Another trip revisit, part 2 of ???

Yet more insomnia. At least the advantage is that it's quiet, and I can think. I think part of the insomnia is restlessness. I'm glad most of the time I don't own a car, but at times, like now, I feel trapped a little bit. The weather has finally improved here in Western New York, and the spring migrants are starting to trickle in.

For now, the goal of guiding is put on hold, a little bit, but not by my choice. I am starting to realize it will take time (I have to hope so, the flip side is too depressing) to make that my full time work. In the meantime, I get to finally get back to working in the mountains. I will be in Wyoming this summer, doing a lot of hiking, bird counting, backpacking, camping, and having a fun time. My biggest fear is loneliness, but I'll jump off that bridge when I get to it. I always seem happier while camping. Worries are always so much farther away when I am.

I am glad for the friends who encourage me to write a book. Right now, a stumbling block for that is how would I start it? I read voraciously, as many of you know, and as such have a huge library of books in my memory I am afraid I might sound stale, or something like it. But for now, I'll just write what I want to write, and see what comes of it.

I had two things I was considering writing about this time, origins or tropical experience. I decided tropical (it will be a bit easier for me to write about, for now).

Title this one something like "So THIS is the big deal about the tropics. Part 1, the lead up and the first day."
In 2007, it turns out I left my part time work at home for the last time. I was hired to work on a project in Hawaii, working on a project monitoring an endangered species on Kauai. This is not that story. While in Hawaii, though, I was getting my first little taste of the tropics, and some of the unique and vastly different avifauna the world has. Like during all field jobs, I spent a few hours every week browsing my job sites, and applying to work for the late season, namely July and after.

There aren't many jobs that only last during the July and August months, so I did not have high hopes for finding work. I was already doing a good job of hoarding money at the point, for the chance that I would have to live on savings for a while. One of the jobs I applied to was for some volunteer work in Ecuador. I didn't feel that I had a good chance for the job, but I figured, I can't get a job if I don't apply.

After spending 8 consecutive days in the field in Hawaii, from a Monday to the following Monday, I headed out from the field. Due to some weather related issues, we could not drive across one of our stream crossings, and so our boss and crew leader picked us up. While riding back with the crew leader, I learned that his girlfriend got a job in Ecuador, and it turns out it was the same project I had applied for. I think the direct quote from him was "Hey, maybe you'll have an e-mail in your inbox offering you a job." I didn't expect one. Prior to this, I had received an e-mail from the project asking what my specific dates of availability were.

After taking care of personal hygiene (shower!), I got down to checking my mail. And lo and behold, there was the job offer. I believe I nearly fell out of the chair in shock (seriously, I did not consider myself a strong candidate!). I checked my bank balance. And the price of tickets. Most jobs give you a few days to consider. This one did, but they offered it to me a week before I read the e-mail. Thankfully, I still had about 12 hours at the time to decide.

To this point, I had traveled to Australia for bird work, and a short trip to Mexico. As I had birded more though, I was learning that tropical birding, especially the neo-tropics (New World), was the place to be. So when I applied, I thought it would be a nice opportunity to pay for a plane ticket to South America, but have someone else foot the bill for my food and lodging, so I could get my foot in the door, so to speak.

So, the decision became a no brainer.

I finished my Hawaiian job, and flew to New York. About 60 hours later, I was waiting in the airport again, getting ready to leave. I do not recall any nervousness on my first trip to Australia, but I remember being full of nerves that day. For the first time, I was traveling somewhere that I didn't speak the language, to a third world country, and where I had to find my way, on my own, from point A to point B with the directions they gave me. I had no idea what to expect (this was before I learned to use that wonderful invention, guidebooks).

The directions they gave me worked semi well. I think the nerves I had made things mildly worse, but it all turned out well in the end. I took the wrong bus initially, and ended up god knows where, but eventually, through the patience of the locals, and my own, I found my way up to Tapichalaca Reserve, in southern Ecuador, which would be my home for about 7 weeks. I arrived after it had gotten dark.

I met one of my coworkers, and the person who was to train me (a Kiwi, Leigh) before she left for parts unknown. We chatted and had dinner, and had a short work session on what I would do, where to go, and what my schedule would be. Then it was to bed, to get ready for the next day.

So keep in mind at this point I had not been walking around in any kind of habitat yet. It was dark when I arrived, and I had pretty much been traveling for around two days straight (one day of flying, and one day of flights, taxis and buses).

So, I awoke the next day, feeling very refreshed and fairly excited to get going. I did my morning routine, and headed toward the path I was told to take.

I initially didn't see many birds. My ears weren't attuned in as well as they would be by the end of the project, but I did not hear the "jungle" sounds you hear in all the Africa and South America soundtracks. I attribute this to the fact that the birds, since they can nearly breed year round, do not call all day like they do here in the states, but sporadically, so you don't hear a really loud chorus except for a few minutes in the morning.

As I stepped onto the trail from the road, I saw a bird running along the trail. For the first time in a long time, I had NO IDEA WHAT I WAS LOOKING AT. I was beyond excited, while trying to figure out just what group of birds it belonged to! It was running along the ground, but I had no clue if it was flightless or not. The colors were drab and subdued, so my first thought was antbird (group). This was correct. The next step was trying to figure out which of 300 birds it was!

