Category Archives: Thrushes

Owl’s Watch Ecolodge (Colombia Birding Part 2)

As light spread across the sky, I slipped on my flip-flops and ventured out onto the porch of our cabin at Owl’s Watch Ecolodge in the department (county) of Caldas, Colombia. Misty clouds clung to the Andean peaks surrounding us. Far below rose the high-rise apartments and businesses of Manizales, a city of almost half a million. Unidentified bird calls rang across the vegetation surrounding us and a couple of flocks of Eared Doves flew by on a morning commute. Suddenly, I saw a shape that stirred familiarity. It landed in a distant tree, but thanks to my amazing new binoculars, I was able to focus in on it. Even though I knew very little about Colombian birds, the way it clung to the side of the tree made me think, “Woodpecker.” Then, I caught a reddish hue on its nape and back, and my excitement rose. When it turned its head, it revealed a large white face patch that clinched the ID. I couldn’t believe it. In my first moments of serious birding in Colombia, I had found one of the birds I most wanted to see: a Crimson-mantled Woodpecker!

It’s risky to post such a crummy photo of a Crimson-mantled Woodpecker as the post’s very first bird shot, but it highlights how difficult it often is to photograph birds in tropical forests—a topic I’ll discuss in a forthcoming post.

As mentioned in my last post, “Layover Birding in Bogota, Colombia”, I had traveled to South America at the last-minute invitation of my friend and FSB contributor, Roger Kohn. Now, only two weeks later, I felt in awe of the fact that we were actually here, about to launch into our first Colombian day of birding together.

**One of the two luxurious cabins at Owl’s Watch, with great views of the surrounding landscape. As popularity of the lodge blossoms, Dennis is considering adding additional cabins.**

Roger had planned our entire itinerary, which included booking our first four nights here at Owl’s Watch, a comfortable new lodge with two modern cabins perched at the edge of a large, protected watershed that ensured a dependable water supply for the city of Manizales below. The lodge had been built by American expat Dennis Bailey and his Colombian wife, Adriana. Interested in restoring land that had been cleared for agricultural activities, they had purchased a farm, or finca, that was an inholding of the nearby protected area. As they worked to revegetate the land and allow it to heal itself, they decided to build Owl’s Watch for nature lovers—especially birders.

The following day, we would be heading out with a guide, but today Roger had wisely allocated time for us to bird and explore on our own—a day to get familiar with some of the local birds and rest up from our two-day journeys from the States. I’m more of an early riser than Roger, but to my surprise, he soon joined me on the porch, eager to get started.

**One of the amazing things about Owl’s Watch is that you are able to gaze down on Manizales, a city of almost half a million people, while being surrounded by nature.**

We decided to begin by climbing the long steep “driveway” that headed up from the lodge to the road above. Almost immediately we saw large turkey-like birds that, from taking eBird quizzes, I recognized as Sickle-winged Guans. Moments later, I glimpsed a furtive shape fly across an opening and dive into a bush—a White-naped Brushfinch.

At the top of the drive, we reached a small parking area bristling with even more activity. In the trees surrounding the area, we quickly identified the orange head of a Blackburnian Warbler, and then got super excited to see a pair of equally small birds with bold, sunburst golden throats and breasts—Golden-fronted Redstarts!

**Golden-fronted Redstarts, a New World warbler, were one of our exciting finds from our first day of birding at Owl’s Watch.**

As I chased these around, Roger used Sound ID to get onto a bird I never thought we would see, Azara’s Spinetail. Its call sounded like “bis-QUICK! bis-Quick!” and while we never got great looks at it, we were thrilled to get a glimpse of this handsome, skulky species.

Collared Inca (named after me and Braden)

From the parking area, we headed down a pleasant trail that would wind its way back to the to the main lodge building, dubbed “the Social.” Soon, a covered viewing platform came into sight and we paused to check out hummingbirds at the feeders and flowering bushes surrounding the spot. Someday, I’ll write about my ambivalence about hummingbirds, but I gotta say, they were spectacular to watch. What got me most excited was seeing a White-sided Flowerpiercer. I’d seen my very first flowerpiercer only the day before in Bogota, and here I was, looking at a second species the very next day!

Though not as colorful as many other tropical birds, I was especially excited to discover this White-sided Flowerpiercer. Notice the hook at the end of the bill? That’s a key to picking out flowerpiercers from other small tropical birds.

