04/16/2011   Gansett Marathon  
I signed up for Gansett because I didn't think I'd ever qualify again; you have to beat your BQ time by 5 minutes to get in. I haven't done two in a weekend since November, and then I had two rest days in between, not just one. All winter I thought about the upcoming double (though technically it isn't even a double since I had Sunday to rest between them) and worried that I wouldn't be able to do it. Even doing two a week apart has been difficult. I haven't been recovering very well, haven't been getting much running in during the weeks between races, haven't been running fast at all. I didn't really taper either since the Mt Si Relay was just last weekend and though I told everyone I was going to take it easy, when it was actually my turn to run I went all out, as usual. I think we all did. You just can't run a relay slowly even when all your teammates say they don't care about time either.
I intended to take it easy today and I did. At packet pickup the night before I told the race director I planned to finish in about 5 hours and he assured me that wouldn't be a problem. Susan and I toured most of the course yesterday afternoon after landing in Boston in the morning. Neither of us slept much on the plane. We found our favorite breakfast place in Somerville, the Bell Square Cafe + at 708 Broadway, without too much difficulty and each had a big breakfast and some coffee.
She drove us down to Rhode Island while I navigated, and slept a bit between turns. We stopped for maps at AAA in Narragansett then found a bathroom in the campground at Fisherman's Memorial State Park. It was a beautiful early spring morning, breezy, cool and sunny. We birded around the park for an hour or so then hit several other spots along the course before we reached Narragansett Pier. A woman I met at the state park had recommended the Coast Guard House + so we ate an early dinner there before picking up my race packet. The food was delicious and we sat at a big window right over the water so the birding was pretty good too. I think we were in bed by 8:30 or 9.
Today was dry but a cold east wind was blowing in off the water under a gradually thickening overcast. Having birded the area yesterday I wrote a checklist in my notebook before the race to save time while running. It worked well but I missed the two birds I most wanted to see - Common Eider and Brant - despite spotting several others that I hadn't seen yesterday. I ended up with 33 species, not bad considering the wind and the time of year. Birding stops along the water in the first mile ensured that by mile 3 or 4, I was in the running for last place.
I started running with Amanda around mile 5 I think. She's a Maniac and though qualified, was not running Boston because of the crowds. She's legally blind due to Retinitis pigmentosa but can still see well enough to run, though not to drive so her boyfriend brought her down to the race. We ran more or less together for all of the first loop and half of the second, though usually I was behind her due to a birding stop or catching up between stops. By around mile 20 we were both pretty chilled, she more so since she was only wearing a singlet while I had a long-sleeved tech shirt and a jacket. Since she was obviously cold and slowing down, I gave her my jacket then ran fast for a few of miles to warm up. At about mile 25 I met her boyfriend and we walked together towards the finish for 5 or 10 minutes and I reported how Amanda was doing. She'd resumed running when I lost sight of her and apparently had kept it up because she soon appeared behind us. Getting cold again, I also resumed running and caught up to Eva # in the final lap around the park, so we finished together, tied for second-to-last place, then ran the final lap again with Amanda. She was pretty beat after the finish. Her boyfriend helped her over to the Village Inn, where she gave me my jacket back. She told me that she'd been getting hypothermic and wouldn't have been able to finish were it not for my jacket.
Susan returned from Newport about an hour after I finished. She got my message at the Village Inn desk and met me at the bar in the Coast Guard House for lunch. I had a lobster roll and a brown ale and both were delicious, but the best part was to be sitting inside out of the wind and cold.

04/18/2011   Boston Marathon  
I ran 3:47:42 today, not quite fast enough to qualify for next year (particularly given the new staggered entry process which will probably cut effective qualifying times by as much as 10 minutes) but well under my target of sub-4:00 and better than my most optimistic projections. I had more concern than usual about even being able to finish the race today since both my left shin and left arch were sore yesterday morning, after seeming to be OK Saturday afternoon after Gansett. The shin problem was the usual anterior tibialis tendon soreness just above my ankle. I favored it all day yesterday and it improved somewhat by the afternoon but I expected it to get sore again today. The arch soreness started Saturday before dinner. The back of my arch suddenly became quite tender when I got up after a nap - a flareup of the plantar fasciatus which bothered me all winter but which I thought had cleared up a few weeks ago. It didn't show up at all today, and neither did the shin irritation - until mile 4, provoked probably by the the downhill grade in the first few miles. I tried altering my stride to minimize the soreness and after a few miles it faded away, whether in response to the gait adjustments or in answer to Susan's prayers I don't know but either way I was grateful. I think new shoes probably helped too. I bought a pair of Brooks ST Racer 5's at the expo yesterday. Racers have worked well for me in the past so I decided to try them today instead of the Launches which I used for Gansett. I'm not sure how many miles I have on the Launches but it's probably too many. The Racers, bright orange with blue laces, felt great and gave me no blisters though they did seem to bother my half-grown right big toenail for a while. The new nail has become a bit ingrown as it replaces the old one which broke after some race last fall or winter.
Conditions were perfect for today's Boston Marathon, as evidenced by the new world record of 2:03:02 set by the winner. We ran under blue skies with a cool west wind at our backs all day. The sun was warm so I ran in a singlet and doused my head with water at most of the water stops. I carried four gels and ate 5 1/2, most of them in the second half. My legs felt OK though still a little stiff and beat up from Saturday. As a result I ran the downhills tenderly, probably a minute a mile more slowly than I otherwise would have except in the few places where I could get off the pavement onto sand or grass shoulders.
I was the first one aboard my bus along the Common, having just missed the previous bus. Tony, Chris and Steve boarded behind me. I sat with Tony and we talked about the setup process for new Maniacs. It's taking too much of Marc's time. Though I'm too busy to do anything about it until July, I think we can automate most of it; currently all the data goes to Databar with the payment, then Marc has to retype it all into the Maniacs site. Tony and I lost Chris and Steve as soon as we entered the Athlete's Village but we hung out together until the first wave was called up. We spent most of our time in Porta-potty lines (which were shortest over by the gear-bag buses). After a while we found Larry Macon and he and I chatted until it was my turn to go. Larry, as usual, won't be in San Antonio when we're there; he'll be on the east coast running a triple marathon.
Somehow I managed to be late for my wave. After weaving through 50 yards of shoulder-to-shoulder runners I reached my corral and it was already empty - the tail end of wave two was just disappearing over the crest of the hill at the starting line. I jogged up the hill with a handful of other late arrivals, taking my time in hopes that my GPS would find satelites before I reached the start. It did.
I ran the first four miles a bit gingerly. My legs weren't sore but had no spring in them either and I was worried about the shin and the plantar fasciatus. By around mile 5 I felt my energy level picking up so put off the first gel until mile 7 or so. By 10 I was feeling pretty good. At a waterstop around mile 12 I washed and dried my face so I wouldn't gross out the Wellesley girls too much. Their screaming was even louder than last year - I think the nice weather helped. I kissed one from Texas, another whose sign promised she wouldn't tell my wife. I'd kissed my intended 5 before I was halfway down the line, so I kissed one more to make up for my first Boston when I was too shy to kiss any. At mile 13 I found Alison with her family (Joy, Carol, her mother and Igor) and gave her a hug, almost knocking her over - I didn't slow down quite enough. I lingered just long enough for Joy to take a couple of photos. At 1:53:20 I crossed the half-way mat.
In the second half I concentrated on running carefully, so as not to aggravate my AT or PF or anything else, and tried to hold a steady pace. I stopped briefly at most of the water stops and once to tie a shoe. I ate my third gel around 19 I think, after the first of the Newton hills, then when that didn't seem to have much effect, ate another. The second one gave me a brief boost but faded quickly so I downed another one, perhaps around mile 23, and started on a sixth but couldn't finish it. My feet started feeling tender on the downhills and my right hip flexor almost gave out a couple of times on the uphills but would improve as soon as I backed off my pace. The screaming of the crowd reverberated in my ears. It was so loud I couldn't tell if my legs were sore or not. I probably passed alot of runners in the last several miles but couldn't really tell because I was so focused on the pavement ahead of me. I'd assumed I'd pick up the common birds - starling, pigeon, House Sparrow, Herring Gull - as I came into the city but I didn't notice a single bird in the whole second half. Once I saw the Citgo sign I picked up my pace; that last mile was my only sub-8:00 split. It was an emotional mile too. I choked up several times and had to gasp aloud to clear my airway. Runners around me probably figured I was on my last legs but I actually didn't feel too bad. When I passed Susan and Mom and John at the Mass Ave underpass I waved and yelled. No point in stopping to talk; I wouldn't have been able to. Many runners around me started sprinting at mile 26 but I just coasted in, so grateful to have made it and to have run so well.
This year my bag drop bus was the very last one before Arlington Ave. I didn't see anyone I recognized in the long stream of finishers creeping down Boylston Ave. Once I received my bag I put on sweat pants and my jacket - the sun was warm but the air was cool. I didn't have too much trouble getting dressed. Walking wasn't bad either so I called Susan and told her I wouldn't need a ride. When I reached the Harvard Club I found out that the others had just ordered lunch at the Trident Bookstore. John and Susan returned first, as I recall. I took a shower downstairs just minutes before they closed, then waited a little longer in the dark-paneled lobby until Sarah and Roger returned from lunch. The woman at the desk downstairs had offered me a bag of crushed ice when she learned that I'd just finished the marathon. I alternately iced my shin and heel all the way to New Hampshire and it apparently helped because neither was sore afterwards.

