In February, we camped at Brazos Bend State Park 21901 Farm to Market Road 762, Needville, TX, 43 miles south of Houston on the Brazos River. Parks like this, so close to a major city, are secret gardens that cast a spell the moment you enter. When I was a kid looking up nasty demons I came across in the Bible - Beelzebub, Ashtarof, Legion, and hoping for a creepy sketching to go with the definition - I found out that the one named Baal wasn't necessarily a devil or evil at all: a baal was a spirit that belonged to a place, like a babbling brook could have a baal living there, or a shadowy ravine might, or maybe there’s a baal in a tree hollow. And when we visit Brazos Bend, or Cedar Hill State Park outside of Dallas, the congestion, noise and fumes of the world fall away as we enter the park and are surrounded by the peaceful magic of fragrant old trees and the hush of green forest. Instantly we’re part of a different world. The baal’s all around us, and the busy little swipe-swipes of our devices have no power here. OK, that’s an exaggeration. There is wi-fi, but it feels a lot less important here. The point of these places is to wrest my head out of its tangled nest of to-do's, reaching-outs and write-me-backs: I'm here to baal out.
The baal of Brazos Bend lives in humid woods and finger lakes with marshland. The park has a lot of hiking, many trails wheelchair-accessible. The main attraction though is the wildlife, including deer and plenty of waterfowl. (Bobcats too, but they don't want to be seen.) But the stars who really bring people in are the 300 alligators living in the park. There are plenty of pictures of them sunning along the trails – on the trails! – while Houstonians visit on lunch break. So it's not a very secret garden at all. Except the winter weather chased everyone away. Enter two opportunistic Northerners. We bundled up against the gray and wind and went out to find the baal and its alligators.
(I ran off at the mouth here, so campsite decription & features to come.)
We got down three trails, all very accessible. The one we made a beeline for was 40 Acre Lake Trail. Why? That’s where the alligators are, of course! The trail was gravel and old asphalt (sometimes bumpy but generally good) and circles a lake with some marsh and waterfowl. We saw a couple of hurons, ibises, and scores of some kind of swallows skimming and circling the water for bugs. The cold winds whipped across the lake. What, are we in Chicago over here? There were no alligators at all. Mab the Stair Freak even checked from the top of a three-story observation tower, brrrrr. Nope, no sign of alligulators.
Clearfield Lake Trail is the paved ADA trail that crosses a lake with plenty of large waterfowl that let us come up close. Those trails were for us, and for the birds.
A short stretch of Clearfield Lake Trail is wooded before it crosses the water. Look at all of the bird****, Mab said, and she's not a big swearer but that's how much there was. It coated the floor of the woods like whitewash. I don't remember the trail itself being too gross. But I did look up.
"Look," I said. "In the tree." Hunched on a branch 30 feet above was the dark outline of a vulture looking down at us. He was a bad boy, all right. Correction, bad boys. "Look at all of 'em!" It was an arching branch and on it perched a line of silent, menacing vultures framed against the gray sky. They were all checking us out.
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| They're up there... licking their chops. |
But not only them: they were also in the next tree, and the one after that. And the one below that, and the ones on the other side of the trail. Everywhere we turned were staring vultures. On, on we went, but as we fled one treeful of vultures, another was there stalking us. Impassive, eerie. Once in a while a wind would ruffle a feather, but no reaction. How ominous, how unnerving. Were they looking at me like a Thanksgiving turkey on wheels? I could hear Vincent Price snickering, laughing in the background, and the suspenceful music building, getting louder (in my head). It was impossible to know what these hideous creatures were thinking, but they were not happy. Their car's extended warranty had run out. Something.
There were hundreds of them around that lake. It was a convention of vultures - really, I looked it up, and a group of vultures is called a convention of vultures. Not a fun convention either, but I loved it.
Actually I saw a lot of these kids flying around when we entered the park and were looking for our campground. Bunches of them swirling around, more than I'd ever seen. It was a kettle of vultures swirling round, because flying vultures are a kettle (I'm into this!), and hunkered-down, sitting vultures are a convention. Got it?
Maybe they'd been sizing me up the whole time. Then, there'd be a wake of vultures (I'm not kidding you. Look it up.), which is what they're called when gathered around, feeding. How about a banquet? Or a buffet?
We visited the nature center nearby, with natural history and some rescued baby gators in the tanks, soon to be reintroduced to the wild. A ranger told us they didn't know why there are more vultures in the park this year, but she thinks there's more on the way. I knew: the baal. There was no other explanation for some many those large birds just loitering. What was there that is so good? What are they eating? We saw some picking at the ground for bugs or worms or whatnot, but those would seem to be appetizers to birds of this size. They are large. We came upon a dozen of them sitting on the wooden rails of a short pier/overlook, and I crept up on them slowly so that as they flew away one by one, Mab filmed from right behind me. When they launched, their strong wings beat the air like beating a rug: thump, thump, thump. The ranger also said that the alligators were submerged in the warmer water and one. Fine, we didn't need them.
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| Analemmatic sundial outside nature center looks like sundial + the game Twister |
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| Also the George Observatory on-site, open weekends |
We had time for one more spin, and that was the Whiteoak Trail. It was late afternoon, getting colder and darker. Some staff had to be heading home by then. We wanted to trail along the Brazos River for a while. Whiteoak is a bike trail, and again we had it to ourselves. It was gravel and earth and crossed through a half mile of silent, baaly forest (thick clusters of yaupon hollies, and here and there a gigantic, gnarled oak standing like a monument). Outside, gray winds. Inside, green and quiet. The trail brought us to the banks of the Brazos, wide and red with clay.
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| Wild yaupon |
I cranked up the speed setting on my wheelchair to make as much ground as possible before turning back. But in only a few seconds it was obvious I was moving no faster. I asked Mab shield my control display with her hand. My power was down to one bar out of 10! (Glare had obscured the display all day, zoinks.) We turned back immediately, but it was getting darker and darker and the chair getting slower and slower. In our minds we were both rehearsing what to do when I was stranded out there.
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| Things are about to get real. |
But, lawdamercy, we limped back and our van Moby Dick came into view. The chair barely climbed up onto the pavement, and it died right in front of lift - Mab had to push me onto it. If we had hiked even 10 feet further, things would have been a mess. But it was completely exhilarating, dodging that bullet. We laughed like maniacs as we warmed up in the van.
Mr. Baal, you got a good park.