We continued hiking down the trail, past the Secret Garden, another great birdwatching spot Dennis had set up. Along the way, I spotted a rather plain brown bird that I quickly recognized as a Swainson’s Thrush. As I indicated in my last post, it’s a special thrill to see a bird from “back home” in its alternative, wintering environment. I also took a photo of a nondescript bird that turned out to be a Mountain Elaenia, a kind of tyrant flycatcher.

**Don’t get me wrong. I am NOT an expert at identifying flycatchers, but a guide and the Merlin app helped me figure out this Mountain Elaenia.**

Soon, we found ourselves back at the Social. David, the fabulous Owl’s Watch cook, fixed us a scrumptious breakfast and we dined while enjoying yet more hummingbirds—at least nine species—along with more flowerpiercers, Rufous-collared Sparrows, and Great Thrushes.

Along with the hummingbird feeders, Dennis’s crew had set up a fruit feeder off to the side, and there we beheld one of the most spectacular of the area’s birds, Blue-winged Mountain Tanagers.

**Blue-winged Mountain Tanagers were definitely one of the “best-dressed” birds of our first day birding at Owl’s Watch.**

After we got our fill of hummingbirds (if that’s even possible), we took another path that wound around to our cabin. Before our trip, Braden had encouraged me to listen for weird noises, and now I did indeed hear a very bizarre, almost plaintive, series of falling notes. As we rounded a corner, we met the source of these calls—a Masked Trogon! Trogons are some of those birds you always hope to see in the tropics, but when you finally do, you’re left wondering if the bird is really perched there in front of you, or if you’re just imagining it! Fortunately, this was no mirage, and even better, it sat cooperatively while Roger and I did our best to capture decent photos of it against the backlit sky. How did we do? You will have to judge for yourself:

**Even this so-so photo reveals what stunning birds Masked Trogons are. While this was our best look at this species of the trip, other trogons would soon follow!**

Note: This blog post—and all others on FatherSonBirding—are written by REAL PEOPLE! No compensation or gratuities were provided to us in connection with this post. If you’d like to support FSB, please consider buying one—or ten—of Sneed’s books and contributing to a bird conservation organization of your choice. Thank you!

Layover Birding in Bogota, Colombia

4 Replies

“Call me asap,” Roger’s text read. A few minutes later, I dialed his number. “What’s up?”

The answer: a chance of a lifetime.

As faithful FSB readers know, Roger is a longtime friend of mine from UC Berkeley, and a guest contributor to FatherSonBirding. More than six months ago Roger and his wife, Claudia, began planning a dream birding trip to the world’s epicenter of awesome birding—the country of Colombia. How awesome is Colombia? Well, during the Global Big Day of birding each year, Colombia regularly kicks butt on all challengers. In 2024, its birders recorded an astounding 1558 species in a single 24-hour period—more than twice the number of the US despite submitting only about 15% of the number of checklists. It is widely considered to have the highest biodiversity per square meter of any country on earth.

Sadly, Colombia has a long history of violence that has made it mostly off-limits to birders for decades. That began to change in 2016, when a peace agreement was signed between the government and FARC, the military wing of the Colombian Communist Party. Violence still racks some parts of the country, but that has not prevented a growing number of birders from seizing the chance to visit one of the world’s most spectacular ecological regions. About six months ago, Roger decided to join those growing ranks. He and Claudia mapped out a two-week trip that would include a feast of birding opportunities. However, as the great oracle of our time, Neil Young, sang, “The devil fools with the best-laid plans.” Two weeks before their trip, Claudia was forced to cancel, and Roger asked if I wanted to fill her slot. With a quick nod from Amy and the urging of Tessa, it took me about two minutes to decide.

The plan was to meet up in the Andean city of Pereira to begin our birding adventure (of which I’ll write much more later). Roger planned to fly from his home in Bend, Oregon to Miami and spend the night; then fly to Pereira via Panama City the following day. Being a Delta Airlines loyalist, I left a day earlier, spent the night in Atlanta and then flew to Bogota for a night. This excited me greatly because it would give me a morning to myself before catching a flight to Pereira to meet Roger. Gee, what oh what might I do with that morning?

