Friday morning: AGAIN with the howling wind! Today dawned cloudy and much cooler, but it was so windy Russ doubted he’d be able to ride at all, much less get to his next intended stop. We dithered back and forth until close to lunchtime, when I declared I was going to tour Quivira, wind or no wind. That forced Russ to get off his butt, and I left him with everything he needed (hopefully) for the next couple of days, as I and the dogs drove off. (Note: he made it to his intended destination, despite his late start.)

The sky cleared and the wind let up a little as I drove to Quivira.
OH. MY. GOD.

This wasn’t even the best time of year to visit (spring migration—March and April—is prime bird-spotting season), but you could have fooled me! The bulk of Quivira is salt marshes and associated grasslands (the lakes lie atop salt pans), which produces a rich variety of plant and aquatic food sources, and all manner of waterfowl flock to this area.

Here’s a list of what I saw there: (Non-birders can skip this part)

• Franklin’s Gull
• White Pelican
• Blue-winged Teal
• Northern Shoveler
• Scaup (Lesser, I think)
• Bobwhite
• Great Egret
• Great Blue Heron
• Swainson’s Hawk
• Black-bellied Plover
• Snowy Plover
• American Avocet
• Black-necked Stilt
• Willet
• Spotted Sandpiper
• Cliff Swallow
• a host of little sandpipers, unindentifiable by me

And that doesn’t even include the boring stuff, like Canada Geese, Mallards, Red-winged Blackbirds, Baltimore Orioles, and Orchard Orioles!

I am going to try VERY HARD to leave early tomorrow, as I will pass right through Quivira on my way to Scott City and the next campground.

Arrived at Sterling Lake (Pond, if you ask me) about 1:30. Nice park, with meandering walkways around the lake, a swimming pool and water park, a basketball court, disc golf course, and picnic tables and pavilions. They even have free wifi! Something was clearly going on as I pulled in:

I set up the camper and wandered over (with the dogs, of course; they help to break the ice) to find out what was going on. The entire fifth grade class was having a field day, with picnicking and a scavenger hunt ON BICYCLES! Talked to a few of the kids and a couple of the moms (to let them know I wasn’t some pervert). Had to take pictures to share with Russ.

That was so much fun I didn’t even notice the railroad tracks right behind my camper, until this happened (imagine train whistles going off from ten feet away):

Fortunately, they only go by about three times a day.

Russ made it just in time for dinner and some ice cream shakes (not actually in that order). The wind was howling (again). I usually open the windows for fresh air at night, but it blew so hard I thought it was going to damage the hinges on my windows, so we had to shut them. Despite all that, and another train that came by in the night, we slept like logs.

THIS is Sand Hills State Park:

There are LOTS of trails around the Sand Hills. Moe and I made the mistake of trying one in the afternoon when I arrived, and we both nearly died of the heat. Moe got hosed off under the outside shower without even protesting, and we both drank about a gallon of water.

Hiking in the morning was much better. I had assumed that birding on the plains would be simple: birds would conveniently perch on fenceposts or the occasional (probably dead) tree, and I would add new species at every turn. Unfortunately, birds are smarter than that—most congregate where there is shade, and protection.

But a few did show themselves, and that morning, I added three new species to my life list: Lark Sparrow, Dickcissel, and Blue Grosbeak (if you’ve ever seen an Indigo Bunting, Blue Grosbeaks look just like them, except a bit larger, and with chestnut wingbars).

And the prairie wildflowers are lovely!

My first night at Sand Hills, we had another storm: the lightning flashed, the wind howled, the camper shook like a leaf, and clouds roiled above me. I sat up in terror until after midnight, expecting to make a mad dash for the shower house at any moment. The rain didn’t come until after the wind died down. I finally fell asleep, only to discover when I woke that I’d left all the car windows open. Nothing critical was damaged, but all our sweatshirts and jackets had to be hung out to dry, and the car seats took a full day to dry out. The cup holders were small ponds.

It’s Thursday, May 19, so I’m off to Sterling, KS, to meet Russ and to make plans for the remainder of our trip across Kansas.

