Author: Peter T

12 May 2013. Dyers Bay ON.There are something like 15 cranes species in the world, two in North America: Whooping Crane which is excruciatingly rare and the Sandhill Crane which is common in many parts of the U.S and Canada though not seen much around here. The Ontario population seems to be growing though and they may become commonplace in a couple of decades, but for now, and for me, they are a treat worth going out of my way for.
After a morning at the bird observatory I spent the afternoon investigating the wetlands and meadows around the promisingly named Crane Lake. I wondered whether it had earned its name as a reference to a historically large population of Great Blue Herons, often mistakenly referred to as cranes or whether indeed there have been Sandhill Cranes here for generations. Whatever the reason the lake is well and correctly named; I saw about a dozen Sandhill Cranes in a short space of time.
Crane Lake is largely inaccessible, the lands around are now in a national park where happily the management strategy seems to be to leave well enough alone. I parked at the side of a rough untravelled road, more of a track really, and walked down through a rough fractured-limestone grassland towards an expanse of sedge meadow. There were Eastern Bluebirds singing and possessively guarding nest boxes against the ambitions of Tree Swallows. Here and there scrubby trees growing in rocky outcrops held Western Palm Warblers and Eastern Meadowlarks scattered ahead of my progress attracting the attention of a Merlin sweeping overhead. Down in the sedge meadow I heard Sora and Swamp Sparrows

The gurgling bugle calls of Sandhill Cranes pointed to a party of seven or eight settled into a hollow not far away. Later, on my return I intersected the group and had fun watching them stalk away then lift up and circle me, objecting to my intrusion.

May 4 2013  Ilopango El Salvador. As guests of Rotary Clubs in San Salvador our group  is very well cared for.  The wheelchair distribution work is done and it’s nearly time to leave; but first to reward us with some down time our hosts took us to what they modestly call the club by the lake. Without dwelling on it needlessly I’ll just say it’s where the wealthy elite relax and find an escape from the grit and gridlock of San Salvador.  It’s noteworthy that to drive to the club you have no choice but to pass through a small community typical of any Salvadorian village, except that it’s controlled and managed by a very violent and antisocial gang; the police, the government and law & order have no presence or right to be there!

The club is a hedonist’s paradise, manicured lawns and shady forest groves were alive with birds, mostly Clay-coloured Thrushes and Great-tailed Grackles.  Breaking away from my hammock-lounging, lemonade-sipping team-mates I went looking for birds. The list was fairly short: a Rufous-naped Wren, an army of American Coots, some Spot-breasted Orioles, Golden-fronted Woodpecker, a Berylline Hummingbird and, Bird of the Day, a young Northern Jacana strolling across the grass by the beach.

Jacana’s are a fairly common wading bird of hot climes wherever there’s aquatic vegetation and open wet weedy areas.  Northern Jacana adults have a rich dark cinnamon brown back turning to almost black up the neck and head and terminating in a bright yellow headlight.  Also known as Lily Walkers, jacanas seem to pick their way fastidiously on stilt-like legs, sampling the way ahead with exaggeratedly long matchstick toes.

I first encountered jacanas in my earlier trip to Suchitoto but they were all adults, today’s bird, enjoying the club’s facilities and hospitality, was a juvenile.  Still the same high-stepping stick legs and concert pianist’s fingers but in light plumage more like an avocet.

May 3 2013. Suchitoto, El Salvador. I was just enjoying a day’s birding in the mountains of El Salvador guided by a quartet of local birders, when I encountered a bird I had no idea existed; a Masked Tityra. I spotted one high in a dense tree on the opposite bank of a wide gravelly river. I called to my companions, two more or less retired American gentlemen and a pair of energetic twenty-something Salvadorian men with excellent bird finding skills. By the time they joined me it had flown out of sight. All that I could tell them was that it was an ash-grey bird with a contrasting black tail band and maybe something red on the head, about the size of a parakeet. They scratched their heads, grunted noncommittally, so we moved on; it often goes that way in birding. Then moments later one of the young guys heard a call, put two and two together and suggested that I’d seen a Masked Tityra.

One look in a field guide and I agreed; that was my bird. All of that would have been satisfying in itself but then a while later, a pair of them landed quite close on a dried up old tree stump and I managed to get a few shots. I think the curiousness and novelty of this bird made it my Bird of the Day. I need to know more about this bird, but it can wait.

We were in Suchitoto in the mountains of El Salvador, a place of drama not only for the exotic bird life but also for its social history and physical geography. El Salvador endured a decade of civil war that left it a broken dysfunctional country. It is recovering but there is still much poverty and gross underdevelopment. Suchitoto was quite a hotbed of the rebel leftist guerrilla movement and there is much evidence of that in the town. To say that the war is over and all is forgotten would be an oversimplification, but the country is at peace, it’s calm except for the seismic activity and our morning’s birding included dancing across a small creek that bubbled with muddy hot spring oozings.

