Thursday, January 12, 2017

Happy New Year backyard birding in Colombia

With 2016 in the bag, early January is typically for birders (when they're not out racking up first-of-year finds) a time to reflect on the passed year's birding achievements. Incredibly, four people individually smashed the ABA area big year record and this Dutch guy broke the world big year record that was just set in 2015.

I didn't set out to break any records in 2016, but incidental to all the international travel, I managed to log more than 1500 birds for the year. This was by far my personal biggest year and enough to make the top 20 on eBird. It's been such a whirlwind that I'm still working on writing up all the adventures and have photos of few birds I still don't know how to ID. 

Rather than try to pull out an arbitrary top 10 sightings as I have done in the past, instead I want to share the joy (or brag?) about where I've been spending my new years lately. One of the perks of having a Colombian novia is an obligatory annual trip to the world’s birdiest country. Trips to see in-law relatives stereo-typically involve some measure of dread, but not for me.  Natalia’s aunts, uncles, cousins and parents are all wonderful people and as a bonus I have had the chance to mark the end and beginning of the past three years spotting beautiful tropical birds.

“Barlovento,” Natalia’s uncles’ farm north of Cali, shouldn’t really offer much in the way of birds, given that it sits within a landscape dominated by sugar cane monoculture. Yet, after 12 years of planted tree growth, the parcel attracts a decent diversity of avifauna. In the handful of days I have stayed there, I have observed nearly 70 species, including some real lookers.

Yellow Oriole

Fork-tailed Flycatcher, a bird I've yet to see in the US
Spot-breasted Woodpecker
Cattle Tyrant
After Natalia's uncle started showing interest in printing some of the images he was seeing on the back of my camera, I started trying a bit harder to get some print-worthy crushes of some of the really common trashy stuff.
Bare-faced Ibis or 'Coquito' - you know it's a trash bird if has a common Spanish name


especially if the common name is taxonomically stupid as in this 'canario' or Saffron Finch
'Siriri' or Tropical Kingbird, the king of tropical trash birds 

Vermillion Flycatcher - prettiest trash bird?
dang this Scrub Tanager is arguably even better-looking

This 'Cocli' is definitely not trash. Buff necked Ibis used to be a common fixture in the Cauca Valley until they were hunted to brink of extirpation to be used in Sancocho (a soup). They are starting to make a comeback and the family of four that roosts in this palm at Barlo Vento is a huge source of pride.
Natalia’s parents' farm, "Kaliawirinae," suffers from a similar landscape challenge, with the surrounding areas dominated by cattle pasture. Forest fragments are general small and not-well connected. But this makes Kaliawirinae’s patch of forest an attractive oasis for birds. Natalia and others had documented nearly 150 species on site. I’m proud to have been able to contribute several new observations to the reserve’s list over the past few years and the list now sits at 169! Quite the yard list.

Straight-billed Woodcreeper

Chestnut-eared Aracari

 
Nesting Golden-bellied Euphonia pair

Great Potoo, my first ever potoo sighting back in 2013

Lettered Aracari

Oriole Blackbird or Gonzalito

Plumbeous Kite

Speckled Chachalaca or Guacharaca, the notoriously noisy bird that is hated for the cacophony it often makes at 4 am 

Tropical Screech-Owl


The newest addition to the Kaliawirinae list is  Chestnut-vented Conebill, a bird sufficiently rare in the area such that it has taken ornithologists decades to get a handle on its distribution.

First attempt, Hilty 1987 (red x marks Kaliawirinae)
Take two: Restall 2006



This map seems pretty good. McMullen 2010 
If I were to bird Kaliawirinae every day, it might take 6 months, but I'd eventually get the list up to 200 I'm sure. It sits at an ecosystem crossroads connecting the llanos savanna, Andean foothills and Amazonia, such that the common resident birds are an odd mix of birds typical of these regions. That means that the list of wanderers that could pass through is several hundred species long. To give you an example, a Hoatzin, the awkward Amazonian stinky turkey that dwells on oxbow lakes and other backwaters, showed up at Kaliawirinae despite the lack of anything resembling appropriate habitat.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Birding Bolivia

“The going isn’t always easy” -The Lonely Planet Bolivia

Natalia and I left Peru naively expecting more of the same from Bolivia: great birds; great food; great people. The chaotic border crossing portended the many challenges that were to come. In fact, the pitfalls nearly outshone the bird life.

