watched him carefully, lest he do again something unpredictable that would jeopardize our safety. As I flew mid-field above pattern altitude to loop around and enter the downwind at an angle, I spotted a Mooney sitting on the run-up area, silent on his radios, and remained there, silent also on its engine, waiting, perhaps for clearance from tower, a long wait on such a cloudy day, when likely tower diverted aircraft away from bad weather.
             In my pilot's log book, I wrote point six as my time (forty-eight minutes) -- the time it took me to fly five miles north, and five miles south.