Birding Lake Llaviucu, Ecuador

Lake Llaviucu lies at the lowest edge of Cajas National Park––at a mere 10,000 feet!––and is ringed by a lovely, well-maintained trail, perfect for easy hiking. The trail traverses marshy grassland, mature montane cloud forest, and some secondary forest––and is the abode of spectacular mountain tanagers. Tapaculos and spinetails scold from the thickets. You can easily spend a leisurely morning exploring, although many hikers take only an hour or so to make the loop.

When we enter the park, the guard gives us a beautifully-illustrated handout of Cajas's most common birds. If only all the parks offered this! Most of the species we see are included, and it makes sorting through Ecuador's 1600+ species of birds considerably easier for do-it-yourselfers, who enjoy figuring out their own birds. The illustrations by Eduardo Jaime Arias really do give a good grasp of the various expected species. Cajas ranks as an Important Bird Area of international status.

The upper, marshy region of Lake Llaviucu in Cajas National Park 

(Photos by Narca)

A short distance from the upper parking area, the road leads to the lake itself: a gem of blue, serene, filling the valley. The ruins of an old brewery are along the near shore, and here the road intersects the trail that loops around the lake.

Red Angel Trumpet (Brugmansia sanguinea)

Stunning Red Angel Trumpet flowers proclaim the possibility of seeing a Sword-billed Hummingbird, a bird whose bill is longer than all the rest of its body!

We don't––this time––but do see Rainbow Starfrontlets, Tyrian Metaltails, Mountain Velvetbreasts, and lots of Sparkling Violet-ears. Hummingbirds of every size, color, and bill shape are one of Ecuador's premier glories.

Female Rainbow Starfrontlet

A little female Tyrian Metaltail (sorry not to be showing you the two males!)

We linger on the raised boardwalk, watching the hummers and flowerpiercers as they work the blooms around us, and listening to invisible Ecuadorian Rails at the lake's margin. Yellow-billed Pintails, Andean Teal, and Andean (Ruddy) Ducks join the Andean Coots in the open water. An Andean Gull nests at the lake's edge. These names seem to have a theme....

Deeper in the forest, we encounter a very fun foraging flock, featuring Turquoise Jays, Streaked Tuftedcheeks (rummaging in the bromeliads), Spectacled Whitestarts, Russet-crowned Warblers, Rufous-chested Tanagers, and––here's a name for you!––Superciliaried Hemispingus. (If, like us, you're wondering just what is a half-a-spingus, apparently the word comes from the Greek spingos, meaning finch. An eye-browed half-finch, perhaps?)

Turquoise Jays are a rich and unearthly shade of blue.

Rufous-collared Sparrow, a quintessential Andean bird, is common. This sparrow is closely related to our White- and Golden-crowned Sparrows. Some years ago, a study showed that Rufous-collared Sparrows retain the ability to respond to changing periods of daylight, like their migratory northern kin, even though much of their range lies within the tropics, where they aren't much exposed to that cue, and don't stage big migrations. Their genus evolved in the temperate north.

A handsome, confiding Rufous-collared Sparrow

The Great Thrush is another relative of a familiar species, our American Robin. It is likewise common, and indeed it is very great, being half again as big as our robins.

Female Great Thrush; the male sports a jaunty yellow eye-ring

In addition to birds, Brazilian Cottontails live along the lake margins. This rabbit has an enormous range, extending from eastern Mexico into northern Argentina, and through most of Brazil.

Brazilian Cottontail

After thoroughly savoring the alpine surrounds, we head farther south in the afternoon. This trip will eventually take us to the very border of Peru––to Podocarpus National Park, to the remote Cordillera del Condor, and to three of the fabled Jocotoco Reserves. I hope you enjoy the ride!

Finding Lake Llaviucu:
Beginning at the major roundabout in Cuenca where Avenida de las Americas meets the Gran Colombia (= Avenida Ordoñes Lazo beyond the traffic circle, to the west), go west out of Cuenca toward Cajas National Park and Guayaquil. After almost 13 km, you'll see an obscure (but signed) road on the left, plunging downhill from the highway. That's it! The road is narrow and cobbled, traversing two covered bridges over a stream, and passing dairy farms, before reaching the border of the national park after about a mile (1.6 km). Entry to Ecuador's national parks is now free, although you'll need to register at the gate, and hours of entry at the lake are limited from about 8 AM to 4 PM.