04/20/2011   Jackson  
We spent several days in Jackson. I took photos and recorded a few birdlists but didn't take any other notes about our activities. Snow in the mountains precluded hiking but the woods around the property were mostly snow-free so we walked down to the fields and around the Triangle with Mom and John. They had been away from Jackson for six weeks and during their absence a Chipmunk had built a nest in one of the bookshelves in the living room. No babies yet, fortunately.
I birded a loop around the property for a couple of hours and found 16 species including both early summer residents such as Eastern Phoebe and Yellow-bellied Sapsucker and late winter visitors/migrants including American Tree Sparrow and Common Redpolll. In my report, unfortunately not available online, I described both the area: and my route: On our last full day in Jackson, as I recall, Susan dropped me off at the Tennis Club on the Valley Cross Road and I explored the beaver ponds across the street where I found two of the most beautiful ducks around, Hooded Mergansers and Wood Ducks. Both species seem to be more common in Jackson now than when I first began birding here back in the mid-70's. The Coltsfoot was growing on the gravel shoulder of 16B across from Whitney's, just the sort of habitat where a naturalized European native might be expected. I remember reading about it back in the early 70's when I was interested in edible and medicinal wild plants but don't recall ever finding it in Jackson.

04/30/2011   Sabbath photos  
Before church I stopped by Gog-Le-Hi-Te for a couple of hours to try for bird photos. Nothing enhances church like some focused time chasing birds beforehand.
John spoke and I suspect his sermon included at least a mention of either a dog, or a horse or chickens. They keep his messages grounded. We got to see all three in person that afternoon, meeting Wayne and Margie at John's where we walked over to Mahler Park together. They followed us home and I showed them the Barn Owl which lives in the barn at the end of our street and the Barred Owl which lives along the road down to the river. The latter was an accident; it came in to playback of Hutton's Vireo calls. The vireo, which Wayne and Margie needed for the year, did not show.

05/10/2011   Seattle to Austin  
Susan and I flew down to Texas today for a four day visit, she to get reacquainted with high school friends she hasn't seen since her college days some 40 years ago and I to get reacquainted with birds I haven't seen since my last visit 35 years ago. She's looking forward to having her friends meet me while I'm hoping to meet a few new birds for the first time - in particular a couple specialties of the Edwards Plateau, the Golden-cheeked Warbler and the Black-capped Vireo. The warbler I've known about for a long time; it's a close relative of common species in both Washington and New Hampshire. I'd forgotten about the vireo until I started researching Austin-area birding. Apparently both species occur in, and are the reason for the creation of, the Balcones Canyonlands National Wildlife Refuge, so that's where I'm headed tomorrow morning while Susan spends the day with her old boyfriend Donnie.
We met Donnie and his wife Marguerite for dinner after we found our hotel. They took us to a favorite Tex-Mex place of theirs, the name of which I've forgotten already. TexMex differs somewhat from our local version of Mexican food - more cream and Velveeta cheese and chili, fewer vegetables. Susan was delighted to see Donnie again; she kept giggling and touching him while they talked, as if she couldn't believe she was actually with him again. Donnie was particularly important to her because he represents the closest link that she has left to her mother, who died when Susan was only 23. Donnie was her mother's favorite of all her friends and he liked her a good deal too.
Donnie and Marguerite have been married longer than we have and she seemed as comfortable as I was about Susan's reunion with Donnie. We talked about our families and her business, though conversation over the music in the restaurant was a bit difficult. She went to work for Donnie as his legal secretary then started and Invisible Fence distributorship and ended up hiring Donnie, by then her husband, as her accountant. That was ironic, she said, because Donnie has never been good at math, though he somehow managed to do a good job for her business. He's semi- retired now while she is still fully engaged in the business, and is, according to Donnie, exceptionally good at what she does. Her closing ratio, he told me proudly, was 85%, far above the industry average of 60% or so. We lingered at our outdoor table long after our waiter cleared our plates, enjoying the warm evening while Donnie and Susan reminisced about old days, old friends.
Our hotel, the Mansion on Judges Hill, was a wonderful place in a classic old limestone mansion near both the Capitol building and University of Texas. Our room was on the southeast corner of the second floor had two dormers, a very comfortable queen-sized bed, dark antique furniture, a limestone shower and his-and-hers bathrobes. I was sorry not to have more time to enjoy it, but there was visiting and birding to be done.

05/11/2011   Austin - Balcones Canyonlands NWR  
Balcones Canyonlands National Wildlife Refuge was created specifically to protect habitat for the Golden-cheeked Warbler and the Black-capped Vireo, two endangered species whose summer range is restricted to the juniper-oak woods and oak scrub habitats respectively on the Edwards Plateau of west-central Texas. I had no idea what my chances of seeing them would be but decided that looking for them would be as good a way as any to get familiar with the birds and habitats of the area, and that Balcones Canyonlands would be the best place to start. According to my web research it was about an hour northeast of downtown Austin and offered trails and observation points in the appropriate habitats. It was a good choice.
Anticipating that we would be heading in different directions during the day, I'd rented a car for myself as well as a minivan for Susan. I left a note for her in our room and crept out around 7AM with my binoculars, TLZ Pro AW camera case with chest harness, the D300 with the 18-105 and 200-400 lens (which occupied most of my carry-on suitcase on the flight down) and a small fanny pack for bird book, notebook and maps. In the field I normally have the 200-400 on the camera and cradle the lens on top of the TLZ Pro with one elbow leaving both hands more or less free for binoculars or taking notes. By clipping the binocular strap to the chest harness, I can drop the binocs and have the lens up and focusing on a bird almost as soon as I spot it. I'm still learning to use the lens effectively. By training myself to sight down the barrel with my left eye while looking through the viewfinder with my right I've become much better at getting the bird in view. Then the trick is to focus on the bird and not on the twigs and foliage which often block my line of sight while simultaneously remembering to adjust the exposure depending on whether the bird is backlit or not. And to move slowly enough to not startle the bird while getting the lens on the subject as quickly enough to get a photo before it flies off. And to make sure that I have ISO and aperature set for the new shot, and not for the last shot I took 10 minutes ago. There's a lot than can, and often does, go wrong.
I stopped at a grocery store in Lago Vista and picked up a can of sardines, a bunch of grapes, a couple of tomatoes and several oranges, but was so excited about birding that all day long I didn't eat anything until suppertime except one of the oranges. About three miles out of town a big sign on the right announced "Warbler Vista". I'd been heading to the refuge headquarters a few miles farther up the road but decided to check out the warbler vista so drove up a gravel road about a mile through dry-looking juniper oak woods, pulled into the first parking area on the right and hopped out of the car to listen for the buzzy song of a Golden-cheeked Warbler. Silence. The morning was gray. A bit of a breeze stirred the juniper crowns just enough to make spotting any bird activity difficult. A cardinal sang, a slightly unfamiliar series of sharp, downward-slurred whistles. Then a warbling vireo sang its irregular up-and-down warbling song. It didn't sound quite right, perhaps a little too fast or too high-pitched, and the habitat wasn't really appropriate either. It was singing in a nearby juniper about 20' tall but I couldn't spot it before it moved off, invisibly, into the woods about 50 yards away. I decided not to pursue it.
A pamphlet from a box by the restroom stated that warblers could be heard if not seen along the Cactus Rocks trail which entered the woods across the road from the parking area, so I geared up and set out on the trail. The woods is more juniper than oak. The junipers have stout branches low to the ground which grow upward like additional trunks. The stringy bark of the older trees is the only nesting material Golden-cheeked warblers will use. Both deciduous and evergreen oaks grow among the junipers. The deciduous oaks stand out because their bright green foliage contrasts with the brownish green of the junipers. Junipers seem to predominate in drier areas, oaks in somewhat more mesic areas. Plane trees (sycamores) are scattered along larger stream gullies though all but the largest streams are dry.
The trail traversed along the south side of a ridge perhaps a hundred yards below the crest. Bird activity was pretty quiet for the first 15 minutes, then I heard a warbler down the slope below me. I waited for ten minutes or so but it didn't seem to be moving much so I continued slowly along the trail. After a while another one sang, this time closer. Again I waited, then ahead about 100 feet I spotted the singer, my first Golden-cheeked Warbler. It was foraging in the crown of a juniper and singing occasionally. I watched it for a while, worked my way slowly closer and took a few photos before it foraged around to the back of the tree, then flew some distance away. Hearing some songs ahead I continued down the trail. One was a Bewick's Wren, another an accelerating series of short whistles which turned out to be a Field Sparrow, and the third song a loud repeated "tewtewtewtewtew" which I discovered, after hearing several more of them, to be a Black-crested Titmouse. The Titmouse sings for a minute or two in an oak then flies quite a distance away and resumes singing. It was hard to spot them, even if they were close, before they flew off.
I reached a weedy opening with scattered young junipers and spotted another Golden-cheeked Warbler singing and foraging in the top of a juniper crown. They seem to like working the topmost branches and twigs of the junipers. Nearby I heard soft chipping calls and stood still looking for them. They were Golden-cheeked Warbler fledglings, three or four of them accompanied by one or two adults. One of the fledglings, apparently curious, approached quite close to me while I stood still except for following it with the camera. At one point I even had to zoom out to fit it in the frame. The adults didn't approach as close though whether by chance or intention I couldn't tell. A Western Scrub Jay zoomed around a juniper and nearly ran into me before swerving away over the shoulder of a little ridge. In the distance I heard a Mockingbird singing, then a Killdeer, then a Black-headed Grosbeak and an Ash-throated Flycatcher. A little while later I heard the Ash-throated by itself but the Killdeer and the Grosbeak were most likely the Mockingbird.
I think I was on the Vista Ridge trail. I followed it back to the main trail and along an open bench where I confirmed the Field Sparrow song. From a trail junction I think I walked up the Ridgeline trail for a while, where I heard but couldn't spot a singing Black and White Warbler before returning and following another trail out to the road. Just across the road I heard the Warbling Vireo-type song in open woods so I went in to look for it. Though I was very close I still couldn't spot it. As I stood still looking for it two warblers flew by, then one circled back and landed on a branch just a few feet from me. Before I could begin to move the camera up it hopped behind a young juniper trunk. I didn't want to move and flush it but I couldn't see it either. After a long few seconds it flew up to a branch above me where I took a few photos as it gradually hopped up into the crown. The Warbling Vireo-type song had moved to another tree, an oak this time, across a little opening, and there I finally spotted it. It wasn't a vireo, but rather a drab greenish finch, perhaps as large as a tanager, with no wingbars or other markings except for a dark patch around the eye and a slight eyering. The bill was rather stout and dark. I had no idea what it was. It sang its song at regular intervals but never called and didn't seem to be foraging at all either. At least I got some photos.
Back at the parking lot I met a retired Navy? Commander named Frank Madia who was now working as a volunteer for the wildlife refuge. He had binoculars so we started talking about birding in the area. When I heard my mystery bird singing again we went looking for it together but couldn't spot it until it flew off into the woods. I showed him my photos and he couldn't say what it was either. I asked him about finding the Black-capped Vireo and he suggested a spot along the road to Oatmeal since when he was last at the Shin Oak Observatory he heard only White-eyed Vireos. He also told me about a culvert near Doeskin Ranch where Cave Swallows often mixed with the Cliff Swallows nesting there. We talked some about photography too, since he has a long-time interest in photographing birds. I told him about mybirdnotes.com and promised I'd send a link once I got my photos posted.
With a couple hours remaining before I needed to head over to Wimberly to meet Susan for dinner with Scott Gatewood, I decided to go the the refuge headquarters, where Frank had said I would find good birding. And I did, a Scissor-tailed Flycatcher, a Golden-fronted Woodpecker which I should have photographed but didn't, a Blue Grosbeak which turned out to be an Indigo Bunting when I looked more closely at the photo I got of it, a Summer tanager and a Painted Bunting, though my views of those two species were way too brief, just as the gates were closing and I had to leave. I showed my photos to Rob (I think) at the office but he couldn't say what my mystery bird was either. Before leaving the refuge I took a short detour up Cow Creek road where I found a very tame Turkey Vulture on a fencepost and a Yellow-billed Cuckoo. Lots of bird activity there for so late in the day.
Susan and I were both late meeting Scott. Distances are much farther than they appear on the map of Texas. We finally found him around 8PM at a small restaurant across the street from the school where he teaches. Scott's hair was once black but has turned Santa-Claus-white, whose figure he somewhat resembles. He lacks the beard but his bushy white moustache droops down to either side of his chin. He and Susan were pretty close friends in high school and she was delighted to see him again. They alternated talking about high school days and Scott's various careers since then - he's managed ranches for both horses and longhorns, owned a feed distributor business, worked as a reporter at one newspaper and as the editor for ten years of another and now teaches journalism and writing at a charter school. It having been a long day, I left them to return to our hotel in Austin when the restaurant closed for the evening. Susan and Scott waited out a thunderstorm in the school gym before she followed me back a couple of hours later.