Not by accident, I booked a room in the Hotel Capital, strategically located a short taxi ride to two major birding possibilities. Rising early, I wolfed down a granola bar for breakfast and then caught a cab to Parque Metropolitano Simón Bolívar, one of the world’s largest urban parks. In my atrocious Spanish, I told the cab driver of my interest in birds and he dropped me off at the SW corner of the park near a large central lake. I had worried a bit about carrying my camera and binoculars in this unfamiliar city, but my hotel concierge had assured me the park would be safe. Sure enough, I was relieved to see a steady stream of joggers, dog walkers, and cyclists taking advantage of a beautiful sunny morning. But what of the birds?

As I walked toward the lake, I saw plenty of Great Thrushes and Eared Doves, and Sound ID picked up the songs of Rufous-collared Sparrows, a bird Braden and I had become friends with on our family trip to Ecuador and Peru in 2017.

Like a birder magnet, however, the lake drew me forward. When approaching a large body of water like this, I always look for legions of water birds to be gracing the water, and in Japan and last year’s trip to Barcelona, that had indeed been the case. Not today. Evidently, ducks just aren’t as big a deal in the tropics as in temperate zones. I did spot what looked like a domestic hybrid duck of some sort, accompanied by a much smaller bird, and I focused in on the latter for the day’s first surprise—a Pied-billed Grebe! “I didn’t know they lived this far south,” I thought. Indeed, I later learned that in the Americas, Pied-billed Grebes have the largest distribution of any grebe, stretching from mid-Canada almost to the tip of South America.

**Pied-billed Grebes have the widest distribution of any American grebes.**

A hundred meters farther, I caught movement in bushes and discovered one of the real prizes of my outing—a mixed flock of warblers! And not just any warblers, but three species that breed in the eastern US. One revealed a brilliant splash of orange on its face. Can you guess which one it was? That’s right—Blackburnian Warbler! It was accompanied by several Tennessee Warblers and my first look at an actual Rufous-collared Sparrow.

As I followed the flock around, I got an even bigger surprise—a bonafide American Redstart. “Wow!” I said out loud, trying to get a photo of one of everyone’s favorite warblers.

From the main “parky park,” I crossed a pedestrian bridge over jammed up morning traffic and entered a sprawling sports complex.

**You’ll be relieved to learn that Colombia has the same kinds of traffic problems as we do!**

Soccer players were warming up, track and field athletes ran around a track, and tennis players smacked balls back and forth. Next to the walking path, a pair of familiar-looking black-and-white birds hopped up onto a sign. It didn’t take me long to figure out they were Tropical Mockingbirds—the only ones I would see on the trip! Then, a familiar, largish bird flew noisily by and disappeared over the wall into a stadium. Here, Braden’s and my travels to Israel paid off. Southern Lapwing! my mind immediately shouted. My real destination, though, lay just ahead.

**Look familiar? It didn’t take me long to figure out that this handsome fellow was a Tropical Mockingbird.**

I paid two bucks to enter the Jardin Botanico de Bogota—which, like the sporting complex, was technically part of the Simón Bolívar Park—and asked a greeter where I might find birds. Then, I set off to explore. My first find? Gorgeous Purple Gallinules. Hummingbirds also flew by, but knowing just how many hummers fill South America, I wasn’t psychologically ready to tackle those just yet.

**It’s hard not to be impressed with the technicolor plumage of Purple Gallinules.**

Continuing on alongside a wooded area, I spotted a bright red shape about twenty feet high on a branch—my first South American Summer Tanager! I saw another traveler staring up into the trees and walked over to introduce myself. “My name is Edwin,” he told me, along with the fact that he was from the Netherlands. “Are you seeing anything?” I asked him. “Yes, but I don’t know what they are,” he confided. I got my eyes on fast-moving, small shapes and recognized another Blackburnian Warbler, along with what I think were more Tennessee Warblers. I told Edwin what I was seeing.

“Hey, did you see the Summer Tanager?” I asked, and his eyes widened. “No!” So I led him back to where I’d spotted it, relieved to finding it still perched, evidently being well-paid by the botanical gardens staff to stay in place.

