Category Archives: Costa Rica

Braden’s Costa Rica Report #5: A Glimpse of a Ghost

Braden and I write FatherSonBirding in the hopes of sharing the wonders of birds and birding, and the urgency to protect them. We do not accept advertising or donations, but if you’d like to support our work, please consider buying *NEW* copies of some of Sneed’s books—First-Time Japan, for instance, or my recent Orbis Pictus Award winner, Border Crossings. We appreciate your interest and hope you will keep reading! Happy Earth Day + 1!

A couple of years ago, I asked my parents for a selection of bird books for Christmas, given that I’d just learned that Princeton University Press was having a sale. Large, detailed bird guides are often quite expensive, but at this time many were being sold for significantly below their usual amounts, and I had my eye on several of them. Fast-forward to December 25th of that year, when I tore the colored wrapping paper off of the boxes with my names on them to reveal the books inside. Two of those books I’ve barely touched—I think one is about waterfowl and the other is about North American rarities. They’ve sat on my bookshelf collecting dust. The other one, however, has gradually replaced the Sibley Guide to Birds as my nighttime reading material. Birds of Central America, by Andrew Vallely and Dale Dyer, is not simply a bird guide. It is an in-depth collection of all of the species in the class Aves that have ever occurred in the seven countries that make up Central America, equipped with some of the prettiest, most detailed drawings of birds I’ve ever seen. The cover, especially, is a work of art, displaying seven species foraging at an ant swarm in the understory of a tropical rainforest.

That book came with me to Costa Rica, and I’ve opened it every single day I’ve been here. The cover is now creased, and there are wrinkles and smudges all along the spine. I can still see the image on the front perfectly well, however. There’s the White-whiskered Puffbird and Plain-brown Woodcreeper in the back. There’s the Kentucky Warbler, hiding behind the skinny plant stem. In the foreground are three of Costa Rica’s most iconic antbirds: Bicolored, Spotted and Ocellated. I’ve seen the puffbird and woodcreeper, and I’ve seen two of the antbirds. I’m still missing Kentucky Warbler and Ocellated Antbird. This blog is not about those species.

*Birds of Central America*—my main reading material in Costa Rica!

Smack-dab in the middle of the cover, surrounded by the other six birds, is a bird that looks like a dinosaur. It stands sporting a scaly, brown breast; a black neck collar; a deep green feathered crest atop its head; and, of course, that dark purple, iridescent tail sticking out behind it. There are some creatures on Earth that seem made up, animals that are so mythical and enigmatic that few people ever are fortunate enough to lay eyes on them. This bird is like Sasquatch, but even cooler. This bird is like a roadrunner of the jungle. Seeing this bird is akin to seeing a Jaguar. The bird is the Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoo.

I learned about ground-cuckoos in 2020, during a cuckoo-themed bracket-style voting event that took place in a Facebook group I’m a part of, and I remember being absolutely shocked by their existence. A few ground-cuckoos live in the Old World, but those that stuck out the most were those in the genus Neomorphus, of which there are five, all living in the Neotropics. Learning that Rufous-vented live in Costa Rica helped me choose that nation as a study abroad location. And upon arriving, my dreams were all but crushed.

Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoos are the most widespread of the five Neomorphus, but even they are unreliable and sporadic at best. For one, in Costa Rica, they only occur on the Caribbean slopes of the big, central volcanoes, places with enough intact forest to support the large ranges they need. For whatever reason, though, they are simply absent from large swaths of the country, including the extensive lowland rainforests in northeastern Costa Rica and the jungles of the Osa Peninsula. In South America, they occur in lowland areas, but here, they do not.

One of the most reliable spots to see the ground-cuckoo in Costa Rica is a place called Pocosol Biological Station, a remote research center nestled deep in the Children’s Eternal Rainforest. When I say “reliable”, however, I mean that the cuckoo is spotted there a couple times a year at best. Regardless, it was high on my bucket list to visit Pocosol, but I quickly realized that the logistics would be too much, especially since I am only really able to use public transportation while here.

So I gave up on the cuckoo. There were easier birds to see that were almost as cool. Besides, even if I made it to Pocosol, there was a very low chance of actually seeing the bird.

And then yesterday, on Monday, April 15th, I logged in to eBird. And I just so happened to look at the eBird page for Alajuela, the province I live in here. The top photo was of a Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoo—and the photo had been taken the day before! Not only that, it had been taken at San Luis Canopy, a location only thirty minutes north of my host city, San Ramón. Some quick investigation revealed that not one but SEVERAL Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoos had been spotted at San Luis a few weeks ago, and that they had been fairly reliable since then. Without a second to lose, I went downstairs and asked my host brother if he could call me a taxi. Thirty minutes later, I was on the road north, and just before 11 o’clock I arrived at San Luis.

San Luis Canopy is known less for its birds and more for its adventure activities, which include hanging bridges, a zipline course and bungee jumping, and I hoped, when I walked up, that I wouldn’t need a reservation to get in. The woman at the front desk smiled at me and asked me for twenty dollars, the entrance fee, then told me to wait by the bird feeders for her partner to arrive. I rounded the corner to see a log suspended from a roof by chains, currently covered in Silver-throated Tanagers absolutely devouring bananas.