Kansas has SCARY WEATHER! Our first day in, there were massive thunderstorms, with high winds and lightning (and hail, though thankfully not much of that). I was not prepared, and worried for Russ, exposed on his bicycle.

Along the way to Cross Timbers State Park, I spotted two heavily loaded bicyclists, just as two big dogs shot out from a small house. I was able to block them with my vehicle, then pulled over ahead of the cyclists and flagged them down. They were from Germany, traveling the same route as Russ. I told them they might see him just ahead.

And we did! Russ has the pictures of our new friends Mathias and Tilo (not sure of the spellings). At Cross Timbers, we saw them heading for a tent site. We went over to introduce Russ, and invited them for dinner. I had just bought steaks to celebrate Russ’s arrival, and I had plenty of pasta and cheese. They brought salad, bread, and, most importantly, some beer! We had a fine repast, and a great time discussing the differences in politics and biking in Europe and America.

I wasn’t able to stay long in Cross Timbers, but did get some hiking in before Russ arrived. Clearly, there has been storm/flood/tornado damage here.

My layovers will be shorter in Kansas, as Russ will not be able to find adequate shelter in a lot of places. So I may be taking it nearly day by day, after Sand Hills (my next stop) and Sterling, where I meet up with Russ overnight.

First, it was the turtles. Box turtles; lots of them. All trying to cross the road. I was so busy trying to avoid them that I didn’t see much of the countryside for the first twenty miles or so. Then it was the skunks—mile after mile of stinky, suicidal skunks. 

Later, I was grousing that I had little chance to see the grassland birds while driving when, just ahead of me, a scissor-tailed flycatcher launched itself skyward from a fence post. Thee is no mistaking that profile, even at a quick glance. I was thrilled. 

A little way on, I found Russ, just two hours into his ride and already dripping with sweat in the 90 degree heat. We both stopped: I made sure he was OK, and we continued on. The further west we go, the easier it is for me to follow his route, as there are fewer choices in roads. I’m also getting better at scheduling my stops to his pace, so that he can join me and take a rest day at my camp—or join me for an off-bike adventure—if he wants to. 

Ruark Bluff East campsite sits on a peninsula jutting into Stockton Lake, a huge, multi-branched, manmade (that Army Corps of Engineers again) lake. There are hiking opportunities nearby, and kayak rentals to be had at the state park just up the road. I had planned to take my kayak on this trip, but decided not to at the last moment: I think I just started to feel overwhelmed at that point. But I packed my paddle and life vest, and it looks like I’ll finally get to use them. 

And I did, after Russ joined me. We found a marina with a tandem kayak, and spent a pleasant two hours paddling in and out of bays along the lake. To make it even better, it was cloudy and breezy, and cool, not like the blazing hot days we’d had recently. 

But the best thing about Stockton Lake was meeting a family’s three children: a girl about 11 and her two younger brothers, about 7 and 5. When I took the dogs swimming, and showed them they could wade into the lake on the submerged camp road, we instantly became friends, and spent quite a bit of time goofing about in the water. I taught them how to squirt “whale spouts” with their hands and twirled them about on their inner tubes, and we played water tag in the shallows. They were all upset when I had to move my camper to another area of the park, so I came back the next day to play with them again. They were so sweet—I would gladly have stayed another week just to hear them all call me “Miss Nancy.” I am an idiot for not taking a picture with them.

And then, it was finally off to Kansas!

Three things I did not expect to find in Missouri:

1. Prickly pear cacti
2. ARMADILLOS! Mostly dead, on the side of the road
3. Cinco de Mayo festivals

I’ll spare you a picture of the armadillos I’ve seen so far. Locals tell us they never had armadillos until a few years ago; now they’re already becoming a nuisance.

Heavy thunderstorms greeted me in Missouri. All the rivers were in flood, but the Circle B Campground has all of their RV sites some 10 feet or more above the river. Not so for the tent campsites, which looked pretty soggy when I arrived. But the next day dawned clear and breezy, and I headed out to sight-see.

If you ever make it to south-central Missouri, go see Alley Spring and Mill, just west of Eminence. First of all, it’s just darn beautiful. Secondly, it is worth going to see what 81 million gallons of water a day look like, gushing out of the ground. And, if you go in the spring, like we did, there are birds and wildflowers galore to delight the senses.

