Gone Birding (Bring a Raft): Snorkeling for Warblers at Cooper Lake

Cooper Lake: Now With More Water… and None of It in the Lake Where It Belongs

The location: Sweet Jane HQ, Cooper Lake State Park

So I roll into Cooper Lake State Park full of hope, new binoculars polished like fine crystal, field guide riding shotgun, Nikon Z8 with a fresh battery and ready for action. It was my second outing with my new Vortex binoculars. My mission? Spot a few warblers willing to strut their stuff. I had dreams—warbler dreams. The kind that makes you whisper “please be a lifer” every time a leaf twitches.

And you know what? Day one delivered. The birds came out like they were auditioning for a nature documentary. I even logged a Yellow-headed Blackbird, which triggered a small writing crisis in my eBird report as I did my best to convince the reviewer I hadn’t just seen a trick of the light or a really flashy grackle.

Red-eyed and White-eyed Vireos chimed in from every direction like a pair of distant cousins arguing across the trees. Both Eastern and Western Kingbirds gave me the once-over, probably judging my Texas Birder hat. Prothonotary Warblers showed up in good numbers, including one hammy little guy who sang his heart out while posing like he wanted to be featured in next year’s calendar.

Yellow-bellied Cuckoos? Everywhere. Apparently, it was bring-a-cuckoo-to-work day in the forest. And the Painted Bunting… oh, the Painted Bunting. He made sure I saw him. Strike a pose here, side-eye me there. Every time I raised the camera, he stared like he was deciding whether to pose or press charges.

It was a good day. The kind that makes all the mosquito bites and mud-splashed boots feel like part of the adventure.

But the next day looked a bit shaky. The forecast? “Chance of showers.” The reality? My campsite has taken up a new identity as Lake Cooper, Jr.

By mid-morning, I had resigned myself to the fact that my camp site was now best suited for kayaking. The picnic table was standing like a lonely island in the middle of a shallow but determined lagoon. And the fire pit? Let’s just say it’s fully qualified to host a small school of minnows.

As for Sweet Jane (my camper, for those not following the saga), she’s holding her ground like a champ, though I think even she’s beginning to suspect she was meant to be a houseboat. I stood in her doorway, sipping coffee and staring out over my aquatic front yard like a grizzled lighthouse keeper awaiting the next storm surge.

Now, let’s talk birding. Or rather, the theoretical birding.

Today was supposed to be all about warblers. You know, those glorious little songbirds that weigh as much as a crouton and flit from branch to branch with all the grace and none of the predictability of a popcorn kernel in a microwave. I had visions of spotting a Black-throated Green warbler, maybe a sneaky Hooded Warbler if the birding gods were feeling generous.

Instead, I spent the day watching a Carolina Wren dart from bush to bush like it was auditioning for a musical called “Singin’ in the Drain.” I heard exactly one Northern Cardinal, who sounded about as enthused as I felt, and got a solid 30 seconds of eye contact with a Yellow-billed Cuckoo who seemed to pity me before vanishing into the drizzle.

So, with my birding aspirations soaking wet and floating down a muddy runoff stream, I turned to writing. Lots of writing. That was really the second most important goal of the trip–keep making progress on the birding book. Turns out, steady rain tapping on a camper roof and the distant cooing of Mourning Doves can be surprisingly soothing. I got quite a bit done—pausing every so often to breathe, to look out at the rainy gray and listen to the soft rustle of pine and oak, and to make peace with the fact that my warbler day would have to wait.

Still, I’ll count this as a win. Rainy days may not deliver the bird list I dreamed of, but they come with a different kind of beauty. A slower, quieter, more reflective kind. Also, I didn’t slip and fall on the newly-formed marsh that is my site, which feels like a victory in itself.

Tomorrow, if the skies clear even a little, I’ll be out there again. The binoculars are ready. The camera lens is wiped. The wrens will still be laughing at me. But maybe—just maybe—a warbler will pity me again. And if not, well… there’s always coffee and another page to write.

Until then, I remain:
Michael, Lord of the Leaky Skies

About The Author

Michael Mathews

I’m a proud East Texas native who once took the scenic route all the way from the Atlantic to the Pacific—just to realize the Piney Woods was where I really belonged – near where I hear rumors of home.

Since planting my boots firmly back in East Texas in 2014, I’ve put my biology background to work first as a Texas Master Naturalist, then for three years I served as as the Trip Director for Tyler Audubon. I run several Facebook birding groups, several nature related websites, teach Nature Photography Workshops, lead Birding Field Trips, and, on any given day, you’ll likely find me wandering through the woods, camera in hand.

As an author, photographer, and lifelong naturalist, I believe in spreading the word about birds, wildlife and wild places so we can all appreciate—and protect—the world outside our windows. It’s all part of the adventure, right?

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