PEACHFRONT SPEAKS

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bolivia bird of prey trip report part 6: piracy among the snail kites 2009-11-01 - 11:46 a.m. Peachfront's note: This is part 6 of my Raptor (Bird of Prey) research tour of Bolivia. To start with Part 1, please click right here. If you missed any previous installments, well, here's Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and, of course, Part 5. A bird list will be coming along one of these fine days. October 25 We'd had hints of it all along. The rainy season had started early. We'd managed to pretty much ignore it so far, but today we woke up and realized that the tropical rains would no longer be overlooked. It was raining cats and dogs, full force, and the small birds didn't seem to think it would end any time soon, because they continued to go about their business in the rain. Since it was a Sunday, I assumed that they would be having mass in the old Cathedral, and I didn't want to intrude, so I sat in a sheltered part of the courtyard, skimmed my book, and scanned the sky. The best bird was my life Chalk-Browed Mockingbird, a youngster who cried until an adult dropped by to feed him a large green insect -- which attracted a second youngster to fly in and start begging. D. came over and informed us that there was actually a concert taking place in the Cathedral. So we headed over to watch the orchestra perform, all dressed in their warm orange shirts to match the gold and orange theme. The conductor looked just like a conductor out of the movies with his mop of silver hair and his extravagant gestures. This proved to be the famous Latin American Baroque Music that is undergoing a revival in the Jesuit mission towns of Bolivia. I've heard at least one of the pieces, which is a very famous piece indeed if I've heard it, but I don't remember the name of it. You'd know it if you heard it though. Unless maybe if you're reading this page from Neptune. I think it was Vivaldi but won't guarantee it. In any case, the entire performance was being filmed for Spanish television -- pretty sure they meant that they'd come from Spain, not just that it was for Spanish speakers. I kept thinking the TV production guys looked French whenever I ran into them in the hotel, but don't tell them that. I guess by "French" I mean they looked European but not German. With powers of observation like mine, I should think about playing poker for a living. I didn't fully understand how the children and teens came to be in the orchestra. I just assumed that they had displayed some unusual talent for performance, but S. later talked to the conductor and got the idea that the kids were rescues of some kind who were trying to get away from drugs and/or the drug business. Since one of the kids was only seven, I'm going to presume that he wasn't the world's youngest drug dealer but instead it was his parents who might have been in the business. In any case, if these were truly some random kids playing baroque music on these difficult instruments, it really makes you wonder how much talent goes wasted in this world, simply because we don't start kids young enough. Of course, this was doubly ironic for me, since I have no more musical gifts than a snake (snakes are deaf and fake it by picking up heat and vibrations) and thus my mother started me on a hopeless course of musical education when I was six years old. Too bad the opportunity couldn't have been given to someone who could have benefited. When I think of the time and money wasted on piano lessons for Peachfront, at a time when my parents really didn't have the money to waste, I could hang my head and cry. It was time for a buffet lunch after the performance. A Blue-Fronted Amazon ruled the roost, but if he could speak, he wasn't responding to "Hello there" from any Americans, nor did he acknowledge "Konichiwa" from the Japanese lady, but when the tiniest Japanese kid said, "Hola," he did try to say something back. It wasn't a very creditable "Hola," but it was something that at least had two syllables. Cookie's still the top speaker in my book, though, and I'm not saying that just because he'll eat my fingers if I don't. Oh, and we had to do some shopping, which was a hell of a trick, since nobody sells anything much in the souvenir line. We got a local to open a cooperative shop, and we found two postcards, the only two postcards in Bolivia. I let M. buy them, since they weren't the Che Guevara postcards that I'd been instructed to find. Oh well! M. and I managed to find some gifts we needed to buy, and the two guides tried on shirts and found a few souvenirs of their own. I thought about getting a shirt for the IMOM but the shirts were sort of fitted, Latin American style shirts, and I didn't think I could figure out his size. Besides, he already has too many shirts. Sorry if you're reading this, dude! I thought they would look good on him and all, and S. for sure bought one, but I was worried that