As I watched the tanagers and a curious coati watching the feeding frenzy hungrily from below, I sat down. I felt nervous. This whole morning excursion wasn’t particularly cheap. Plus, I might not even see the bird. But then again, I definitely wouldn’t see it if I had stayed in San Ramón.

Soon, a man walked onto the patio and beckoned for me to follow. I got in his truck with a local birder by the name of Jimmy, and he drove us down the road for about ten minutes. He then parked, and motioned for us to walk down the trail. Fifty meters into the rainforest, we spotted a large group of birders, all sitting silently by the side of the trail, watching. Most of the birders were locals, but I saw a few Americans, too. So, I sat down, got my camera ready, and waited.

The ants weren’t particularly hard to see. Ground-cuckoos, like antbirds, follow army ants around and feed on the insects the ants scare up. I could only imagine that being three times the size of an antbird means they have to eat that many more insects, which might explain part of why these ground-cuckoos are so rare.

After fifteen minutes, a couple of birders left—they’d already seen the cuckoo earlier this morning. I frowned. Had I missed my shot at the bird? There weren’t many other species around either. One local pointed out the call of a Golden-browed Chlorophonia as it flew over, but that was about it.

Suddenly, everyone was looking behind me, at the other side of the trail. Several birders had just heard bills clacking, a telltale sign that a ground-cuckoo is nearby. People raised cameras that cost more than I’d spent on my entire study abroad experience, ready to capture the ghosts of the jungle. And then, some people started looking through their binoculars.

I caught motion out of the corner of my eye, and looked through my binoculars. There, the flash of a dirty brown wing. Two large, scaly feet. A long, dark purple tail. The ground-cuckoo was here.

“There’s two!” someone whispered.

The ground-cuckoos were here. And then, more movement, and suddenly, a species I’d only dreamed of seeing appeared on a log, seven feet away from me, posing perfectly. I shot some quick photos. Ten or fifteen seconds passed and the second bird appeared. They both gave us humans a quick look before disappearing into the brambles, clacking their bills all the way.

The whole experience lasted maybe thirty seconds, and then they were gone. I’d gotten good photos and good looks, but wanted more. I wanted more time with these elusive birds. But sometimes, thirty seconds is all you get. Still in shock, I lowered my camera. And after twenty more minutes of waiting, I wandered out of the forest.

**Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoo—the ghost bird.**

How do you tell someone you’ve seen a ghost? What should it feel like? I still don’t know. I still can’t comprehend that I actually saw this legendary bird species.

For the next hour I wandered around San Luis. I got another lifer, Pale-vented Thrush. I also got great views of a variety of birds visiting the banana feeders, including Silver-throated, Emerald, Blue-gray and Blue-and-gold Tanagers (the latter of which is another rarity that people had been coming to San Luis to see), Clay-colored Thrushes, Black-cheeked Woodpeckers and a Tawny-capped Euphonia. And then I caught a taxi home.

I still don’t know what to think. When I saw the Orange-collared Manakins, I was ecstatic. When I saw the Yellow-eared Toucanets, I was in awe. But with this species—it almost doesn’t feel real. If not for the photos, I might think I had dreamed up the whole experience. I feel fulfilled and at the same time inexplicably empty, craving more time with this mythical bird. And yet, it may be the only time I ever see this species for the rest of my life. The cover of Birds of Central America means so much more to me now—but it may take me a while to figure out exactly how.

In the meantime, I’m still in Costa Rica for three more weeks, so stay tuned to see what I get up to next!

P.S. Are you a student? Do you want to study abroad? If so, apply for the Gilman Scholarship! I’ll extol its virtues more on the next blog.

Braden’s Costa Rica Report #4: Osa Peninsula Adventure

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A low growl emanated from the dense jungle up the hillside from the highway, stopping me in my tracks. The sun hadn’t even thought about rising yet, since I’d woken up before 5 a.m., but some animals were awake, including the Crested Owl I’d just heard call from the rainforest. I laughed in disbelief as I stood on the side of the highway, looking up the hill. While I could not see the animal, Crested Owl was one of the country’s largest owl species and one I’d been hoping for but not expecting to get during my time here. And yet here one was, singing for me as I began my trek from El Chontal (my hostel) to the Río Rincon Bridge in extreme southwestern Costa Rica.

The walk from the hostel to the bridge was about an hour, and as I plodded along the highway, I could hear and feel the forest waking up. Little Tinamous and Great Curassows called in the dark, and about half an hour before dawn many other species of birds started up. Immense roars echoed from high in trees as male Mantled Howler Monkeys welcomed the sun into the sky, and I eventually arrived at my destination, the bridge spanning the Río Rincón. Nearly every birder visiting the Osa Peninsula stopped here, albeit usually with a vehicle and not on foot. The bridge offered great views of mangroves to the east and rainforest to the west, as well as a wide open vista from which to watch parrots of many species leave their roosts in search of food. The primary reason birders stopped here, however, was for a specific, critically-endangered bird species: the Yellow-billed Cotinga.

