Birds: Limpkin
Q: When did I first spot a Limpkin? A: It was about 50+ years ago, as the shaggy dog story goes …
It was December, 1975, and we had about a week before we reported to West Point, New York to wrestle during Winter Break with Coach Leroy Alitz and the Army wrestling team. I was with my fellow Yale wrestlers (Jim Bennett, Marty Schwartz, Craig Davis and Neal Brendel) attending the Sunshine Open in Miami, Florida. We were pretty cocky seniors, except for Davis who was a junior. The idea was to shoehorn in some extra matches to plump up our win-loss records. It seemed like a good idea, so we devised a plan.
Sunshine Open Plan
Logistics: Bennett picked up Craig in New York, Neal in Pittsburgh, and me in Baltimore for our roadtrip south. Jim Bennett, was the reigning Div. 1 National Champion at 142 pounds and he was being shadowed that winter by a Sports Illustrated writer, Gene Linden, who joined us in New Haven at many of our practices and then again when we were competing on the road, including flying to meet us in Miami.
Our Captain, Marty Schwartz, flew to Miami and stayed nights that weekend with his parents at the ritzy Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach. The rest of us, meanwhile, stayed at the host motel for the grapplers in the low rent district of Miami proper.
The weather was sensational, living up to the name of the tournament, but that worked for us only as long as we could find time to get out of the gymnasium.
During one extended lull in the tournament schedule, Linden asked us: “Do any of you want to go to the Everglades National Park for some animal watching?” Without hesitation, I agreed. What a cool idea that was! I had lost in the second round of the tournament and was the only “free agent” among us. Somehow, Gene Linden and I were able to persuade almost all of the others, who were more inclined to sleep-in, to join us for the nature trip. Between quarter-finals and semis wrestling rounds Linden took us in his rental car to the eastern edge of the magical Everglades National Park.
The Everglades
Alligators, wood storks, frigate-birds, palm trees, bald cypress, muskrats: the swamps and freshwater reservoirs of the Everglades were teeming with wildlife. Once we arrived at the edge of the swamp, everyone saw and heard the birds. They were otherworldly. We only had one pair of binoculars, so it was a struggle to get a fair share of the views. One of the first birds we positively identified right outside our passenger window was a Limpkin (Aramus guarauna), also called a Carrao, Courlan, and Crying Bird. It is a LOUD bird, if you get the auditory picture.
Looking like a cross between a crane and a rail, this wading bird has no close relatives. It is widespread in the Central and South American tropics, but enters the United States only in Florida and southern Georgia — which is the territory that has the dietary requirement for this bird: the fresh-water apple snail. Mostly solitary, Limpkins may be overlooked as they stalk about in marshes and swamps; they draw attention with their piercing banshee wails, often heard at dawn or at night. They are relatively large birds, with adults weighing up to three pounds and boasting a wingspan of up to forty inches from tip to tip.
What we noticed first, when we spotted the Limpkin, was the distinctive hitch in the bird’s walk, as if it had a bum leg. “That’s why they call it a LIMPkin,” said Linden, “it has a definite Limp in its walk.” Checking a bit deeper than Gene’s off-hand explanation, which sounded apocryphal, it turns out he was right. Purportedly, the Limpkin name comes from the bird’s gait, which appeared to early European settlers as a distinctive limp, perhaps when pursued by hunters with dogs. At such times of danger to their nests, which are on the ground, the Limpkin acts like the Killdeer and faints an injured wing or leg. And as predators sniff around and approach its nests, the usually stolid Limpkin violently flaps its wings and gallops away at unexpectedly high speeds. The dashing bird draws the predator’s attention away from the nest (and any eggs or chicks) and toward the noisy “injured” adult. Pretty clever way to protect the young fry.
The end of the Limpkin story is coming, so hold on.
Jim Bennett, Marty Schwartz and Neal Brendel had their sights set on winning the Sunshine Open. Bennett was not at his fighting weight (too much Christmas pudding), he went up two weight classes to 158#. There were 44 wrestlers who registered at that weight. He prevailed, but only after seriously challenging his endurance through 8 matches in two days.
When we left Miami and headed back up the East Coast, it was a warm 75°F. We reached the New York State line a day and a half later. By then the temperature had plummeted to 25°F, and it was a snowing white-out. The radiator on Jim Bennett’s Chevy had been having trouble holding water on that long drive; therefore, we had to refill it every 100 miles or so.
When we finally got to West Point town proper, it was 18°F. Bennett’s car had indeed been limping along, like the bird, but it had no extra zip. We stopped for dinner and by the time we returned to the parking lot, the engine block had frozen solid. We caught a cab to the barracks at Army. The frozen engine block was not worth fixing. The mechanic claimed, “Fellas, the car is totaled!” The final loss of those wheels was painful for Bennett, as they were his freedom in New Haven.
West Point Cadet Workouts
The Army workouts were long, tortuous and exhausting.
After the matches at the Sunshine Open and the pounding by Coach Alitz and the West Pointers, we felt like crying ourselves. We were like banshees feeling the pain and fatigue more with each additional workout. The West Point practices were legendary and we all were in servere discomfort from the multiple days of intense practice and intersquad wrestling regime. We suffered as well with commissary food. Marty deadpanned, “We are not at the Fontainebleau Hotel anymore.” The calorie intake could barely sustain us. The accommodations? We stayed in cold quontset hut barracks, which were drafty and without room service. It was hard to sleep through the night, despite our fatigue. Such is life in the military.
The New Years workouts over, we caught a ride back from West Point to New Haven with some of our Yale grappling teammates.
Q: So, why did we go to the Sunshine Open, again? A: Great question; let’s consult with Coach.
When we told Coach Bert Waterman the shaggy pooch tales of our trip, he simply shook his head and counseled: “I could have told you what would happen to you fellas BEFORE you left for Winter Break. Whose idea was that again?” Wisdom pushed our way by Waterman, a little too late. All of us had to examine our hearts, minds, wallets and limping legs on that question.
Henry E. Hooper 