05/12/2011   Austin to Blanco - Balcones Canyonlands NWR  
I wanted to do some more birding around the refuge headquarters this morning then head up to Doeskin Ranch for the afternoon so I got up early again and left the hotel about the same time as yesterday morning. Same weather too - a low stratus overcast threatening drizzle, but the air was more humid this morning. Outside of Lago Vista I turned up the Warbler Vista road again to eat a little breakfast and assemble my camera gear. A light sprinkling of rain began to fall, then quit after a minute or two. I parked a short distance up the road when I heard my mystery bird singing again, and an Eastern Kingbird chattering as well. Lots of cliff swallows (but no cave swallows) on the wires overhead. I got a fairly good look at the mystery bird before it flew off, then found two Yellow Warblers foraging in the same oak tree. I noted the birds I saw then drove on to the refuge headquarters, having covered the juniper-oak woods in the Warbler Vista area pretty thoroughly yesterday.
The sky was even more oppressive as I set off birding on the headquarters grounds. I picked up several new birds though, the highlight being a Blue Grosbeak and a small group of Orchard Orioles. I don't think I've seen either species since shortly after college. Among the orioles was one adult male; unfortunately I couldn't get a photo. After about an hour I started hearing thunder approaching from the west, and the sky began to turn a queasy shade of greenish gray. When I returned to the car the refuge staff people were all coming out into the parking lot to move their cars to the shelter of a shed behind the visitor center. When they offered to let me join them I readily agreed. After parking the car I grabbed my computer and camera (w/o the long lens) and ran back to the visitor center. A billowing, turbulent wall of cloud, unlike anything I've ever seen, was sliding swiftly overhead from the northwest. I snapped a couple of photos before it vanished off to the southeast, replaced by a featureless gray ceiling from which rain almost immediately began to fall. Driven by gusts of wind, the rain slashed across the parking lot and fields, but it was only rain. The hail we all feared didn't materialize.
While I waited for the rain to clear I set up my computer in the visitor center conference room, where one of the research biologists was explaining the process of entering Golden-cheeked Warbler census data into the computer. To minimize disturbance to the birds, they don't band them, but instead try to map territories by plotting sightings of singing individuals and noting where singing duels or other disputes occur, inferring that these mark territory boundaries. Apparently once the young fledge, typically four per nest, fledge, the adults split them up, each assuming primary responsibility for feeding two of them until they're on their own.
When I got to the photos of my mystery bird I asked several of the refuge staff to take a look at it. They did so, and when they asked how large it was, I said maybe six inches long, perhaps a little smaller than a Summer Tanager. My initial guess was a male Hepatic Tanager not yet molted into adult plumage but the bird list indicated that Hepatic Tanagers do not occur in Balcones Canyonlands NWR. This bird was clearly singing on territory, and was not uncommon either. Misled by my description of the size, they either didn't know what it might be, or were too tactful to tell me that I must be wrong about the size. That was the conclusion I soon reached in thinking more about it. It was a common species, nesting in the area, all green with a stout dark bill and no distinctive markings, and a warbling song not unlike a Painted Bunting. All the evidence, except size, pointed to a second year Painted Bunting, so I concluded, and conceded to one or two of the staff that I later talked to, that I was mistaken about the size. No-one knew if the second-year buntings were relegated to less desirable habitat than the ASY birds, which apparently prefer the more diverse habitats near water, but it seemed probable, particularly since that's what I observed. I also saw at least two singing green PAIBUN's around the headquarters; they appear to outnumber the colorful adult males by a significant margin. I suspect the brightly colored plumage exposes the adults to a significantly greater risk of predation, though if so, it must confer an advantage in breeding success sufficient to outweigh the cost of greater predation. On the other hand, perhaps last summer Painted Buntings enjoyed exceptional breeding success resulting in an unusually large crop of second year males this year.
When the rain stopped I went out again for an hour or so, hoping for a good view of an ASY Painted Bunting. No such luck though I did see, and took mediocre photos of, a male Summer Tanager and Blue Grosbeak. Here are my bird counts and photos from this morning and this afternoon at the refuge headquarters.
I took the Cow Creek road over to RR1174 and on up to Doeskin Ranch. The last of the ALST overhead drifted off to the SE while I wandered around the Creek trail and the grove of oaks near the trailhead. My infected toenail cuticle hurt with every step so I eventually stopped to look at it. Red and swollen, I wonder if it's developing an abcess, and if it will get bad enough that I'll have to spend the day in a clinic or ER somewhere rather than out birding. I hope not. At Doeskin Ranch I finally got good looks at a full-color Painted Bunting, singing on a bare branch of a Pecan tree. A little while later I flushed another (or the same) one from around a corner on one of the paths through the oaks in the trailhead area. It flew up into a low bush so I approached a little closer, slowly and stealthily, and stopped to wait. After a few minutes it began to hop up through the branches. Just as it began to come into view, I noticed a diffuse stinging feeling around my right ankle. I ignored it while I began shooting the bunting, trying to get the focus to lock on the bird instead of the leaves in front of it, but the stinging quickly became too intense to ignore, I stooped to brush the fire ants off my ankle and when I did, the bird disappeared. I guess that's what they were - tiny brown ants whose bite is way out of proportion to their size.
We met Scott again for dinner, this time at the Bowling Club, an old nine-pin bowling alley in Blanco. Susan was quite late; we were about done eating when she showed up. It was OK; I enjoyed the time getting to know Scott a little better. The atmosphere at the Bowling Club, which looks much as it did 50 years ago, was better than the food but I did enjoy the Brown Ale by Real Ale Brewery, made right there in Blanco Texas. Note - Blanco is not, as one would think, pronounced "Blahnco", but rather "Blank Oh".
We stayed at the Blanco County Inn, a place I booked online from our hotel in Austin last night without any assurance that it would be spouse-worthy other than a few decent reviews in Trip Advisor. When I checked in, the owner (Deborah I think) offered me the two-bedroom upstairs apartment for $99 a night since she didn't have anyone in it. Though not fancy, it was clean, spacious and comfortable and Susan loved it. Hopefully we'll get to stay here again. It even has a fairly private deck so I sat out in the sun and savored the heat for 15 minutes or so before it was time to get ready to go meet Scott.