What? You came here for birds?  We did too.  See Bolivia seems great for birds on paper: 1400+ species and some 25 endemics, plus 18% of the country is protected areas such as national parks.  But as is the case in many developing countries protected area borders exist only on maps and to Bolivians on the ground do not actually exist. And even the birdiest, most attractive parts of the country are completely lacking in conventional tourist infrastructure. 

We entered Bolivia on the shores of Lake Titicaca at the “picturesque” town of Copacabana (photo purposefully omitted; the town did not inspire me to take out my camera).

It’s telling that Lake Titicaca, a geographic feature two-thirds of which lies within Peruvian borders, is nevertheless featured on the cover of the Lonely Planet Bolivia.

Our first Bolivian adventure began before we even made it to La Paz. We and our bus had to cross a section of the lake by ferry. We did not imagine that passengers and bus would have to make the journey separately. But in hindsight we were glad of this arrangements. 

Ferry crossing of Lake Titicaca.  That's our bus with all our luggage being pushed over on a wooden barge by a guy with an outboard motor.


Titicaca Grebes were thick in this area of deeper water and Andean Gulls hovered over our heads looking for handouts as we motored across in the chop.

Onward the landscape was dry and desolate.  Bird life seemed to concentrate at the small creeks and streams we passed over. We had a glimpse of some Andean Avocets in one.

Having read about La Paz on the bus ride there, we managed to convince ourselves that the best strategy for birding and enjoying La Paz would be to get the hell out as soon as possible. So we arrived in the evening and were out again on a cheap flight the next morning to Cochabamba.

Cochabamba is also high and dry, but at 3000 meters is significantly lower than La Paz’s nose-bleed-inducing 3600. We set out immediately to check out what birds were to be had at Laguna Alalay, a large lake in the middle of town. The lakeside was a desolate destruction zone.  Clearly the government had cleared trash and vegetation from the waterfront in some sort of effort to make it appealing for visitors, but hadn’t yet gotten around to putting anything in its place.  So the whole area had the feeling of a vacant lot.

We came across a man defecating, who, bare-assed, was summarily apprehended by two women on security patrol. As we gazed in the opposite direction out at the lake to spot Andean Ruddy Ducks and White-tufted Grebes we were surprised when the security approached us.  “Do you have permission?”

“Permission is needed to look at birds here?”

“Yes, everyone must obtain permission. Head to the security station over there.”

Obligingly we walked along the dirt over toward a distant building where requesting permission consisted of writing down our names and passport numbers in a notebook. The security team offered to send an escort with us on our hike.  It did seen a bit sketchy around the lake, and the hotel staff had warned us to be careful, but Natalia explained how boring and slow birdwatching would be for our guard and so we carried on alone.

Despite the rather unpromising context, there were birds everywhere and most of them were new and unidentifiable to us, which was exciting.  Remember, Bolivia has no bird book. We had our Peru and Argentina guides as well as a Southern South America ‘illustrated checklist,’ but Bolivia is such a mashup of ecosystems that it was difficult to figure out which book to refer to. Compounding matters is the fact that the illustrations in the Argentina and Southern South America books are so atrocious as to be nearly unusable for identification. The Flycatcher sp. conundrum, already fraught with a good guide, is next to impossible in Bolivia.

I resorted to a shoot-first and ask-ID-questions-later birding strategy, relying heavily on the camera.

Rufous Hornero, Cochabamba


After reaching the end of a populated area along the lake shore, we decided to double-back rather than continue around a bend into a promising-looking more-vegetated area. There were a lot of sketchy-looking teens roaming about giving our optics long looks. Stolen binoculars in Bolivia would be catastrophic.

Back at the security kiosk, we ran into a scientist from the Ministry of the Environment, who informed us that she was there to investigate a recent massive bird die-off. The water was a putrid pea-soup green and the lake shore was littered with garbage, plus we had already seen how it functioned as a public toilet. The scientist's main challenge was that the trail was cold.  It had taken Bolivia’s corrupt bureaucracy two months to approve her visit to Cochabamaba from La Paz. How was she going to figure out the source of the problem so long after the fact? For a scientist investigating bird health, she didn’t seem to be much interested in birds. I interrupted her once to point out a hawk flying overhead. She gave it a half-glance before continuing her rant.

Here’s my photo:

unidentified hawk. Cochabamba

I still can’t figure out what the heck it is!

This experience of finding Bolivians indiffent toward both tourism and natural resources would become a recurring theme of our time in country.

Later that afternoon we visited the local access to Tunari National Park, a crescent that encircles the Cochabamba valley designed to protect the population’s water supply. The taxi driver had no idea what the park was or how to get there, so we guided him using the GPS on one of our phones.