As the informational brochures tell me, these springs are created by karst—water seeping through porous rocks, which over time creates larger and larger underground caverns. Occasionally, these caverns collapse, and the flowing water becomes a spring on the surface.

There is a 1-½ mile hiking trail that takes you up the hill above the spring, where you can stop at an observation platform to look down on the spring and mill, and compare your view to how it looked in 1900.

The trail then winds back down the mountain, taking you to a shaded, grassy area perfect for picnicking, or just watching the water flow by. 

Russ showed up that evening (Saturday), which is when we discovered that Eminence (population 600) was having a weekend-long Cinco de Mayo party. We chose to postpone dinner out until Sunday, when the fracas had died down some. (I mean, there was clog dancing and everything! It wasn’t safe!) In the meantime, I took him to see Alley Mill, and he enjoyed it just as much as I did.

When Russ headed out Monday morning, I thought I’d go see Round Spring and Cave, just a few miles to the north. Unfortunately, it was a bit of a disappointment: not nearly as interesting as Alley Spring, and the cave was closed to visitors. It looked as if it had been for quite some time, possibly as a result of the devastating floods that went through this area in 2017. I did, however, get one nice shot of the old bridge nearby.

And, on the way back, I found some old logging roads that made for a nice hike with the dogs. When we got back, I dragged them into the river, which had dropped considerably in two days, to cool off—such indignation! But they did look more comfortable.

As the evening began to cool down, I was watching a flock of cedar waxwings in the trees above my camp, and saw some of their courting behavior. Two birds would sit side by side on a branch and one bird would carefully pass a small berry or seed to the second bird. That bird would take one hop away, immediately hop back, and hand the gift back. The first bird would then repeat the hop away/hop back, and handoff, with quick touches of their beaks. They looked like nothing so much as two shy teenagers, stealing quick kisses when no one was looking.

Tomorrow (Tuesday) I head west again, this time to Ruark Bluff, on Stockton Lake, about 50 miles from the Kansas border.

It was the fox’s scream that woke me. Half awake, I heard it again, then another sound I couldn’t identify. The third time, I realized the fox was very close; then a scuffling under my camper brought me fully awake. 

When I looked out, there was a grey fox, frozen in a stiff-legged stand-off with a bedraggled ginger and white cat. The cat was nearly under the camper; the fox only a couple of feet away. I watched for a moment, then, keeping a firm grip on Moe, opened the door and yelled “Scram!” Moe did his utmost to launch himself after the fox. Scooby raised his head and looked around blearily before flopping back down on the bed. The fox trotted off into the dense brush and the cat vanished.

After breakfast, I called the nearest campground to see if they had any availability. “Oh, you called last night,” the friendly lady on the other end said. “Yes, we have plenty of sites available.”

So, stow away everything loose inside the camper, unhook the water and electric, hitch up the car (which always takes lots of finicky maneuvering when there is no spotter to help), and drive all of 1/2 mile away, to do everything in reverse. This time, I managed to back neatly onto the concrete pad on only my second try (so proud!).

Now this is more like it! The campground sits inside a bend of the Jack’s Fork River: I can see it surging by from my window. I took a site at one end of a deserted loop, under the shade of walnut trees. Once set up, I walked the dogs down along the river on the gravel bank, then returned to make myself a second cup of chai and to let Russ know where I was. It’s still dreary, but brightening somewhat, so I will hope for sun.

I hadn’t seen another teardrop camper, let alone another T@b, since Assateague, so imagine my surprise when, walking the dogs on my final evening here, I spied a T@b 400 that had just come into camp! 

It was already dark, so it took me a minute to see the man sitting by the fire, but I introduced myself, and we soon were comparing campers (they saw mine, too) and camping stories while he petted Scooby. He and his wife had traveled from Michigan to Florida, and were now headed back home. They stumbled on Lake Glendale just by chance, but were considering staying an extra day because it was so nice. I encouraged them to try out the trail around the lake, and offered to pass my trails map on to them before I left. 