05/13/2011   Blanco - Balcones Canyonlands NWR  
I considered going to Lost Maples today but it's a longer drive so I decided to return to Doeskin Ranch and to look for a Black-capped Vireo at the Shin Oak Observation platform. It's about an hour drive from Blanco, a pleasant drive on a cool sunny morning. A little over 3 miles east of Marble Falls as I crossed a bridge over Hamilton Creek, I noticed a big flock of Cliff Swallows over the still water of the stream so I stopped to take a look. Though I didn't find any Cave Swallows, or any water birds, the light was right for photos so I sat down and took about a hundred shots, out of which I managed to get a few birds in flight and in focus. I also flushed an adult Painted Bunting from the ground in front of the car as soon as I opened the door. Another missed opportunity for a close-up Bunting shot. About 3 miles north of RR1431 along RR1174 as I was on my way to the Shin Oak Observatory a Greater Roadrunner ran across tje road in front of me. I haven't seen one of those since my month with Dave Sawyer in Arizona in 1984. And I'd never seen a Black-capped Vireo, one of which was singing with a loud and distinctive voice in one of the dense oak bushes less than a hundred feet off to the right of the walkway out to the Shin Oak Observation gazebo. I didn't see that one either. Compared to a Red-eyed Vireo the song has a faster tempo with shorter and somewhat higher-pitched phrases, but like the Red-eyed, each phrase is different. And like the Red-eyed, it is very difficult to spot in the foliage from which it sings. I did see a number of other species including a Crested Caracara during an hour at the Observatory.
As I was leaving I met a researcher from the University of Washington named Tricia who was returning to the parking lot from surveying vireo nests out in the scrub oak. Her own research is on vultures but she's helping out with a vireo study during their breeding season. I asked her about the Painted Buntings I'd seen, and she said it was very likely that the SY males would be relegated to the less desirable dry juniper forest and that they probably do not enjoy much success in breeding, adding that even those young they do raise may well be the offspring of nearby ASY males. DNA studies indicate that even those female mated to SY males prefer the colorful older males when they get the opportunity.
Before returning to Doeskin Ranch I stopped by the spot along the road to Oatmeal that Frank told me about a couple of days ago. Even before I pulled off the road I heard another Black-capped Vireo singing. It was on the wrong side of the road, pretty much directly across from the gated entrance to the NWR parcel, singing from a clump of oaks under the powerline. I jumped out of the car, hesitated a moment considering whether or not to take the camera, decided not since it might make it more difficult to search for the bird with binoculars, and dashed discretely across the road to approach the bird from behind the cover of a taller oak right along the fenceline. Peering through the branches, I found the singing Black-capped Vireo right away, in full view just 20 feet away perched on the top of a bare twig of its oak. Leaving the camera in the car was the wrong choice! When I came returned with the camera the vireo had hopped down a few inches but was still partly visible so I got a few shots. That made my day. I also found a singing White-eyed Vireo in the juniper oak woods along the power line and managed to get a photo of it as well. I saw it fly twice and both times it was accompanied by another vireo but I think only one of them was singing. The White-eyed Vireo song is quite different from the Black-capped. Phrases are much longer and more complex, and often preceded and/or followed by a sharp "chik" or "cheet" note. The White-eyed repeats each phrase two or three times before switching to a different one. Here are birds and photos from my hour there.
On the way back to Doeskin Ranch I stopped at the other spot Frank told me about, a draw under RR1174 0.3 miles north of the entrance to the parking lot. A flock of Cliff Swallows nests in the tunnel under the road and Cave Swallows are often found with them there. It took me a few minutes of studying the birds overhead to definitely identify a Cave Swallow, but once I did, I found quite a few. That was a good spot for birds - a pair of Scissor-tailed Flycatchers was foraging nearby in the fields and I managed to get some half-decent photos, and a bright red Summer Tanager lingered in a nearby oak for a while as well. They have an odd call, like a Western Tanager with stuttering. Here's a list of birds and a few photos. Unlike yesterday, when I pulled into Doeskin Ranch this afternoon the place was packed. Two or three school buses were idling in the parking lot and all but a few of the slots were taken. A group of grade school children were milling around the trailhead area with a couple of adults directing traffic; it appeared as though they were just coming in from their field trip and were getting ready to leave. Feeling somewhat self-conscious because I was carrying the big lens, I didn't linger in the trailhead oak grove but started right down the Creek trail instead. It was mid-afternoon and I didn't expect to see much but I didn't care - with photos of both the Black-capped Vireo and a few Cave Swallows, as well as the Cliff Swallows this morning and the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher and Summer Tanager at my last stop, I was content just to walk around and see if I could find the birds I'd seen or heard yesterday. I missed the Indigo Bunting but picked up an Ash-throated Flycatcher and a female Summer Tanager which perched right overhead while I was sitting on a bench in the shade, telling a young guy from Austin about Painted Buntings. He was just getting interested in birds and had never seen or heard of a Painted Bunting, but unfortunately I didn't have a photo on the camera to show him. Of the species that I particularly wanted to photograph on this trip, that's the only one I still don't have a decent image of.
I considered hiking up the RimRock trail but didn't want to put on shoes. I wore flipflops all day because of my infected toe, and that seems to have helped - the swelling and redness isn't as bad as it was yesterday afternoon and it doesn't hurt to walk on either. I drove back to Blanco early instead of doing the hike. Having been too busy birding to bother with lunch I was hungry when I got back. Susan was still down in San Antonio with Becky and/or Stony, and it didn't sound as though she'd be getting to Craig's party in Spring Branch until around 7PM, so I drove down to the Redbud Cafe on the main square. I was surprised to find a nice selection of micro-brews as well as a delicious grilled vegetable panini. Next door a little gift shop had a variety of local Lavender products so I bought a bottle of body wash for Susan. It would have been pleasant to hang out and eat my sandwich there but I didn't have time. Susan called to ask me to bring a change of clothes for her. By not having to drive all the way back up to Blanco she'd get to the party an hour earlier so I needed to get going myself.
Craig and Michelle live in a spacious, high-ceilinged house shaded by big oaks in a sprawling older development east of town. I met Becky and her husband Bubby, and Susan's close friend Stony, and Linda, another friend of Susan's. Craig had fixed fajitas with barbecued beef and roasted vegetables, including some Jalapeno peppers. The first pepper I ate was delicious, smoky with just the right amount of heat, but my second one was so hot my eyes teared up and I couldn't talk. Michelle gave me some vanilla ice cream and that helped me recover. Craig was delighted with the Alaskan Amber ale we brought with us. He used to drink it when he was working in Alaska and had asked if we could get him any.

05/14/2011   Pedernales Falls State Park and home  Bird Blind sightings
Our last day in Texas. I was feeling a bit birded out after three full days of birding and bird photography so I slept in a bit. Scott was coming over to meet Susan for breakfast so I waited until he arrived and we took a few pictures before I drove off for a last morning of birding. I was thinking of heading north to Balcones Canyonlands NWR again but when I saw the sign to Pedernales State Park in Johnson City, I decided to check that out instead. It was a good choice.
A few miles east of town I passed a group of about two dozen Black Vultures and a Crested Caracara feeding on a road-killed deer off the shoulder of the road. I backed up and managed to get some decent photos of both species. In another couple of miles the road crossed a small stream with a bright green border of cypress trees. I stopped again for photos. About 10 miles east of town I turned left into the park and followed a winding road through juniper forest down to the entrance station, where a young woman explained the bird highlights of the park. There were Golden-cheeked Warblers nesting along several of the hiking trails in the park. There was also a bird blind for photographers. Down along the river a narrow band of cypress offered additional possibilities. I stopped at the bird blind first and consequently never made it out to the trails and the riparian.
There were actually two blinds, sturdy wooden sheds with windows and camera openings, each blind overlooking a yard about 50 feet square with a few stones and snags and a water feature. The newer blind, facing north, was the best I've ever seen, an area of short dry grass with scattered limestone outcrops and weathered snags, the whole enclosed with mesquite and other shrubs. On one side a small stream of water trickled down over ledges into a small pool bordered by an apron of rounded river rock. Sunflower seeds were scattered on the ground and rock outcrops and peanut butter was smeared in places on the snags. The overall effect was very credible and the blind provided excellent opportunities to photograph the birds in natural-appearing settings. The older blind, facing south, was less natural-looking but still provided some decent photo opportunities. Bird action was almost continuous and I took over 600 pictures in my four hours in the blinds. Being a weekday, there weren't many other people present and I never had to wait for a camera slot. I did have to wait for the Painted Buntings, which came in only occasionally, but eventually I got the close up Painted Bunting photos I've been looking for. I saw 19 other species and got photos of all of them except the Red-headed Woodpecker, which I heard tapping outside but unfortunately never bothered to go out and see.
Before I left I made a brief stop at the falls for which the park is named. The Pedernales River makes a big bend through the park, sliding down over limestone ledges in a series of warm brown trickles and deep blue pools. Swimming is not allowed but people weren't paying too much attention to that rule. The riverbed is enormous compared to the volume of water flow but apparently the Pedernales does occasionally run bank to bank. An information board at the trailhead showed photos of a massive brown flood with standing waves twenty feet high over the ledges where people now sat picnicking in the sunshine.

06/13/2011   London to Chiddingstone Causeway  
The drive out of the airport was tough. We rented a big car again, a Volvo station wagon, knowing that John and Mom would be joining us in a few days. Though not as big as last year's minivan it still seemed to consume almost the entire width of the little roads we found ourselves on once we left the freeway. Leaving the airport we immediately encountered a series of roundabouts and somehow ended up heading back towards the airport again. We pulled off into a housing development and asked some amused locals where we were and how to get somewhere else. Recognizing our inexperience they figured out an easy route and I think we managed to follow it. In any case, we ended up heading south on the M25, then sitting in a traffic jam on the A21, then out in the Kentish countryside.
I don't remember how we ended up at Chiddingstone Causeway. It isn't much of a village, just a bend in the road and a commuter station on the train to London, 40 miles away though about two hours from the airport as we drove it. We were headed for a castle, or perhaps a garden (Sissinghurst isn't far away) and we almost stopped in the ancient-looking village of Penshurst just outside the walled gardens of the Penshurst manor, but we couldn't find a parking place. When we passed the Little Brown Jug a few miles down a narrow lane the spacious parking lot appealed to us so we stopped. The menu looked good too. We picked a table outside on the lawn. Bathed in late afternoon sunshine and secluded from neighboring barley fields by a line of big shade trees, it was very pleasant. I ordered a brown ale which seemed more watery than the US microbrews I'm accustomed to; I think Susan had a gin and tonic. We ordered at the counter; I tried plaice, said to be like sole, because we were near Dover, and Susan had lamb. My plaice was exceptionally tasty, a delightful surprise.
Not knowing where we would end up, we'd made no arrangements for a place to stay. The bartender suggested we try the White Post Oast up the hill. It looked good - a collection of what appeared to be converted barns. The far end of the nearer building was a stout round tower with a steep conical roof - an oast, formerly used for kiln-drying hops. We'd seen several others in the area. An amiably round man came to the door and explained that his wife had been to London for the day so the rooms might not be made up, but somewhat reluctantly agreed to check. I told him we wouldn't be too demanding. He returned shortly and agreed to rent us a room for a few days. It turned out to be a quiet refuge with very English-feeling casual garden out back and even several busy bird feeders, a perfect place for us to recover from jet lag and a week of too little sleep preparing for the trip.