I'd buy a size too small. It isn't like T-shirts where you just buy the largest size there is and wear it loose if it doesn't fit.... Finally it was time to head onward to the Lake Zapoco raptor watch site. In previous years, the count had been held on this very weekend, but the festival dates have been changed to early November and probably just as well, since the weather was quite wet and unsuitable for any kind of serious migration. However, we did have an early bird -- a juvenile Mississippi Kite who had already arrived and was now perching for our viewing pleasure. If he's one of those that I've seen from my backyard, whoa, he's come a L-O-N-G way from his nest in Madisonville, Louisiana all the way to Concepcion, Bolivia, and he ain't stopping yet. This lake is currently the stomping grounds of the Snail Kites, with lots of kites and lots of empty snail shell litter. When it became apparent that there would be no migration today, the guides got busy trying to document different Snail Kite plumages. I simply enjoyed the show. The Southern Lapwings were in a bad temper and attempted to chase off one or two of the Snail Kites, without notable success. They actually did hustle off an adult Rufuscent Tiger-Heron though. C'mon, folks, what a frigging waste of energy. A l'il old Snake Kite or wader is not going to do you any harm. Hmm. Let's see. Plenty of Limpkins, plenty of Fork-Tailed Flycatchers, good numbers of Golden-Collared Macaws and Yellow-Chevroned Brotogeris Parakeet. A large alligator resting out of water with his big mouth open to show the pink lining. A perfect circular rainbow around the sun. Great Egret, Little Blue Heron, a swallow I couldn't identify, a pair of woodpeckers ditto -- although I photographed one of the woodpeckers and hope to get an ID from birdforum, White-winged Dove -- which surprised me, as I thought they were all Eared Doves down here, but what do you do when you're that close to the birds and they can be nothing else? -- Brazilian Teal, Rufous Hornero at the nest, Yellow-Rumped Cacique at their nest. Common Moorhen and Purple Gallinule. Wattled Jacana. And who knows what else that I forgot to scribble down? After we gave up on the lake, we spent the time before dark scouting a resort near a large herd of water buffalos. A sign in Spanish informs you that you can buy cheese made from water buffalo that contains no cholesterol, should you have a crying need for no cholesterol water buffalo cheese. The resort was, I guess, closed for the season, because there was no evidence of any tourists, although the grounds were well-kept. Along the road to the resort, we had a most excellent Laughing Falcon perched close, the first one I've seen in a tree as opposed to on a telephone pole. Greater Yellow-Headed Vulture. Lots of Plumbeous Kites hunting. My best look yet at the fine flash of color in the underwing of the White-Eyed Aratinga Parakeets. A pair of Guira Cuckoos gathering nest material. A good-looking Chestnut-Eared Aracari, with its gleaming red belly band showing well even in the fading light. On the road back to Concepcion, we found a huge swarm of giant -- and by giant I mean virtually pinky-sized -- termites boiling up out of the ground and into the air to form a huge cloud. The Plumbeous Kites were taking full advantage of the opportunity for a feeding frenzy, but they were joined by a (so cute!) Bat Falcon, an American Kestrel, and even a Short-Tailed Hawk. S. said he had never observed a Short-Tailed Hawk feeding quite like that before. You could see the birds grabbing the insects with their feet and bringing food to their beak right there on the wing, so they were feeding their faces as fast as they could stuff it in. But there were just too many termites, and the birds got full and drifted off to sleep long before the supply of termites was depleted. D's curiosity got the better of him. There were some large wingless "soldiers" guarding the hole where the termites boiled out of the ground, and he couldn't resist touching them. Ouch! One of them bit him hard enough to draw blood, and I'm not kidding. Any bigger, and they probably would have wrestled him to the ground. October 26 It was the last day, and the trip was over way too soon. The country is too large, and the traffic on the roads too slow, for you to get more than a taste in the amount of time that we had. I saw a female Mango in the garden -- thanks to range information, I now know that it was Black-Throated Mango, but at the time I didn't know which mango they had in the area. "What's a mango?" S. asked, not recognizing this word as any kind of English word for a bird and I said, "If it's any kind of weird name like `my little sunbeam' then it's probably a hummingbird." Aren't I helpful? Well, maybe not. But that's why I have to pay to be allowed to tag along on these tours, tee hee. The count site was still dark and cloudy. There was no migration taking place at all, it was just too rainy, and the