When we arrived the entrance kiosk (to ask ‘permission’ as were now trained to do), the woman explained to us that nobody can enter after 3 o’clock and seeing as it is now 3:02, we would not be allowed to proceed. We managed to talk our way past this absurdity. Afterall we would not be very far from the entrance anyway.

The landscape here was arid scrub and loaded with new and interesting birds. We spent two hours at the end of one switchback in the road overlooking a dry gully as hummingbirds, warbling-finches and other birds moved up the mountain while the sun dropped.

We managed to get out by closing time, as promised, and caught a public buseta back into town for about 35 cents.

We had arranged with our taxi driver to pick us up the following morning at 4 am to take us up to a higher access to the park. We made it to the bridge spanning the river at 3600 meters just after dawn and immediately found our main target in a Cochabamba Mountain-Finch, one of Bolivia’s endemics. From here we birded our way back down the road to 3100 meters over the course of 5 hours. We saw some great birds.

Andean Hillstar, Tunari National Park



Rufous-bellied Mountain-Tanager, Tunari National Park

Rufous-bellied Bush-Tyrant

Golden-billed Saltator

Fulvous-headed Brush-Finch

But sadly Tunari, like many of its kind in the developing world, is a National Park in name only. As we descended, the scale of the degradation grew steadily more intense. All manner of rubbish began to pile up along the sides of the road: tires; plastic bags; months supplies of used diapers.  In the absence of public sanitation services it seems that people have been using the park as a public dumping ground. Ironically, the motivation for this park was to protect the city’s watershed. Hillsides of endangered polylepis forest had been cleared to make way for fields of potatoes and flowers. The silver lining is that the inaccessible opposite side of the river appeared to still be pristine. 

In retrospect, I’m curious as to what we would have found if we had birded our way up slope instead of down. A lot of odd birds I’ve never seen occur in these high Andean landscapes. Down was our only real choice though, as a harsh wind gave us the shivers and we were way under-dressed for the near-freezing temperatures.  It’s hard to get a good temperature forecast and the difference was far greater than altitudinal lapse rates would have suggested.

We thanked and tipped our very friendly taxi driver, who had charged us a cool ~$40 for his morning’s work (what a deal!).

No rest for the wicked… that afternoon we hopped a collectivo that took us all the way from the high Andes down into the Amazonian foothills in one hop.

It’s a bit frustrating because you know there could be excellent birding all along this route spanning 2700 m in elevation, yet there are neither roads, nor lodges, nor guides. The real missing raw ingredients in Bolivia, however, are a culture that values nature and hospitality. Apart from perhaps Haiti, Bolivia may be the New World country that is least prepared for a birder or ecotourist. Unlike Haiti, however, Bolivia has loads of intact ecosystems, so there is hope for the future.  And I dare say there’s a huge opportunity here. Eventually, North American birders will begin venturing to South America en masse as birding rises in popularity and a new generation, more bilingual, less xenophobic, and less-beholden to the ABA’s idiosyncratic borders emerges. After so many trips to Colombia, Ecuador and Peru, Bolivia is the required destination if one hopes to sample the complete buffet of birds that the tropical Andes has to offer.

Anyway, we arrived in Villa Tunari exhausted and agreed to allow ourselves to sleep-in for a morning. We didn’t have any good birding strategies lined up yet anyway.

White-necked Puffbird, Villa Tunari

From the excellent online trip reports of birdsbolivia.com, we learned that the best birding near this 'touristic' town was a couple hours back up the road from which we had just come. On the highway that connects Cochabamba and Villa Tunari, a road follows a Chinese hydroelectric pipeline down a ridge starting at roughly 2000 m into what is supposedly some of the most-accessible mid-elevation Yungas habitat in all of Bolivia. The habitat is called ‘cloud forest’ by everybody in the world, except in Bolivia where it is called ‘Yungas.’  Actually, on this particular road, many people would call it ‘crap’ because it has been heavily degraded and cleared for cultivation.

Our driver arrived half an hour late, leaving us waiting in the dark at our hotel (gotta love that Bolivian service!), so we missed the best early dawn birding.  Nevertheless, as soon as we found some decent forest along the road, there was a nice mixed-species flock with Saffron-crowned Tanagers, Montane Woodcreepers, Variable Antshrike and others.  By the time we had birded our way through the flock and caught a glimpse of one of our main targets in a Yungas Manakin, it was 9 am and in the unusually bright day, the birds went dead.  We kept at it for another hour and a half and caught up with a Streak-throated Bush-Tyrant, Slaty Elaenia and some Green-Cheeked Parakeets, but decided to head back down the mountain so we could grab lunch before our scheduled trip to an Oilbird cave.  Not so fast.

