French Accented Spanish Moss - Chapter 7: For the Birds

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It was time to head north and get back to Abbeville. The open wetlands stretch for several miles north of Cameron. The massive shallow lakes are a refuge to numerous waterfowl of which my favorite are easily the egrets. The tall, long-legged, and lanky ivory hued birds are as commonplace as squirrels back home, but less suicidal. I comment about them to Alison, but she pays little attention. She probably doesn’t even see them anymore. I have pulled over anywhere possible to photograph them and Alison ignores me; she doesn’t even get out of the car. Tourist, she most likely mumbles to herself. But to me egrets are appealing. They take flight at very low speed and do not fly very high off the ground. Egrets do not sprint when their feet leave the surface; their wings flap slowly and deliberately. They are the albatrosses of Louisiana.
Egrets expose their elusive personality when it comes to my camera lens. Aware of my presence, the birds dabble in the marsh and walk alongside the roadway as if they are masters of their moist and grassy domain. Provided I make no move to get a photo, their fickle attitude will not prevent them from approaching my car. They do not fear humans as long as no one makes any threatening moves toward them them. They can be viewed from very close. Deep inside, however, they know I want to capture their image much the way the paparazzi would Beyoncé with an entourage leaving a posh nightclub .
My first encounter, and failure, with them came at a rickety old boathouse before Pecan Island. I spotted a half dozen of them bathing in a pool of grass and algae and advanced my car almost a football field away. I crossed the street (Alison was not motivated to get out of the car when she learned why we stopped) and gingerly stabbed for my digital camera when they were in range. I made no sound and even controlled by breathing. I did everything possible not to disturb them. They knew I was there, but did not change their behavior. I took another step to the shoulder of the road. Then another. Still, the flock did not move. I was in range. Perfect, I thought. As they tiptoed below the ripped planks of the boathouse, I saw a delightful wetland image sure to be a treat on my computer desktop or as a screensaver. I slid my left hand into my front jeans pocket and slowly removed my camera. Still, the birds kept still like statues. I lifted the camera to face level; the view screen touched my nose. The last step left was to turn the power on, adjust the zoom lens, and they’d be mine! I depressed the power button. As with all cameras, it lets out a brief power burst when the lens pushes forward.
That’s all it took. The electronic murmur sent them to flight. The splashing sound their wings made against the surface of the water could not be heard above the outburst of profanity that I projected in their direction. The flock settled only twenty yards away, but it was enough to destroy all the patience and preparation I put forth to get the image I originally wanted, and I am certain they knew it! My right fist clenched, I stomped back to the car loathing the birds worse than Elmer Fudd dreads his fruitless quest for Bugs Bunny. I grumbled all the way back to the car, hopped in, and slammed the door shut. “Get what you wanted?” Alison inquired.
“Little $#@-ing bastards flew away at the last moment! “ I put the car in gear and took to the highway again. Alison got a chuckle out of my self-imposed dramatic moment with the egrets. Mosquitoes with a wingspan of a Boeing 737 danced on the inside of the windshield. I marveled at their width, particularly because this was now winter. Winter should be the one time of year I get a reprieve from insects. I swipe at them and squish one right above the rearview mirror, which remains streaked a good two inches downward. “My God, Alison, where did these things come from?”
“Mosquitoes never go away. We have them all year round here. In the summer, they are impossible. Wanna keep going?” Throughout the whole day, these small birds managed to get inside the car, but never were a nuisance when outside. From what Alison tells me, they become much more aggressive in warm weather. It has me pondering about the past: The Acadians who settled this land must have been a hearty bunch to tolerate semisolid land, arduous travel conditions, and hostile weather the polar opposite from the Canadian Maritimes. Taming Southern Louisiana is not for the weekend warrior or frustrated visitor who loses his composure over a missed opportunity with a digital camera.
I decided to change my strategy with the egrets. Perhaps in place of expending energy darting in and out of the car, I would stay inside and take my chances with the zoom lens. Still, no success. Yet if I so much as drop my window ever so slightly, the jerky buzzing sound it makes sends the egrets to flight. My conclusion is that I have very little future with the Audubon Society or a bird watching club.

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Photos

Moving Target
You have no idea how hard it was to get this...

Flocks upon Flocks
Easy when they're out of range!!!

Got'em!!!
My finest moment....