The "other" Snowcap...PERU (10th Sept.)

After our mega day in the foothills and our late night with a few large spectacular owls, you'd think we'd be happy for a lie in. But if you think that you do not know birders; some of us (me included) are a headstrong group of obsessives, who'll stop at nothing for the next bird (more or less); thus, next morning, we ate breakfast pre-dawn and headed straight out in the field. Our first clear target of the day was an interesting thrush; not so much interesting in appearance for, in truth, it is rather dull, coloured in drab olive tones, but more for the story behind it... This turdus thrush was first collected in 1961, and in spite of a different coloured bill (yellowish-green) and a different-coloured tail (grey), from "normal" dark-billed, rufous-tailed, Hauxwell's Thrushes, the specimen was considered as a Hauxwell's all the same. In 2007 the excellent field guide "Birds of Peru" was produced, and in there, clear as day, on plate 256 are two, quite different, illustrations of Hauxwell's Thrush; one depicted with an olive bill, yellowish eye ring, and greyish tail, labelled as a "gray-tailed morph", and another with a more rufous body and tail colour, lacking the pale eye ring, and with a dark bill. They are as different as some of the other species of thrushes in this section. To be fair, one of the co-authors of this brilliant field guide (one of my favourite guides), and original collector of the 1961 specimen, legendary ornithologist John P. O'Neill, in this guide, if you delve into the text, lie the immortal words "probably a separate species". Then from 2003 and later, due to the field skills of Barry Walker and B. J. O'Shea, and working with Dan Lane, Brett Whitney and others, strange thrush vocalisations, led to the final lightbulb moment; this strange, pale-billed, grey-tailed, "morph" of Hauxwell's Thrush sounded quite different from that species after all; a new thrush was born, the so-called Varzea Thrush. After a confusing 50 years in a dusty specimen draw, in a 2011 paper, that 1961 thrush finally got a name, and a rightful identity all of its own (paper here). I am not in any way mocking the people behind this; I have not described a single species after all, and am in awe of scientists of this creed, but it does make for an interesting story. So back to Peru in September; it turns out that the wonderful Waqanki Lodge, is one of the better places to try and track down this enigmatic thrush. The reason for this? An individual regularly feeds on the ground very close to the lodge; or so we were told. Our afternoon search the day before came up empty, although we did hear some intriguing calls, which were clearly coming from a near Varzea Thrush. Thus, after a slightly later than usual, dawn-time, breakfast, we set out in search of this turdus just a few minutes walk away. Our first scout of the area, revealed no thrushes feeding on the ground, and a possible Varzea Thrush sitting completely backlit in a tree, which we had to let go, with no clear ID features being seen. We walked back over the same areas, and Carlos quickly gestured to a thrush feeding on the ground: pale bill, we had it VARZEA THRUSH!

Some final birding around Waqanki that morning (when we refrained from our super-hike activities of the day before, having already bagged the antwren, and in need of a little easier birding). In the open areas we tracked down a pair of nesting Blue-winged Parrotlets, and both Stripe-necked and Pearly-vented Tody-Tyrants. Returning deeper into the forest again, passing canopy flocks held Yellow-bellied Tanager and Purple Honeycreeper, and we got cracking looks at Wing-barred Piprites, a rather handsome, and vociferous, manakin species. Once again (as the day before) we were serenaded by a Chestnut-throated Spinetail, but could not drag it into view, as it called from a thick tangle below us. Mark and I had had enough of this bird, and found a way into the valley bottom, working our way right into its favoured thicket as we did so. Murphy's Law of course ensured that by the time we made it into our idyllic position, the spinetail had fallen silent! We waited, and waited, and then suddenly it returned our playback, and then suddenly appeared on the ground, crawling around more like a tapaculo than a spinetail, just eight feet away! We then packed up and prepared to leave for the cloudforests of Abra Patricia. The beauty of this area is that the route up to those cloudforests is largely forested, meaning a range of altitudes can be covered. Before we rose up in elevation though, we dropped down the road a few bends, parked up by a bridge crossing a deep, dark cavern, and admired some 47 Oilbirds roosting underneath.

Working our way up towards the enticingly sounding "Owlet Lodge", activity was generally on the low side, with the sun beating down, and clouds few and far between (a death knell for bird activity in the Andes). Finally, we arrived at a spot for some "Andean Royalty", jumped out of the van, and walked straight on to the scarce Rufous-tailed Tyrant and the fancy Flame-faced Tanager. However, the Royal Sunagel, our primary avian target, was nowhere to be seen. We moved further up the road, with the aim of trying another spot. However, our focus was quickly switched when the harsh, jay-like cries, of a group of White-capped Tanagers reached our ears. One of the group, Rick, had missed this bird in southern Ecuador, and has a tanager fetish; we simply had to find them. While Nick scouted for the sunangel, I tried calling in the tanagers. They fell silent, when Nick returned with his significantly louder speaker; he cranked up the volume, pressed play, and we watched as seven of these gorgeous tanagers sailed in and landed alongside us. These are big boisterous tanagers, which feel more like jays than tanagers, (they sound so similar to jays, they can cause you to question which it is you have heard). 