As we came back out to the highway we found ourselves as front-row witnesses to a recently ignited ‘bloqueo’ protest, with burning tires and logs. We were told some of the locals were protesting a trout fair.  Thus the highway connecting two of Bolivia’s largest cities was suddenly rendered useless.  We waited a bit with our driver, but he advised us to descend on foot and catch a ride with somebody turning back from the blockade.  As we passed by the crowds of angry truckers and onlookers, some whoops of excitement rang out it was announced that the blockade would be removed in ten minutes.
The two-lane Andean highway now had three lanes of traffic at loggerheads, and blockade or not, there would be no progressive movement anytime soon. So we continued walking downhill several kilometers spreading the news to anxious truckers and bus passengers.  

Yes, there was a blockade. Yes they are clearing it. But no, you will not be going anywhere anytime soon because of overtaking cars clogging the highway. 

‘Porque son desobedientes!’ one grumpy trucker exclaimed.

True, irresponsible aggressive passing makes a 1-hour blockage into a day-long ordeal, but it’s the trucks, which achieve a maximum speed of approximately 10 kilometers per hour on the steep grades and tight curves that make a suicidal driving strategy not insane, but rather a practicality.
After a few hours we eventually caught a ride in a backtracking minivan with seats available.

Inside it, of all people, was the craziest U.S. ex-pat I’ve come across in all my international travels. He was full of impossible juxtapositions.  One minute giving prudent travel advice, the next extolling the virtues of drunk driving in Bolivia, because of the easily bribe-able police. Then he would be bemoaning his poor real estate investments via eBay and in the same breath extolling the upside of his pending Nevada marijuana farm. Before the mental red flags could reach full mast, he was already hawking the iPhone app he is ‘developing’ to block negative electronic frequencies that damage the brain. 

He was travelling with his Bolvian wife and two infant children. After tenderly comforting his two-year-old son, ‘Ludwig Jr.,’ he would go on to recount his drunken fight with the intelligence police in La Paz and how his mother had to fly down from the U.S. to pay off the judge and bail him out of jail. Just when I was beginning to think he was one of those compulsive liars who can’t distinguish between true life experiences and fantasy, he got a call from a client.  Turns out he was running some sort of paralegal advice service through his phone.

Anyway, we made it back to Villa Tunari in the mid-afternoon and gave a hasty farewell to Ludwig. The bloqueo had scuttled our plans to visit the nearby Oilbird cave, but at least we hadn’t tried to stick it out with our driver who didn’t make it down until after dark.  We would read in the paper the following day that the military police had arrived to forcefully remove the blockade using tear gas, but this is blatant state propaganda.  With the bloackade intact it would be impossible for any police trucks to arrive at the scene; and we saw the blockade being removed shortly after it had been put in place.  What I can only assume really happened is that once traffic began moving, the police showed up to tear gas the local residents as punishment.  The article ominously quoted a government official stating that rumors of gunfire used by police on unarmed civilians were untrue. Yep. That doesn’t sound the least bit concerning.  Bolivia!

So we escaped the bloqueo and tear gas, but some Bolivian suffering would catch us as we attempted to leave town. 

I present to you: the Bus Ride From Hell

Our departure had been farcical with the transportation company somehow having sold far more tickets than there were seats on the bus. When we first departed Villa Tunari the aisle was nearly full of other passengers, including several children, sitting on plastic stools. In the first several towns we made stops, ostensibly to shift passengers over to other buses with space, but these mainly led to arguments and long delays with people angrily being herded off the bus, only to return several minutes later. The other buses were also overbooked. In the end there were still quite a few people in the aisle, including one guy right next to me.

The guy in front of me had wrenched his seat so far back that his head was in my lap.  Bolivian buses, being designed for a less-vertical demographic, leave little in the way of leg room for somebody taller than six feet.  I had no choice but to twist sideways and sprawl my legs into the aisle. Some time later, I awoke to a woman savagely pinching my legs. ‘mueve las piernas.’ All I could mutter in dazed half-sleep was ‘no puedo,’ which was nearly accurate. 