06/14/2011   Chiddingstone Causeway  bird list
I birded while Susan slept. I got out around sunrise after not enough sleep and watched the feeders for a half hour or so then walked up the road to the east. It wasn't great walking; in places the pavement extended right to the hedgerow leaving no room for pedestrians. When I could I slipped through the hedgerow into the big pasture on north side of the road. During World War II it was Penshurst Airfield, used by the RAF primarily as an emergency airfield. I saw a few sheep and fewer birds in the pasture. Crossing the road to the west I followed a dirt track along the border between a barley field and a woodlot. Beech trees along the boundary had an interesting growth habit - a gnarled spreading trunk branching left and right a couple of feet off the ground, from which rose a line of four to six inch trunks - apparently a hedgerow grown up into trees. Most of the woodlot consisted of trees of a similar size but here and there were stout old oaks, isolated trees out in an open pasture forty years ago. Birding and photography were both fairly good. I found a flock of Long-tailed Tits and chased a song in the treetops until I identified the source, a Chaffinch. I keep having to re-identify that bird.
Through midday I worked on the mybirdnotes site, adding a European species list so that I could use mybirdnotes to record my England bird lists. Had I done that ahead of time, I could have used the time to write these journal entries, instead of doing them now, nine months later. Later in the afternoon I went out for a run. I carried binoculars but didn't try to record sightings - there are still too many calls that I don't recognize. I ran generally SE, following the road then bearing SE on a smaller road, then heading into the woods when that road ended at a T intersection. Bearing right once in the woods, I found myself on a long grassy promenade lined by shade trees, perhaps part of the Penshurts Manor grounds. We ate at Little Brown Jug again, still good though not quite as good as yesterday evening.

06/15/2011   Chiddingstone Causeway  afternoon bird list
It was my turn to sleep today, in between birding outings. I just watched the White Post Oast feeders in the morning. After a long nap, I went out for a bird run in the afternoon, carrying binoculars and stopping to identify birds I didn't know. More birding than running. The light was low under a heavy overcast, which perhaps accounts for the Little Owl I saw out and about. I regretted not having my camera; the countryside down towards the River Eden, southwest a mile or so from the White Post Oast, is a scenic quilt of rolling pastures bounded by hedgerows and old oaks. I ran from Moorden Road west to the River Eden as far as Vexour bridge and identified 28 species of birds, including singing Yellowhammers, nesting Common Kestrels, both Great Spotted and Green Woodpeckers, a family of Common Whitethroats, three Gray Herons and numerous Great and Blue Tits.
Susan arranged for two guys living in one of the other buildings at the White Post to meet us for drinks at the Little Brown Jug before supper. We only had an hour or so with Ben and Charley before they had to go, perhaps to a football league practice or something. As I recall they were both divorced, friendly, attractive and pleasant guys but not too hopeful about their prospects. It was a bit of a mystery to us why they'd settled in Chiddingstone Causeway, where there didn't seem to be much of a social life.
Later in the evening Susan decided that the furniture in the courtyard between the several buildings at the White Post needed rearranging. She thought it belonged to the owners of the B&B but as it turned out, it belonged to an elderly woman in the house behind the B&B. She came out to investigate and was quite alarmed to find her furniture all out of place. If I remember right I think Charley showed up just in time to explain the situation to the woman and to a local constable who happened by.
I missed the whole situation; it happened while I was inside visiting with the Welshman who lives in a self-catered room downstairs. He's a project manager working on a sewage treatment plant in a nearby town; he drives down for the week then returns home to Wales on the weekends. I think we were both surprised to find we had similar work experiences despite our different jobs in different fields. He came from a working class family, started work as a laborer and had worked and studied his way up through the ranks into project management, now finding himself very well-paid compared to his childhood friends.

06/16/2011   Chiddingstone Causeway to Haling Island  morning bird list
More birding this morning, down to the River Eton valley again but with the camera this time. Dark conditions and even some rain hampered bird photography but I got a few photos of meadows and trees, and marshes along the river.
Back at the White Post I asked Edmund and Sarah if I could take a few photos of their house. It is remarkably old; the core of the house is a timber-framed barn dating back to the 14th century. Edmund is an architect, semi-retired I think. Sarah's a bit wild, and appreciated that quality in Susan as well. We were sorry to bid them good bye.
We drove southwest on smaller roads down towards Portsmouth and found a place to stay on Haling Island near the Langshore Natural Preserve. The first couple of places I tried were full, but The Old Vine had a room at a reasonable price. It was a comfortable homey place, quite different from the rustic elegance of the White Post Oast. Our room was spacious, quiet and comfortable, overlooking a secluded yard with flowers all around. The owners, a Greek man and his English wife, were attentive but not intrusive. They really seemed delighted to have us staying with them.
We ate dinner at the nearby Yew Tree Pub. The place was dark with low ceilings and late evening sunlight glancing in through the windows by the front door. It seemed popular, perhaps because it was a Friday night. Wanting vegetables, I tried the vegetable curry. It was awful, a few peas and bits of carrot drowning in a sickly-sweet sauce. Susan's lamb chops, on the other hand, were quite good and moreover came with three sides of vegetables - peas, potatoes and mustard greens. Moral of the story - if you want vegetables in an English pub, order the lamb chops and by all means, avoid the curry.

06/17/2011   Hayling Island to Bishop's Cleeve  West Hayling LNR bird list
Went out birding early this morning at the West Hayling local nature reserve. The local specialty is the Little Tern but I didn't see any. Perhaps the abundant Black-headed Gulls have chased them all away. Though conditions were again dark with a low overcast and chilly breeze, I managed to get photos of a fair number of the local bird species. It was nice to investigate a new habitat.
Back at the Old Vine, Les and Gaynor served us a bountiful and delicious English breakfast. When we told them we were meeting my folks in Southampton, they insisted on picking us a big bouquet of flowers - roses, lilies, loosestrife, daisies and greenery - from the garden out back. We left a little late, which would have been OK had we not gotten lost trying to find the berth for the QM2. Mom and John were among the first off the boat, as usual, but then had to wait a couple hours for us to show up.
Having recently read Sarum by Edward Rutherfurd, a fictionalized but engaging account of the history of Salisbury from the initial stone age settlement up through the 20th century, I wanted to stop and see Salisbury Cathedral and perhaps some of the other sights mentioned in the book. John isn't big on cathedrals but was willing to stop. The building was impressive, very tall both outside and in. The main hall of the cathedral was filled with elaborate floral displays, some sort of competition, so we wandered around admiring those for quite a while before exploring the church. The flowers and crowds detracted from the atmosphere in my opinion, but it was worth the stop nonetheless. We ate in a pub across the street, the Old Ale House, where the atmosphere was dark varnished wood and both the ale and the food were reasonably good. It was nice to sit down after a couple hours on our feet in the cathedral. On the way out of town we passed Old Sarum, which I would like to have seen but we were a bit short of time.
Our B&B in Cheltenham, Gambels Farm, was a real find, a very clean and modern-feeling stone farmhouse at the edge of town with wonderful walking trails just a block or two up the road. Our rooms were spacious and included private baths. Breakfasts were delicious and were served in a glass-enclosed conservatory overlooking pastures below Cleeve Hill. The price was very reasonable as well - they should probably charge more for what they offer. The owners were friendly and helpful when we needed them and left us alone the rest of the time. The local restaurants weren't too inspiring. We ate dinner at the Apple Farm part way up the hill. It felt a bit like a chain, the food good but not memorable.

06/18/2011   Bishop's Cleeve  
I went out for a short walk in the morning, followed a footpath across a hay field, through a bit of woods then uphill across another hayfield where I lost the trail. I descended along the edge of the wood to a lane and followed it back (no shoulders, as usual) to Gambel's Farm. Nice views out to Cheltenham and up towards Cleeve Hill but my shoes got damp from dew.
After breakfast in the conservatory we muddled around for an hour or so then Mom and John, Bridget and I set out for a hike up to Cleeve Hill. We followed footpaths across fields, over styles, through hedgerows and eventually back onto the road up from Gambel's Farm. As is typical of the Cotswold countryside, the tops of the hills are open rolling pastures; the woodlands are perched on the slopes just below the hilltops. A golf course is sprawled across the top of Cleeve Hill, its fairways barely distinguishable from the surrounding short-cropped sheep pastures. We wandered across the course to the escarpment overlooking Bishop's Cleeve and Cheltenham, then took refuge in a crevice in the low cliffs while a brief but intimidating rainshower blew over. The storm came upon us more quickly than we expected but dropped only a little rain before moving on. I waited on top for the sun to come out before hurrying down to catch up to the others. Out over Cheltenham another shower was headed our way but passed us by shortly before we reached our B&B.
For supper we drove a few miles over to the Gardner's Arms in Alderton, a small village with impressively thatch-roofed houses. The ale and food were both quite good. Our waitress was new and a bit intimidated by the size of our party so the owner stopped by to help with the order. We chatted with her some and learned that she'd bought the pub after a career as a spy in the British intelligence service.