After spending over a quarter of an hour with the "other Snowcap" (i.e. the tanagers), we climbed a small hill, with some interesting looking flowers below. Nick pressed play again, when a deep blue hummingbird darted in: Royal Sunangel! We'd barely started breathing following the splendid site of the male sunangel, when a pair of Blue-browed Tanagers suddenly appeared beside us too. The afternoon was turning into a bit of a classic, but there was little of it remaining, so we headed straight for Owlet Lodge, our fantastic lodging for the next three nights. We checked in, (or rather Nick checked us in while we feasted on hummingbirds at the feeders). The feeders were buzzing, and I quickly found my main target, a lifer Emerald-bellied Puffleg, which was backed up at the feeders by Long-tailed Sylph, Sword-billed Hummingbird, White-bellied Woodstar, Bronzy and Collared Incas, Fawn-breasted Brilliant, Chestnut-breasted Coronet, Green Violet-ear, and Booted Racket-tail.

Dusk was approaching, which could only mean one thing: O-W-L-I-N-G! We had already enjoyed rare success with this, but we were not in a supreme area for owls, and the haunt of the enigmatic Long-whiskered Owlet. As it got dark, the image of this owl preyed on our minds...

Don't Underestimate the Power of the Dark Side...PERU (9th Sept.)

After our bumper day in the Andean foothills, there were two options: 1) Accept your good fortune with a smile, and retire for the night; or 2) Get greedy and try to extend that luck to a bit of night birding near the lodge. We chose the latter! I am an owl fan of note, so this trip, which ended up with 12 different owls seen for the group, was ideally suited; thus my commitment to go out owling was never in doubt. Thankfully, Mark and Rick (the two tour participants), were dog-tired, like me, but just could not say no! The excellent local guide Carlos advised us that anything prior to 10PM was not worth it, so we it was a super-long day or nothing. We chose the tortuous option! I could not figure out way this late timing was important, as, traditionally, when searching for owls, when tapes are played to get a response, just after dusk or just before dawn (on clear nights) are usually the most fruitful. A quick scout for birds around the lodge earlier that evening failed to produce the Rufous Nightjar or the Spot-tailed Nightjar we'd seen the evening before, during an evening where clouds regularly featured in the night sky, compared with the beautiful clear night of the "Supermoon" the evening before. My fear was, that this night was simply not a good night for night birds. Anyway, we gathered by the bus at 10PM ready to launch another night foray, with plenty of cloud still present above, interspersed with periods of starry skies. Not perfect, but not disastrous either. Our first owl search was not what I was expecting. I was thinking that the guide would lead us to a spot and suggest I play a call for the stakeout species. But no, we proceeded five minutes drive from the lodge to a large power plant of some sort, sprinkled with many bright street lamps. Here, the guide Carlos advised us to check the posts by the lights for any owls. No recordings were played, but no owls were seen either. We swiftly moved, vowing to check the posts on our return journey. Next up, we scanned the cables along this far from quiet highway for any sign of a Striped Owl. Sadly this impressive owl did not feature either. Owls 2-US 0; the owls were winning this battle hands down. I was beginning to feel decidedly guilty at having dangled the "owl carrot" to the group, only to result in a tortuously late night with little payoff. Still, Carlos seemed unperturbed, and his continuing enthusiasm, and optimism was infectious; my dark thoughts of failed returns were kept locked inside my head! The next stop in this owl quest was another unlikely venue. We moved into the outskirts of the noisy city of Moyobamba, which could rightly have laid claim to the title "the city that never sleeps" at this time; cars and motorbikes zoomed around the city, heavy-bass, pumping disco music seemed to burst from every few houses, and the distinct lack of any large patch of bird habitat, all seemed the very antithesis of what you need to see owls. Under Carlos's instructions we left the bus, accompanied by the ever-present sounds of Latino dance music coming from across the street, and scanned a large university grounds for sign of our next quarry. There were a few scattered, tall Eucalypt trees bordering the building, but nothing in the way of what I would label decent habitat. Carlos expanded his information to us; gesturing to a large red-and-white cellphone antenna, he indicated our target owl, the magnificent Stygian Owl, regularly chooses to sit on the large aerial. However, it was abundantly clear the large red-and-white structure was completely owl-less. We walked around the border of the property scanning the few trees on its fringe with a spotlight for any sign large, reflecting red eyes staring back at us, but found nothing. Carlos led us to the busiest street that bordered the property, and suggested I play the tape (obviously just loud enough to be heard above the continuous dance music present), and told us to keep an eye for a large owl flying from one thin strip of trees to another. With a distinct lack of belief that any owl would respond while the town was still deep within party mode, I followed his request all the same. Amazingly, within just a few seconds of play, a huge owl sailed overhead, lit up by the spotlight, and glided onto an open branch above us! We watched, quite literally open-mouthed, as the Stygian Owl called back and glared at us from its lofty perch, accompanied by the unwanted sound of Latino club music! A curious and unlikely scene for seeing a rarely seen owl. Carlos told us that the owls had been discovered here in just the last few years, at an elevation fully 1000m lower than their stated altitudinal range in the excellent Peru field guide. Stygian means "Dark" and the owl certainly appeared that; dark and menacing.

