I felt the structure moving beneath my feet, it was slight, but enough to remind of my precarious position perched 30 above one of the largest and most important wetlands in Central America. The observation tower looked as though it was made with recycled rebar, with most of it’s continuing stability being provided by a strangler fig tree that had grown up through it’s twisted bars. It was a questionable structure to say the least, half metal, half tree, Mother Nature had extended its life far beyond that provided by the original building materials. I had climbed up the ladder that was zip-tied securely (?) to the rest of the assembly. My tripod and scope in one hand, I carefully used the other to guide my ascent to the viewing platform where I can could scan the vast expanse of wetland for my objective. It’s the grip of the dry season, when life is locked in a desperate battle to stay hydrated or perish. The lush and bountiful wetland of Palo Verde, flooded by the swollen Tempisque river during the rainy season, was now reduced to a few shrinking ponds that concentrated the remaining marsh inhabitants. It was here that I would have the best chance to see the bird I had set out for on this impromptu trip with my good friends Jeimy and Carlos. I set-up my spotting scope just as they joined me on the platform, being careful not to step on the rotten pieces of wood that would give way to a long fall back to earth. I began to scan…The heat waves radiating up from the parched, savannah like earth distorted my view so that the flocks of birds appeared to rise up in a shimmering mass of wings, feet and feathers. Despite the difficulty, I began to identify the species; black bellied whistling ducks, muscovy ducks, blue-winged teal…great and snowy egrets, white ibis and northern jacana…Such hardened intention while birding turns the mind into a machine, identifying birds in the same manner as a scanner scans a price code…Glossy Ibis! I life bird for me and I took a quick moment to savor this obstructed and precarious view. Next, I scanned through the standing crowds of wood storks…. At over a meter tall they were impressive birds in their own right, but I was after something much larger, a sentinel of these marches that would tower above even the most endowed of wood storks. Scanning again; over the teals, past the crocodiles, and through the spoonbills, and then…for just a second, a figure materialized just long enough to be shattered by the effects of the heat shimmer. Was that it? I couldn’t be sure, and by no means would such a sighting suffice, maybe for a glossy Ibis, but not for this bird. We had to get closer...
Descending the tower was more nerve racking then climbing up it, but we made it down and drove the dirt road a bit further to where a small cow path led out onto the dried grassland and to the crowded ponds. We walked through a small patch of dessicated forest, our last shelter from the relentless sun. My attention was drawn upwards as a tiny ferruginous pygmy owl whistled out a greeting. I thought to myself… If I was looking for a marsh sentinel, this must be the gatekeeper.
We slowly crept out onto the arid grassland to a section where we would have an unobstructed view of the birds. The parched grass crackled under my feet as I set-up the scope and began the search. We had halved our previous distance, and now, through the scope, I could make out the finer details of this amazing gathering. It was a chaotic mixture of swamp creatures, dominated by the many bird species. The huge number of large crocodiles seemed out of place so close to their usual prey, who seemed relatively unruffled by their presence. Birds were packed together into avian gangs; the spoonbills fed in one corner, their heavy spatula bills slicing side to side through the water. Huge flocks of ducks were settled on exposed mudflats, and would sometimes explode into the air in a massive display of coordinated flight. Black-necked stilts and pectoral sandpipers wove in between the legs of the larger birds, poking their bills deep into the mud to harvest the last remnants of suitable prey found for miles. I was packing life-birds into the back of my mind, taking them from the “too see” folder and filing into the “have seen” folder, saving them for a later date when I could write their name into my book while enjoying a cold beer. Afterall, it was hot, the wind blew through the grass and directly into your face like a fiery hair dryer. I was on a mission; Palo Verde is the last stronghold for this species in Costa Rica, this was their marsh and I wasn’t going home empty handed...
My sunburnt hand continued to guide my scope through the standing hordes of wood storks who looked less then enthusiastic with their current accommodations. Then, standing knee deep amongst a flotilla of large crocodiles, was the bird I had come for...the Jabiru. Two of them actually! Attentively keeping watch over the heads of the other marsh goers. Their presence was every bit as impressive as I had hoped for; a massive stork, at over five feet tall it is the tallest flying bird in the Americas, with a sinister grin that make their true intentions somewhat of a mystery. If this bird tried to deliver a baby to my front step, I wouldn’t even answer the door. Then, as suddenly as we had spotted them, the pair took off, revealing a powerful and graceful wingbeat. For a birder this was a special moment; this was the largest bird I had ever seen take flight, a window into the past when even more massive birds dominated the skies. The hot breeze lifted their heavy bodies skyward and they circled directly overhead until they disappeared into the suns scorching rays. I took a look around at the flat, dry flood plains that extended for miles and miles in each direction and it suddenly dawned on me; there were no people…we were the sole visitors of the park. I was in the middle of one of the most important wetlands in the world, with two of my favorite people, thousands of birds and of course, my prize, the Jabiru.
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| The Jabiru Stork |
Cheers!
-Nick (292)
-Nick (292)