6/19/2011   Cheltenham Circular Challenge; Bishop's Cleeve to Chipping Campden  
Adding to the appeal of a week with Mom and John in the Cotswolds was the opportunity to run the Cheltenham Circular Challenge + marathon in nearby Cheltenham +. I always intended to write about that run but all I managed was the following note on my Maniacs race page: As I write this, 14 years later, what few impressions I have from that day are mingled with my memories of the marathon I "ran", and did write about, in the Malvern Hills a week later. I recall that the course + was divided into four sections of roughly equal lengths following footpaths and lanes through the low hills around the city. I kept a separate bird list (Section 1, Section 2, Section 3, Section 4) for each section, each of which describes the route and a brief note about my experience. My overall time was 8:02, about 18:20/mile, so I suspect I didn't actually run much. Unfortunately I didn't take any photos either.
Susan met me at the finish, appropriately located at the Racecourse (for horses rather than humans - horse racing is apparently much more popular than marathoning in the region) and we met Mom and John in town and delivered Bridget to the bus station before driving to the Staddlestone B&B + in the quintessentially Cotswolds town of Chipping Campden +. Although I remember neither the bed nor the breakfast at the Staddlestone, I do recall that our rooms were located in a stone "cottage" separate from the main inn, and that we had a nice view out our front door across the back lawn to fields beyond. Checking Google maps as I was writing this, I discovered that no such view existed and that the Staddlestone is no longer in business. Too bad; it was a nice place even without the view. We walked into town for supper at the Noel Arms. I remember it as being dark and cozy with warm lighting and walls of dark brown wood, though that is basically what I remember about every English pub I've ever visited, isn't it. I made no note of the food but a mention of a conversation that evening with a local sheep farmer called up a mental image of a slender man with short gray hair and a weathered face creased with smile lines, a recollection probably no more accurate than the view from the B&B.

6/20/2011   Chipping Campden  
Dovers Hill walks
Susan rescued by Mick
Dinner at Eight Bells

6/21/2011   Chipping Campden  
Broadway walk
Lunch at the Horse and Hounds in Broadway
Dinner at Joels - Alexis waited on us

6/22/2011   Chipping Campden to Oxford  
AM birding
Hidcote Garden
Dinner at Turf Tavern

6/23/2011   Oxford  
One of the places I wanted to revisit in Oxford was the Wolfson Meadows natural area, north along the Cherwell a mile or so from downtown Oxford, so I headed up that way this morning but didn't even make it as far as New Marston, spending most of my time in the meadows and hedgerows across the Cherwell from the south end of University Park. Highlights included Reed Buntings in a sedge meadow and my first definite Lesser Whitethroats in tall hedgerows around the next meadow to the east.
Back at the Bath Place Hotel, plans had materialized for a picnic lunch somewhere after the rest of the family did a little sightseeing in the morning. We picked up sandwiches at a place in town, walked down past Christchurch along the west side of the meadow and parked on the lawn under a big willow tree for lunch. Afterwards Susan and I walked over towards the Magdalene (pronounced Maudlin) Bridge where we'd heard you could rent punts to go punting on the Cherwell.
At the corner of Christchurch Meadow we passed two students standing by the path on either side of a square metal box from which gray smoke was seeping out. Curious, we stopped and asked them what they were doing. They were trying to burn the ballots from a student election. They opened up the box and through the smoke we could see that the ballot burning was not going too well; in the bottom of the box was a thick wad of paper ballots which appeared to be undamaged other than a little charring around the edges. One of the boys started dumping water into the box to put out what little remained of the fire. While the ballots continued to smolder fitfully we stood and talked with the boys. Both were graduating seniors at ??? College, which along with Mansfield, which Bridget attends, is one of the smallest colleges in Oxford. Henry was from Kent and was planning to take a year off to travel in China with his girlfriend before returning to school for two more years to become a solicitor. James, whom Susan particularly liked, had three years of law school ahead and planned to become a barrister. Henry and I started discussing politics and the health care systems of our respective countries. We found ourselves pretty much in agreement. Susan thinking Bridget would like to meet them, invited the boys to join us for tea later on and they agreed so we traded phone numbers and left them with their box of soggy charred ballots.
In the Rose Garden Susan struck up a conversation with one of the gardeners. I wandered off to look for the goldfinch singing nearby, hoping for a photo, but it was singing in a treetop inside a walled garden. In a cedar tree nearby I spotted a juvenile Wood Pigeon being fed by an adult but it wasn't a very good photo so I walked over to the Magdalen bridge and found the punt rental place, then came back to retrieve Susan, who was looking for me because the gardener had gone back to work.
Punting
Beer at the Turf Tavern with Henry & James
Dinner at the Turf Tavern with Jim Richardson National Geographic photographer

6/24/2011   Our Dilatory Departure from Oxford  
Yesterday evening Roger told me about a gate open into University Park early in the morning; I'd walked right by it. This morning I found the gate and birded up through University Park to the Wolfson Meadows, then back to New Marston and into Oxford on the bike path. I started a bit late and ran out of time to go any farther north along the Cherwell than I did last year but still saw/heard 36 species, my best morning outing in England so far. No exceptional photos though I did get a few decent shots of a Jay.
Mom & John, Sarah and Roger, Bridget and Rose piled their gear into a boxy dark-blue van, climbed in themselves and left for Southampton to board the Queen Mary 2 this morning. They'd been planning to take the train and bus but John was able to arrange private transportation which was both cheaper and more convenient so they didn't have to leave until 10AM. Susan and I bid them Bon Voyage then I went down to the dining room to enter bird notes on the laptop while she packed up. In the lobby I met a woman from Costa Rica who runs a volunteer organization down there teaching children, particularly girls I think, English and computer skills. I thought it might be something that would interest Daniel so I got her card and a brochure. Susan and I might want to go down for a visit too - the birding and hiking are great, and there's an option to live with a local family, which would be interesting.
After she finished packing Susan went out shopping and didn't get back until mid-afternoon so we decided to get lunch at the Turf Tavern before leaving town. There were no tables free but a couple of men in suits and ties invited us to join them on the patio. Susan mentioned that I was running a marathon the next day, or that I'd run 115 of them, or both, so the man next to me, whose name was Tim, began talking with me about running. He had an unusual manner, leaning forward and inclining his head a bit to one side as he talked, as if he were taking me into his confidence regarding a particularly important matter, and drawing out the middle syllables of his words to lend them emphasis. He preferred triathlon to running, though after swims in cold water (characteristic of English triathlons) his extremities were afflicted with numbness and at times became very painful when the feeling returned to them. Another runner with Reynaud's, I thought, and told him I had the same problem, more typically after working out in cool conditions than after immersing my hands in cold water, and that I knew other runners who also had Reynaud's Syndrome. His interest seemed to wane when I was speaking, though that may just have been part of his manner because he readily took up the subject again when I gave him the opportunity.
Tim appeared to be long-time friends with the man across the table, whose name was Michael. Every now and then one would make some reference to which the other would respond with a nod or a brief "Just so" or something similar. Susan, talking with Michael, learned that he owned a 500 acre estate in Kent on which he grew apples, hops and arables (?), by which he meant wheat, though he didn't farm his land personally but rented it out to others. She though Michael had dreamy blue eyes and was engrossed in conversation with him when the rest of their party showed up, a tall and attractive woman in an elegant summery green dress who introduced herself as Bridget but told us we could call her "Bridge" or if we preferred, "Biddy", as her friends did. I thought we'd probably stick with "Bridget" to start. Bridget was accompanied by her husband, who looked enough like Michael to be his brother, and was, and their son and daughter, whose name was Becky and who had just graduated from a university in Oxford which wasn't Oxford University. Her graduation was the occasion for which and from which they had just come. Michael and Tom, who was Bridget's brother, had managed to get out early for a pint at the Turf Tavern ahead of the rest of the family. Michael and Tom introduced us as travelers from America with whom they were have the most interesting conversation. Bridget welcomed us to her family; she was warm almost to the point of flirting with me and we all spent about a half hour finishing our lunches and talking together before they, and we, had to leave.
I didn't know exactly where the Colwall Park Hotel was located so I set the GPS to Colwall Village, which turned out to be just down the road, by the train station at the foot of the west slope of the Malvern Hills. Footpaths run from the train station to the crest of the hills about half way between the north and south ends, and just a mile from the hotel. A sign on the entrance to the pub announced that the Colwall Park was rated one of the best hotels in the world in 2001. That seemed a little generous to me but the hotel was comfortable and the staff friendly and helpful. Dinner in the pub was quite good. We started talking with a middle-aged couple (that is, a little older than we are) who had retired to the area after spending their working years in a city to the north where he had been manager and part owner of a company which for over 200 years had been making the specialized wire used for the teeth of wool combing machines. He explained how the stiffness of the wire needed to vary depending on the season, the year and the breed of sheep, which among other factors affected the flexibility, elasticity and lanolin content of the wool. His was the seventh generation of his family to work in the company but a few years ago they'd been bought out by a large industrial corporation from the continent so it was no longer in their family. He, or perhaps his wife, had had a summer home in the Malvern Hills area so upon his retirement they'd moved to the little village of Mathon, and regularly drove the few miles over to Colwall Stone to eat at the Colwall Park Hotel pub. We said goodnight without getting their contact information which was unfortunate, since both Susan and I really enjoyed our conversation with them.

6/25/2011   Malvern Midsummer Marathon  
About the Malvern Midsummer Marathon +, I Thought this brief synopsis on my Maniacs page was my only record of the day until, fourteen years later, I discovered a Word doc tucked away on a backup drive. In that Word doc I had written all of the entries for this week, our last in England, including the following account of the race.

