Las Mirismas Lake

Another early morning found us back in the boats, preparing to travel the Upper Rio San Cristobal.  Our journey would take us to Las Mirismas, a huge, shallow lake favored by both black-belled and fulvous whistling-ducks.  As we started out from the dock in town, mist rose off the water and we pulled on extra sweaters.   Local men stood around, quietly eating breakfasts purchased from the food cart that appeared at the dock every very early morning.  Delicious smells of fresh tortillas and unknown spices wafted over to us.   The sky was a pure, clear pink with the promise of another hot day, but just then it was downright chilly. 

We drifted  quietly along the mangroves that form dense walls on each side of the river.  Tiny, brilliant mangrove warblers (a subspecies of yellow warbler, also seen) responded to a whistled owl call courtesy of our guide.  They  hopped animatedly in circles, bright rust heads and yellow breasts flashing in the early sun.  A mangrove cuckoo prowled and hopped up the branches; crane hawks and Harris’s hawks perched in high snags, watching for breakfast in the still water below. 

At Las Mirismas, purple gallinules stepped daintily in the muck caused by cattle grazing down the shoreline.  Rafts of both black-bellied and fulvous whistling-ducks darkened the lake’s horizon.  The black-bellied variety have charming hot pink legs and feet.  Barn swallows hunted around us, sometimes coming within inches of us in order to snag a particularly succulent bug.

By the time we left the lake it was hot, still and buggy.  Heat brings out the crocodiles and we were on the watch.  On the run back downriver, we spotted a sunning croc that was at least 12 feet long.  It showed us a very impressive row of uneven, pointed teeth as we sped by.

Again, back to shade, a shower and a cold beer on the patio to recount our morning’s adventures. 

La Noria Ranch, Nayarit

La Noria Ranch is located at the 5,000 foot level deep in the Sierra Madre range.  The road to the ranch winds through five miles of wooded high elevation parkland called Cerro San Juan. Open, rolling land falls away as the road climbs higher to the cool forest above. At our first stop, still at a low elevation, a brown-backed solitaire's pure, trilling call welcomed the pristine morning.  This is what might be called a drab bird, but once you hear his song, you will never think him ordinary.  Unearthly bell-like notes fall and rise on the cool air as his breath becomes visible in the chill dawn air.
 Tiny blue and red salvia blossoms along the roadside attract many hummingbirds.  Some of the highlights were Mexican woodnymphs and the tiny bumblebee hummingbird.  As we climbed higher, Sierra Madre pines became more abundant, and so did the woodpeckers.  We encountered acorn, ladder-backed, and a Mexican endemic, gray-crowned woodpecker.  A pair of stunning, aptly named  green jays called and swooped across a wide canyon, giving us excellent looks.

At our coffee stop, we prowled the dense forest to find an abundance of warblers: red-faced, rufous-capped, crescent-chested.  All as beautiful as their names.

A picnic lunch had been provided and we all found that for the first time, we actually needed another layer of clothing in Nayarit- it was cold in the mountains!  We perched along a fence at La Noria Ranch and enjoyed the cool air and abundant birds. 

We took a different route back to San Blas, arriving about 4:30 in the afternoon at a place called Mirador del Aquila, or View of the Eagles. In North America this would be called a scenic viewpoint.  El Mirador is a pullout at the top of a steep hill on a busy highway.  The forested hills fall away in the distance, soft blue and green in the haze, unspoiled as far as the eye can see.  An hour before dusk, miliary macaws fly into the canyon far below to roost for the night.  Seen from above, they are a gemlike turquoise-green.  They call raucously and settle, fly, then resettle in the forest below. 
Finally, when the light became too poor to pick up the lovely green macaws, we turned the van once again toward the welcoming lights of San Blas.

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.

Day 2 in San Blas

The next morning we headed out of town before dawn.  We drove through deserted streets where we passed sailors in crisp white uniforms pedaling ancient bicycles to the naval base at the harbor.  We drove past deserted roadside stands that would later be fragrant with the smell of freshly baked pan de platanos, or banana bread, made with bananas from the nearby fields.  Pink sunrise was mirrored in the lagoons just outside town.