conditions weren't right for any kind of a thermal. The same alligator, probably most of the same Snail Kites on the same perches. We really did see Golden-Collared Macaws very well and easily here. White-Faced Whistling Duck, Pied-Bill Grebe, Striated Heron joined the list. I stupidly called an odd-looking bird as a juvenile Jacana, but M. caught my mistake and we discovered that we were looking at my life Sungrebe. Go, us! There's a funny thing about Snail Kites. You wouldn't think that it's a terribly difficult job to catch a snail. But I saw more snails "whiffed" than caught. I suppose that sometimes the Snail Kite thinks it sees a snail and it's really an already discarded shell. I also noticed that when someone did succeed in making a catch, the other Snail Kites wanted to horn in on the action. Piracy among the Snail Kites! The rain started to insist, and we realized that it was time to head back to Santa Cruz. But, still greedy for more, we watched the road along the way. A Red-Winged Tinamou boldly crossed in front of us -- my first tinamou sighting, although I've heard the little suckers. Another nice Laughing Falcon viewing. Oh, and the Gray-Lined Hawk, which is the "South American" Gray Hawk that is going to be split from the Gray Hawk species. S. said the paper got rejected the first time, because they left off some information that they pretty much knew perfectly well that they'd have to include, but it will go through sooner or later, so you heard it here first. We had great views, and I'm sure the "big guns" have great photos. Finally, when they had all of the perched photos that they could stand, S. tried to flush the bird so D. could get flight shots. The hawk couldn't give a flying fig about S. but he finally did have to fly -- thanks to the efforts of a sudden mob of Chopi Blackbirds. I really think the blackbirds noticed S. and what he was doing and then they noticed the bird, but who knows. The poor guy had to move it on down the line, and that's final. I saw a couple of Burrowing Owls from the SUV. Snowy Egret joined the list, if it hadn't been on the list before. Finally, a White-Tailed Kite. Finally, Wood Storks and Cocoi Herons. Some Red-Crested Cardinals outside of Santa Cruz, which I called as Brazilian Cardinals (the pet store name), not having a book with the proper English name in front of me. Finally, it was time for the final dinner in Santa Cruz. We were asked for ideas/suggestions for future tours, and I said that I thought I would have liked a longer tour, and L. pointed out that people with real jobs didn't have time for longer tours. Well, he was too nice to say "real jobs" but I got the point. We just don't live long enough to do all the things we want to do. I'm already eager to come back and 1) do a thorough search for the Peachfront Conure, and 2) spend more time in the highlands and get all the way to Lake Titicaca. After all, those glaciers and snow-capped peaks can't be entirely mythical, right? Fortunately, my visa is good for 5 years, and since I got it at the last minute, I have almost all of it left. So my brain is ticking with ideas. October 27, 2009 S. and D. took us to the airport in the morning and made sure we got boarding passes OK and that American Airlines found a wheelchair so M. wouldn't have to walk for a million miles through the winding ways of VVI airport. At some point, the wheelchair pushing guy headed for the hills, so I pushed her the rest of the way, but it wasn't really far. I pointed out that she was entitled to use the VIP lounge, but she said that she'd rather sit with me. Isn't that sweet? I must be a terrible person because I'm not sure if I would do the same. Hell, I know for a stone cold fact that I've left ROGER stuck outside the lounge when I had the kind of pass that didn't allow for a guest -- it was at IAH and he laughed it off and went drinking at one of the bars, but still. I hope she did take the time to make use of her lounge privileges at MIA. We reminisced about our adventures, and finally they called business class, and we had to say our good-byes. I have to say, as roommates go, she was definitely one of the best. To be honest, all things considered, I expected the flight back to Miami to be pretty much a punishment for my many sins, but I lucked out again. There were THREE -- count 'em, three -- open seats on AA 922 VVI-MIA and one of them was next to me. This wasn't entirely coincidence. Thank God that your average Danish tourist -- yes, I was surrounded by a large Danish tour group -- doesn't know about seatguru.com. I don't know how many times we have to see Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs and episodes of The Office, but we saw that again, but since I never put my earphones in this time or any time, I didn't care. I just read my book. The only fly in the ointment was that I wasn't allowed to carry on my bag at VVI. It was the same bag, on the same plane, that I carried on at MSY and MIA to get to