Night of the Long Whiskers...PERU (11 Sept.)

After a giddy day's birding around Abra Patricia, I felt I still had a score to settle with a certain owl; or rather, owlet. I decided to take things into my own hands. Knowing that no other people or groups were going after the regular lodge bird, I decided to make a late night foray for it. It involved a kilometre hike (a bit of a killer on the return, uphill leg, for one of shameless low levels of fitness like me). I set out on the trail, which I was unfamiliar with. It soon led to fork; I had great instructions of where to go, thought no one had mentioned a fork. I gambled on a certain direction, and finally found a set of benches which I figured marked an old, closer, spot for the owlet, which I was led to believe was of little use in recent months. So I forged on, I knew I had another 200m or so to go and that should be the current hotspot. I could not find any trail markers, and started to get worried, when I chanced upon another bench, and so hoped this was the marker for the new spot. I soon got my answer. On playing its soft, near frog call, it did not take long to hear it respond to my overtures; GAME ON. I felt confident, I was alone, I had time (after all it was only pushing past ten o'clock! However, this tiny calling night creature was a bit of a devil to see, For it is one of the world's smallest owls. Thus, in spite of its regular calling, which should help somewhat in locating it, the high volume noise of the river combined with the softness of its call, was causing me some trouble. I tried sloshing through the mud, and weaving my way through a rain soaked bamboo understorey. Only to emerge, wet from my feet up to my crown, and completely owless. I was thinking of giving it a miss, when it called again, from a spot, which it seemed to favour in my short time there. I was convinced it must be visible, but I might just have the wrong angle, with a vital leaf blocking my view in some way. So I walked through the dense cloak of bamboo once more, ensuring I was, again, freshly wet, from my boots up, This time I tried a bit more ducking and weaving (Ali-style), and took a step to the side, when there it was, sat on an open branch: LONG-WHISKERED OWLET. It must have been there for some time, as the call had continued from the same spot for a frustrating age; all I needed to do was take that crucial step, removing that crucial leaf, from my line of sight. It was tiny, its face was full of whiskers, and it was a real beauty; and I had a view for the ages. A grail bird for birders, and even more so for someone like me who has an unhealthy obsession with owls. It had been a rare trip indeed for owls, and it turned out we were not yet done with owls....

Plenty more beckoned on the remainder of our trip in Northern Peru...