Birdchick

And now back to the continuing saga to see a horned guan. If you missed Part 1, it’s here.

I need to start this by dedicating this post to Gustavo Cañas-Valle of Neblina Tours in Ecuador (that’s him above on the right with one of our local guides, Hugo Enriquez on the left). I had actually met some of the guides from Neblina at the Space Coast Bird Festival, they had a booth there. I have an interest in going to Ecuador, but based solely on the kindness (and humor and bird knowledge) of their guide, Gustavo, should I ever make it to Ecuador, I will use Neblina, you’ll learn why a few paragraphs in.

Our local guides up Volcan San Pedro were fabulous. We were escorted by Hugo Enriquez (in the above photo with Gustavo) and Irene Rodriguez of Operador Latino. Irene made sure we were as comfortable as we could be as well as knows her birds. Hugo knows his birds, but I gotta say that if I were a single lady, he’s not a bad companion to have in the woods. He has an easy-going manner, a warm voice with a Spanish accent, and beautiful eyes. When asked about where we’re going to bird for the day, he’ll say things like, “Well, it is up to you, we can do what you want.”

Just sayin’, ladies. But I digress from the horned guan!

We started our trek on Volcan San Pedro looking for the horned guan with a few stops to look for local bird specialties, but then we didn’t stop for birds anymore and the trails became much steeper. It was switchback after switchback. It was dry and the volcanic dust made for powdery walking conditions. I toiled up the trail and began to question my sanity. As my pace slowed, the sound of our group ahead became more and more faint, I realized I was loosing ground. There was another person in our group who seemed to struggle with the climb along with me. I was grateful for the company and to not to be the pokiest of the little puppies.

Local farmers loaded with burdens of fire wood, corn or coffee moved swiftly passed us on the trail. Many looked to be twice my age which made me feel worse. I bike ride, I lead nature hikes (not just bird walks), I haul bee equipment and this trail was turning my legs to jelly. It was relentless in its incline. I was desperate for a flat surface.

After much sweat and panting we caught up to the group at another resting spot. I hoped that we were half way up and was saddened to learn that we were only a third of the way, with another three hours to go. It was at this moment that Gustavo from Neblina Tours told me the sweetest lie, “I’m having trouble staying balanced on this steep trail. Would it be alright with you if I took your scope and used it as a way to balance myself on the trail?”

I knew it was lie. He carried more on this trip than I did: he had two massive field guides (yeah, he carried Howell and Webb (a bird guide so thick, it makes the Sibley guide look like a pamphlet) and the National Geographic out in the field besides his binoculars, lunch, water, recording equipment, etc). I knew it was a lie and I was too sweaty and tired to care. I gratefully accepted his offer and continued my slow lumbering walk up the trail.

We eventually made it to a halfway point. I sat on the floor of the observation deck and used the wooden railing to prop my head up and looked out at the beautiful view. It was at this point when I realized how much I hated birds. I likened myself to a drug addict who puts themselves through terrible tortures, for what? For the high of seeing one rare bird. I was not forced to do this, I signed up–willingly. What’s worse is that I could have stopped at any time. I could have just stopped walking on the trail and said, “No more, I’ll wait here in the shade, watch some foliage-gleaners and pepper-shrikes and wait for you on your glory walk down the trail after seeing the guan.” One of our group already had given up the trail due to a bad knee. It was the honorable and safe thing to do.

But I willingly continued. Quitting this steep upward battle was never an option to me. I looked at Jen and said, “I need psychological help. This is like hitting yourself with a hammer because it feels so good when you finally stop.”

We both laughed and Mike Bergin warned that we should probably save our oxygen.

There were three of us lagging behind now, Jen and I practically held on to each other to stay upright. Ana Christina from INGUAT sensed our waning resolve and anytime Jen and I paused she would call in her sweet Spanish accent, “Jen, Sharon, come on, the horned guan is right up here.”

We fell for it once and scrambled up, but realized she was really a cloud forest sprite beckoning us forward. It worked. At every switchback we would pause to try and get some order to our respiratory system, Ana Christina would be another switchback ahead of us calling, “C’mon Jen. C’mon Sharon, horned guan is waiting for you.”

Our group did flush an owl on our way up. I never got a headshot of it, but the back looked like a barred owl. It’s the Guatemalan version called a fulvus owl.

We finally reached the horned guan appropriate elevation. I sat in the dust. Gustavo smiled and pointed out how dirty my face was. I really hated birds and really hated cameras. Part of our group rested, while the rest did an initial search. No guan. We needed to go higher.

WTF?? Higher? Noooooooooooooooo!

Up we went. It dawned on me that we could go all this way and not see the horned guan. Or only see a tiny bit of it. I really, really hated birds now. I couldn’t imagine doing this climb more than once. We actually passed other hikers, oblivious to the guan. They took the trail simply for the view. You know, there are a lot of views out there. I don’t know if I need to go through all of this muscular torture for this particular view.

We paused once more. Hope was fading in the group. Mike of 10,000 Birds (above) still held out some sweaty hope, but the rest of worried that we’d been talking too much or paying more attention to our body and foot aches and completely missed the turkey sized tree chicken that was our quarry.

Then an anxious whisper came from above the switchback in front of us—Mel de Piñeda a participant in our group found the guan (Mel’s an awesome dude, he takes blind people birding in Texas). All of us suddenly forgot body fatigue and dashed up the switchback—where had this new found energy come from? The light broke through the trees and shown down upon us, as we watched the horned guan in all its glory.