**My early morning walk rewarded me with multiple looks at Yellow-billed Cotingas, rare and beautiful birds endemic to southwest Costa Rica.**

Cotingas are a strange, remarkable and hilarious group of birds. These plump birds feed primarily on fruit and come in a wide variety of shapes and colors, including tangerine orange, like the Andean Cock-of-the-rock, shadow black, like the Bare-necked Umbrellabird, or electric blue, like the Turquoise Cotinga. The family features some of the world’s weirdest species, like the monk-like Capuchinbird, and the loudest birds in the world, the bellbirds, one of which resides in Costa Rica (and will be my target for my final weekend trip in this country, so stay tuned!).

Yellow-billed Cotingas are angelic white, and are endemic to southwestern Costa Rica and extreme western Panama. They live in extensive lowland rainforest and mangroves, and thanks to habitat decimation, are largely restricted to the Osa Peninsula, one of the country’s wildest remaining areas. This species was one of the primary reasons that I had requested to skip classes this week and visit this far-away peninsula, and the Río Rincón Bridge was the most reliable place to see them.

By the time I arrived, barely before dawn, the birds were already active. Hordes of parrots, from the pint-sized Orange-chinned Parakeets to the chunky Red-lored Parrots to the spectacular Scarlet Macaws, flew over me towards distant locations. A Bare-throated Tiger-Heron hunted for fish in the river, and another one, a juvenile covered in its namesake black and orange stripes, watched from a nearby tree. The sandy river island hosted several Spotted Sandpipers, a Willet and a Northern Jacana—the first I’d ever seen. Jacanas have massive feet which they use to walk atop lily pads, although there weren’t any lily pads in sight here. Flocks of swallows and swifts wheeled overhead, and I spotted a few Fiery-billed Aracaris swooping across the river, their flame-colored bills shining in the sun.

**Even though I’d already seen them on the trip, I had yet to grow bored seeing a Bare-throated Tiger-Heron.**

As I stood on the bridge, unsure of where to look for the cotingas, I heard a distinctive song from a nearby tree. The “bouncing-ball” call sounded exactly like a Wrentit, a bird native to the chaparral of California, which had never been recorded in Costa Rica and probably never will be. I knew exactly what it was, though, since I’d studied the song the night before and noticed the resemblance it had to a Wrentit. I walked over to the tree and whipped out my speaker, playing the call right back at the bird. Then, a large, blue and red bird flew in and landed several dozen feet above my head in clear view: Baird’s Trogon. This had also been one of my chief targets on the Osa, given that it was difficult to find nearly anywhere else in the country, and I snapped some poor photos of it before returning to my cotinga watch. After about fifteen minutes, that watch paid off, as a mottled gray female cotinga flew over, landing briefly in a tree in front of me before disappearing in the foliage. “Well, that wasn’t the view I’d hoped for,” I said to myself, a bit disappointed but still relieved that I’d seen my target species. The cotingas weren’t done yet, though. Over the next hour and a half, I spotted seven more of the birds flying over, many of them strikingly-white males. I got a decent picture of one in flight, too.

**Despite the poor photo, Baird’s Trogon was one of the chief targets of my Osa Peninsula trip—and at least the sixth species of trogon I’d seen in Costa Rica!**

After two hours of great birding, I walked back along the highway to my hostel. From there, I packed up and caught the bus down to Puerto Jiménez, the largest city on the Osa (which is still quite small). I found a small soda (the name for any number of small, family-owned restaurants in Costa Rica) and waited there for about an hour before a tiny, run-down van pulled up in front of it at 11. “Dos Brazos?” asked the lady driving it, and I nodded, throwing my bag in the van and climbing up after it. The interior of the van was in rough shape, although the seats were comfortable, and I taught the lady’s young son how to use my binoculars as we rattled up dirt roads towards the “town” of Dos Brazos, hidden deep in the rainforest.

**Riverside Wren—Costa Rica’s Most Stylish Wren???**

The woman let me off in front of the reception house for the Bolita Rainforest Hostel, where an American greeted me. “Welcome to Bolita! The hostel is a 30-minute hike that way,” she pointed up into the jungle. So, I set off, my heavy pack on my back. I spotted a pair of Buff-rumped Warblers next to a creek I had to cross, and eventually arrived at the open-air hostel, caked in sweat. Another American and several volunteers from all over the world greeted me cheerfully, showing me to my “room”, an outdoor bed with a mosquito net over it. There was no “inside” at Bolita, except maybe the supply closet, which hosted half a dozen roosting bats on its walls. After I settled down, Pascal, an older French volunteer, noticed my binoculars.

**I wonder how many Hilton Honors points I’ll get for my stay at the Bolita Rainforest Hostel—a place with superb “air-conditioning!”**

“Are you a birdwatcher?”

I nodded, and she proceeded to pull out a faded “Birds of Costa Rica” book, flipping it open to a page with small, colorful birds on it. She pointed to the bird that just so happened to be my number one remaining target for the entire trip: Orange-collared Manakin.

“I saw these guys here! The males all dance for the females at places called leks, and I found a lek on one of the hostel trails. I can show you if you’d like!”I nodded profusely—fate had somehow delivered to me the perfect opportunity to see the bird I wanted to see most here. Soon, Pascal led me and a few other interested guests up the “Big Banana Trail.” After twenty minutes of hiking, we rounded a corner and heard claps from the nearby trees. Pascal waded a few feet into the foliage off the trail, and pointed. There they were, tiny, football-shaped birds with sunset-colored collars and tiny black caps, like the White-collared Manakins I’d seen in Sarapiqui but with fiery rather than white throats. We enjoyed them for fifteen or minutes or so before everyone else wandered back down towards the hostel. I decided to poke around the trails a bit longer—and I’m glad I did.