[I did see them just before I left the next morning, and saw the inside of their camper. Although theirs is only one year newer than my 2018, the interior styling is completely different, with all rounded fixtures rather than the rectilinear style of mine, and though theirs is bigger overall, there seemed less flexibility in the arrangement of seating and sleeping areas. Just sayin’.]

After that, the day went downhill. A raging thunderstorm moved in as I was negotiating the dump station. By the time I was done, my pants were sodden and had to be changed (to be clear, that was from the rain, NOT the dump station). The rain was gone as suddenly as it came.

I headed toward the Mississippi River, and that’s when I realized something: ALL THE WATER BETWEEN THE APPALACHIANS AND THE ROCKIES FLOWS INTO THIS RIVER. I get the idea of a river drainage system, but seeing the physical reality of it, as I crossed endless rivers, creeks, streams, rivulets, and drainage ditches, all swollen from last night’s rains, really brought it to life. There is a HECK of a lot of water moving toward this central point.

Unfortunately, it also meant that finding a campground, here in the Ozark National Scenic Riverways, was complicated by that same excess of water. Several of the campgrounds I’d hoped to find were under water. By 5:00, tired, hungry, and in a bad mood, I grabbed a spot in a featureless gravel area right above the road, fed the dogs, and headed off to the local bar and pub to grab dinner and a calming drink or two.

And I STILL haven’t called my baby brother, Jeff, on his 62nd birthday! Happy birthday, Jeff! I promise to call when I get back to the camper!

On a search for cell service, I drove a few miles from camp and came across a forestry research station run by the University of Ilinois with a solid two bars of cell service. There, the forest manager, Chris Evans, graciously answered my spur of the moment questions about how climate change was affecting their forestry practices. He acknowledged that it was a source of much discussion, and that it was affecting some practices, such as the seeding of tree species into more northerly habitats. They manage several research forestry plots, where they study the effects of different practices such as controlled burning, thinning, and seeding

Pointing to a topo map of southern Illinois, he showed me the shallow bowl-shaped curve that marked the southern edge of the Ilinois glaciation, some 100,000 years ago. Above it, the land was flat, scoured by the immense ice sheet. Below the line, the land was rumpled in creases running east to west. He told me how this area was geologically ancient, having neither been covered by ice nor by the water of the inland sea. It’s possibly the most biologically diverse area of the midwest.

I left Chris with a new appreciation for this area, and returned to my search for my next camping site, when I discovered another perk: I could get internet by logging on as a guest of the University of Illinois. Since I had, in effect, just attended a lecture on the area’s geology and ecology, I decided it would be OK to do so.

I nearly forgot: before I left, he gave me a small book on summer wildflower hikes in southern Illinois, apologizing that he was out of the spring wildflower book. It wasn’t until I got back to camp that I realized he had written the book!

After last night’s thunderstorm, the day dawned partly cloudy and breezy, so after breakfast we set out to hike one of the longer trail loops that criss-cross south of the lake. These clay soils are greasy after a rain, and I stepped carefully as we crossed numerous creeks and wet rock ledges, not wanting to repeat the bruising fall I’d had back in Virginia. 

I kept an eye out for wildflowers, and was finally rewarded by finding a Jack-in-the-pulpit. I would have missed this entirely, had I not glanced down at just the right time.

I also found this: (identify?)

We returned to camp, muddy but satisfied, in time for a late lunch. 

Later, I sat under the awning, taking it all in: orioles calling back and forth in the canopy, with their piercing whistles; two rose-breasted grosbeaks, who appeared suddenly and disappeared just as quickly; warblers—prothonotary, yellow-rumped, palm—darting busily about in the branches; nuthatches circling a tree trunk, head down; a great crested flycatcher eyeing me from a low bush; veerys searching for tidbits on the forest floor.

A sudden movement nearby made me turn my head: a tufted titmouse had landed on the step and was looking curiously into the camper, where both dogs were sleeping. It fluttered under the camper, but soon returned to perch on the back of the chair next to me. It sidled across the chair toward me, then jumped down onto the arm, cocked its head, and considered me from a distance of perhaps 18 inches. I was paralyzed with delight. We sat eye to eye for a moment or two, then it took off to pursue more profitable activities. I sat with a silly grin on my face for quite some time.