While the Santa Marta Mountains were the real birding prize of our trip, D had nursed high hopes for Tayrona National Park as well. Perhaps we'd see Colombia's striking, rakish vermillion cardinal or the critically endangered blue-billed curassow, which can be found reliably only in Tayrona and one other protected bird reserve, and which graces the cover of some editions of Colombia birding guides due to its uniqueness and scarcity. D was disappointed on both fronts and saw no sign of many other local specialties he had seen reported by other birders. This is not to say our visit was a total loss. D would add a dozen new birds to his life list during our three-day stay in Tayrona in addition to snagging photos of an elusive bird he'd been pursuing in Costa Rica for the better part of two years.
That sighting came within minutes of setting foot on the trail for our first hike in Tayrona National Park, when D spotted a large raptor sitting quietly on a thick tree limb mere feet from the trail. He only needed a split-second to identify it as a collared forest-falcon — a widespread raptor that, like other birds of prey that hunt deep in the woods, is incredibly difficult to find, let alone photograph. D had been looking for one ever since he lucked into the smaller and even more elusive barred forest-falcon on his birthday last year, and the closest he came was seeing a flash of feathers as a large bird that could potentially have been the falcon he sought zoomed through the dense canopy of a small private reserve we've visited twice in Cartago.
Dozens of visitors walked by completely oblivious to the falcon's presence. D, meanwhile, was so thrilled with this find that his hands shook as he raised the camera. He managed a woeful "proof-of-life" photo before a couple of particularly noisy passersby spooked the bird. Fortunately, the falcon did not fly too far, swooping low before settling quietly on a limb at the far end of a clearing in the woods. D did not see it land, but he had a general idea of where to look and managed to locate its new perch after stepping off the trail and advancing as noiselessly as he could through the woods. He wiped his camera lens several times as he walked — the intense humidity of Tayrona's Caribbean air repeatedly fogged over the camera and our binoculars, the lenses accumulating condensation as quickly as we wiped them. D managed a couple far-off photos before he had to pause to wipe dry the lens yet again, at which point the falcon took to the wing and disappeared into the woods.
It was an auspicious beginning that belied the challenges ahead. The principal difficulty for D was that the hotspots he had consulted were rather vaguely designated, so he had no idea where in the vast expanse of the park the birds he hoped to find had been spotted. Further, our lodge did not have any walking paths despite being located inside the national park, and the main trail through the park was crowded with noisy visitors. The best birding areas proved to be along the narrow, muddy backroads that passed by horse stables and a few modest local dwellings. In addition to indigenous groups that live inside the national park, quite a number of other locals managed to hang on to their dwellings and homesteads when Tayrona came under the protection of the national park service.
A few disappointments notwithstanding, D was quite pleased with his results overall, especially after corresponding with the local birding guide the lodge had recommended. A tour cost $80 for up to four people, the guide informed us, during which time one could expect to see approximately 25 bird species, which included precisely none of the local specialties D sought. D crossed paths with the guide early our final morning in Tayrona as the latter led a tour group around the same backroads D had discovered. The guide was keeping a checklist, which had reached 24 species — the exact number D had found up to that point wandering around on his own.
Most of D's new finds were rather pedestrian: several new-to-us hummingbirds, a pair of wren species that don't dwell in Costa Rica, and local varieties of various other common birds. In addition to the collared forest-falcon, the best new finds were two manakin species, both of which D was proud to identify first by their calls. One, the white-bearded manakin, D spotted late in the evening, managing a couple of far-off passable photos as darkness enveloped the woods. The other, the lance-tailed manakin, is very similar to Costa Rica's long-tailed manakin, whose vibrant colors and beautiful song blew us away at Rio Perdido.
Pictured above: lance-tailed manakin; collared forest-falcon; buff-breasted wren; pale-bellied hermit; bicolored wren; straight-billed woodcreeper.
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