**Once I arrived at the hostel, and thanks to a new friend, it took me only minutes to find my last remaining Osa Peninsula target bird, Orange-collared Manakin.**

Almost immediately, I heard the loud, repeating call of a wren coming from a tangle near me, and with a little verbal coercion, I was able to spot the culprit: a Black-bellied Wren, another southwestern Costa Rica specialty bird. This wren happened to be the beginning of a large mixed flock and I spotted several more wrens as well as antshrikes, antwrens, a foliage-gleaner, and a Little Tinamou, a hard-to-see forest bird, feeding right on the trail in front of me. I stopped at one lookout and watched as the birds came to me: parrots, flycatchers, hummingbirds and more. Highlights included a female Thick-billed Seed-finch, a tiny bird with a massive bill; an Olive-sided Flycatcher, a bird that winters in South America and summers in the boreal forest of Montana and Maine; and a Purple-crowned Fairy, a flashy, usually-arboreal hummingbird that steals nectar from flowers rather than pollinating them. Extremely satisfied with this mid-day birding, I headed back to the hostel to watch the sunset.

**Scarlet Macaws are one of the birds most people want to see in Costa Rica, and in the Osa Peninsula, I found no shortage of these spectacular creatures.**

I found a nice little bench overlooking much of the rainforest and quickly realized that even the hostel had great bird activity. Piratic Flycatchers, Scarlet-rumped Tanagers and Bananaquits flew around me, and about an hour before dusk, I spotted another bird that blew me away: another cotinga, this one the color of the sky. I’d looked for Turquoise Cotingas three days earlier and completely missed them, and yet here they were, delivered right to my doorstep in all their blue and violet glory. I had gotten, quite simply, every bird I’d wanted to see on the Osa Peninsula. And I still had one morning left!

**One of the trails I explored near the Bolita Rainforest Hostel.**

That morning was spent exploring more of the trails behind the Bolita Rainforest Hostel. With no real targets, I just set off into the jungle, hoping to discover something unexpected, and I did! I spotted three more lifers, including Black-crowned Tityra, Black-cheeked Ant-tanager (the only species completely endemic to the Osa Peninsula) and a Northern Black-throated Trogon, which was one of four trogon species I reported on my hike. I heard dozens of antbirds, antwrens, antshrikes and antthrushes, spotted groups of Scarlet Macaws flying high above me, and watched the sunrise over the misty hills stretching all the way out to the Pacific Ocean. I’d seen some beautiful places in Costa Rica so far, but none had been so wild as here. From one vantage point, I could see no signs of human habitation—just forest and sea. Even for a country that has done so well protecting its environment, places like this are rare, and I’m so happy I got to experience it.

**A lone Scarlet Macaw flies across the dawn sky—my last morning in the Osa Peninsula, and one I’ll never forget.**

You can experience it too! Whether you want to see the jungles of Central America, like me, or the snow-capped peaks of the Alps or the Andes, the castles of Europe, the hubbub of Tokyo or the grasslands of the Serengeti, you can, with the help of the Gilman Scholarship! I’m sure I sound like a broken record, but it’s because it’s true—the Gilman can help low-income college students reach far away destinations to study abroad with just a simple application! I urge you to apply today, so you can have a life-changing, international experience during your college years, like me!

Braden’s Costa Rica Report #3: El Copal

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Not many of us have the resources to bird outside of our own regions, and if you are part of that large club, you’re in luck. Braden is spending the spring semester of his junior year studying abroad in Costa Rica. He has 16 full weekends to work with and it’s no surprise that birding is on the agenda for every one of them. Here is his latest report—to a place that is not only a wonderful birding destination, but a model of sustainable agriculture. Enjoy!

I arrived at La Reserva El Copal just as the sun dipped behind the rainforest-covered foothills, my clothes soaked with sweat and every part of my body tired from the four bus rides and two-hour walk it had taken to get to one of Costa Rica’s best birding locations. My weekends in Monteverde and Jaco had been eventful and fun, but I was in need of some solo birding time, and so four days earlier I had made a reservation for this inexpensive, out-of-the-way property sitting on the lower slopes of the Cordillera de Talamanca. Patricia and Beto, the couple that ran the reserve, warmly welcomed me as darkness fell, showing me to my room and then to the dining hall for a dinner by candlelight. As I stared at the photos of rare and colorful hummingbirds on the walls, I realized that I was the only guest staying here for the night. Patricia served my rice and beans and said that she and Beto usually lived in Pejibaye, the town the final bus had dropped me off in, and only came up here when guests arrived, which wasn’t particularly frequently in January and February. This surprised me, given El Copal’s location and the high number of desirable bird species reported from here.

**Even a glance of the grounds explains why El Copal is one of Costa Rica’s top birding destinations.**

The next morning I arose at dawn, grabbed my binoculars and camera and headed off into the property as the trees began to glow with increasing sunlight. Almost immediately after stepping outside, a small, dark hummingbird buzzed by me, stopping to feed at one of the many flower bushes adorning the property. Despite the fact that it was still dark, I could clearly see the brilliant white cap for which the bird was named—Snowcap, which, in the weeks leading up to my trip to Costa Rica, had quickly risen up the ranks as one of my most-wanted birds. Rare denizens of the Caribbean slope, there were very few places in the country where these birds were reliable. El Copal was one of them, and I ended up seeing at least half a dozen of them during my stay here. The tiny, fairy-like hummingbirds eliminated any doubt I had about making this trip!