**I had hoped to see some of our northern birds in their southern wintering grounds, but didn’t expect to see a Summer Tanager in downtown Bogota!**

By this time, I was only up to about twenty species, which seemed like a rather poor showing for a morning in a brand new tropical country, even if I was in a major city. Only one of those species, Shiny Cowbird, was a lifer. Even worse, it was about time for me to flag down a cab and make my way back to the hotel so that I could shower, pack, and get to the airport for my flight to Pereira. Before leaving the gardens, however, I decided to make one last stop where I had seen the gallinules. Suddenly, I detected a small bird flitting among some flowers, and my pulse picked up. I didn’t know what it was, but got some decent ID shots of it. As I zoomed in on one of my photos, a smile spread across my face. It was a flowerpiercer—the first I had ever knowingly seen! Later, I consulted with Braden and we agreed that it was a beautiful little species called a Rusty Flowerpiercer.

**I was thrilled to find this Rusty Flowerpiercer, the first flowerpiercer I’d ever identified on my own.**

It was a great way to finish off a fun morning of layover birding in a new country. It also laid the groundwork for what would promise to be an adventurous—sometimes too adventurous—next couple of weeks.

**Oh, wait, did I forget to mention the giant Harpy Eagle I saw in Bogota’s Botanical Gardens?**

Robin Smackdown: Old World versus New

4 Replies

At any time of year, but during the holidays especially, new birders are likely to become confused by some of the birds they see on cards, calendars—even in animations. Don’t beat yourself up. The reason for your confusion is simple: many creative types (including those who aren’t birders) often pay scant attention to what a bird is or where it actually comes from. Artists especially, when they decide to make a bird painting or land a contract for bird art, cruise the internet for photos of birds. “Hey, I like that one!” they may say, not realizing that the bird has no relation to their intended audiences.

Just recently, in fact, Amy and I were wandering around a wonderful art walk night in Billings and stopped in at one place to admire the work of a new artist. Amy noticed some bird cards, and we bought a few. What was on them? A European species! I asked the artist if she knew she had painted a European bird, and she said, “No. I just liked how it looked.”

**Can you name this bird? It’s not a North American species—but you will find it on plenty of cards, calendars—even in some popular movies.**

In my experience, the most common occurrence of this kind of thing happens with Old World and New World robins. Look at the bird above. What do you see? If you answer “robin”, you are correct—but it’s not the robin we see here in North America. The bird above is a European Robin—in other words, the original robin. The robin we have here is the American Robin. What’s more, the two are only distantly related. European Robins belong to the family Muscicapidae, a group consisting primarily of Old World Flycatchers. American Robins belong to the family—don’t laugh—Turdidae, or thrushes. So how did these birds come to share the name “robin”?

How else? Colonial imperialism.

**According to a 2011 segment of BirdNote, early English birders once dubbed the Baltimore Oriole the Golden Robin, though it has little relation to either the European or American Robin.**

I won’t try to prove this, but it seems that the English were the original birdwatchers, and they carried their passion with them to the vast territories that they subjugated, usually without their owners’ permissions. In fact, the English pretty much disregarded the original occupants of a place along with any native knowledge of animals these occupants might possess. As a result, Brits gleefully conferred new names on most of the strange and interesting animals they encountered. Often these new names were actually old names that the English were already familiar with—including the name Robin, aka Robin Redbreast.

According to the delightful BirdNote episode titled, “How the Robin Got Its Name,” the English went a little buck wild with the name Robin. They called towhees Ground Robins. They dubbed the Baltimore Oriole the Golden Robin. If you compare the photo of the European Robin at the top with the photo below, it’s not hard to figure out how the American Robin got its name, either. But while chances are good that most American birders have come to appreciate American Robins, I’m guessing many of us haven’t encountered its etymological ancestor.

**We can thank early British twitchers for bestowing the name “robin” on perhaps our most colorful THRUSH, the American Robin.**

Both Braden and I have had the good fortune to see European Robins several times in the past few years, and I must tell you, they are delightful—if somewhat shy—birds. The first time was in Amsterdam’s Vondelpark, which we birded during a long layover on our way to Israel. Sure enough, in Israel we also saw “EUROs” several times. Most recently, Amy and I enjoyed seeing European Robins in Barcelona (see our post “Birding Barcelona, Part 1: The Urban Core.”).

**A European Robin scraping for invertebrates in Barcelona’s most central urban park, Parc Ciutadella.**

I always take special delight in seeing this bird, perhaps because of its name, but also because it is every bit as beautiful as our American Robin. As mentioned above, the European Robin belongs to the Old World Flycatcher family, and I have seen them perched—presumably waiting to snag an insect out of the air. Like many other birds in its family, however, the European Robin seems more of a ground forager. Most recently, in Barcelona’s Ciutadella Park, I watched them scraping through dead leaves for invertebrates. Only a few days later, we watched one boldly perched above a pond in the botanical gardens.