VVI but oh well. I was actually hoping they'd lose my bag of dirty laundry, until I remembered that I'd left 1) my bird books and 2) my cool counterfeit 10 Boliviano bill in the checked bag. Since I was at the back of the plane, I was pretty much last off the plane. But my bag was just coming out, and I snagged it off the conveyor belt before the beagle even had a chance to sniff at my dirty laundry and conclude that I was a wicked woman who had been drinking coca tea. Besides, you can bet your bippy that all those Danish tourists sampled the local tea as well, so the beagle just had to dial it down a notch and let the small stuff slide. The ONLY fly? Tee hee? I just thought of the second fly. You have to pay for drinks in coach, even on an international flight(!) on American Airlines, but I didn't have change, so I gave the FA $10 for a bottle of white wine. At some point, and I don't mean minutes later, I mean maybe two hours later, it became sadly obvious that they had no change and that some of the other tourists were in an uproar. I did have TWO dollar bills and I handed them to the FA who was currently getting the brunt of it and I said, I gave the other lady $10 so I'll give you two more, and you can just give me a second bottle of wine. Done, done, DONE! Hey, they FORCED me to drink that second carafe of white wine. I think the guy in the seat ahead of me was now able to even get change back for his drink or at least HALF of the change to which he was entitled. Being a Dane, he was shaky on what he was owed in either bolivianos or American dollars and I strongly suspect he didn't ever get ALL of it -- I sure didn't see it if he did -- but at least he got my two bucks. A long, long, LONG miserable layover. I found the place in the hallway with the benches where you can lay down, because no one else uses them, and I tried to nap, but it was daytime, so I mostly just read my book, charged my phone, checked my email. Went back to the same grill, because I hadn't found a better place, and I guess there wasn't a better place, because as I ingested my much-needed Apple Martinis a TV star came in and kept having to get up and have his picture made with various young women who had friends or husbands brandishing camera-included cell phones. The waitress somehow didn't notice this, I guess because she had a real job, so she didn't realize it was him until it was too late and he'd boarded his plane, but she vowed to keep the wine glass he'd been drinking from as an alternative to a picture. And who was this beautiful young TV star? No clue. She told me, and the name rang no bell and went immediately out of my head. But, whoever he was, he was extremely gracious and polite, even though people were bugging the hell out of him while he was trying to eat and drink before boarding a plane to Chicago, so as far as I'm concerned I wish him every happiness and every success. He deserves it. Back to the comfy chairs, where I lounged some more. I had become a fixture, and people started talking to me. "You like that guy, huh? Well, you should read The Lion's Game," was one helpful airport staffer's suggestion. I waved the front cover at him with a giggle, and then he realized that I was, in fact, reading The Lion's Game. "Oh, cool, that's the OLD cover." However, when a trio of flight attendants started to discuss that they'd seen me the last time they walked past, which was probably before they flew to ATL and back or something, then I started to feel like I was on a list of "Is this a homeless bum moving into our nice clean airport?" and I decided it was time to find the gate. And, after all that, I was still a little early, but thank God and all the little fishes, for whatever reason, EVERYONE was at the gate early, and after we all boarded, and the captain realized that we had no one to wait for, they allowed him to take off early. Yay, us. I had an entire row all to myself, so I swung my feet around and put them up on the chair and continued to follow the various twists and turns of The Lion's Game, which was much better than trying to figure out if the stars of Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs are weasels or foxes or what-the-hell. I landed at midnight and didn't want DH to pick me up and lose sleep when he had to work the next day, so IMOM kindly picked me up. I expected that I'd have to spend the night at his place and go home in the morning, but he actually went ahead and drove me all the way home. Then we poured ourselves a glass of wine and talked awhile, although I probably babbled and made no sense at all after the long journey. It was hard to believe that the trip was over. Two months ago, I was still wondering if I'd actually go. I was psyched. I'd totally done it. You have just read the concluding episode of my raptor tour of Bolivia. But, wait! There's more! Stay tuned, because I hope to post my bird list soon. back - next All Rights Reserved, Copyright 2002-2017 by Elaine Radford