**El Copal is one of the few places to reliably see Snowcap hummingbirds, and fortunately, they are there in abundance!**

El Copal is full of rare birds. Back in the late 90s, the land now holding El Copal had been purchased by several families for agriculture. Instead of developing the rainforest, however, they decided to first establish a form of sustainable agriculture, then open it up for ecotourism, preserving much of the primary forest on the property. Now, some of Costa Rica’s most sought-after birds (and other animals) thrive here, thanks to the decision of those local farmers. This includes the Snowcap and a variety of other hummingbirds, as well as my #1 Target Bird for the whole country: Yellow-eared Toucanet. Of the six toucan species found in the country, this toucanet is the rarest, only found in middle elevation-rainforest on the Caribbean slope. El Copal seemed to be one of the best places to find them in the whole world, and I had my fingers crossed as I headed up the steep trails leading into the reserve.

The morning was…complicated. I heard a whole lot of birdsong, but very few of the singers actually presented themselves for good looks. Merlin (the bird identification app developed by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology) was only so helpful, as there are significantly fewer recordings of Latin American species than North American species. Bird sounds that the app identified for me included Bright-rumped Attila, Broad-billed Motmot, and Northern Schiffornis, the latter of which is an entirely brown bird with one of the most entertaining whistling songs I’ve ever heard. Despite my frustration at not being able to see many of the birds hidden in the foliage, I did get eyes on a few. I spotted both a Collared Aracari and a Keel-billed Toucan, two species of toucans quite common in this type of rainforest. And I did lay eyes on several large, mixed flocks of tanagers, colorful birds that traverse the forest in search of fruit. The species I picked out at the tops of trees included Silver-throated, Emerald, Speckled, Golden-hooded, Hepatic, Summer, Scarlet-rumped, Tawny-crested, Black-and-yellow, and Bay-headed Tanagers. I also got to watch a family group of coatis quietly foraging on the trail ahead of me. They scattered when I stepped on a branch by accident.

**The tanagers put on a real show around the El Copal lodge—including this spectacular Emerald Tanager.**

I returned to the main property for breakfast, then headed off on a different trail, this one leading down towards a stream. I found a Buff-rumped Warbler foraging on the rocks in the water, and peered around tree ferns and buttressed trees to try and glimpse the calls I was hearing. This trail also took a left turn and then continued up the mountain, and further up I spotted Scarlet-rumped Caciques and Chestnut-headed Oropendolas, big grackle-like birds making crazy calls. As I rounded a corner, a shiny green bird with a long bill alighted on a branch in front of me. The bird’s beak was longer and thinner than that of a kingfisher, and it had a warm, orange belly complementing its shimmering, green back: a Rufous-tailed Jacamar! Few birds had given me such a good look that morning, and I stood there for several minutes, watching the bird peer down at me curiously. A few minutes later, a large Ornate Hawk-Eagle soared through a gap in the trees, and my attitude began to improve—the birds were showing themselves! On the way down, I heard a rising and falling song, signifying the presence of an antbird. I poked around a little, eventually getting eyes on a Bicolored Antbird overturning leaves! This species, like many other antbirds, are ant-following obligates, meaning that they depend on army ants to find food. As large swarms of army ants rush through the rainforest, they stir up and scare hundreds of other insects, who leap out of the way, straight into the waiting mouths of antbirds, antwrens, woodcreepers and a variety of other birds that just follow the ants around. Ground-cuckoos, one of the most enigmatic groups of birds, also belong to this ant-following group.

While I didn’t actually lay eyes on any army ants, the antbirds signified that there must have been some nearby. The leafcutter ants, meanwhile, were everywhere. Their trails ran alongside and crisscrossed the walking trails, and I always had to keep an eye on the ground so I wouldn’t step on any.

**One of the best parts of my visit to El Copal was meeting Carlos, who pointed out this perched Ornate Hawk-Eagle near the lodge.**

When I arrived back at the lodge for lunch, another birder who had just arrived pointed out another Ornate Hawk-Eagle, this one perched up on a distant snag. As I peered at the bird through his spotting scope, he introduced himself as Carlos, a local also living in Pejibaye. Carlos is an English teacher and regularly visits El Copal during weekends to search for the hundreds of bird species found here. I told him that I hailed from the University of Maine, and spoke of my hunt for the Yellow-eared Toucanet. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a few more hours…do you want to hike the trails and look for the toucanet together?” So, after a quick lunch, we headed back up the mountain in search of my target.

**Thanks to my chance meeting with Carlos, a teacher and Costa Rican bird expert who can identify most of the birds by sound, I got to see one of my most sought-after Costa Rican species (keep reading).**

Carlos’s knowledge of the birds of the area was impressive. For one, he could identify many of the calls I’d felt hopeless about earlier, which included more species of antbirds, Collared Trogon, and several species of wrens. He also knew exactly where all the birds hung out, at one spot pointing down the side of the cliff to a White-crowned Manakin, a tiny black bird with a white cap, sitting in a bush fifty meters away. “He’s always here.”

