Welcome to Colombia, Birdiest Country on Earth

My retinas are still scorched from gaudy tanagers and glittering hummingbirds; my ears still ringing from exuberant antshrike and tapaculo songs; and my brain still trying to comprehend how this guan, once overhunted in dwindling forest fragments to the point of presumed extinction, sat in a tree in front of me to be photographed.

Cauca Guan, Otun Quimbaya National Park - Endangered Colombian endemic, less than 1000 mature individuals remain

This wasn’t my first time around the block in South America, but I’m not sure I’ve sustained such a fast and hard birding pace over so many days before anywhere.  Natalia Ocampo-Penuela assembled a dream team of eight natural scientist friends, planned an optimal route from Cali to Medellin, and collectively we managed to log nearly 500 of Colombia's 1900+ bird species (making it #1 in the world) in just 12 days in the Colombian Andes.  

the Dream Team atop a peak in Tatama National Park

 

To put that in perspective, I’m still waiting to tick my 500^th species for the United States, the country where I’ve lived and birded for over a decade.  

For hardcore listers, that’s the magic of birding the neotropics—one can see in 12 days the avian diversity that it might take 12 years to experience in the temperate zone.   For the more aesthetically-minded, it offers the chance to see some of the most bizarre and beautiful creatures on the planet while wandering through primeval landscapes. 

Golden-crowned Tanager, Los Nevados National Park

And birds are just the tip of an iceberg for the entemologically-(or botanically)-inclined.

Will (our team lepidopterist) making the most of a midday bird lull

Our trip took us from the Pacific lowland rainforests of San Cipriano, where we rode Brujitas (“little witches” is a literal translation for the name of the motorbike-powered rail platforms used there for transport) up to the open Paramo of Los Nevados National Park. And we covered the breadth of cloud forest elevations between all over the Western and Central Andes. 

Trip Route

We saw so many birds and bird families, but I always get asked, “which was your favorite?” So let’s start there.

I struggle with favorites, especially with so many to choose from, but one of them has to be the Red-ruffed Fruitcrow, a hawk-sized monster in the cotinga family and one of New World’s largest passerines.    

Red-ruffed Fruitcrow, Otun Quimbaya National Park

Red-ruffed Fruitcrow, Otun Quimbaya National Park

We did well on cotingas on the trip, spotting 8 members of this diverse family including one that rivals the Cauca Guan in terms of absolute rarity, the Chestnut-capped Piha.

Chestnut-capped Piha (look at that cap!), Chesnut-capped Piha Reserve - Endangered Colombian endemic

An estimated 750 to 1250 Chestnut-capped Pihas remain in existence.  Not surprisingly the species is endemic to Colombia and is listed as endangered.  We saw ours in the well-named “Chestnut-capped Piha Reserve,” essentially the only place they are known to persist.

Also included with the Cotingas were three fruiteater species we saw, the most common and cooperative of which was the Green-and-black Fruiteater.  

Green-and-Black Fruiteater male, Tatama National Park

Green-and-black Fruiteater female, Tatama National Park

Natalia’s favorite bird of the trip was also a cotinga, this Black-tipped Cotinga of which we saw several in San Cipriano.  While most tropical birds are either colorful or camouflaged, this bird is one of the few in the forest that is almost entirely white.  

Black-tipped Cotinga, San Cipriano - totally blown out white in this photo

At the other end of the size spectrum from the fruitcrow lies the Black-capped Pygmy-Tyrant, which is the world’s smallest passerine species.

Black-capped Pygmy-Tyrant, San Cipriano - world's smallest passerine

This cute guy belongs to the much maligned tyrant flycatcher family, the most diverse bird family in both Colombia and South America.  Birders like to hate on tyrant flycatchers because “they all look the same.”  While that’s true of some groups (I’m looking at you elaenia!), we stumbled upon several of the more distinctive and attractive examples among more than 50 flycatcher species encountered on the trip.  

Fork-tailed Flycatcher is a bird that if it should appear in North Carolina might inspire psychotic birders to drive hours in chase, whereas in Colombia it’s kind of a ho-hum yard bird.

Fork-tailed Flycatcher, near Cali

Same goes for the most brilliant of all tyrannids, the Vermillion Flycatcher.

Vermillion Flycatcher, near Cali

Cinnamon Flycatchers, as cute as they look, are “trash birds” of the cloud forest.  Even the birders that scream “eagle!” at every passing Black Vulture quickly learn to ignore this ubiquitous tyrant.

Cinnamon Flycatcher, Montezuma

Unfortunately my photo of one of the cutest flycatchers of all, the Rufous-crowned Tody-Flycatcher came out blurry…

Rufous-crowned Tody-Flycatcher, Rio Blanco Reserve

…so take this Black-headed Tody-Flycatcher instead.

Black-headed Tody-Flycatcher, Antioquia

Let's take an interlude here for a quick, old-fashioned, near-death-experience story:

About halfway into the trip I learned about one of the risks that comes with birding in the tropics.  At night at the Montezuma Lodge in Tatama National Park, thousands of moths and other nocturnal insects would swarm at the lights over our dinner table.  A kaleidoscope of unimaginably ornate, delicate things crashing into the walls, lighting on shirt sleeves.  As I stooped to examine some sort of behemoth rhinoceros beetle that had just bounced off the ceiling when I felt a sharp pain in my neck.  Ouch!

I reflexively reached for the pain and felt nothing but a rapidly forming welt.  As my companions sitting around the table recounted the day’s dozen hummingbirds, I felt my head grow hot as if swelling.  My lips began to inflate and face grew tight.  My body itched everywhere.  Was I being bitten by bugs?  No.  I was going into anaphylactic shock!

Our team doctor, Mr. Mark K. (not an actual doctor) administered antihistamine, which may or may not have saved my life.  I spent the next couple hours wheezing, trying to will my throat not to seal itself shut.  The closest hospital was at least 6 hours away on rough roads, so a medical evacuation was never even worth considering.

This condition presented a novel conundrum for me: I figured I should try to come up with some profound and choice last words, but at the same time I didn't want to waste any breath on speech.   

Anyway, since you’re reading this, I obviously made it through.  In fact I was out birding the first thing the next morning.  But sometimes there’s a balance between chasing lifers and staying alive.

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So where were we?  Right, we covered a couple of the perch-and-sally-types, the Cotingas and Flycatchers.  Let’s talk about the ducks for a hot second and call it a day!

Ducks in the tropics?  Indeed.

During our morning at the Sonso wetland down in the Cauca valley between the central and western cordilleras, we spotted Fulvous and Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks, Cinnamon and early migrating Blue-winged Teal; and in Los Nevados we spotted four Andean Teal and an Andean Ruddy Duck.  

But the best duck of the trip (if not of all time!) came at a random roadside stop on the way to Otun.

Torrent Duck family, Risaralda

I had seen Torrent Ducks before, but never a whole family all together battling the rapids!

Enjoy the video.  

In the next post we will explore the joy of tropical bird feeding (expect colorful Tanagers and Hummingbirds!).

Stay tuned and stay safe!