April 27, 2010 – The Hummingbird Moth, San Antonio, TX

San Antonio is a very large city but creates a homey atmosphere as a result of its famed River Walk, which gives it an almost Venetian feel. San Antone, as it is pronounced locally, is home to the Alamo. “Remember the Alamo!?” John Wayne exhorted in the ‘60s movie, portraying Davy Crockett, one of 189 men who were besieged for thirteen days and ultimately died in 1836 in the Alamo Mission at the hands of the Mexican army while fighting for Texas independence.

Like so many other things — personal anatomy excluded — the Alamo is disappointingly small in real life. Nevertheless three million Americans line up annually — in single file please — to walk through this shrine to independent frontier spirit and martyrdom from Spanish colonial oppression to purchase Davy Crockett knick-knacks and miniature rubber Bowie knives.

If you’re ever in old San Antone, stay at the Oge House, a stately1852 antebellum mansion b&b on the River Walk in the historic King William district. Ride your bike south down through the series of four Catholic Missions, dating from the 1700s, all tastefully preserved.

We spent a lovely evening having dinner with a group of Red Deerites – or is it Red Deerians? – at the County Line in San Antone overlooking the River Walk and the annual Texas Cavaliers River Parade. Floats float by on the quaint waterway decoratively adorned and lighted, many hosting a live band, replete with amplified guitar, bass and a grooving drummer. Sweet home. Very cool.

Look up the word “anal” in the dictionary and you will first be informed about matters relating to the rectal area. Skip that part. The next definition will describe occupants – or more particularly rule-makers – of private campgrounds.

The Admiralty RV Park in San Antonio — where we pre-reserved two nights — is a fine example. Upon arrival I was greeted at the reception desk by a flock of six blue-haired women all earnestly demanding my last name and zip code. Actually I am exaggerating. The coif of one of the ladies was more off-blue.

After an extensive Gestapo-like interview — including the administration of a sworn affidavit regarding the legality in Alberta of the absence of a front license plate — the lavender-haired lady walkie-talkied for our escort. No one, upon threat of summary execution, is permitted to proceed past the Admiralty RV gate to his or her designated campsite without a guide en golf cart. We were in campsite #3.

Ken carefully scrutinized our paperwork, lack of front plateage and affidavit before reluctantly leading us at the “strictly enforced” maximum speed of 7.5 mph the full 27 feet down the road to our pad. He put on the emergency flashers of his golf cart before hesitantly permitting me to back up the 12 feet necessary to obtain hook-up. Ken left but returned peremptorily to warn us that if we chose to leave the grounds any time 24/7, upon re-entry it was mandatory that we be re-escorted to site #3.

I wanted to say, “All 27 feet?” but instead nodded obediently and wandered off to the bathhouse where I was confronted with a large notice dictating that, effective April 15, 2010, the bathrooms and showers were closed daily from 9am to 10 am – NO exceptions. Now this may be TMI but that is directly in the time zone of where my daily constitution needs walking.

America – where a judge seeks re-election amongst the bluebonnetsWe skipped out after one night, deftly trampling three of Ken’s plastic duck one-way arrows.

Segueing back to the mating habits — and the impropriety thereof — of things that fly, have you ever heard-tell of the hummingbird moth? We were enjoying a lovely five mile hike up the eroded limestone canyons and mesas of Lost Maple State Park, a couple of hours west of San Antonio, in the heart of Texas Hill country.

The fading bluebonnets and indian paintbrush were interspersed with the eruption of new yellow and purple wildflowers. As we rested in the humid afternoon heat and quaffed some agua, we noticed what appeared to be a small hummingbird flitting and feeding amongst the flowers.

We looked closer at this creature that possessed a yellow-striped rear, the fast-winged darting of a hummingbird and a prominent elephant-like proboscis. When I tried to take its picture, it flew at me like Sean Penn trying to protect Madonna from the paparazzi.

That evening we relayed our experience to our campsite neighbors, fellow Canadians Ross and Marg from Lake Huron, Ontario. They were touring the southern US, dedicating their travels exclusively to birding. It was Ross who identified our culprit. Ross, a retired park ranger and scientist chuckled casually when he suggested the hummingbird moth was “designed by committee.” I liked Ross despite his rather disconcerting infatuation with things avian.

Gerry & Florence