Nevertheless, the next words that came out of the woman’s mouth, who was now vigorously shaking my inert shins, were a bit of a surprise: ‘Estan encima de la cabeza de mi nina!’ I pulled my feet back before I could comprehend what had been said: they are on my daughter’s head.
In the dark jouncing of the bus these words, though a harsh whisper, reverberated.  My vision was mostly obscured by a jacket wrapped around my head (an attempt to dull the awful neck pain inflicted by a head rest that barely reached the bottoms of my ear lobes), but I could sense the old crone in the opposite row concocting her worst of curses and aiming it in my direction.  It was the one she saves for the worst gringos. The kind who kick little girls in the head.

Sure enough within a couple hours, whether by karma or by curse, I awoke again with the most excruciating intestinal pain.

By this point it seemed as though we must be nearing Santa Cruz, judging by the density of lights and buildings outside.  If I could just hang on, I might make it off the bus without shitting my pants and really becoming the most popular passenger on the bus ride from hell.

So this is the part of the bus ride that makes the least sense: No, not the gross over-booking, not the children sleeping in aisles and getting occasionally stepped on, but the unique departure time of 8 pm.  This is the only time one can take the 7-hour bus trip from Villa Tunari to Santa Cruz. I repeat, buses leave at no other time of day or night.

So here we were cruising into the Bolivia’s most populous city at 2:45 am… miraculously an on-time arrival! Yet, instead of opening the doors and letting everybody off at the station to blearily make their way home or wherever, the bus pulled into a sketchy-looking alleyway and parked.  Apparently the bus terminal doesn’t become safe until 6 am, so we were given the choice to wait on the bus another three hours or chance it in the risky alley and hope to find an honest taxi driver before getting taken out by a mugger.

There are many nice Bolivians, who I’ve been lucky to meet while travelling through this mess of a country, but our bus driver was not one of them. Friendly, helpful Bolivians can be damn scarce country-wide, even in the places where you would expect to find the cream of the crop, such as hotel receptions or taxi stands in touristic places.  There just don’t seem to be very many people who work service jobs with what one might consider to be a service mentality.  The rub isn't that they have a bad attitude or charge inflated prices to tourists. No, Bolivians just don’t seem to have any interest in helping a tourist even when there is good money to be made.

Anyway, we found an honest taxi driver who was actually rather good to us.  No he didn’t know where our hotel was, but didn’t complain while spending the better part of an hour driving circles around neighborhoods looking. In Bolivia only major arteries have street signs and taxi drivers don’t carry phones or any navigational aids.

So we made it.  At 3:30 am.  I slept for the subsequent 27 hours.

So that was the Bus Ride From Hell.  You came here for birds (we did too), but as the Lonely Planet puts it. “Bolivia will test your patience and stamina.” So if you made it this far, congratulations!  Maybe you too have the endurance to bird Bolivia.  

The Santa Cruz Botanical Garden offers a promising remnant of dry forest, but the 20 to 30 mph winds made the birding tricky. We got Ocellated Piculet and watched some Least Grebe chicks get devoured by a caiman.

Prolific sloth-watching is there to be had at the Santa Cruz Botanical Gardens. We saw three.

We were determined to find a pleasant birding experience somewhere in Bolivia and Los Volcanes proved to be the ticket. Just a few hours drive from Santa Cruz, it isn't terribly difficult to access and the setting is gorgeous.

Guest House at Los Volcanes
This little gem owned by a German family sits in a pristine mesic forest in the buffer zone of Amboro National Park. It has trails, friendly hosts and great food.  

Two-banded Warbler, the most ubiquitous bird at Los Volcanes
Plush-crested Jay, the second-most ubiquitous bird at Los Volcanes
If it just had a few banana and nectar feeders, it would be the full neotropical birding lodge experience. Fortunately, we don't mind working for our birds.

Amazonian Motmot
Black-banded Woodcreeper
Black-goggled Tanager
Los Volcanes was hard for me to characterize. The forest isn't quite wet and it isn't quite dry.  And the Avifauna are part Amazonian, part Andean.  It's the only place where I've seen both Andean Condor and King Vulture.

Chestnut-eared Aracari
There's lots of bamboo in the area. Although we dipped on Bolivian Recurvebill, the bamboo seeds brought in raucous flocks of parrots.
Mitred Parakeet
Green-cheeked Parakeet
Three fulls days to bird Los Volcanes was plenty. By the end we had nearly run out of targets. We only knew this because ornithologists had put together an annotated checklist of the local bird life (very useful!). 

Back in Santa Cruz we had fun on our last morning in Bolivia at Lomas de Arena, a site characterized by some huge sand dunes.  We wanted to actually stay at a lodge on site, but nobody answered any of the 4 phone numbers we found for them and they didn’t reply to our emails (now that is how you run a business!). We hired a taxi to take us out there and he promptly got stuck in the sand.  No problem we’ll head out and begin birding by foot. Everybody said it never rains in Santa Cruz this time of year, so of course we were unprepared for the ensuing rain and cold. The expectation was dry and brutally hot.