Even though they aren’t closely related, AMROs and EUROs share a lot in common. Both live exclusively in the northern hemisphere, and are one of the most common land birds on their respective continents. And while they are year-round residents in large parts of their ranges, they also have distinctly migratory populations. They also both love to gorge themselves on insects, worms, and other hapless, creatures without backbones—but neither turns down fruit and seeds when the right opportunities arise.

American Robin perched in our burr oak tree.

Our defiantly anti-imperial bent may lead some American birders to proclaim that our robin is the superior bird. After all, it’s bigger and has a bolder red breast, but making such a claim is downright silly. Both birds are worthy of admiration and provide a terrific opportunity to further our birding educations. Best of all, as we travel North America, Europe, the Middle East, or north Africa, it is likely that we will always have one of these lovely creatures to greet us!

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

5 Replies

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.

College Search Birding in California

13 Replies

If you’ve been following FatherSonBirding for any length of time, you know two things about us: we love to travel and we love to bird. Sometimes we plan dedicated birding trips, but whenever possible, we like to go easy on our carbon footprints and fold birding into travel that we were going to do anyway. In the past year, for instance, I’ve been able to bird in Japan and Spain while taking family vacation trips I’d been planning for years. Often, I get to bird while taking business trips to, say, Texas or Missouri. Right now, Braden is birding his butt off while doing a semester of study abroad in Costa Rica. As the parent of two young people, another potential “double-dipping” birding opportunity arose when my children began thinking about college. After all, it’s a good idea to visit a college you might want to attend, right? Unfortunately, covid kai-boshed that possibility with Braden—though we did get to bird in New England when I took him back east to start his college career at the University of Maine. With my second child, Tessa, I’ve been more fortunate. Last week she and I took a lightning trip out to California to visit a couple of potential schools she is considering. Even better, we went to places I’d never gotten to bird.

Cal State Chico put on a show for us in its best spring colors. Not surprisingly, I saw some great birds there, too, including Red-shouldered Hawks, California Scrub-Jays, and Acorn Woodpeckers—right on campus!

After rising at 3:30 a.m., Tessa and I landed in Sacramento at the outrageously convenient hour of 9:00 a.m. It was a glorious, sunny California morning and we made a beeline to U.C. Davis, where I’d spent my own freshman year before transferring to U.C. Berkeley to finish out my college years. Davis had changed a lot, but I still managed to find my way around—though I did drive our rental car down a dedicated bike path, much to the consternation of dozens of student bicyclists trying to get to class! After a quick tour around campus, we found a parking spot downtown and decided to have lunch at Crepeville and while waiting in line, I finally had a chance to start looking around for birds. One of the huge regrets of my life is that I’d left California before I’d become a birder because, with the possible exceptions of Texas and Alaska, there is no better state in the union to bird. To wit, within yards of Crepeville, I spotted Yellow-rumped Warblers, a Black Phoebe, and a Western Bluebird—right in downtown Davis! But my college search birding had just begun!

**Just the name phoebe can’t help but melt a birder’s heart, but these Black Phoebes truly are handsome birds.**

After a quick tour of Davis we headed north to our primary college destination, Cal State Chico, which boasts a musical theatre program of particular interest to Tessa. We arrived in Chico pretty pooped from our already extensive exertions and checked into our hotel for a rest. The prospect of some deeper California birding, however, did not let me tarry long, and after twenty minutes I left Tessa to recharge while I headed to the dubiously named Hooker Oak Park.

Any trip to California is a chance to see some of California’s specialty birds—including Yellow-billed Magpies, which only live in selected areas of central California. On Braden’s instruction, one morning I got up early to drive to Durham High School, and sure enough, found me a pair!

To be honest, the park looked a little over-developed and ragged, and I wondered whether I should move to some healthier-looking oak groves just down the road. Then I reminded myself that this was California and birds were likely to be anywhere. Almost immediately, this was confirmed when I sighted one of the targets of my trip, an Oak Titmouse singing in a sycamore tree.