Singayta is a small farming cooperative a short drive from San Blas. We turned our van onto the rough dirt track that intersects the orderly village.  As we bumped slowly through a neighborhood of homes with walls woven of mangrove saplings, smiling children leaned through open doors.  Pigs rooted behind fences next to fields of Brahman-mix cattle. A few chickens and dogs shared the road.  Bougainvillea looped and draped everywhere, absorbing the dim early light.  As we left the village behind, forest surrounded us.  Our guide pulled to the side of the rutted road.  The air was still cool and fresh as we climbed out of the van and began our walk.

Groove-billed ani's flitted and bobbed on the barbed-wire fence, and a pair of masked tityras landed high in a giant fig to catch the sun's first warmth.  Squirrel cuckoos called and soon appeared over us; a pair hopped up the branches of a kapok tree just like squirrels.  A big cleared meadow with a few banana trees yielded a small flock of brilliant stripe-headed sparrows and their drabber cousins, lark sparrows. Farther on, a well-hidden happy wren (its real name) enchanted us with its song.  A lineated woodpecker flashed his bright head in the morning sun and a summer tanager completed the picture.  There were many more birds that we happily added to our lists.  At the far end of the road, a collared forest-falcon perched silently at the margin of the forest.  The stock pond at the village had the only black phoebe we saw in the state of Nayarit.

As we birded the road, men carrying water bottles and machetes passed us quietly.  Making their way to work by foot or bicycle, they greeted us with smiles and wishes for a good day.

San Blas, Mexico - Revisited

This article was originally published in Bird Watcher's Digest, Nov/Dec, 2000

The horizon was just turning a deep lapis blue as a young woman greeted us with a smile at the restaurant door.  With a nod and a soft buenos dias she led us to our chairs, bearing a steaming pot of fresh, strong Mexican coffee.  Another day of birding Mexico had begun.  Although it was not yet 6:00 a.m., the comfortable El Delfin Restaurant, tucked into La Garza Canela Hotel,  was bright with warm light and talk of the day's coming adventures.  This particular day, two commercial birding tours and a few other small groups of people were making plans for a day of birding the wonderful areas around the town of San Blas, Nayarit, Mexico.

San Blas is a longtime favorite spot for birders.  Over the past 15 years it has become better known and more accessible, due in part to excellent group tours to the area and a few comprehensive birding guides.  San Blas is located approximately 80 miles north of Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific Ocean.  The town is surrounded by mangrove swamps, shrimp ponds and lagoons. The Rio San Cristobal and its meandering tributaries flow through the outskirts.  It is here that the magnificent Sierra Madre Occidental reaches the ocean.  The climate is tropical.  Relative isolation has kept San Blas a quiet and pleasant Mexican town, pretty much free of T-shirt shops and other noisy tourist attractions.

This past January I revisited San Blas and spent a week birding the lowlands, mangrove swamps, barranca and highlands that surround the town.  Most areas are near enough to reach by early morning and bird until the heat of the day becomes intense.  We would then return to the town for lunch and siesta or a swim, and go back out to bird from three in the afternoon until dark.  Our group of eight logged 258 species last year.  I picked up 19 additional life birds on this year's trip.

One of the most productive areas is just on the outskirts of town.  Fort San Basilio is located at the top of a steep, rocky road that climbs through the dense forest surrounding town.  The Fort dates back to the Spanish Colonial period and provides a sweeping view of the town and harbor.  Now a quiet, graystone ruin, it's a perfect birding spot.  The walk to the Fort ruins begins a few hundred feet below in a deserted plant nursery.  Pink, white and magenta bougainvillea climb from tumbled pots to reach for the trees and banana plants that surround the clearing.   The morning we visited, orange-fronted parakeets flew over in small, noisy flocks, along with white-fronted parrots and Mexican (blue-rumped) parrotlets- a Mexican endemic.  Cinnamon hummingbirds buzzed in at the whistled imitation of a ferruginous pygmy-owl and black-chinned hummingbirds were easily found feeding in the bougainvillea.  A citreoline trogon, another Mexican endemic, lemon breast rich in the sun, perched high in a gumbo-limbo tree.  Deep in the shade nearby we found a russet-crowned motmot.  Golden-cheeked woodpeckers and flycatchers were abundant ( we had seen willow, white-throated, vermilion, dusky-capped, brown-crested and social flycatchers by morning's end).  A clay-colored robin (or thrush) hopped along the roadside, acting just like our less exotic American Robin.

