April 22, 2020

SHARING EXPERIENCES

By Paul Greenfield

Sharing has always been a major part of birding for me, ever since my first “field trip” with my brother when I was just six years old. Our father, who was not a birder, thought it might be interesting to buy us our first Peterson bird guide and a pair of inexpensive binoculars, which we handed off to each other as the occasion warranted. We didn’t need anything more! Little did we realize at the time, but that initial bonding experience—that coming together between me, my brother, my father (as “chauffeur” and trusty enabler), birds, and nature—would become one of the most important pillars in our lives. Throughout our childhood, as my big brother and I grew up, we would sit together to mull over any reading material about birds that we could get our hands on—magazines, bird books, articles, scientific papers—and fantasize about the amazing and exotic species we might see one day. Sharing a Christmas Count experience together with my brother and Roger Tory Peterson when I was sixteen just cemented even more what would later be (what I guess I can refer to now as) “my calling.” To this day (many, many decades later), Steve and I continue sharing this deep connection. Seeking out and observing birds in the field, anywhere, and under just about any circumstance, became the absolute and complete expression of the enjoyment that was built into that bond.

This joy derived from sharing has accompanied me all my life, and thanks in a big way to VENT; by offering me the opportunity to follow my dream, I have been able to continue to share birds and the birding experience with so many wonderful people. It’s hard to think of any other pastime or hobby, aside from birdwatching, where one can participate in events so significant and even life-changing, and where it’s possible to actually experience the thrill of encountering an extremely rare or even previously un-described “creature” while partaking in a “simple” hobby…a simple walk in the woods.

Now, in such uncertain times, as most of the world finds itself immersed in some sort of quarantine, and not being an exception, I seem to be doing more daydreaming than usual, thinking back on over 64 years of times gone-by, on so many great birds, so many unforgettable experiences, and so many trips to the field that I’ve shared with so many. One episode that jumps out at me now came about in November of 2012 while on a VENT Ecuador: Northwestern Andean Slopes Tour (who would have guessed?). Our itinerary was set, as always, but on our first afternoon something came up that would change everything.

Stepping back a bit, a short time prior to the beginning of the tour, I had heard about the recent sighting of an incredibly rare and furtive species that was being monitored by a young German woman whom I had met some years earlier. Our trusty ground agent/driver, Juan Veintimilla, made contact with Nicole to find out if we might have even a slim chance to actually see this almost mythical bird during our tour. He was told, “There’s a pretty good chance,” and we were advised to keep in touch to see if the conditions remained stable. During our pre-trip, we kept in continuous contact with her and even mentioned to the group that we might make a slight change in our planned itinerary (the proverbial Plan B, if you will) during the main tour, but only if we got the heads-up from our contact (of course not mentioning what the subject responsible for this change could be)…very sleuthy indeed! So as we wound up our first day of birding, Juan turned to me and whispered, “It’s got to be tomorrow, early—the ants are moving,” and even before we disembarked from the van, I informed the group of the news, to see if they would be up for the adventure. I made it crystal-clear that the whole proposed adventure was basically “a crazy whim”; it was the chance we would all have to take. They were all in…what a great group!

We packed a box breakfast and lunch and were on the road by 4:30 the next morning, following text-message instructions on how to find the site: “Remember, you have to park about 200 meters before the entrance gate; the road gets real slippery after that” were among the instructions we received. Well, after one wrong turn and a bit of reviewing the message, trying to see if what we were seeing along the road, in the dark, matched in any way what we were reading, to our collective surprise…we actually made it. As we broke into our breakfast and began to get ourselves together to advance on foot, an Ochre-breasted Tanager sang above us (sounding like several different species at the same time); this must be a good omen, I thought.

Banded Ground-Cuckoo © Francisco Sornoza

As we advanced, we were met by a young man, Wilo, who told us that we would need to walk to a certain nearby point in the forest and wait; reluctantly he said, “Nicole hasn’t relocated the ants.” This was a distinct code for, “hmmm, we might be in trouble.” We arrived at the specified “point,” and everybody quickly got to chatting and storytelling—I couldn’t see or hear a bird! Out of nowhere, Nicole appeared from inside the dense forest with a pleasant but nervous smile—she confirmed what Wilo had said, seeming to be looking for an expression of approval on my face. She would return to the depths of the entangled cloud forest to continue to search for the ants. I smiled and told her that we were fine and just waiting for her to do her magic, and she disappeared. Some 40 minutes passed, maybe more, and Nicole returned. By then a distinct drizzle had begun, and she looked even more nervous. We all (well, not all of us) knew that rain was not a good thing right now. The good news was that she had found the bivouac (the army ants), and they had begun to move a little…at least something. Nicole suggested that we all get out of the rain and hang out at their little volunteer’s station, a pleasant, well-built wooden house set up to receive intrepid guests. We walked in the rain to the station, and the chatting and storytelling continued, accompanied by some welcome coffee and tea. Thick fog moved in; we could hear a flock of Bronze-winged Parrots right above us and eventually saw some silhouettes. We could eventually sort of make out a field mark or two. A few other birds came by, and as we were sort of forgetting why we were there in the first place, Wilo signaled to me…the ants were on the move…our mystery bird had been spotted!

We quickly headed back in single file, moving slowing as we helped each other carefully descend a few embankments, assuring that nobody would slip and fall. We were led off the main trail and through a relatively untangled understory to where we could make out the hazy form of Nicole facing away from us, but speaking in a sweet, soft voice. I could sort of hear her say, “Venga, venga” (“come, come”), and suddenly she looked back at us. There, just a few feet in front of her, was a magnificent Banded Ground-Cuckoo! She handed it a juicy green katydid that she pulled from a small hand-fashioned cage strapped to her belt. The ground-cuckoo gulped down its snack and peered about. I had been waiting forty years to see this species. I could not believe my eyes. We quietly observed this unworldly show for some forty minutes or so. Just to put this in some context, prior to about 1998 this spectacular species had not been seen by any ornithologist or birder—it had just about entered into the Hall-of-Ecuadorian-Mythology when it began to show itself at a scattered selection of remote sites in Ecuador’s Chocó Endemic Bioregion. Sharing this moment was priceless.

Paul’s bio and upcoming tour schedule