Wait, I can make out the body, and the foot! That’s totally a horned guan foot, it’s countable.

Finally, a little head poked out. I see the horn, the little red horn where the guan gets its name! Whoot! And check out at crazy yellow eye. I can’t believe I saw the face and got to digiscope the face. This was a great look, worth the climb. It was a challenge to jockey for position for a photo of the guan on the narrow path with my tripod. But thanks to Gustavo, we got the guan in scope view several times.

Even our police escort was impressed. Did I mention we had a police escort? And that they came with us everywhere in Guatemala? And that they even climbed the volcano as if it were nothing? It was sad the many times I would be doubled over panting, waving the officer on, but he would stay by me so as not to get too separated from the group.

Eventually one of the flock came out into the open and Gustavo set up my scope to get this shot. I would not have gotten it without his help, I would still be struggling up the side of the volcano had he not offered to take my scope. This was more than could be hoped for! The future of the horned guan is uncertain. There is so much we don’t know, but we think we know some things like there are less than 2500 in the wild, their populations are severely fragmented and they face several challenges: farmers using their habitat for firewood or subsistence farming or using the guan themselves as a source of food. You can read more about it at BirdLife International.

At first we thought there were two guan, but eventually, more and more came about. They even started vocalizing, making strange clucks, bill clacks and even a few flatulent sounding tones. Chris Benesh has a great guan photo and recordings of the vocalizations here.

Below is a video I got of the horned guan. You can see the bills moving, but my little point and shoot could not pick up the sounds. I think the horned guan move like dinosaurs, or at least what I imagine dinosaurs probably moved like way back a few million years ago.

So, how did we react?

Well, my little head exploded with birder wonder and awe. It was worth the climb and I got better looks at this rare tree chicken than I ever expected.

And after all of that, we had to go back down! Certainly it would not take the four hours that it took to get up to the guan, but it would still take time. My legs are only used to flat surfaced and had been trudging uphill for four hours non stop. And now I had to go down, something I still wasn’t used to. Every muscle in my legs vibrated at any moment I stopped. I kept going, but the decline and volcanic ash still caused me to slide and fall. Every time I did fall, a large cloud of dust preceded me, causing Hugo to cross his arms and shout, “Safe!” as if I were a baseball player sliding into home. Thanks, Hugo. After watching me do this twice, Gustavo refused to give my scope back. He was skeptical that the Swarovski would be able to survive me.

Some way, some how we made it back down the trail to our meeting point with the vehicle, our water bottles depleted and lunches eaten. Ana Christina and Irene took us to a local watering hole for some refreshments.

In our dehydrated state, we should of have water, but what better way to celebrate a rare tree chicken like the horned guan than with a chicken themed beer. Giddiness soon set in with most of us, especially for me–I NEVER HAVE TO DO THAT CLIMB EVER AGAIN. It occurred to me that a horned guan is a bird that I will only see once in a lifetime and I had a pang of pity for guys like Rick who would have to lead a tour here again and take people up that volcano. Ah well, that’s one of the many reasons I’m not a pro bird guide, and I’m okay with that.

Our groups’ giddiness was soon detectable to the locals and many swarmed our table with scarves, skirts, sunglasses holders, headbands, you name it to try and sell us.

I think almost all of us ended up getting some souveniers. When it was time for us to catch our boat back to the hotel, I stood up and a Mayan woman wrapped a skirt around me and tied it on telling me how pretty it was and it was great because it had pockets. It was beautiful, but I laughed at what a dusty mess I must have looked like with this gorgeous light blue skirt askew on my waiste. I had spent enough money that day and had to decline a skirt.

I felt dirty and battle weary on the ride back. I turned to look at Vulcan San Pedro and the sun shone down on it, almost as if illuminating where we had seen the mysterious horned guan. I couldn’t believe we actually went up and had great looks at the bird.

It took a very long shower and lots of scrubbing to remove the dirt. After I finished showering, I took my Swarovski binoculars and scope and ran them under the shower. When you’ve got great waterproof optics, you can safely run them under the shower to get the dust out. Jen had Leica’s and her focus wheel got stuck, I advised her to pop it up and run some water in there to get the grit out. Again, waterproof optics allow you to do that. She rinsed them and the focus wheel was fine for the rest of the trip.

That night we sat down to a fine meal (some of the best food I’ve ever had). We discussed the next day’s birding. After getting our stuff together at 4:15am that mornign and birding almost 12 hours, I was delighted to hear that we were meeting at 7am for breakfast before birding (we’d get to sleep in). Bless Mel’s heart who asked, “Hey that means we won’t get birding until 8 – 8:30 am, anyone for starting earlier?”

Hugo said, “Well, it’s whatever you want…”

There was a pause, I decided to break it. “I gotta say that I’m not in favor of that idea and would rather sleep in and rest after today.”

I’m not sure if everyone agreed, but after a day like the horned guan death march, I could live with a later start the next morning.

You can read Mike’s account of our journey and see his guan photo over at 10,000 Birds.

If you would like to hear the flatulent vocalizations of the horned guan, Chris Benesh has them here.

I also started a Facebook Group called I Survived The San Pedro Horned Guan Death March if you have made a trek to see the guan and would like to share the tale.