Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
and pelicans wheeled by, and cranes and herons, and other long-necked beasties. Here and
there, men sat by their pickup trucks and fished. The fish were not biting, they told me.
Of course they're not biting,
I thought.
You're fishing in clean water.
Finally I spotted a pair of SUVs parked by the canal that ran parallel to the road. It was
Rhonda's crew. I had caught them in the act.
The pelican was already in the water, floating next to the reeds on the far side of the
channel, maybe fifty feet away. I walked up to Rhonda and her three colleagues. She re-
gistered my presence with obvious disappointment. The rehab worker from the warehouse
was there, too. “Hey, buddy!” she said, proving that not all pelican ladies are grumpy.
We watched the pelican. There was an air of expectation, even concern.
“C'mon!” someone said. “Fly!”
But the pelican did not fly. It merely floated. And the longer it floated, the more tense
everyone became. At last, it dunked its head and unfurled its wings, and, with a broad flap,
splashed itself with water. The crowd broke into applause.
“Yes!” said Rhonda. “That's what we're looking for!” She took some pictures. “Do that
again!” she shouted at the pelican, and it obeyed, stretching and flicking its wings over and
over, bathing in the churning spray, improbably majestic.
Rhonda turned to me. “See?” she said accusingly. “It's not very exciting.”
“It
is
exciting!” I protested. I couldn't span the absurdity of not being able to convince
a rescuer of wildlife that wildlife rescue was, in fact, interesting.
Rhonda turned back to the pelican, now swimming in idle circles, and began screaming
at it.
“STAY AWAY FROM PEOPLE!” she bellowed. “FLY OFF INTO THE BUSHES!
STAY! AWAY! FROM PEOPLE!”
She caught her breath. “That's the problem, is if he got used to people.”
“He's gonna miss that heat lamp tonight,” someone said. The forecast was calling for
cold weather. “He's gonna wish he were back in that warm cage.”
“No,” said Rhonda. “He hated it in there.”
It heaved toward us: a mountainside of black steel. I was standing on a gangway, clutching
the rail as our boat rocked and turned. I was facing port. That means left. It was hard to
