Home at Last

Lucky to miss the really eventful weather, I got home one day after all the excitement.  Oaxaca, this time of year, is the place to be for calm, sunny, mid-80's weather.  I'm ready for a little weather excitement now that I'm tucked in to my sweet home.
We spent another week with our bird guide, Roque, who, as promised, took us to some beautiful places.  The Sierra Madre mountains in southern Oaxaca state are called Sierra de Sud (south) and that's where we started.  We drove west and south the first day, out of the Oaxaca valleys, climbing to 9000 feet.  We stopped in a cafe where Dramamine was prominently displayed for sale.  I completely understood, as the road we traveled was the  curviest I've ever been on.  Those poor people in the huge tourist buses....
But it's so beautiful.  Eight foot tall tree ferns grow under pines.  Flowers bloomed everywhere, hanging from vines in heavy pink clusters, sweeping down hillsides in blue and yellow washes. The fresh smell of the pine and burning wood from heating fires was sweet.
Our first night was spent at 9000 feet in a cozy cabin where a log fire was lit for us as we ate our dinner in the main hall.  We tucked under thick soft blankets and fell asleep to the soft crackle of the fire.  Next morning I was awakened by a harsh, screechy series of calls just outside.  Stellar's jay, looking just like ours, but with wonderful big clown-like white dots over the eyes, hopped and called in the pines.
After breakfast we headed farther west, birding along the way, moving lower in elevation.
On the third day we reached the lowlands close to the Pacific Ocean.  In the northwest where I live, getting close to the ocean means cooler and breezy.   In southern Mexico, it means hotter and damper.  Wow.  Birding those scrubby lowlands with long sleeves and long pants was an experience. There are lots of the Mexican version of no-see-ums, and they love to bite fingers, where I try to go easy on the bug repellant, so as to not mess up my binocs.  Forget it.  Slathered it on.  But the birds!
Noisy, raucous, like a troop of schoolboys, the white-throated magpie-jays come through the trees.  They are communal, so there are usually at least 3 in a group.  So beautiful, and they know it, as they preen and talk among themselves.
This scrub country is good for buntings, and we saw two heartbreakers: the orange-breasted bunting and the blue bunting.  We saw so many that they became ordinary, and that's saying something. It got so that we'd say 'oh, another blue bunting...'.   How lucky we were to see it just once.
More later on the beach itself and the birds and people that live there.  It's quite a special place.

Rara avis

Last year, while I was in Oaxaca, I went on a birding trip with a local guide.  Roque is a professional guide and a Zapotec Indian.  There is no tiny corner of Oaxaca state that Roque doesn't know, nor what birds are there.
On this trip, we went into the southern open country where neat farms and rancheros are scattered and the occasional village pops up.  The villages for the most part are very clean, with the streets either paved or swept, painted houses and usually Christmas lights festooned around the small town square, or zocolo.   Christmas decorations in Mexico stay up through January at least.
We were on the hunt for a very rare little bird, the Sumichrast's Wren.  In the past,  birds got named this way to honor the person who discovered them, or someone that the discoverer wanted to honor.  Dr. Sumichrast named a bunting that he discovered, Rosita's bunting, after his wife.  That would be some honor in my book!  Rosita's bunting is possibly the most beautiful bird I've ever seen, but more about that later.
Sumichrast's wren has a very, very restricted habitat.  They live in limestone outcroppings that have overgrown with dense tropical forest.  There is only a very tiny area of Oaxaca state where these are found. These limestone outcroppings can be acres square, or fairly small.  With agriculture pushing in, the outcroppings appear on the horizon as tall, broad whitish grey lumps covered in green vines and trees.  They aren't easy to navigate, as they're full of holes, as limestone tends to be.  Dense undercover and deep shade add to the challenge.  And this is a very shy little bird.  If a wren hears a party of humans approaching, no more wren.
So we tiptoed as well as we could, slowly, slowly into a very rocky open space in the understory.  All around us were limestone shelves, pits, rocks, you name it.  Roque held his finger to his lips to indicate absolute silence.  We got comfortable as possible, as we were asked to not even move or speak.   So we stood.  And stood.  Roque played a recording of a male Sumicrast's call.  Played it again.  And again. Male birds hear these tapes of their songs as threats to their proscribed territory.  When a male hears another bird (or tape) he will emerge, usually agitated, and begin to search for the intruder. Meanwhile, the birders get good looks at the bird. There are lots of discussions about the ethics of playing tapes and agitating the birds.  This bird would probably be located one to two times in a year, by an excellent guide like Roque, so he wouldn't be overly disturbed.  But I do recognize this as situational ethics.
So, we stood there for probably 30 minutes with absolute silence surrounding us.  Roque decided to play the call one more time.   He had told us that if he saw a wren, or if we did, to move very little and say nothing.  Suddenly his eyes lit up and one finger moved a bare 1/2 inch to point out the bird.