6/26/2011   Malvern Hills  
Slept 8 ½ hours last night, my best night's sleep since we arrived in England. As a result I didn't get out as early as I'd hoped but early enough to hike up through the fog to the bare crest of the hills where I could stand in bright sunshine overlooking the cloud layer at my feet. The fog didn't seem to inhibit bird activity but did hamper my bird photography somewhat. Of the few opportunities I did have I missed some by not having the long lens mounted and others by leaving the exposure adjustment set incorrectly. I saw lots of Chiffchaffs and heard lots of Blackcaps, along with a few Willow Warblers in the birches at the upper edge of the woods where it gives way to scrub - bracken, blackberry, nettles and gorse - and then to clean-shaven grass. The open summits, just 700 feet above the Severn River plain, feel like real mountains, rising above their forested slopes but only a half-hour's walk from the village in the valley.
I wandered around above the clouds for nearly an hour before starting down and still made breakfast with 20 minutes to spare. Susan wasn't up yet so she had to hurry a bit but we reached the breakfast room before the kitchen closed. I ordered a full English breakfast - coffee, orange juice, prunes and yogurt with a bit of muesli, then a big plate with bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, beans, grilled tomatoes and fried mushrooms, and air-cooled toast with marmalade, and some more orange juice and coffee.
When we finished only one other party, of two men, was left in the dining room. Susan had spoken briefly with one of them, a big sandy-haired man who'd told her he was an agent for a rock band. We asked our waiter about the other man, slender with a narrow, worn-looking face hidden behind rose-colored glasses and a cloud of jet black hair. He was a poet, locally well-known, who was headed down to perform at the Glastonbury Festival this afternoon. Susan asked the big man, whose name was Johnny Greene, if he liked Country music or just Rock and soon they were singing old favorites together. The poet, John Cooper-Clarke, joined in and within a few minutes Susan and John were dancing to Johhny's rendition of "In the Still of the Night" by the Five Satins. Johnny had spent some time working bars in Austin and San Antonio, and had toured with the punk band Clash in the 70's but his more recent passion was bicycling racing, in particular the Tour de France. He'd followed the Tour around France for most of Lance Armstrong's reign and had written a book about it Push Yourself Just A Little Bit More: Backstage at the Tour de France. Susan massaged John's arms and shoulders while Johnny explained that the Glastonbury Festival was marketed as a British version of Burning Man in the Gloucestershire countryside but was actually a carefully staged event put on by some big corporation for profit. He sounded a bit like Susan on the evils of corporations there, but they had to get going and we had to pack up and check out. Susan was sad to part with John; she said dancing with him brought back sweetly romantic memories of junior high school.
While Susan got ready to go I sat in the conference room down the hall where the WiFi worked and entered my bird notes for the marathon yesterday as well as for the outing this morning. Sometime around 2PM we set out for the British Camp "Pay and Display" lot. We'd driven about a mile when Susan spotted a sports car she didn't recognize, a shiny black low-riding convertible with prominent fenders. We had to stop. The car was a Morgan, made in nearby Malvern, which he'd bought new less than a year ago for about L50K. It was all hand-made of wood clad in aluminum with a stock 3.0 Liter Ford engine, a big power plant for a car weighing less than 700 kilos. Geoffrey let Susan sit behind the wheel and his wife Sue told us she'd selected the color and accessories. After chatting a few minutes, they set off on a walk and we continued on our way. We drove up a narrow lane with tall hawthorne hedges on either side, then continued up through a shady patch of woods where the leafy branches met overhead to form a tunnel. Suddenly we popped out into the sunshine at a road intersection right across from the Pay and Display lot. Not recognizing it as the lot I'd walked through this morning, I parked, found the blue and white Pay terminal, stuffed three stout brass coins into it and pasted my receipt to the inside of our windshield.
In the lot I waited while Susan played with a three and a half-year-old named Luke, observing afterwards that he was neglected; both parents, of Indian descent I think, probably worked and didn't know what to do with either Luke or his baby sister. We walked up through the woods, somewhat at odds over something, and gained the open ridge at a spot marked "Holy Dell" on the map. The spot looked familiar and I realized that I'd been there, and that we weren't at British Camp, but rather at the same ridge above the hotel that I'd hiked this morning.
A young couple sharing a picnic lunch under a fir tree asked us to take their picture for them. Susan agreed, then handed me their cell phone to take the photo. The girl was named Jo, short for Joanne. She was trim and cute with freckles around her nose and a blond ponytail. Her boyfriend Julian had short dark hair and spoke with an accent; he was from France but had been in England for several years working as a Six Sigma program manager in 3M's abrasives division after having previously worked in China and Florida. I forget what Jo did for work but it too was a fairly responsible position, with a rather difficult commute she said, so it was a pleasant break to walk up in the hills on a Sunday afternoon. She was obviously fond of Julian and we could see why; he was very good-looking but so warm and engaging that you didn't really notice his looks. He'd met Jo at the Y where she swam and he ran. He's run about a dozen half marathons in the past few years, including four in four countries in six weeks. I told him he'd qualified to join the Half Fanatics and he said he'd look them up. Jo had swum a mile in 29 minutes in Lake Windemere in the Lakes District, open-water swimming with a wetsuit, much different from her pool workouts.
After 20 minutes or so we left them to get on with their picnic while we started up the ridge to Pinnacle Hill, following a shallow grassy trace known as the Shire Ditch, which runs the length of the central Malvern Hills and was dug as a moat 700 years ago by an Earl to prevent his deer from escaping to his neighbor's property on the other side of the hills. A few hundred feet up the hill we ran into John, a weathered rambler with a green and yellow buff covering his long white hair. At Susan's greeting he made as if to continue but hesitated so Susan exclaimed "Isn't the view beautiful!" and we stopped. His first few responses were curt, as if he couldn't believe he was talking with us, but gradually he warmed to the conversation. He'd driven up from Gloucester, as he often does, to get out and walk for the day. He was semi-retired now after working as a nurse, and a clutch and transmission parts distributor, and other occupations he didn't mention, "It's more interesting than doing just one thing all your life, isn't it". The card he gave us was when we asked his address was from the car parts business. "The business went under" he explained, "but I owed no money to any man when it was done." We had the impression that nursing was the most satisfying of his occupations, particularly the gratitude of the people he'd helped. He lived alone, I think, but he wore a stud in one ear as a memento of a girlfriend from ten years ago. Susan asked his age and volunteered hers but he insisted that he never told anyone how old he was. A few minutes later he mentioned that he'd been born in 1944 when is mother was 46. "There you can figure out my age, but I didn't tell you how old I was, did I now". Susan replied "You're the same age as my brother." And he seemed to appreciate that. His mother's fiancé had died in the First World War and she didn't marry John's father until the Second World War was underway. I asked if I could take his picture with Susan and he assented, and commented that he wasn't making the switch to digital. I got the impression he didn't agree with digital post-processing, but I pointed out that with digital, you only printed the good ones, and with more shots to choose from your chances of getting good ones were improved.
While we were talking with John, Jo and Julian walked by, and then Luke and his parents. When they greeted us John marveled that we seemed to be acquainted with everyone on the trail, but Susan assured him that he was special. As he was.
At the top we could see our intended destination, British Camp, the hill with the Iron Age fortifications. It seemed to be in the wrong direction - I never did get my bearings quite straightened out in the Malvern Hills - but in any case was farther than we were going to hike today. Back at the trailhead Susan was hungry. I suggested we eat at the Malvern Hill Inn, across from the British Camp pay and display lot where I'd intended to park. I checked out the menu and the room prices, and decided that for £110 I'd rather look elsewhere, but Susan didn't want to move on so after an argument she went in and booked us a room. We ordered dinner, a steak for her and grilled Megrim sole for me but neither was very good. We should know by now not to order fish away from the coast or steak anywhere - the cut we get in Enumclaw is more tender, better prepared and more flavorful than any we've had in England.
We'd almost finished our food when a couple pulled up in a sports car that Susan didn't recognize. It was a convertible, low and rounded like an old Mustang with a mark of TVR on the rear fender. Susan got up and greeted them, asking about the car. It was a Trevor, the man explained, made in Blackpool though no longer because the company went out of business a few years ago. He and his wife, both about our age or a little older, ordered a pint and a glass of red wine at the bar then sat down at the table next to us. Her name was Pam and his was Joe, short for Joseph. He coached a local running club and worked several days a week doing sports massage, having retired from a job in IT I think. The sports massage tied in well with the coaching, he explained, and I commented that if he ran short of customers, all he had to do was prescribe a few extra hard workouts for his runners. Susan told him that I'd run the marathon the day before and pointed out, as she usually does, that it was my 115th. We talked about running some, then Susan changed the subject to politics and the two afflictions of our country, corporations and immigration. Joe seemed to enjoy the subject, periodically offering more moderate alternatives to Susan's ideas and giving his take on how Britain was faring. They ordered supper and we watched them eat and kept talking. The sun set and the air began to feel a little chilly after the heat of the day, which at 27C was Britain's warmest yet this summer. Towards the end I think both they and we wanted to break it off but enjoying the visit, couldn't quite bring ourselves to do so. It was close to midnight before we finally crawled into the four poster bed in our £130 room which Susan had arranged for £110.

