Albuquerque Apprehension

March 1 

Living in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, the phrase "March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb" does not resonate with me. But - given the cold weather, combined with my March 1experience, maybe that'll be the case this year. 

Plotting out my path continuing west to east, I awoke and drove about a mile from the hotel, to a local park near the Rio Grande. A large proportion of the geese here are Cackling, and it was not difficult for me to differentiate Cackling Goose from the Canadas at the close range on the pond, with their short necks and petite, short beaks. 

Next, I made my way up the Sandia Mountains, stopping to bird at a few picnic areas along the way before arriving at Sandia Crest. The picnic areas produced new year birds Clark's Nutcracker (lifer!) and Northern Pygmy-Owl. At the Crest House, I  parked my car in the lower parking lot, with a view of the covid-placement feeder, which was located between the Crest House and the south parking lot. Angling my car sideways so I could see through the passenger window to the feeders, I cracked my driver' s side window so I could hear anything calling from the treetops. I got out and set up my scope just in front of my car, focused it on the feeders, and hopped back in my car to stay warmer until the Rosy-finches arrived. 

After about 20 minutes, the iconic, swirling flock arrived and perched in the nearby trees. I left the car, soaking in the birds, watching them and digiscoping photos and videos. Meanwhile, a big white pickup truck, which had swirled its way around the mountain, appeared in the parking lot. There they sat, idling, for the next ten minutes or so. Finally, two men got out, dressed in jeans that sagged almost to their knees. One had a loose baseball cap whose brim had never been bent. They were both wearing very casual jackets and tennis shoes not very fit for hiking on a mountaintop. They loitered around outside the truck about five minutes. I started to panic a bit. I was alone, miles from anyone, with no cell reception. I was still standing outside, near my scope. Do I pack up and leave? Do I wait in my car? My intuition was screaming at me. In those minutes, I wavered back and forth between thinking rationally, that maybe I was making stereotypical assumptions based on the way they were dressed, and sheer panic. I  once again wondered what was my intuition speaking, and what was weeks of thinking about dangerous situations just making me extra paranoid? It felt as though the more I thought about these situations, the more confusing they became. 

The two men slowly wandered their way down the path to the Sandia Crest overlook. They were out of view for a few minutes, then stood near the trail entrance, one smoking a cigarette. My panic grew. I  walked the handful of steps from my scope back to my car, getting super dizzy within those few steps. 

The trail to Sandia Crest 

View from Sandia Crest 

Rosy-finches on Sandia Crest 

A few years ago, I was having near-fainting spells for months, until I finally realized they were anxiety attacks. Several times it had happened, it was incredibly scary, because I was driving. Stress management combined with magnesium supplements seemed to help. But here at the top of the mountain - where the air was thinner, which may have contributed - it was happening again. 

I slipped into my car and closed the door, the window still cracked open. I put the keys in the ignition just in case. If needed, I'd leave my scope behind. 

They were back at their vehicles now, changing out outer layers of clothing. I  was just waiting for them to walk towards me, or drive their truck to corner me into the edge of the parking lot. I waited. They got in their truck and sat idling for another five minutes. They drove off. My plan had to be to get the Rosy-finches (I'd logged all three before the truck arrived: Black, Gray-crowned, and Brown-capped), and then do some hiking to look for Three-toed Woodpecker, but I was still afraid, and emotionally drained. I  waited ten minutes, and started the drive back down the mountain. 

I stopped at a picnic area where I'd heard Northern Pygmy-Owl on the way up, but anxious to get the Rosy-finches, I didn't stop to look for it. Now I wanted to see if I could manage a view! When I turned into the picnic area, who was there? None other than the white truck! Oh, heck no. I continued down the mountain and drove straight to San Angelo State Park, Texas, where I would spend the night. 

A pair of gray foxes greeted me in the field while I set up my tent. They were welcome neighbors after such unwelcome neighbors earlier in the day. 

I fell asleep, alone in my tent, hoping the latter end of March is, indeed, more like a lamb and less like my stressful introduction to the month.