We would take refuge where we could and then bird between showers.


a very soggy Burrowing Owl, Lomas de Arena

Campo Flickers, Lomas de Arena

Red-legged Seriema, Lomas de Arena

The taxi driver managed to un-stick himself and picked us up several hours later. We never made it to the lagoon that was supposed to be full of birds and somewhere near the sand dunes. But we weren’t too bothered since wetland birds were unlikely to be new for us anyway. We made it out in time to pack up at the hotel and head for the airport. But we saved an extra hour to do some birding at the airport with a taxi driver. It was cold and blowing hard…terrible conditions for birding open grasslands. And we ended up driving around seeing nothing for about half an hour. Finally on the last road we checked we found our target and final Bolivian bird, the Greater Rhea.

So that's Bolivia. The birds are excellent, but access is full of challenges. 239 birds in 11 days sounds like a lot, but consider that similar effort in Colombia or Ecuador could easily yield twice that number. Bolivia has too many birds and endemics to ignore, but if you do decide to go, definitely consider hiring a guide and/or driver to arrange the logistics.

Despite the hardships, Bolivia (and Los Volcanes) will forever hold a special place in our hearts since it is where we got engaged!

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Southern Peru: How to get 500 birds in two weeks

Southern Peru is on the tourist map because of Machu Picchu. That, and the lovely gateway city of Cuzco, have drawn tourists from all over the globe for decades to what might otherwise be just another section of the longest mountain chain in the world.

As a result of long history of foreign visitors, infrastructure for birders wishing to explore some of the world’s best birding sites is top notch, with swanky tourist lodges ranging down the elevational gradient of the Manu Road and into the fringes of the Manu Biosphere along the Madre de Dios.

The Manu elevational gradient

While the bird diversity along this route is staggering for the uninitiated, it can be experienced in relative comfort.  This is a trip worth sharing. So Natalia and I, who were already in Lima for a wedding, assembled a small group of birders and set off on a two-week extreme birding trip.

We hired one of Peru's top guides: birding animal, extreme-machine, Gustavo Bautista, who is Peru’s 4-time eBird big year champion (his 5th consecutive crown is nearly in the bag now).

Gustavo Bautista, extreme birder and our guide


He’s also sponsored by Vortex, something he’s not shy about.

With Gustavo leading us, we absolutely crushed our route.

The route, starting in Cuzco (A) and ending in Puerto Maldonado (airplane), with stops at Huacarpay Lakes (B), Wayquecha Lodge (C), Cock-of-the-Rock Lodge (D), Amazonia Lodge (E), Tambo Blanquillo (bed), Los Amigos (binoculars). The segments not traced in blue were covered by boat along the Madre de Dios River. Natalia and I continued by plane from Pto. Maldonado to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca (not pictured)


Our first stop was Huarcapay Lake near Cuzco where we scored Many-colored Rush-Tyrant, Andean Negrito, Plumbeous Rail and various ducks.

Wetlands at Huacarpay Lakes
Puna Teal and Yellow-billed Pintail, Huacarpay Lakes
In addition to the high altitude wetland denizens, there's some nearby scrubby arid habitats that provide opportunities for a variety of altiplano species that we wouldn't get chances for later on the route.

Greenish Yellow-Finch (which can't help but be called 'Yellowish Green--Finch" on occasion)

Rusty Flowerpiercer, near Huacarpay Lakes

Yellow-bellied Tit-Tyrant
One of the best birds from this stretch was a random roadside stake-out (thanks Gustavo!).


Chestnut-breasted Mountain-Finch (female), a Peruvian endemic
Unfortunately the male didn't pose for photos.

We carried on to the entrance to the famous Manu Road, great place to stumble around in the fog and frozen grass trying in vain to see some silly skulking bird, like a tapaculo or Scribble-tailed Canastero.

The team at the entrance to Manu National Park

White-browed Conebill near the Manu Road entrance

We stayed at the Wayquecha Lodge, the highest altitude lodging along the road. This spot is built primarily for researchers, but I think montane forest is a harder sell for undergrads than lowland Amazonia (no monkeys that high, plus its cold). As a result they’ve learned to really roll out the red carpet for visiting tourists. 

View down into the Manu

Wayquecha is the perfect base for exploring the habitats above 2000 meters. Our strategy was to drive along slowly until we hit a flock.

What's that in the bushes?