When we reached the Fort, the town below us stretched to the sea.  Mist shrouded the beach a few miles away, but a good scope brought in blue-footed boobies on the offshore rocks.  Music and church bells drifted up to us.  One of our group spotted a crane hawk with striking red eyes and feet,  perched in the top of a palm below us.  The hawk glared upward while hungrily dismembering a frog.  We had a perfect view from above.

San Blas is surrounded by lowlands, and there are many lagoons and ponds a few minutes from town. Under the hot sun, these still, steamy ponds are rich areas for shorebirds during the winter months.  We visited a few shrimp ponds and lagoons to find green and belted kingfishers, great egret, snowy egret, little blue heron, and many more.  Common black hawk, Harris's hawk, gray hawk and short-tailed hawk soared the thermals above us.  Chittering mangrove swallows lined the powerlines and below, least grebes shared the murky water with teal, shoveler and gadwall.  Collared plovers searched the muck for shrimp.

From the ponds, it's a short drive to the ocean to cool off at Matanchen Bay, where white and brown pelicans, whimbrels and neotropical cormorants are plentiful.  Magnificent frigatebirds roost in the palms around the small harbor.  They look much less impressive folded up in a palm than soaring majestically above!  The mouth of the Rio San Cristobal is a gentle, indirect flow to the ocean.  Mangrove thickets define the river's edges.  On the tide flats near the river mouth we found gull-billed terns, laughing gulls, Caspian, royal and Forster's terns and cocoa colored Wilson's plovers.

At this point we had had enough of the intense sun coupled with humidity in the ninety percent range.  We headed back to our cool, tiled rooms for a very welcome shower and a cold beer on the stone patio.  Hummingbirds whirred around us, sampling all the blooming tropical flowers.

Stay tuned for the next day's birding adventures.

Signs of Spring

It's the last day of March and it feels like Spring is finally here.   The duck crowd waiting for grub in the morning has dwindled to only four or five ducks.  Out of this small crew, only one is a female.   She is attended by a male mallard that stays close and warns off all the other males.  I think this is the same couple that has spent summers with us for a few years.  She does not brood eggs, but he is faithful, staying with her.  I'll never know if they're really the same couple unless I band them, and it's OK, I'll just assume they are.   He talks quietly to her as they pick through the wet morning grass for the corn bits I've tossed there.
All the while, the male Anna's hummingbirds are already up and going, proclaiming their territory.  Shreep, shreep, shreep, it goes on from dawn till dusk.  The males perch in the topmost branches of the escallonia tree, or near the top of the shore pine.  Their heads turn rhythmically from side to side, side to side, watching for any small incursion into their territory.   Alexander the Great could learn from these guys.  They employ a scorched earth policy regarding any trespassing male hummingbird, be it an Anna's or a rufous. 
The otters are making an occasional foray into the pond, coming down from the big lake.  I saw one yesterday, crouching happily in the shallows and crunching some delectable little crustacean snagged from the cool water.   They will be less enchanting when they return to hunt succulent baby ducks.  It's Nature, after all.
Some very special ducks have graced us with a visit.  Hooded mergansers are the soul of style.  The male sports a lovely yellow eye and flashy colors of black, brown and brilliant white and a set of head feathers that he can raise into a quite flamboyant  mohawk at a moment's notice.  The hen is a quieter blend of browns and rufous reds.  She too has a mohawk, but hers is more of a delicate reddish fan.
They have rounded  heads and long thinnish bills.  They love to dive, and it happens in the blink of an eye.  The mohawk flattens, head arches gracefully down and the entire body forms a quick "C" before the bird disappears silently under the surface.    He will reappear yards from where he dove, often with small fish crosswise in his bill.
One of the most charming things about common mergansers is their habit of allowing their youngsters to hitch a ride on their backs in the water.  For the birds, it's simply a matter of safety and convenience, but for us humans, it's a major cuteness moment.  Tiny, fuzzy brown babies sit happily, usually on the hen's back, and sometimes they will tuck themselves partially under her wing for warmth. 
Mergansers are cavity nesters just like wood ducks.  If you have wood duck boxes, you may be lucky enough to host a merganser family one year.  Just as with wood ducks, as soon as the last duckling hatches, the hen leaves the box, heads for the closest water and begins to call to the ducklings.  They find their way to the water and never look back.