**What can I say? Oak Titmice are just plain adorable.**

I set out to explore further and birds popped out from left and right—including most of the birds I had hoped to see. I got super excited to see an Acorn Woodpecker—only to discover that they were everywhere in this park. Not long after, I encountered a Nuttall’s Woodpecker, the other woodpecker at the top of my list.

You can’t beat an Acorn Woodpecker on one of its acorn storage trees! With their black masks, these cooperative birds look like banditos, and the way they aggressively mob other species, they apparently can act that way, too.

Exploring further, I encountered California and Spotted Towhees, Golden and White-crowned Sparrows, and White-breasted Nuthatches.

With my lousy hearing and dearth of knowledge about California bird calls, Merlin’s Sound ID feature proved especially useful and helped me find several species, including California Quail. My biggest surprise of the outing were two Hermit Thrushes, which hadn’t been on my radar at all but do winter in the Central Valley.

One disappointment was that I didn’t hear or see any Red-shouldered Hawks, a particularly abundant species in California. As I was about to climb back into my rental car, however, I heard a familiar “Kee-a, kee-a, kee-a, kee-a!” and spotted a large reddish bird flying straight toward me. As it passed overhead and landed on a branch, I saw that it held a tasty mammalian morsel in its talons. Almost immediately, another Red-shouldered Hawk plowed in and displaced the first one, stealing its meal. I grinned. Not only did I get to see a RSHA, I got to see hawk behavior, too!

**This Red-shouldered Hawk drove another RSHA off its prey, which it now holds firmly in its grasp.**

The next two days, Tessa and I visited with some of my most cherished friends, who had happened to move to Chico decades before, and, oh yeah, we took a great tour of the Chico campus. The campus, I gotta say, mightily impressed both Tessa and me. Chico is part of the WUE college exchange program, meaning that if any of you Montana parents are also contemplating schools, you can get big discounts on out-of-state tuition. But back to the birds, I continued to see awesome birds everywhere we went. I did want to get in a visit to another bona fide natural area, though, so the day of our campus tours, I woke early and drove out to Bidwell-Sacramento River State Park, about fifteen minutes out of town.

**In the parking lot of Bidwell-Sacramento River State Park, I got my best looks ever at another California specialty, Nuttall’s Woodpecker.**

I arrived before dawn—actually a bit early for the birds—but a group of 55 Wild Turkeys greeted me, so I went ahead and set off on dew-soaked trails paralleling the river. I had set a goal of 50 bird species for this California trip and began the day at about 45—but quickly blew past that. Almost immediately, I saw Wood Ducks hanging out in the trees and spotted two pairs of kingfishers bickering over the river. As the day warmed, more species kept appearing: a Great Egret and Great Blue Herons, tons of flickers and Tree Swallows, Ruby-crowned Kinglets and White-breasted Nuthatches, a pair of Turkey Vultures trying to get their engines started.

**It’s easy to forget that Wood Ducks nest in trees—something I was quickly reminded of at Bidwell-Sacramento River State Park!**

After an hour, I began making my way back to the parking lot and spotted a group of Dark-eyed Juncos and White-crowned Sparrows ahead. Then, I saw something that really got me going: a small, brownish bird with short, vertical lines at the top of its breast and a yellowish wash. Lincoln’s Sparrow! And not one, but two of them! I managed only lousy photos, but was thrilled to see one of Braden’s and my favorite Montana birds hanging out in its winter habitat—and just before migration. Is it possible I will see these exact same birds in Montana in a few short weeks???

**Yay! Lincoln’s Sparrow—in its winter habitat. This, btw, was one of only two species I added to my California life list, which now stands at 226 species.** **The other was Common Merganser.**

That evening, after our tour and our drive back to Sacramento, I rallied myself for one more birding mission. After checking into our hotel in Woodland, I drove about five miles to where I-5 crosses the Sacramento River. I got off on some small side roads and began scouring fields and places with standing water. I found a few Northern Shovelers and a trio of Black-necked Stilts, but not what I was looking for. Then, I parked and began walking on a path that led back toward the interstate. Almost immediately, I saw a group of about 200 geese in a verdant field. I raised my binoculars and grinned. Yes! Greater White-fronted Geese! The last species I had really hoped to see on the trip. I stood and watched them for about ten minutes, as other geese flew over, circled around, and joined the throng. It was a perfect ending for what turned out to be a perfect college—and birding—trip.

California Trip Report: https://ebird.org/tripreport/214105