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.European Robin in Amsterdam’s Vondelpark.
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 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.
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.
Clay-colored Thrush
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.
Tawny-capped Euphonia
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.
Silver-throated Tanagers
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.
Blue-and-gold Tanager
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.
Rufous-vented Ground-Cuckoo
“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.
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.
Love Golden-crowned Sparrows!
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.
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.
Scarlet Macaws in flight.
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.A basilisk, or Jesus Christ, lizard.
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.Slaty-tailed Trogon, one of nine trogon species in Costa Rica.
Since they were published last spring, our Japan birding posts have consistently received the most views on our “blogging backlist”—and by a wide margin. This is surprising given that Japan is not known as one of the world’s top birding hotspots. We suspect that our blogs’ popularity reflects the surging popularity of Japan as a travel destination—and that those travelers happen to include a lot of birders!
That said, many people find the idea of traveling to Japan intimidating. The language barrier, the complex public transportation system—even Japanese toilets—have led to what I call Fear of Japan among many prospective travelers. However, it was this very intimidation factor that compelled me (Sneed) to write my newest book, First-Time Japan: A Step-by-Step Guide for the Independent Traveler. For birders and non-birders alike, this entertaining volume tells you all you need to know to plan and negotiate your first trip to one of the world’s great travel destinations. Best of all, you can buy it NOW. In fact, why not grab a dozen copies and give them to all of your friends for the holidays? (“Gee, Sneed, that’s an AWESOME idea!”)
As proud as we are of the book, I confess that it is not aimed specifically at birders, so for today’s blog I decided to provide additional advice specifically for you. So without further ado, here are some bonus birding tips for your upcoming Japan adventure.
eBird is an incredibly valuable tool for any trip, including Japan. If you do not have an account, sign up now at eBird.org. eBird will help you in at least three dramatic ways:
Trip Planning: If you want to time your trip to coincide with the greatest possible number of bird species, simply look up a location in Japan, and study the bar charts for that place. This will tell you when migratory birds arrive and depart. In general, April and May are great birding months for the Tokyo and Kyoto areas— but you have to balance whether you want to hit sakura, or flowering cherry, trees, too. Our three-week trip lasted from the end of March into early April and we managed to time the sakura perfectly while seeing a good number of birds.
Finding Birding Locations: eBird will also identify birding hotspots wherever you are traveling in Japan. In Tokyo, for instance, eBird alerted me to Hamarikyu Gardens, Kasai Rinkai Park, and Shinkjuku Gyoen National Garden—three of my favorite Japan birding experiences.
Learning Japan’s Birds: I credit eBird quizzes with almost single-handedly preparing me to ID birds on my Japan trip. If you haven’t taken an eBird quiz, simply hit the Explore button and scroll down to the “Photo + Sound Quiz” button. These quizzes not only allow you to specify a location, but the time of year, too, so once you have your itinerary laid out you can just keep drilling yourself until you feel confident. In fact, I took so many quizzes that I was able to ID 95% of the birds I saw almost immediately!
eBird offers a wealth of tools to prepare you for your Japan adventure—including bird quizzes that you customize to where you want to go, and when.(Image copyright Cornell Lab.)
Tip 2: Jump on Your Jet Lag.
When you arrive in Japan, chances are you’re going to wake up crazy early (as in the middle of the night)—so whenever possible, put that time to good use. On at least half of my days in Japan, I was out the door at the crack of dawn birding whatever location I happened to be in. Sure, you’ll be tired—but no more tired than if you lay in your bed for six hours hoping to fall back to sleep! Getting out early will also help your internal clock adjust to Japan time.
Taking advantage of my jet lag early wake-ups helped me discover a treasure trove of Japan birds—including my Lifer Dusky Thrushes near Tokyo’s Imperial Palace!
Tip 3: Don’t Confine Yourself to Birding Hotspots.
Although eBird does show a fair number of birding hotspots, it misses a lot of great locations—probably because there aren’t yet enough birders in Japan to cover them all. The solution? Study a map of where you are and look for any river or other green space and check it out. This paid off for me big time, especially during our quick stop in Nagano, where I nabbed my Lifer Bull-headed Shrike and many other cool birds along the Susobana River.
Exploring beyond established eBird hotspots can unearth awesome birding locations—including the Susobana River in Nagano.
Tip 4: Make Sure You Have the Best Walking Shoes for Your Feet.
Okay, this sounds obvious, but you will be walking a LOT in Japan. My daughter and I covered six to ten miles a day, every day. Before the trip I bought three different pairs of new shoes/boots and field tested them. The ones that worked best? The cheapest pair of Skechers! You won’t be sorry you put in the extra effort to make sure your shoes are comfortable and sturdy.
Solid walking shoes let you take advantage of most birding opportunities, including Kanazawa’s Kenmin Seaside Park.
Tip 5: Get a Handle on Japan Transportation.
Using public transportation is one of the real joys of visiting Japan—but fills first-timers with trepidation. My book First-Time Japan can help you feel a lot more comfortable with this. Unfortunately, the Japan Rail Pass has gotten a lot more expensive lately, but moving around cities is both convenient and inexpensive. I especially recommend buying the 24-, 48-, or 72-hour “Welcome! Tokyo!” subway pass when in Tokyo and using IC cards (rechargeable credit cards) for almost all other local transportation. Taxis are also very reasonable in Japan, so if a subway or other train won’t get you there, a taxi probably can.
Not all of Japan’s public transportation is as cute as the Enoshima Electric Railway, but once you get the hang of it, trains are a great way to reach most urban birding destinations.
The bottom line: Japan is not Colombia or Australia, but you will still see great birds there. While doing so, you will enjoy one of the most pleasant, fascinating countries imaginable. Just be sure to share your experiences with us when you get back!