For reaching the higher elevations of Cajas National Park, just stay on the main highway to Guayaquil. This road is open 24 hours a day.

Ecuador, again!

It's hard to stay away from a country as intriguing and diverse as Ecuador––and the birding is fabulous! Since I was last there, Quito has built a fine new international airport, quite a distance from the city. (The old airport was basically in town.)

Here's a logistical tip for you: while a good new highway system leads to the new airport, nearby accommodations are scarce. We found one place which was perfectly located for our purposes: the Hostería (or Rancho) San Carlos Tababela. Rooms were basic but comfortable; cost was reasonable; breakfast was included; and it's only about 10 or 15 minutes from the new airport, and just off the highway system. The Hostería makes a good launching pad for exploring, whether you're headed north or south.

I highly recommend traveling with the Map app that comes on an iPad! It makes navigation easy, even along the most labyrinthine city routes.

This time we head south! A very long day of challenging driving lands us in old Cuenca at nightfall. Cuenca's ancient center is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was originally a Cañari city, conquered by the Incas, who followed their habit of replacing the architecture of the vanquished people, but respecting and absorbing their culture. The Cañaris' achievements in agriculture and astronomy were especially impressive. The new Incan city came to rival in grandeur that of their capital, Cuzco. After the Spanish conquered the Incas, the inhabitants of early "Cuenca" destroyed their city so that it wouldn't fall into Spanish hands, and for years the Spanish searched in vain for the legendary El Dorado, probably this very city––the predecessor of today's Cuenca.

A summer's day in Cajas National Park (Photos by Narca)

A major draw for us is nearby Cajas National Park––a rugged mountain park, sculpted by glaciers into spectacular peaks and valleys. It's often misty, as air from the Pacific Ocean hits the Andes and rises, cools, and spills clouds over the ridges. These clouds feed more than 200 lakes in the park, and give rise to major rivers, three of which flow to the Amazon, while one flows west to the Pacific Ocean. Indeed, Cajas is a RAMSAR wetland of international importance.

A plant of the páramo

The lower elevations of the park are wreathed in cloud forest and perennial montane forest. Rising to treeline, you'll find groves of beautiful, shaggy-barked Polylepis trees (my favorite tree of the high Andes!). The highest habitat is páramo, the southern equivalent of our tundra. Cajas boasts 19 species of endemic plants––plants found nowhere else in the world. Wildlife in the park is also wonderfully diverse, with regional endemics like the Violet-throated Metaltail (a hummingbird) and the Cajas Water Mouse.

An ancient Polylepis grove is a twisting webwork of gnarly trunks. 

Below, a single tree.

We spend a day at the highest elevations (up to 14,000 feet) and a second morning roaming the margins of Lake Llaviucu at the lowest edge of the park––and love it so much that we return to Cajas for two more days at the end of the trip!

Now, at the height of summer, flowers brighten the land; many of them draw hummingbirds.

A couple of Cajas's many flowers!

Among the hummingbirds that specialize in Ecuador's high-elevation habitats is the Blue-mantled Thornbill, a hummer that often flops about on the ground, nectaring at prostrate flowers. It appears very dark, only showing its glittering throat patch and glossy blue back when one's viewpoint is exactly right.

Blue-mantled Thornbills appear very dark from most angles. 

(This one was photographed farther north, at Papallacta Pass.)

Other high-elevation specialists are the Bar-winged Cinclodes and Tawny Antpitta. Unlike most antpittas, which tend to be very shy, the Tawny forages openly and calls frequently, making it one of the easiest to see! Both species (like every other bird pictured here!) belong to bird families that only occur in the New World.

An adult Bar-winged Cinclodes (above) is working hard today to feed its hungry fledgling (below).

A Tawny Antpitta, standing tall

Lovely Tit-like Dacnis feed at the lake's margin, a male above and a female below.

Among my favorites are the high-elevation flycatchers.

The subtle plumage of a Brown-backed Chat-Tyrant echoes the colors of Cajas.

It has been too long since the last time I saw a Red-rumped Bush-Tyrant!

And what would the Andes be, without its camel?

Tomorrow, the lower elevation cloud forest of Cajas National Park!

Winter's Subtleties

Imagine: you're immersed in the early-winter splendor of the Chiricahua Mountains.