6/27/2011    Malvern Hills to Slimbridge  
The Malvern Hills Inn is just across the road from the British Camp Pay and Display lot, very convenient for hiking in any direction in the Malvern Hills. I got out around 6:30AM, leaving the key with Susan who was still asleep. Downstairs I discovered that the front doors were locked and I couldn't get out without the key. Not wanting to awaken Susan I found a back door which opened to a loading dock. The door closed behind me about the same time I realized that the gate in the seven-foot wooden fence enclosing the dock was also locked. My scramble over the fence was no doubt recorded on at least one security camera.
The 23.6 mile checkpoint for the marathon yesterday was just across the road below the restrooms building . It had been birdy yesterday afternoon and was good this morning too. The song which I'd thought yesterday might be a Garden Warbler turned out to be a Dunnock instead - I still tend to mistake their song for either a Wren or a Warbler. I didn't find a Garden Warbler there though Chiffchaffs were fluttering among the Cow Parsnips, two Bullfinches flew over and four Nuthatches were working the branches and foliage of an Ash tree. The latter two were new for me for the area. I walked down a wooded road to a fair sized pond sitting below open bracken and blackberry slopes with scattered larger Hawthorne and Elderberry bushes. In the woods I heard a hoarse warbling song, a bit Tanager-like, which I didn't recognize, but I couldn't find the singer. Hiking slowly up the slope I found lots of birds: Blue Tits and Willow warblers foraged in bushes near the reservoir, a Red-legged Partridge flushed from the trail, a female Stonechat scolded from bushtop perches, Common Whitethroat families inspected me from the bracken, Linnets flew over, and near the crest of the ridge, a Mistle Thrush and Green and Great Spotted woodpeckers foraged in the short-cropped meadows. On top I flushed a mixed flock of Tree and Meadow pipits and more woodpeckers, and on the way down, a Song Thrush sunning. I called Susan from the fortified summit to tell her I'd be late for breakfast but the Inn was closer than I thought so I made it back for another full English breakfast. My running shoes smelled so bad that after breakfast I squeezed some soap into them, put them on and waded around in the bathtub for five minutes, then put them on top of the car to start drying out but clouds were beginning to block the sun and by the time we left, it was raining.
We planned to go to Bath with a stop on the way at the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust Preserve at Slimbridge, which two different people we'd talked with had recommended as must-see for birders. We only made it to Slimbridge. Our first stop was the Malvern Spring, just down the road from the Inn though it took us a couple miles of driving to find it. Susan pronounced the water delicious. She'd wanted to stop on the way in on the evening before the marathon but anxious to find our hotel, I didn't. We stopped a couple more times, once where I photographed a Yellowhammer on a wire, again at the gate to Eastnor Castle though the grounds were closed. The rest of our drive down to Slimbridge left no impression, though we had rather good fish and chips at a pub next door to an all-you-can-eat Chinese place and the both the house Green King ale, a dark amber, and Susan's Ginger Tosser, a spicy summer ale, were surprisingly good as well. The £2 tip I left delighted our waitress.
Slimbridge delighted me. I paid £10 to get in, then hiked past a series of ponds and marshes containing tame waterfowl from around the world to get to the Kingfisher Hide, where I hoped to see a Kingfisher. Jackdaws, Wood Pigeons and Moorhens were everywhere in the waterfowl areas, all as tame as city pigeons. I also had good close-up views of Tufted Ducks, Shelducks and Coots, all of which nest in the wild in the refuge. There were no Kingfishers around though - apparently they haven't been seen this season, their numbers in England decimated by two consecutive hard winters. I did better at the nearby Zeiss hide where I saw my first Lapwings, Black-tailed Godwits and Reed Warblers in addition to other waterfowl. I was half an hour late returning to the car but Susan didn't mind.
It was 6PM when we left the refuge so we decided not to try to get to Bath. Instead we stopped at the first road-house we'd seen in Slimbridge, the Tudor Arms. It was just the kind of place I like, a spouseworthy room for the two of us for £77 including a full English breakfast, a free house next door with a nice selection of ales (Susan had Flowers IPA and I had the earthy brown Uley Pig's Ear with our vegetable-stuffed baked eggplant), and close to good birdwatching or hiking.

6/28/2011   Slimbridge to Avebury  
I went out birding before breakfast one last time while Susan slept in. Thinking the photo opportunities wouldn't be that great and needing a run after the full English breakfasts of the past few days, I left the camera in our room. I hadn't been out five minutes before the goldfinch shot I've been seeking materialized in front of me, a sunlit bird fifteen feet away at eye level on top of a low Hawthorne hedgerow. I consoled myself with the thought that had I been carrying the camera, I wouldn't have been running and so the Goldfinch would have come and gone by the time I reached the spot. The running felt good though I only did a mile; the post-marathon stiffness has mostly cleared up. At the WWT overflow parking area I found lots of small birds, including several good views of Reed Warblers in a reed-lined ditch. Since breakfast didn't end for another 90 minutes I decided to cut short my run to go back and get my camera. The Goldfinch was gone, of course, but in the WWT parking area I managed to get decent photos of the Reed Warblers and even a few dim shots of a Sedge Warbler, a new species. Altogether for the morning I got about 35 species, but best of all, as I was headed back to the room the Goldfinch showed up again and took lots of photos. The sun even made it part-way out for the last few shots.
We didn't make it out of the room before they asked us to leave, so we left a 5 pound note on the dresser. I set the GPS for Bath and it directed us down narrow roads through little stone villages, past old country houses, colorful perennial gardens and fields of blue-green wheat dotted with red poppies, down leafy tunnels into wooded valleys and up through pastures to hilltops capped with stone towers. Susan kept insisting that we turn around and go back to photograph this cottage or that war memorial we'd just passed.
Despite the stops we made it to Bath by lunchtime. After some contention over where and how to park, we found a garage under the Hilton near the shopping district. Swee found a stationery store and spent an hour purchasing custom-designed calling cards. I wandered around taking a few photos then, attracted by a plate of asparagus another diner was enjoying, settled at the sidewalk café next door and ordered lunch for us. I counted 8 species of birds and watched several very attractive women walk by while I waited for Susan to finish next door. She had tomato soup and beet salad while I had the asparagus. It was delicious.
After lunch we visited the Abbey Church, England's newest Gothic cathedral (built in the 15th century I think, and significantly repaired several times since) and found a Seventh Day Adventist church in a squat stone building next door. The Abbey is in late Gothic style with towers and flying buttressesand large glass windows, light and airy inside with a roof of interlocking fans of stone ribs which reminded me of the gills of a Chanterelle mushroom. We would like to have seen the Roman Baths but they seemed to be closed. We listened to street musicians in the courtyards of the cathedral while we considered what to do next, deciding in the end to head east to Avebury since we need to be at Heathrow at 10AM tomorrow.
We arrived in Avebury about an hour before sunset, golden light slanting across the grassy berms and moat enclosing the weathered gray monoliths of the ancient stone circle. The busy two-lane A361 zigzags right through the middle of the monument and several houses and a pub were built within its boundaries before private citizens bought up the land in the 18th century, limiting further development. Some of the stones were toppled and buried or broken up in the 14th century by local church folk offended apparently by evidence of ancient competition and many more were destroyed in the late 17th and early 18th centuries for the same reason, but the site was documented sufficiently before its destruction that the current placement of the remaining stones and markers for the missing stones is considered accurate. The henge (the moat and berms) has remained largely intact since they were originally constructed some 4000 years ago. More recent archeological research led to excavation and re-erection of the current two dozen or so stones arrayed in one large and two smaller circles.
On our way into town we passed a small B&B in a local neighborhood of brick houses and returned there after checking for rooms at the Red Lion pub (which no longer rents rooms) at the bend in the road inside the stone circle. They had a room available for £60 for two so we took it, with a cozy double bed and windows looking out to the east towards Silbury Hill, another local prehistoric monument. When we arrived we mentioned that we were from Seattle and John Dixon told us Rick Steves had stayed there, and recommended their B&B in his book. We checked, and sure enough he does, stating "Mrs. Dixon's B&B…rents three cramped and homey rooms." At the pub the barmaid recommended the Fish and Chips, and they were very good, and the Greene King IPA wasn't bad either. We sat outside and ate until the ancient stones in the sheep pastures across the street faded into the dusk.

6/29-30/2011   Avebury to Home  
Mrs Dixon fixed us breakfast at 7:15AM and we were out by 9, later than I wanted to leave but the GPS said it Heathrow was less than an hour and a half away and our flight didn't leave until 12:50PM. Or so I thought. We found the Sheraton and returned the car without incident but when we arrived at Terminal 5 our flight wasn't listed. We asked a British Airways agent, as instructed, and learned that though I'd booked through British Airways, the flight was operated by American Airlines, over in terminal 3. We didn't have a lot of time to spare but the train was quick and we made to the American Airlines check-in desk in time… to discover that our flight had departed an hour earlier. When I'd typed up our itinerary I'd confused the arrival time in Chicago with the departure time from London. The agent directed us to another desk where after a long search, another agent managed to get us seats through to Seattle on the same flights we'd just missed. When he explained apologetically that it would cost £150 each to change the tickets, I was actually relieved because I thought we might have to buy new tickets, having not called to change our other tickets before the flight departed.
I was quite upset with myself but Susan took it in stride. We booked a room at the Holiday Express in Slough, about half an hour by bus from the airport. Even at £132 for the night it was considerably cheaper than places closer to the airport. We caught a bus for £8 instead of the taxi for about £30 and despite our anxiety about getting off at the right stop, we managed to find the hotel. I paid an extra £7 for an internet connection and entered bird notes while Susan watched tennis matches from nearby Wimbledon on TV. The local pubs were too far away to walk and neither of us were feeling up for adventure anyhow so we ate greasy fish and chips in the hotel restaurant. My half pint of Guiness tasted better than the couple of other times I've had Guiness this trip, some consolation for the trials of the day.
From that point on things went pretty smoothly. The taxi from the hotel to Heathrow terminal 3 only took twenty minutes and cost £23, well worth the £15 premium over the bus. I had to check my bag and forgot to pull out the US to UK power converter first so even though I found a place to plug in my laptop while Susan went shopping, I had to draw down the battery. It didn't matter because I didn't use the computer much on the flight. I read Imperfect Birds all the way through, an emotionally-draining book about parenting a drug-addicted teenager, and realized I had a headache when I finished. Tried to sleep some, ate breakfast and lunch and arrived in Chicago eight hours after leaving Heathrow, two and a half hours later by the clock. In Chicago I got online long enough to enter a few more bird notes and email David that we were on our way. Susan went looking for lunch and forgot what time it was while I waited in line to board. When everyone else was on the plane and the gate desk started calling for standby passengers to come forward, I asked them to page Susan, then I boarded the plane, figuring I was going to Seattle without her. She showed up a minute later, and not even the last person to board (though close). I slept most of the way to Seattle and still had a headache when David met us in baggage claim. On the way home it seemed odd that he was driving while sitting in the passenger's seat while I, in the driver's place, wasn't driving.