San Blas Day 3

The following day the afternoon sun was still high as we climbed into sturdy boats that took us up Canal La Tovara to a pristine spring located deep in the mangrove swamp.

 Before heading upstream, we drifted to the sand flats near the river's mouth to find a  rufous-necked wood-rail: a dark, beautiful skulking bird of the shadowy mangrove edges.  In response to a taped call, he crept along the base of the mangroves, a magnificent blend of rufous browns and grays glowing in the late day sun. 

As we passed through a big rough set of bird-filled rocks that span the river like teeth, neotropic cormorants and brown pelicans warily edged away.  We drifted up the canal into the shady, cool tunnel through the mangroves.  Boat-billed herons eyed us, almost close enough to touch.  Bare-throated tiger-herons, as magical as their name, lurched away on enormous wings, squawking indignantly.  A laughing falcon gave his eerie call from a tall ficus tree.  Anhingas perched, wigs open, looking like black umbrellas set out to dry.  The guide suddenly cut the engine and pointed to what looked like a hefty piece of gray driftwood protruding from the green mangroves.  A northern potoo was perched with head extended and eyes closed at the end of the wood.  Perfect in his protective coloration, he was motionless for ten minutes as we politely and quietly admired him from a few feet away.  As dusk deepened, lesser nighthawks coursed along the water.  We reached the spring in full darkness.  We had seen many common pauraques and a lesser-bulldog fishing bat under a bright full moon.  After a brief stretch and snack, we headed back.  Powerful spotting lamps reflected the red eyes of 23 northern potoos, now alert, hunting from exposed perches along the riverbank.  Tired and happy, we saw the lights of San Blas wink in the distance as we reentered the main river channel.