As we gained altitude, I could begin to see the influence of cloud forest. Slightly different species lived here, and the plant composition looked different, too. One thing in particular made us realize we’d entered a higher-altitude area, however. “Toucanet!” Carlos yelled, pointing to a large, bromeliad-covered tree rising from the slope. I held my binoculars up to see, not my target bird, but an entirely green toucan: a Northern Emerald Toucanet! We tried in vain to photograph the species but neither of our cameras would cooperate, although it will be a long time before I forgot what it felt like to see that bird. This species is much more common at higher altitudes, and it was the first time Carlos had ever seen one on the property! It was, of course, a lifer (a bird I’ve never seen before) for me. As if the Emerald Toucanet wasn’t enough, as we rounded the corner, Carlos stopped me again.

Slowly and quietly, he pointed out a large-ish bird sitting about twenty meters in front of us, up in a tree. The bird was black, with a chestnut cap complementing the blue and green skin around its eye. Its long yellow and black beak, combined with green wings, orange flanks and red rump, identified it as the bird I’d been searching for: a female (hembra in Spanish) Yellow-eared Toucanet. I just about lost my mind, holding my camera up slowly with shaky hands. Never had I actually believed I would lay eyes on one, and yet, here one was, right in front of us. Then, the male appeared, sporting that yellow ear the species was named after.

**Again thanks to Carlos, I had an unforgettable experience with the bird at the top of my “must see” list—a pair of Yellow-eared Toucanets (male shown here).**

We enjoyed the birds for about ten minutes, then headed off, as Carlos had to get back home. I thanked him profusely for sharing these amazing birds with me, and we exchanged contact information. Then, I spent the rest of the evening looking at and deleting photos and enjoying the tanagers feeding in the fruiting trees in front of the rooms. Before I went to bed, I spotted several of what I believe to be bioluminescent beetles flying through the rainforest (though they may have been fireflies. I’m not good with bugs.).

**No, this Speckled Tanager was not touched up by artists for my visit!**

In total, I spotted 117 species at El Copal over the weekend, including a few the next morning like King Vulture, Gartered Trogon and Green Thorntail. La Reserva El Copal could be described as nothing short of magical. Are there places like this that you’ve always wanted to visit? A mountain range full of endemic plants? A reserve dedicated to protecting endangered amphibians? Perhaps your bucket list is topped with places like the Serengeti, the Great Barrier Reef, the ancient castles of Ireland? If you are, the Gilman Scholarship can help you get to these places! Studying abroad is an experience that every student should have the opportunity to have, and the Gilman helps put this philosophy into practice. The money they awarded me has helped me afford to go on adventures like this, the rain-forested foothills of Costa Rica, and they can help you too! So please, if you’re considering studying abroad (which you should be), apply to the Gilman!

Braden’s Costa Rica Report #2: Of Stingrays and Macaws

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I stood on the wooden platform a hundred feet above the forest floor, staring down the long metal cable leading off into the foliage. The ziplining guide unhooked the carabiner on my belt from one line and attached it to another, then banged on the cable with a wooden bat—a signal to whoever was on the other end that I was ready to go. A colorful iguana watched from a nearby tree as I leaned back, grabbed the cable with my leather gloves, and jumped into the air. Humid, tropical wind hit me as I zipped past epiphyte-covered trees, and I heard the calls of parrots flying over. Thirty seconds later, I landed on the next platform, where the guide unclipped my carabiner and clipped it to another cable for another thrilling ride. An hour and fourteen platforms later, I touched down on the ground and joined the rest of the USAC students in gushing about how awesome ziplining had been—just the beginning to an exhilarating, chaotic weekend on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica.

**I’m going to get the, ahem, hang of this eventually!**

After lunch, our program directors took us to the coastal tourist town of Jaco. Some people split off to take a paid surfing lesson, but I opted to stay on the main beach and enjoy the waves. As my friends and I waded into the warm, salty water, we discovered that we were not alone. As we swam in the surf, something soft and slimy suddenly collided with my leg.

“Ack!” I cried, jumping backwards. Everyone around me stared. “What?”

A pair of fins appeared in the water to our left. Sharks! my mind shouted, but a sudden rolling wave gave us a glance at their true identities—stingrays! And the Pacific Cownose Rays (according to our limited research on Google) were not strong swimmers. Every time a more powerful wave rolled in, it carried the animals straight into us. Thankfully, none of the human—stingray collisions ended in harm to either party, but feeling a large, slimy animal run into me was not something I got used to.

**The beach at Jaco—a favorite for tourists and stingrays!**

We retired from the beach to the hostel where we would be staying for the night, a mere hundred meters from the ocean. As the sun set, however, our activities continued. At around 5, two of my friends and I went on a probably ill-advised walk through the town of Jaco in search of owls. We ended up on a long dirt road leading towards the jungle. Before we got there, brooding clouds materialized above us, and a downpour soaked our clothes. We didn’t see any owls (or at least not well), but we did spot a few other night birds, including Lesser Nighthawks and Common Pauraques. Upon our soggy return to Jaco, we stopped briefly on a bridge crossing a small stream in town. There, in the dark, moonlit water, stood a tall, powerful-looking heron, staring straight down into the current. We watched from the bridge as the Bare-throated Tiger-Heron crept closer and closer to its desired target. After five minutes of holding our breaths, the heron plunged its neck into water, pulling out a fish and swallowing it whole!

