Day 9:South Padre Island one more time, Port Isabel. Boca Chica

It was a quiet morning. The wind and waves weren't as strong as yesterday. I took it easy. I had a leasurely breakfast of coffee and cranberry juice. I read local free papers published for SPIers, talking about volunteers picking up trash along the island, taking care of stray animals at the Laguna Vista shelter where over 100 healthy dogs are looking for homes, and specials for Winter Texans on all sorts of things, from restaurant deals to price cuts on dolphin tours or fishing excursions off the ocean.

I had no set plans this morning, but I was drawn back to the beach, and this time I drove 12 miles on firm sand along the ocean. I figured I could go 20 miles out and back, no problem; I had a quarter tank of gasoline.

The oil slick along the predune area, however, never went away and only got worse, traveling into the predune area and the dunes a good 1/10 of the mile up. Plastics littered the area. Portuguese Man-o-Wars popped like bubble gum as I drove over them, not by choice but because there were so many of them.

About eight miles up the coast I came across a very dead dolphin, just after painted drift logs showed drivers where the Nude Beach was. (I was almost afraid of driving into a colony of very old, big-bellied middle-aged Winter Texans, but luckily there was none of that)

The poor critter had been there for a while as its back was torn open and the meat eaten by gulls and carrion eaters. What a sad site to see along a beach that claims to be a tourtist attraction. All living things die, but this dolphin probably died close to shore. Otherwise sharks and other big fish would have gotten to it sooner. What did it die of? The photograph would never make it in a tourist guide for SPI. Neither would the oil-stained beaches I've photographed, or my oily black feet after traipsing barefoot in the sand.

I started my drive with a quarter tank of gasoline and on my return trip the low light came on. Talk about putting the fear of god in me, now all I could think of was getting back to town as soon as possible.

I need to take time out soon and get an oil change. I’m over 5000 miles already since my last change six weeks ago. I’ve already put on 1463 miles on this trip already. The salt water kept cloudinly my vision through the windshield, adding a layer of sticky mass to my truck that I could feel on my skin. My hair already looked dirty.

Beach combers looking for treasures, both with metal detectors and clam diggers walked the beach. Fishermen and waders were along the shore. There were even a few isolated tenters and even an RVer off this beach that is open to cars for miles north of town. During the spring season a drive costs $3. I got in free. Or perhaps I got to the beach before the entrance fee booth opened. When I got back at 10:30 there were people in the parking lot and a booth was already open.

I stopped briefly at the parking lot for the Padre Brewing company to rest and work on my photographs but felt watched and lieft the island, crossing the Queen Isabella Causeway and its warning signs to watch for low-flying pelicans, when traffic on the bridge stops. My next destination for a few staggering hours was Port Isabel with its pretty lighthouse overlooking the bay and the touristy restaurants around there: Pirate's Landing, Pelican Roost. It was a bit kitschy for me but the walk did me good.

The lighthouse was a strategic structure during the Civil War, when this area played an important logistical area. Admission to climb to the top was$3 and I didn't go up there. Instead, I walked around some more to check out the boating area away from the touristy marina, and all I saw was a fenced-off port with rusty boats.

I walked on the pier. The restaurant that owns the pier charges pedestrians out to watch the fishermen $1 to enter the pier, "but not until 3pm and only if you promise not to jump over!" jokingly said the vendor, although at first I wasn't sure he was joking. Signs warned walkers of a dangerous current and to stay away from edges.

I didn't see any dolphins but I did see two fishermen catching and releasing fish, first a catfish and then a whiter, "the biggest I've ever seen!" said one fisherman, although the fish didn't look much bigger than the catfish they caught earlier. What do I know about fish?! Only that I'd never eat fish again (not that I do anyway) but anything living in these filthy waters can't be healthy for human consumption. The two fishermen were the only fishermen out. After watching them I continued my journey--relunctantly-- inland toward Brownsville with a detour to Boca Chica state park, the most southern state park in the lower 48.

I drove down TX48, then turned south on TX510 to cut off a portion of the trip, driving past more dilapidated tin structures and one more sickly female dog, a border collie mix, who seemed willing to come toward me but then barked at me so I told her off.

The battle of Palo Alto, one of the few Civil War battles in Texas, was fought near these shores. I passed tw historical markers depicting the battle and the old camp site, the camp site that was a haven for all kinds of diseases for the enlistees that the camp had to be demolished and moved elsewhere. At one point there were two deaths day from illnesses here which the US Army could ill afford. Now all that is left are the wild wetlands covering over the once crucial area.

Boca Chica is an undeveloped park with no facilites. It looked more like SPI again, with the same sea weed and trash as SPI only with less oil in the sand. I walked south until I met up with some people, Canadians they turned out to be, from Saskatchewan and here for three months (They have been coming down for six years now and love it) who told me the Rio Grande river was 2-3 miles more down the beach. I wasn't willing to walk that, and my van couldn't maneuver the thick sand even big 4x4s had trouble negotiating. I called it a day for walking. My blister on my left big toe has come back anyway, most likely from yesterday's walkings. I first got the blister from walking around Aransas NWR.

I talked briefly about TX and the beach here. "This is the worst I've seen it" said the husband, refering to the seaweed on the shore. The Man-o-Wars use the seaweed to hide in. I personally see no redeeming value in going into these dirty waters, with not only the bacteria level (a sign in Boca Chica said the beach was NOT swimmable), but the trash and the many jellyfish. And college kids come down here to party? Still, I'd rather come to Texas than to Florida for spring break. At least in Texas there is variety.

I was disappointed that I couldn't see the Rio Grande where it flows into the Gulf. Further back eastward access didn't look any better, and the Border Patrol inspection agent 15 miles east of the park on TX48 said he wouldn't recommend driving down to the river. "You might just see some illegals today" he added. I've seen plenty in Arizona, I didn't need to run into any more so close to a narrow road flanked by thick thorn brush.

My next stop would be Brownsville, a city half the size of Corpus. It popped so suddenly n front of me, starting with run-down and old homes not much bigger than two-car garages.