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Tanager Tours Newsletter
Bird-related creative writing, recent trip highlights, a bit of shameless |
Tour Operator Wim ten Have Guides David Geale, Miguel Lezama Newsletter Text David Geale |
Filling in the Holes
Each birder has birds that are a thorns in the side, unrealised fantasies, holes in the list. It seemed to me that everyone else saw Ash-throated Antwrens at El Afluente, but I suffered through several failed searches there before I finally had crippling views of a male on a ridgetop at Mishquiyacu. I'd heard, and tried very hard to see, Point-tailed Palmcreeper four times in four different places before one finally graced my binoculars in the garden at Otorongo Lodge. And I'll never forget encountering an Iquitos Gnatcatcher - two seperate times - on my fourth visit to Allpahuayo-Mishana. Then there are the ones that still elude me: a pair of attempts at Sira Tanager, both failed; Plumbeous Euphonias never appearing in flocks at the Tarapoto Tunnel; no sign of Watkin's Antpittas or Blackish-headed Spinetails on two visits to Tumbes. In some cases, it's a matter of knowledge: learning the bird's microhabitat; knowing exactly what to listen for; getting a tip about where there's an active territory. Sometimes, finding a tough bird requires an accumulation of field skills: knowing how antpittas tend to react to playback; learning to filter through canopy flocks, selecting potentially interesting silhouettes by their behaviour; having stared at enough Sooty Shearwaters cruising by that a subtly different flight style catches your attention. Most often, however, it's pure luck: a usually silent bird happening to call as you pass nearby; leaning on a small tree that happens to host a roosting owl; bumping into a flock that keeps you busy so long that eventually it has to produce an exciting species. Near the end of an wonderful Iquitos area tour last year, another steamy night in the heart of the Amazon basin, listening for a deep booming song I've failed to hear on at least a dozen previous nights. To be honest, I have little hope; I've chosen my bird of the day (Grey-winged Trumpeter) and am thinking about targets for tomorrow (Black-headed Antbird, Ochre-striped Antpitta) as I duly play my tape. I'm resigned to the lack of a response and about to head gratefully to bed when it sings back: oooo-o-ooo oo-o-oooo... UU! It takes an hour and the combined efforts of 6 people, but eventually we're looking at it: a Nocturnal Curassow perched in the canopy of a 30 m. tall tree, singing from its roost! An unforgettable experience, one of the world's most enigmatic birds, seen well and living up to all expectations - but still that intangible, anticlimatic feeling - what is it? I believe that part of the thrill of birding is NOT seeing birds, knowing there are new things still to be experienced. Every new species you see means there is one less to look for next time. So without detracting from the joy of encountering a long-sought lifer, the end of the search leaves you wishing it wasn't over. Every year I pluck a few more thorns from my side, realise a few more fantasies, and fill in a few more holes in my list. But it's the remaining unfilled holes that keep me wanting more; those unfulfilled fantasies that drag me down the Manu Road time and time again; the thorns still in my side that keep me sharp in the field, listening for things previously unheard, watching for unfamiliar colours and patterns in a familiar mixed flock. So who will be next: a White-throated Spadebill in the foothills, a Yellow-shouldered Grosbeak in a lowland canopy flock, a Brownish Elaenia on a river island, a Subtropical Pygmy-Owl after a week of trudging remote ridgetops? It doesn't matter - just as long as I never see them all.
Recent Trip Highlights
With a very busy second half of 2011 coming up, wait for our December newsletter for a summary of more exciting tours! |
Upcoming TripsThe second half of 2011 is very busy for us, and most tours do not have room for additional participants. However, we are looking for travellers for the following trips (tours marked [PQD] qualify for Photo Quiz Discount - see below): Abra Malaga and Manu / August 19 - September 2 Iquitos / August 01-14 Classic North Peru / November 20 - December 06 Lower Marañon Magic / Dates TBA, 2012 More information on these trips and others on our website: http://www.tanagertours.com/ Previous Photo Quiz AnswersNo one got all three species correct in our last photo quiz (again!); hence we had no winners of the photo quiz discount. The answers were:
New Photo QuizThe first person to correctly identify these three birds and send their answers to info@tanagertours.com will get a 15% discount when they join any of the tours above marked [PQD]. If you bring a friend, you get an additional 5% off! After two quizzes with no winnner, I've tried to make this edition a little bit easier! All photos taken in Peru; no other clues.
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It's my fourth visit to Abra Marancunca. On my first, six long years ago, I'd wandered the logging trails and enjoyed myself: a nervous Ochre-breasted Antpitta at the trailside, Pale-legged Warblers in bamboo tangles, Blue-banded Toucanets croaking in treetops. On the second, five years ago, I'd been more focussed: staking out fruiting trees, and thus encountering striking White-eared Solitaires and stunning Scarlet-breasted Fruiteaters, but still not chancing on the ultimate prize for this site. Last time I was here, four years ago, it had poured rain and we'd seen next to nothing of interest beyond Buff-thighed Pufflegs and a Versicoloured Barbet. Now, as we start away from the road, we find the trail overgrown with sharp grasses and orchid stems, and if I hadn't been here before I would never have known how to get anywhere. Entering the understory of the first forest patch, we find the trail overhung with bamboo stems and blocked by fallen mossy limbs: this isn't going to be worth it, I think to myself. Just as I'm about to turn around, Miguel - the fourth person in our line - calls out softly, breathlessly: "looks like the piha." I stumble and turn around, and three steps later I'm on it: finally, a Scimitar-winged Piha! It is perched, unmoving, just a few metres away above our heads. Finally it tires of looking at us, or of us looking at it, and flies powerfully away into the dense, dark forest. I'm left in awe: a surreal experience, all I'd hoped for and yet somehow anticlimatic - but why?
As a birder, I have no problem enjoying birds I've seen previously: observing an interesting behaviour, learning a new call note, getting a better view. I recently spent a full week at Lago Soledad making sound recordings and stalking elusive ground birds, and though I didn't add a single species to my list it was one of the most enjoyable weeks of birding I've ever had. Still, as I walked those trails, I couldn't stop hoping: perhaps an Elusive Antpitta would call in the distance, or a small flock Selva Caciques would appear in the river-edge Cecropias, or an Ash-coloured Cuckoo would arrive with a cold front - there are always lifers in the back of my mind. So next time you get into the field, hope for an unlikely lifer, but don't be disappointed when it doesn't happen: the more birds you haven't seen, the more excitement there is in your future. And between those increasingly rare encounters with new species for you, be assured of endless entertainment from old friends. Birding's like that: lifers get harder and harder to find, but encountering a cooperative Rufous-capped Antshrike, a Capped Heron in the late afternoon sunlight, or a blinding male Black-necked Red Cotinga at its lek is just as thrilling every time it happens. Still, I can't stop wondering: when will I finally find an antswarm being attended by a Reddish-winged Bare-eye? And once I find it, how much longer until I find one with a Red-billed Ground-Cuckoo? Thankfully, I'll never see all the world's birds, so there's no chance of ever running out of fantasies.