 Dawn light on the Chiricahua Mountains (Photos by Narca)

The air is brisk and glorious, and, hiking up South Fork, you settle into the depths and subtleties of the season...

into the drifts of sycamore leaves...

Light gleams from the seedheads of Cane Beardstem...

and native thistles...

and Deer Grass.

Streamside willows still hold a few leaves,

and the sycamore's bark takes on a subtle hue of green from chloroplasts.

The riot of nesting and migrating birds has passed, and now you find winter's companions:

Acorn Woodpeckers are busy among the pines and oaks,

Gambel's Quail enliven the mountains' feet,

and Spotted Towhees scratch in the underbrush.

In fact, Spotted Towhees are having a banner winter in the Chiricahuas. Regrowth from the big fire of 2011 must have reached a stage that offers towhees plenty of nesting cover, for we've never before seen them this numerous in winter.

Adult male Scott's Oriole

And... what is a Scott's Oriole doing, still coming daily to our hummingbird feeders?? He lasted through the November snowstorm and shows every sign of being a snowbird in reverse. There's nothing subtle about this bird's summer yellows!

Okay, who has guessed? New camera!

For Condor Enthusiasts!

What finer sight is there than a giant California Condor, soaring in thermals in a sky of peerless blue, above the painted rocks of canyon country, and the immense chasm of the Grand Canyon?

Gravitas: California Condor 

(Pen and ink by Narca)

We –– the Nature and Raptor Center of Pueblo, together with Naturalist Journeys –– plan to explore Arizona's condor country in early September, and we have a couple of spots left on the tour. I'll be co-leading this trip with the Center's John Gallagher. Would you like to join us?

Condors are today a relict species, their range shrunk from their glory days in the Pleistocene, when megafauna like Giant Ground Sloths provided abundant carrion for the condors' repast. Today they hang on to a precarious existence –– lead poisoning remains a serious threat –– while a dedicated crew of field biologists continues to work to assure their survival.

From a population low of 22 individuals in 1982, captive breeding-and-release efforts have built their numbers up to over 300 birds, with about half of those flying free in the wild today, in California, Arizona, Utah, and Baja California.

In December 1996,  six young captive-bred California Condors were released at the Vermilion Cliffs in Arizona, near the Grand Canyon. More annual releases have augmented that first group of six, and the condors are now nesting successfully on their own in caves in the Grand Canyon and the Vermilion Cliffs. Today more than 70 condors soar over the rimrock.

Rim of the Grand Canyon (Photo by Peg Abbott)

It's always a treat for me to return to Condor Country –– a treat that goes beyond the magnificent scenery and wildlife encounters. Two of the newer national monuments which protect this habitat for condors and all their relations were signed into law by Clinton in 2000, and my sister Kelly Burke, working with biologist Larry Stevens, figured out the boundaries for those two national monuments –– Vermilion Cliffs and Grand Canyon-Parashant –– based on factors like watersheds and animal migrations. Kelly and Larry did this work through Grand Canyon Wildlands Council.

A new effort is now underway to connect the Vermilion Cliffs to Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument via the Kaibab-Paunsagunt Wildlife Corridor, with the goal of forming one large national monument that will encompass these smaller monuments. It will be called Grand Canyon Watershed National Monument. If you would like to support this effort to link existing monuments, you can sign this petition.

Condors will be our primary focus on the September trip, but as always, we'll investigate whatever crosses our path. If you'd like more information, you can find it here and here.

Bicknell's Thrush in New Hampshire

The lure of finding a Bicknell's Thrush –– a rare summer denizen of high elevations in New England and southeasternmost Canada –– pulled me away from the heat of southern Arizona last month. (The cool mists of northern New Hampshire might have had something to do with it, too!)

Alan and I set out on an eventful drive through Tornado Alley, which results in our seeking refuge in a truck stop's reinforced shower area with perhaps 100 other refugees from the raging tornados. Truckers study the tornado apps on their cell phones while the winds howl.

Resuming our drive, we eventually land in Philadelphia at Bartram's Gardens, where I bequeath my painting of Bartram's Painted Vulture to the museum's permanent collection. Our friend Jim Shiflett joins us here, and curator Joel Fry gives the three of us a wonderfully fun tour of the famous botanical garden. (You can read more about William Bartram and see the painting in my post from March 20, 2013.)