My half day in the heat produced many birds that were either new, newish or long-time-no-see to me, but at least I’d heard of them before: Elegant Trogon, Blue-crowned Motmot, Plain Wren, Roseate Spoonbill, and Collared Plover among them. We found a small group of Buff-breasted Sandpipers and debated for a long time over a pair of birds that I thought were Upland Sandpipers but turned out to be American Golden Plovers. I did not see them, but Marvin, our expert young guide, found and photographed a spectacular group of Wilson’s Phalaropes with some Pectoral Sandpipers mixed in.  Courtesy of Marvin Qunitilla here’s his shot.

April 30 2013. I’m in El Salvador to assemble and distribute wheelchairs. Today we distributed100 to children who are patients of a rehabilitation hospital. My team member colleagues aren’t birders, but they understand that some people are, so they go along with it. However our Salvadorian hosts are generally unfamiliar with and somewhat bemused by the idea, and I think the birds too believe I’m up to something sinister. My allotted birding time is early in the day from sun-up until around 8.30 when we head off to work
The area around the hotel is well treed, in fact any corner of land left unused for a while soon becomes well treed, unless someone decides to call it home or set it on fire. So I prowl around the parking lot under the watchful eye of a security guard with a shotgun, looking for movement or listening for bird sounds. None of the birds on my short list of sightings is particularly remarkable, unless you’re a visitor from the cold north, when they’re all a treat.
In San Salvador (the capital city) the sound of Great-tailed Grackles is pervasive as they sail between tree-tops. They must be a nest predator because I often see Clay-coloured Thrushes, Great Kiskadees and Yellow-winged Tanagers chasing them away. Small flocks of parakeets fly shrieking across the sky, I’m not sure whether they’re Pacific Parakeets or Green Parakeets, the species are almost indistinguishable, but they’ll often descend to a treetop and spend half an hour eating flowers and chattering noisily before departing in loud squawking unison, off to the next tree.

I spotted a pair of Rufous-naped Wrens working quietly and inconspicuously over a group of shrubs. It took a while to figure out what I was seeing because as wrens go, they’re large and strongly marked, not much like the wrens we’re familiar with in Ontario. I managed to get these shots of one later at a different location.

When it’s all so new it’s difficult to say any one bird is Bird of the Day but I think a pair of Spot-breasted Orioles would be it for today. It took me a while to be convinced they’re Spot-breasted, they could have been Altimira or even Streak-backed Orioles. I need better photos, my best picture-taking vantage point is a window at the end of the hotel corridor and well, it could do with a cleaning.

The Clay-coloured Thrush
is the national bird of Costa Rica. At first blush it seems somewhat myopic, unimaginative or even perverse that a country renowned for the vivid brilliance and diversity of its bird life should select one of the dullest birds in the Americas as its avian figurehead. But in my short time here in El Salvador, I’ve come to see it Costa Rica’s way.
The Clay-coloured Thrush is a very close relative of our familiar American Robin, it’s the same size, in the same genus, and it flies, hops and stands sentry just like robin; and for all the same reasons, it is equally closely related to the European Blackbird. There are several more near relatives in the same (unfortunately named) genus ‘turdus’, but I mention the European Blackbird because the Clay-coloured Thrush has a song uncannily like the fluting, liquid melody of the blackbirds’.
On the day of our arrival in El Salvador, I heard birdsong coming from within dense bushes near the hotel, it was almost a blackbird’s song and would have been except for some languid run-on phrasing. I started to think that there might be an escaped population of European birds in this small Central American country.
Then on my first (and shallow) night of Salvadorean sleep, I could hear this same ‘blackbird’s’ song at all hours of the night. Next morning with the song of a blackbird in mind, I couldn’t quite associate what I was hearing with other unrelated songster families; mockingbirds, tanagers or members of the Catharus genus like Nightingale, Swainson’s or Wood Thrushes. It was a puzzle.
Later that morning I happened to see several Clay-coloured Thrushes around the leafy suburbia of the hotel; they’re quite common. Then in researching them I learned that Costa Rica had chosen the Clay-Coloured Thrush as its national bird, not for its visual appeal, but for its rich, liquid song which often continues into the night and in some Central American countries has been credited with bringing on the rainy months of May through September. I’m drawn to the conclusion that my blackbird sound-alike is none other than the Clay-coloured Thrush; its song makes up for its drabness, exactly the point Costa Rica made.
All of that is a rather long-winded way of saying that Costa Rica’s bird of the nation was for me, on my second day in El Salvador, Bird of the Day.