It's evening, and the sky is pure, deep turquoise.  The beaver is veeing slowly north to south, heading for lodgings in the wider, wilder part of the lake.  The hummingbirds have gone to roost and the calling varied thrush is silent.  The geese couple are roosting across the water on the neighbor's grass, and I can hear occasional quiet, hoarse 'chonks' from one of them. 
Venus is shining in the sky and the tree frogs are tuning up.  Who could want more? 

Bald Eagle Rehab

I recalled this experience after reading about the bald eagle that was rescued in Oregon this past week.  He had been hit by a vehicle on I-84 and had to be euthanized due to the severity of his injuries.  This story has a happier ending, but at the outset, you never know.

"There's a really big bird under some brush on our property and it isn't moving much.  Another big bird comes and goes like it's visiting, but the one bird won't leave.  Would you come and check it out?"
This was the message received at the wildlife center one late winter day.  Our director was right on it.  It turned out to be an injured female bald eagle.  Her mate was bringing her food, faithfully returning each day with a fresh kill.   It was lucky he did that, as it kept her alive until she was rescued.
Weak and hurting, but still very feisty, she was swaddled in a big, thick blanket and carefully transported back to the center.  Initial assessment showed that one leg was bent at a very bad angle - no doubt broken.

In fact, it was so severely broken that after surgery, she had to wear an external fixation device on the leg for a period of weeks.  Trips back to the vet who had done the surgery followed so that x-rays could track healing of the bone.  Transporting an eagle in a giant dog kennel in the back of your truck is an interesting experience.  You just hope that the bridge isn't closed and traffic is moving well.

Healing was a slow, slow process.  More than once we feared that the bone wasn't going to heal properly.  The bird looked as miserable as she was.  Hunkered in her enclosure, she would scold us loud and long when we approached, even when we carried a nice fresh meal.  We all had to keep the faith that she would improve and fly free again.  She kept eating, which is a  good sign.  If a bird or critter stops eating, trouble probably lies ahead.

Over a period of months the bones did heal.  It was a day of celebration when she was moved to the flight cage for increased activity.  This is bird physical therapy.  If you've ever been inactive due to a major injury or illness, you know how weak and wasted muscles can become.  Same for birds and animals.  She hadn't used her flight muscles for months.  Her wings needed strengthening in order to allow her to fly sustained distances and to hunt.

The flight cage is narrow and long with lots of greenery: small trees, grass and shrubs inside.  It has high, sturdy perches at each end.  Heavy screening provides lots of fresh air, so it feels like outside even though the bird is still captive.

We watched her tentatively stretch her wings and make her first effort at flight in months.  It was wobbly and short, but she did it.  We put her food at the opposite end to where she liked to perch.  And, as we cleaned the big area, she would fly from one end to the other in order to avoid us.  This provided valuable exercise.  We watched her get stronger and sleeker, and her in-your-face attitude increased too - if possible!  But that was a good thing.

Rehab is a slow process.  If a bird of prey isn't strong enough to survive at release, all of the bird's and caregivers' efforts will have been wasted.  The eagle stayed in the flight cage for a period of weeks until she flew effortlessly and accurately (not missing the perch she was flying to).  She ate her food with gusto, leaving just a few feathers and bones each day.

Release day finally came.  We try to release eagles in the same area in which they were found when injured.  Many months had passed and reports were that the male had found a new mate.  This is understandable.  His drive was to mate and create more bald eagles and his former mate had disappeared, despite his efforts to help her.  We released the female one sunny, cold morning near the Lewis & Clark River.

All the caregivers gathered around, including the vet who had worked so hard to heal her.  She was in the giant dog crate again, and one brave volunteer reached around, unlatched the door and quickly pulled it open.  She burst from the opening, jumped into the air and quickly flew with strong, deep wing beats.  She went quite a distance before wheeling and landing near the top of a big Doug fir.

High 5's all around and a few tears.  There's nothing like giving back.