He was peering out of  a hole in a limestone shelf about 10 feet away.  He was responding to the taped call.
This is dark little wren with dark eyes.  Most wrens are sort of dun-colored and there are wrens in Mexico that are off-white with lovely dark striping.  This little guy totally blended into his dark surroundings.  And about the time I got my eyes focused on him, off he flitted, to appear higher up on the shelf, still looking for that other male.  He circled us a time or two, landed quite close on  the ground, then was evidently satisfied that the threat was over.  We didn't see him again.
We all let out a collective breath of admiration and happiness.  What a great bird.  What a mysterious and almost magical place to live.
I silently wished him well and thanked him in my heart for his gift to us.   We staggered out of the dark, viney, pockmarked limestone into the hot, harsh light of the afternoon. We were done for the day -  nothing could surpass the Sumichrast's wren.

Morning in the garden in Oaxaca

The air is still quite cool in the garden, even though it's a little after eight.  The sun is just touching the tops of the trees and that's where the birds are.   There are nut trees that climb fifty to sixty feet reaching winding branches into the sun, and smaller flowering trees and fruit trees that form a sort of understory.  Orchid-like pink flowers droop among vines that bear multi-bracted brilliant red poinsettias.  Plump  limes hang on smaller trees ready for picking.   The sun progresses lower into the garden and lights up the bougainvillea, which droops gracefully over fences and sheds in colors of purple, red and white.  As the sun drops, the birds follow.  Tiny Nashville warblers move so quickly that it takes many looks to get a full picture.  They have a bright white eye-ring on a soft grey head.  The grey melts into a yellow-green on the back and a pure yellow on the belly.  Occasionally if the bird and the viewer are just in the right position, you can see a chestnut strip on the very top of the bird's head.  They move quickly in order to glean insects found on the branches and in the air.   Below them, a loud chirr announces the arrival of the white-throated towhees.  These smallish birds have soft brownish bodies that  blend well into the shadows.  The males have a beautiful white chin roughly bordered by a scattering of rufous freckles that  blend again into a soft brown belly.  Under the tail, the rufous is repeated.  The towhees forage in flocks or families, under the shrubbery in the dry leaves.  They will clench their feet into the duff, then hop  backwards to reveal interesting insects and larvae to eat.
At the very top of the tall nut trees sits the kiskadee.  He is  brilliant, shining yellow with a striking black mask complemented  by white.  He sounds like a squeaky toy making a one-syllable squeak, until finally, the full   kis ka dee! comes forth.   The pugnacious green and brown berylline hummingbird stitches a fast flight through the entire garden.  He jealously guards the tree with the orchid-like blooms, sipping from a flower at his leisure.  His emerald feathers flash in the sun.
Mourning doves call softly from the next garden and occasionally make their rackety flight over the garden. As the day warms into noon, the birds find the deep shade and rest, away from the hot sun.
   

We all can migrate

I've talked a lot about migration and the reasons for birds to do it.  Warmth and food - that is, a climate  where they can survive during the cold, inhospitable months and where they can find food.  Not all food works for all birds.  Sometimes this is obvious - hawks eat meat, finches, not so much.   This is a problem with planting non-native plants sometimes.  Some birds will adapt and at least find insects on, say, a eucalyptus tree planted in the Pacific Northwest.  But birds with narrower abilities - (remember, its never a choice) they either can eat it and obtain nourishment, or they cannot.   Anyway.
Most birds migrate every year to the same general area.  Through heredity and sometimes actually following more experienced birds, they arrive to spend the winter, fatten up and wait out the cold.
People do that too, some fatten up more than others.....
We've migrated to Oaxaca City to spend a few warm weeks, and of course, to see the incredible birds that either migrate here or live here year round (endemics).  Oaxaca state is said to be the 'birdiest' state in Mexico, and that's saying something.   We stay each year surrounded by a big green walled garden, full of trees, vines, tropical flowers, birds and the occasional huge spider.  Many North American warblers spend the winter with us, and we waken to their song each day.  There are wrens here, kingbirds, Inca doves, thrashers, and kiskadees, who fly around the periphery of the garden claiming ownership by saying kis-ka-dee! very loudly every hour or so.  This is just a very few of our neighbor birds, and I won't go on and on about how many of what we see.   I find that's only fascinating when I'm seeing and counting them.
What I will say is that the  Mixtec and Zapotec Indian folks who have been here since before anyone else, love the birds.  Birds are found in all their art: woven, painted, carved.   Our friend, Roque Antonio, is a proud Zapotec and professional bird guide. He is  a total pleasure to bird with.  His love and respect of  birds and the land is a joy, and he is happy to share that with us.   We'll spend some time later in the month with Roque, exploring the lowlands of Oaxaca state.    If I am smart enough to learn how to copy photos onto this log, I'll share some of the rare beauties with you.  If not, I'll talk about where we find some of them, which can be quite an adventure.
Right now there is a small flock of Inca doves on our grass.   Each graphite feather is outlined in black and looks like fine lace.  Each dove is tiny, about the size of a sparrow.   Exquisite.
Hasta mañana!