That night, our entire cohort of students went out for drinks in downtown Jaco (the legal drinking age in Costa Rica is 18). Some of us grew restless sitting in the bars, however, and made our way back to the beach to watch the ocean pound relentlessly into the dark sand. Near our hostel, a river mouth emptied into the ocean, running in all directions to create a maze of shallow streams and sandbars. And there, under the moon, we spotted more herons, fishing in the dark. Another tiger-heron strutted on the shore. Two Yellow-crowned Night-herons fought over a frog dinner. But the coolest animal we saw was a bird straight out of a horror movie—the uncommon and elusive Boat-billed Heron (I didn’t take a picture because it was so dark but you should definitely look this thing up). There on the sand it stood, with large, dark, soulless eyes complementing its wild, black hairdo. Its bill looked more like a shovel than a boat, and we watched as it rushed into the water, chasing after a fish.

The next morning, Kiley, Leah and I caught an Uber to Playa Hermosa (“Beautiful Beach”—one of several Playa Hermosas scattered around the country) south of Jaco. Silvery streaks of sand ran across the less-touristed coastline, but the biggest prize had little to do with the ocean. Planted along the edge of the sand stood large trees of many species, including palms and almonds. Feeding on those almonds were giant, long-tailed Scarlet Macaws! The macaws flew over us in groups of two to four, calling abrasively and flashing the streaks of blue and yellow that decorated their otherwise crimson bodies. At one point, one landed no more than ten feet away, and we watched and filmed it in awe. Scarlet Macaws are a threatened species because of the illegal pet trade and habitat loss, but their story in Costa Rica is one of success. After declining significantly in the 1900s, Scarlet Macaws are increasing in numbers on both the Pacific and Caribbean coasts of the country, thanks to conservation work. They are now once again a common sight in much of Costa Rica.

**Scarlet Macaws feeding in trees along the beach. Their beaks are especially designed to crush the largest, hardest nuts!**

The next morning, our last of the weekend, eight of us caught an early-morning bus north to Carara National Park, one of the last tracts of pristine Pacific lowland rainforest in the country. Once we bought our tickets and entered the park (if you go, make SURE to buy tickets online in advance—it was a hassle doing it there), we followed a trail deep into the forest, marveling at the height and circumference of the smooth-barked trees rising before us. Many of the trees had thick buttresses stretching out from their bases. Here, the deeper soils held little nutrients, so tree roots stretched out rather than down. Leaf-cutter ant trails crossed the trail every couple hundred meters, and we thanked a guide who pointed out a White-lined Bat roosting on the side of a tree.

**One of several troops of leaf-cutter ants we enjoyed watching.**

White-faced Capuchins preening during siesta time.

Loafing on a log laid across a bubbling river we spotted not one but two Brown Basilisks or Jesus Christ Lizards, that special reptile with the ability to run on water. White-faced Capuchins stared down at us from trees as they picked through each other’s fur, and we startled a White-nosed Coati from the trail, where it had been quietly gobbling down ants. We got great views of Slaty-tailed Trogons—big, red-bellied birds that look kind of like frogs—and a Yellow-throated Toucan that flew in as we watched yet more Scarlet Macaws. My personal bird of the day was a Black-faced Antthrush, a small, quiet songbird poking through the leaf litter about fifty meters away from the trail. This lowland rainforest (which was the final of the three prominent forest types in the country for me to visit) held many species from the tropical dry forest, too, as Carara National Park sits near the zone where the two habitats blend together. To see true, pure lowland tropical rainforest, however, we’ll have to visit the Osa Peninsula or Manuel Antonio National Park, quite a bit farther south.

My favorite bird of the weekend, a Black-faced Antthrush.

Stay tuned!

Braden’s First Costa Rica Report: Monteverde

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Many annoying things have kept me (Sneed) from birding so far this year. Not so Braden, who is enjoying a semester abroad in the town of San Ramón, Costa Rica. In just his first few days, he tallied almost 100 Life Birds—and he’s just getting started. Here is his first report, from a weekend trip to the cloud forest haven of Monteverde, where I visited to research a book almost thirty years ago.

The town of San Ramón and its colorful, ramshackle buildings sits in an ecological crossroads as far as Costa Rica’s ecosystems are concerned, located near Caribbean slope rainforest, Pacific slope dry forest and high-altitude cloud forest. The dry tropical forest, situated in the northwest part of the country, is a habitat characterized by distinct dry and wet seasons. The southwestern part of the country (including the Osa Peninsula) holds tropical rainforest, and these two habitats constitute the “Pacific Slope.” The “Caribbean Slope,” meanwhile, is all rainforest, although its communities differ from those of the Pacific rainforests. Why? Several large mountain ranges run through the middle of the country, reaching heights of 3,800m (about 12,500 feet) in the Talamancas to the south. These mountain ranges not only separate species living on the Pacific Slope from those living on the Caribbean Slope, but also hold another, incredibly important ecosystem: the cloud forest. This ecosystem is the one I’d been most wanting to visit since learning about it a decade ago, and so, on the first of our semester’s sixteen three-day weekends, two fellow UMaine students, Kiley Chen and Leah Hart, and I caught the bus towards Santa Elena for a two-night adventure.