But enough city! In my mind I can hear the haunting flute-song of a Bicknell's Thrush, shimmering over the krummholz. Krummholz is the stunted, bent forest often found at timberline, where exposure to fierce winds prunes the trees. These Black Spruce and Balsam Firs of New Hampshire's northwoods survive at timberline where they have sheltering rocks and enough snow cover. They form a dense tangle of twisted, short trees at timberline, which –– along with the taller bordering forest that grows slightly lower on the mountain –– is just this thrush's cup of tea... Labrador tea!

Krummholz on Mt Washington, New Hampshire (Photos by Narca)

Perhaps the harsh conditions contribute to the thrush's unusual breeding system: a single female will mate with as many as four males, all of whom help to feed the nestlings. It may take that many adults to optimize the chances of raising a clutch of chicks in this challenging environment!

Hmmm

Mt Washington wreathed in cloud

We have chosen Mt Washington in New Hampshire, with its private, good road to the top, as our destination for searching for the thrush. Rain threatens, and the mountain is crowned in cloud, as we make our way to timberline. A pullout allows for parking, and we walk back down through the krummholz and into the taller forest next to it. Very soon we hear the thrush's melody, and Jim spots our singer at the tip of a nearby spruce. Jubilation!

Bicknell's Thrush is a cryptic species, originally lumped with the more widespread Gray-cheeked Thrush. Studies show them to be a species in their own right. It is not only rare but secretive, and we are very lucky to have such a fine look, even though the early light doesn't allow for good photos. Here's the best I can do: guess you'll have to trust me with this one.

Yes, it really IS a Bicknell's Thrush!

Mt Washington is home to a host of other northern birds, like Yellow-bellied Flycatchers, Boreal Chickadees, and Blackpoll Warblers, and we thoroughly enjoy our morning. Even a Black Bear is romping through the ferns –– a mammal I didn't expect to see in New England!

A chewed-on Black Bear on Mt Washington, New Hampshire

TrekWest and the Western Wildway

John Davis is undertaking an epic journey––by foot, horseback, bicycle, boat––to dramatize the need for wildways, for safe wildlife corridors that connect habitats and wildlands to each other. This particular Western Wildway is a 6000-mile-long corridor stretching from the Northern Jaguar Preserve in Sonora, Mexico, into Canada. The wildway's route is based on more than a decade of scientific research and conservation mapping.

John Davis (Photo from his blog)

Not only will completion of the wildlife corridor allow large animals, requiring large home ranges, to roam where they need to go (and thus survive!), but the corridor may also buffer against the effects of global warming by conserving a north-south span of continuous natural landscapes, where changes in the plant and animal communities can proceed, by contracting or expanding with the changing climate.

The work of restoring connections between habitats is being undertaken by a coalition of highly respected conservation organizations, under the auspices of the Wildlands Network and including, in our own Arizona, the Sky Island Alliance and Grand Canyon Wildlands Council. Partners in Mexico include the Northern Jaguar Project, Naturalia, and Cuenca los Ojos (known to birders as the legendary Cajón Bonito).

I urge you to check out the TrekWest website, and to follow the excitement of the journey through John's blog of the epic trip. A film by Ed George is documenting and celebrating the journey, and will one day be launched for all to see.

Grand Canyon Wildland Council is also featuring TrekWest and other conservation news in their blog.

The vision of connecting wildways through North America (and elsewhere, like Australia) is perhaps the most exciting conservation initiative to emerge in recent decades.

A Western Screech Owl

Last night Alan and I ventured into Cave Creek Canyon above Portal, as wind swayed the sycamore branches, and a thickening crescent moon shone over the scene. We joined friends Dave Jasper and Rick Plage to see the location of a likely owl nest that Dodie Logue and Bob Hautman had found a couple of days ago.

Night deepened. We listened, hearing mostly the rustling of the leaves. When darkness was complete, a Western Screech Owl began to call, but it wasn't the usual territorial whistling or trilling. Dave thought it was perhaps a male's pillow talk. I wondered whether it was the female announcing to the male that she was ready for her evening meal. "Her" intensity while vocalizing in the cavity entrance made it clear that she was including the magic word: "Now!"

A Western Screech Owl calls in Cave Creek Canyon

(Photo by Narca)

Cave Creek Canyon is renowned for its small owls, which also include Whiskered Screech, Northern Pygmy, and Elf. Occasionally a Flammulated will also breed at lower elevations in the Chiricahua Mountains, though usually they are higher in the mountains.