After enjoying excellent views and taking a few snapshots, we headed back towards the lodge, once more failing to find a Striped Owl on the return journey. A short time before turning back into the lodge, we stopped again at the plant with the bright street lamps, but found the posts still missing any owls. Rick glimpsed an owl, which gave us renewed hope, and moments later a Black-banded Owl (sadly missing an eye), sitting right out in the open next to one of the bright street lamps! Another unlikely setting for a normally tricky owl species! As we drove back the short distance to the lodge, Carlos lit up another owl-Ferruginous Pygmy-Owl-sitting on a fencepost to complete a three-owl night, all seen within one hour! A remarkable end, to a remarkable day.

Next stop was Abra Patricia, the cloudforest realm of the rare and much wanted Long-whiskered Owlet...

Don't Cry for me Peru!...9th Sept.

We awoke at the wonderful Waqanki Lodge, full of excitement at the enormous avian potential for our day. By the day's end, potential had become reality, with some 150 species recorded; an impressive haul considering we lacked for any waterbirds as we spent the day inside the forest. The name Waqanki is a Quechua, and means "You will cry", and by the end of the day we were nearly weeping with joy. Simply put, it was a mega day, from start to finish. The finish was late, as we could not resist trying to track down some of the best owls in the area.

The day dawned gloomy, with the real threat of rain. However, here in the Andean foothills, the worst weather that you can have is hot and dry days, when birds are usually not too active. Our day unfolded with spells of rain interspersed by overcast weather. The rain was never too troublesome and the regular grey skies kept it not only cool, but active through the day. Andean birds simply love this weather. On this day we were accompanied by Carlos, a superbly talented local guide for the lodge, who I would highly recommend to anyone visiting there. Shortly after entering the forest we tracked down a calling Wing-barred Piprites (a type of manakin), before Carlos put us on to a local endemic flycatcher: Mishana Tyrannulet (which was later photographed much better later in the day). 

Working our way further up the trail, the ante was upped, when a male Black-and-white Tody-Flycatcher was reeled in; a smashing looking flycatcher that puts all those dowdy empidonax to the shame! Then Carlos pulled a real corker out of the hat, when he stated "Fiery-throated Fruiteater!" This caused me to almost fall off the trail in my hurry to get to Carlos and the bird. I have lived in Ecuador for nigh on 9 years, and had longed for this bird, which had masterfully eluded me thus far. I wanted it bad, and I was within touching distance of it. I looked to the place indicated and, honestly, was a little disappointed! I was ready for a visual feast, a tiny lime green bird with a burning red ember for a throat. However, all I saw a an all green female; I was unsatisfied momentarily, until I glanced up and saw the male, ember in place, sitting just above her; satisfaction complete. Instantly, a real contender for bird of the trip had honed into view. 

We continued up the trail, pushing on with the promise of rarer birds still on ahead. A clearing brought us a pair of Red-billed Tyrannulet, a miniscule White-bellied Pygmy-Tyrant, ad an equally tiny Speckle-chested Piculet (a Peruvian endemic). The Andean foothills are graced with a swathe of colourful tanagers, and another clearing brought stark evidence of this, with Green-and-gold Tanager, Paradise Tanager, Bay-headed Tanager, and the endemic Black-bellied Tanager all sharing the same trees.

After this point our continuing climb became tough; the trail was steep and energy was sapping as we neared a 3km walk from the lodge. However, we pushed on, birds like Gilded Barbet, and a perched party of Swallow-tailed Kites giving us a welcome boost as we continued up. I nailed another nemesis from my Ecuadorian birding, when we tracked down a Buff-throated Tody-Tyrant. Finally, we reached the ridge, with the forest seeming all but quiet. However, Carlos gestured us onto a side trail, where we played the call of Ash-throated Antwren, a scarce endemic, and waited. Not long after a clear response from an antwren was heard, and we legged it down the trail towards the sound. A little more playback, some slipping sliding in the mud, and we were all looking straight at up at a male Ash-throated Antwren, a lifer for all concerned, even Nick Athanas, for which it had been a bit of a nemesis. A fabulous surprise came up the trail, as the lodge staff walked our cooked lunch to us on the trail, which tasted all the sweeter for having just added a certain antwren.

Coming down the trail in the early-mid afternoon was predictably much quieter than the way up, during the traditionally least active time of day. We did see a pack of Saddleback Tamarins on the way down, and also recorded a new bird for the reserve in the form of a flock of Band-tailed Pigeons (a common species at higher altitudes). We closed the afternoon (but not the day), back at the hummingbird feeders, where, once again birds like Rufous-crested Coquette and White-chinned Sapphire were the standout attendees, along with Black-throated and Great-billed Hermits, Golden-tailed Sapphire, Black-throated Mango, and Gray-breasted Sabrewing among 13 species present that afternoon.

Our day did not end there though, as we got out in the field again, post-dinner (actually near 10PM), as we went out for one of the stranger sessions of owling that I have ever experienced...