**Okay, maybe we do look a little TOO happy in this photo, but can you blame us? We’re in COSTA RICA!!!**

The long and winding bus ride did not do good things for our stomachs, but soon enough, we arrived in Santa Elena. The next morning, we caught a taxi up the mountain to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve. Despite the fact that this reserve is a well-known tourist destination, especially during the dry season (December-April), Kiley, Leah and I were the first people to arrive, and proceeded to spend the next seven hours exploring the cloud forest, hiking nearly every trail available to us. It blew our minds.

**Cloud forests are especially known for their CRAZY abundance and diversity of epiphytes—plants that grow on other plants.**

A forest with nearly 100% humidity year-round is a botanist’s dream. Giant bromeliads grew from every branch, and we could hardly see the bark on the trees because of the high densities of moss and lichen. Thick, woody vines (known as lianas) hung down from above, and prehistoric-looking tree ferns, with the trunk of a tree and the leaves of a fern, rose above us. At one point we walked across a red, metal bridge suspended above a gully, and we could see just how the habitat had received its name. Powerful winds carried large fogbanks through the trees, and we could not see more than thirty or so feet out from any viewpoint because of the mist. These constant clouds, caused by winds from the east and high-altitude condensation, lead to the air being constantly saturated with water, allowing a luxuriance of plants to grow here. High concentrations of plants usually mean high concentrations of animals, and the animals we saw did not disappoint. Leah rescued several giant millipedes from the path during our hike, and at one point we saw a group of White-nosed Coatis approach us, completely fearless as they foraged for insects in the damp soil. From the suspended bridge we spotted a large mixed flock of birds, including Ruddy Treerunners, Spotted Barbtails, Spangle-cheeked Tanagers, Prong-billed Barbets and a variety of warblers (including some that spend the summer in Maine!). And, after returning to the entrance to ask directions, we finally found ourselves sitting on a wet bench, staring at an epiphyte-laden tree looking for Resplendent Quetzals.

The Resplendent Quetzal is not the national bird of Costa Rica, but with all of the attention it garners, it might as well be. We spotted a female in the tree as we first arrived, admiring its deep, emerald green plumage reflecting light through the mist. The real prize we sought, however, was the male—a bird of emerald and ruby, with green tail streamers up to three feet long. These birds are altitudinal migrants, meaning that they spend the non-breeding season at lower elevations. During the breeding season, they travel upslope to the cloud forest to feed on wild avocados and raise young. They are icons of the cloud forest, a rare animal living in a rare habitat. Eventually, as we sat on that bench, we did spot a male, although the look was incredibly brief and unsatisfying. What was satisfying were the other animals that paid us a visit : Spider Monkeys. After sitting there for about thirty minutes, we suddenly spotted movement in the tree ahead of us. From the leaves emerged a pair of long-limbed, rust-orange monkeys, a mother and baby, and we watched spellbound as they swung effortlessly from branch to branch in front of us. It was awesome.

Emerging from the forest, we made a stop at Café Colibri, a restaurant known for and named after the feeders it hangs in the garden outside, and the animals that visit those feeders. At Café Colibri, we spotted seven different species of hummingbirds, almost thirty or so different individuals, each zipping right by our faces in search of sugar water. The hummingbirds had a hierarchy, with the large Violet Sabrewings bullying many of the smaller birds. My favorite of the hummers were the Purple-throated Mountain-gems, the males of which had turquoise foreheads and violet gorgets that shimmered in the sunlight.

We walked back down the road to Santa Elena, admiring the rainbows formed by the mist being blown down the mountain. Following a short rest, we headed out again, this time with a guide to see what animals dwelled in the mountain forests at night. The night walk exceeded our expectations. Our guide, Brandon, pointed out all manner of animals, including Pygmy Rain Frogs, a Robust Climbing Salamander, a Horned Tarantula, an Orange-kneed Tarantula, a Stripe-sided Palm Pitviper loafing in a tree, and two Keel-billed Toucans, fast asleep above us (or they were, until someone pointed a light at them). At one point Brandon wetted a stick with his lips and used it to try to draw a tarantula out of its burrow for us. On our walk back to the entrance to the forest, we spooked a Mottled Owl from its perch in a large banana tree.

Our weekend in Monteverde abounded with sightings of wildlife, and while it may sound like an out-of-reach location for college students, it’s not! The Gilman Scholarship, a scholarship specifically provided to low-income students looking to study abroad and experience new places, is a large part of how I was able to afford going to Costa Rica this semester. If you’re looking to go to Costa Rica, or Ireland, or Japan, or anywhere else, but are worried about the costs, I highly recommend applying for the Gilman. It’s easy to apply, and can support you following your dreams of spending part of your college experience in another country. If you’re enjoying learning about my time abroad and want to have a similar experience of your own, I could not recommend the Gilman more.

Monteverde was just the first place I’ve visited since I’ve been here in Costa Rica, and I already have more weekend trips planned for the next few weeks, so be sure to check out my next blog to learn about the other cool wildlife and ecosystems I see!