Oh! One of our main targets, the Gray-breasted Mountain-Toucan (Near-threatened)

Red-crested Cotinga, Manu Road
There's the red crest
Black-backed Grosbeak
Tyrian Metaltail

This strategy really helped rack up the flocking birds and then Gustavo had some special locations for trickier targets, such as Red-and-White Antpitta.  He even called a friend for the latest intel on Andean Potoo!

Andean Potoo, Manu Road
The other great thing about Gustavo, is that he never gets tired. He would recite his policy about only including 2 night walks per week, but then wouldn't be able to help himself and take us out for a long owling session for the third straight night.

Near Wayquecha we heard some strange owl (a Strix) that may have been a Rufous-banded Owl. We never saw it, but as we tried to track it down, we flushed a nightjar off the road:


Band-winged Nightjar, a nice surprise on Manu Road

We could have easily stayed another couple nights at Wayquecha, but we had lower elevation species to find.  At 1400 m, the Cock-of-the-rock Lodge sits right at my favorite happy medium. I'm biased because I lived at this elevation in Ecuador for 6 months, but I feel like the birds here are a bit more diverse and colorful than they are higher up. Also the weather is perfect here; not too cold, not too hot. And unlike the lowland forest birds, submontane birds are reasonably easy to see well.

The moment we arrived at Cock-of-the-Rock there happened to be a frantic rush of bird activity at the lodge’s ‘backyard,’ which is strategically loaded with hummingbird and banana feeders. All kinds of birds were all showing up at once and everybody was calling things out on top of each other. Many people were too scared to go pee, no matter how badly their bladders ached from the bumpy ride down.  It was capped off by a squawking flyover from a pair of Military Macaws.


Amazonian Motmot at Cock-of-the-Rock lodge
Russet-backed Oropenolas began raining from the sky to assault the mango
 After a few hours we finally managed to peel ourselves away from the feeders only to stumble upon a sweat bird just across the road:
Amazonian Umbrellabird
 More crowd-pleasers along the Manu Road mid-elevations:

Golden-headed Quetzal

The elusive Lanceolated Monklet just sat for us (the behavior that makes them tough to find), a great spot by Gustavo
After a couple wonderful nights at Cock-of-the-rock, we continued downhill, eventually reaching the river where we parted ways with our driver and set off by boat to reach the Amazonia Lodge.  Again, some of the most amazing birding was right in the yard where the feeders ensured constant action.

Violet-headed Hummingbird

Rufous-crested Coquette
 When they put out the rice the tanagers are first to arrive:


Red-capped Cardinal, Black-billed Thrush, Palm, Masked Crimson and Silver-beaked Tanagers
 Then come the gluttonous chachalacas

Speckled Chachalaca scrum at Amazonia Lodge

We visited the canopy tower our first day.  Things started off very slow for the first few hours until finally we had a flock come in and then a beautiful White Hawk gave us a visit.

At night Gustavo showed off once again by calling in Tawny-bellied Screech-Owls, then we had a real surreal experience as we came  face-to-face with a Mountain Lion not 50 meters from the lodge. This was a lifer for Gustavo. Wow!

Amazonia Lodge is showing its age a bit and the quality of the rooms isn’t quite up to par with some of the newer more expensive lodges. But it’s still great value for money, plus it’s family-run and great to see everybody working together to make the place function.

From Amazonia we got back on our boat for our first major 8 hour boat trip. Weather was rainy and cold. Luckily our boat was covered and the driver gave us some plastic sheets to block the wind and spray.  We found a miserable-looking drenched Black Hawk-Eagle along the banks of the Manu.

Black Hawk-Eagle in the rain

Finally we arrived at Tambo Blanquillo, where we stayed in dorm-style housing. This place offers cabins, but they’re really expensive and don’t have the option for twin beds (queen only).  This didn’t work with our budget or group arrangement, so we pretended to be undergraduate coeds and made do in the dorms. 

The thing I really didn’t like about Tambo Blaquillo is that they make you pay extra for everything. Their famous clay lick costs $80 per person to visit—a small fortune in Peru.  And when we went it was a total bust. Two Red-and-green Macaws came and looked at the clay wall and that was it. Surely it must be better some days because they had erected a huge 90-person blind on stilts.

The canopy tower, on the other hand, was well worth the cost of admission. In fact, I'd say it's the best canopy tower I've ever visited.

Gigantic Ceiba tree that holds the Tambo Blanquillo canopy tower


Chestnut-crowned Becard, Tambo Blanquillo

The best canopy tower moment: when this Plum-throated Cotinga lit in the crown just above our heads
The oxbow lakes are also well worth the cost and effort to explore.  Actually there isn't much effort involved. The price tag includes a guy with an oar to paddle you around on a floating platform.
Super-relaxed birding on the oxbow lakes at Tambo Blanquillo



Watch out for Lobos del Rio ("River Wolves" also known as Giant Otters, endangered)

Some of the more photogenic bird life around the oxbows:

Ladder-tailed Nightjar



Purus Jacamar



The birds at Tambo Blanquillo were really nice and we could have easily spent another few days there without reaching diminishing returns.  But after the three nights we were happy to press on to our final lodge, Los Amigos.

The "Centro de Investigacion y Capacitacion Rio Los Amigos" is managed by the same NGO that runs Wayqecha, but unlike Wayqecha, students and researchers are the bread and butter at Los Amigos, with tourist-level catering more of an afterthought. The biggest surprise here was the lack of flexibility for meal timing. Every other lodge had been happy to feed us full breakfasts at vampiric hours, but Los Amigos with a few dozen undergraduate students to feed just couldn’t offer that kind of flexibility.


The station’s best asset for birders, was a PhD student named Sean Williams. Sean was in the middle of his fifth and final field season studying the behavior of mixed species understory flocks. Having spent so many months in the forest paying attention to birds and with an ear for their calls, he knew the location to the bush of just about every bird in the forest surrounding the station. The only downside is that he had no idea we were coming and thus had work to do for most of our time at the station.

When we could grab him for an afternoon, though, the birding suddenly became like shooting fish in a barrel. All the skulking tody-tyrants were casually revealed, thanks to Sean’s ear and Gustavo’s tape. It was a shame we couldn’t spend more time with Sean as there were a bunch of bamboo specialties we still needed to see that he would have been able to show us in short order. Alas Los Amigos was just a two-night stopover on our way out to Puerto Maldonado.

I don’t know why more birders don’t visit Los Amigos. Even without Sean it’s still an awesome place to see lowland amazonian avifauna, with essentially all the habitat types represented. There is certainly no shortage of primatologists who call it home.

Titi Monkeys

We saw several species of monkeys here in short order, as well as one big cat, a Jaguarundi--an unexpected surprise out in the open mid-morning.

We picked up more than 100 bird species in our short stay, but as is typical in lowland Amazonia, photographic opportunities were few and far between.

Pink-throated Becard (female) Los Amigos

A Trogon (Blue-crowned), reliable lens fodder when all else fails
Crested Oropendola dispalying at Los Amigos
The bird that got away on this trip was a huge raptor that went soaring overhead while we were resting in a tree-fall gap. Only part of the group got views and it didn't stay visible for long, but I'm 95% sure it was a Crested Eagle. Better views desired by all though, so we kept it off the list...

After Los Amigos Natalia and I said goodbye to Gustavo and our birder friends and took off for Lake Titicaca and a trek across the border and into Bolivia, uncharted territory for both of us.

The Puno waterfront offers some interesting birding.

Andean Lapwing, Puno

Chilean Flamingo, Puno

Cream-winged Cinclodes, Puno
Wren-like Rushbird
We visited the nearby Sillustani archaelogical site (for birds; our interest in archaeology is rather limited), mostly because it was easy to catch a bus there. Unfortunately the bus ticket came with a guide, who kept expecting us to stay with the group and care about the factoids he was regurgitating.  Eventually, we convinced him to let us go wander off on our own so we could see a handful of lifers, lose track of time, and then make a bus full of tourists wait for us (standard irresponsible birder behavior).

We also visited the floating islands of Uros, which is kind of becoming a tourist trap, but was so fascinating that I didn't particularly mind. There were plenty of birds to see on the boat ride there and back as well as while trapped on the islands.


Uros floating islands on Lake Titicaca


Many-colored Rush-Tyrant, Uros. According to legend this bird stole all the colors from all the other tyranids. That's why flycatchers are so drab and boring, this guy is the exception that proves the rule.

The endangered Titicaca Grebe, Uros. Easy bird.
The Uros trip didn't net us any lifers that we wouldn't see later around the lake, but it was still a fun outing.

As we left Peru, we naively expected more of the same from Bolivia. We were in for a shock. Peru's southeastern neighbor, with which it shares this great lake, the southern swath of Amazonia and so much bird life, is a world apart in terms of infrastructure and organization.

But that's a topic for the next chapter. Stay tuned for birding in Bolivia.

Gustavo Bautista's email: australbirder@gmail.com