After I finished my time up there, the sheer diversity of birds would no longer faze me. But at this point, I was just excited to see something completely new, that I had no idea what it was. So, this was possibly the first sign I was in the tropics. I knew I was in the tropics a little further along the trail.

A large bird flew over my head, and perched. Though it was up sun a little, there was no mistaking what I was seeing. A trogon. I even said aloud, after the requisite 30 seconds of numb shock again: "You sure aren't home anymore. Welcome to the tropics." I have hardly ever been rendered speechless and motionless by wildlife in my life. This was one of those times. I don't think anything would have prepared me for seeing this kind of bird, that close. And it was nice to see a bird like that, so well, and have it perched in the same spot for a while. It took me a couple of minutes to remember I had a camera...and when I moved to use it, the bird flew. Later during my time there, I got some good photos, since I could do such a good rendition of the call to bring them in.


After this, I encountered Marco, one of the Guardaparques, at the worm feeding station for our study species, the Jocotoco Antpitta (picture at the beginning). I didn't see it that day, but I got a nice introduction to a few of the other birds I would have as neighbors for the next few weeks. After trying vainly to chat a little (Marco spoke no English, and I spoke little Spanish, poorly), I continued along and encountered Leigh, and then she began teaching me how to work on the study. I think she also helped point out a few species of bird, but I can't recall. We had only a couple of days to get me fully up to speed before she left me on my own.

I can't recall much of what happened the rest of the day. I do remember when going to be that night, that visions of the trogons and Antpittas [side note: that first bird I saw on the trail was a Chestnut-naped Antpitta] were going through my head. I knew I was going to have a fun 7 weeks!

Revisiting old trips, part 1 of ???

So I am having a second night of insomnia, and can't seem to find anything to relax. With all this quiet time after hours, the mind starts wandering...

Many of you have enjoyed my mailings over the years, and now the blog. This past year, three friends have all mentioned that with all these wonderful stories I have, I should write a book. At first, I laughed about it (sorry Buddy, but that honestly was my first thought). Probably because really, what would I write about?

Since then (July last year), two other people, both of whom I value their opinions highly, have seconded the idea. Which has made me pause in more thought at times.

My biggest hurdle? I don't know where to begin, or really what to write. So, random writings, here I come! Random in the fact that I know what I will write about time to time, but the order of events will not be. I thought I would go back on previous experiences, write about them, and go from there.

The following would have to be called: what would have happened if I was alone? Also known as the most nerve wracking experience (scariest) of my life.

In 2003, I was working on a Willow Flycatcher project in the Sierra Nevada for the first time. I was assigned work with a few others (Jacob, Dave, Amy, and Helen) to do call back surveys in the mountain meadow habitats. We would play a song recording and listen for a response in appropriate habitat.

Jacob and I got really gung ho with the backpacking and camping aspect of the work. The more remote the habitat, the happier we were! So in week two, around the middle of June, we found ourselves hiking into the John Muir Wilderness, south of Yosemite National Park but north of Sequoia-Kings Canyon Park. We had a number of areas to search around (what I recall) were the garlic lakes.

Jacob, incidentally, was a fantastic partner to have to teach me the ins and outs of backpacking. I hadn't had an opportunity to do that before, and I was very enthusiastic about the opportunity to do so on this job. Me being the way I am, I knew that the farther I got from roads and the beaten path, the happier I would be.

Garlic Lakes were about an 8 mile hike in, along a well used foot path. We started in the early afternoon, after doing surveys near the trail head. The hike was uphill for the most part in the first half, but after that it remained somewhat level as we passed through some of the most beautiful country you could imagine.

In the middle of June at the elevations we were walking through, snow was still evident on the ground in many places. The corn lilies were up, but I don't recall that they were blooming yet. Incidentally, from later reading I have done, this is good bear food (the roots, anyway). The snowmelt did create some great waterfalls, as well as some wet stream crossing and some muddy paths in spots.

We got to our camp and set ourselves up. We still had a little bit of daylight, as I recall, so we used our GPS, maps, PDA with movable map, and compasses and wits and went to examine our habitats for the next day. After making a plan, we got back to camp, made dinner, and settled in. Just thinking about those nights makes me feel glad for these wonderful areas we have in this country.

So, the next day, we proceeded with the plan. The meadows were in a little bit of a string, with a large one, with a homestead (well, what must have been some kind of homestead) at one end, a series of small ones going up a small ridge to another large one. We started at the homestead, and worked our way to the large meadow.

It is hard to adequately describe the habitat, but I'll try. With the exception of the first large meadow, and the last large one, each meadow was about 40 meters across, with a few Alders, Willows, and other shrubs in bud and leaf. Each of these was separated by some distance, tens to hundreds of meters. The boundaries were wooded. There wasn't much shrubbery in the forest between meadows, so it was relatively easy to see into the woods.

As Jacob and I finished the first large meadow and headed up to the first small meadow, we were walking up a gradual incline in the forest. As we got closer to the edge of the meadow, Jacob said "Check it out, a bear!" And yep, there was a bear walking in the forest on the other side of the meadow, from our right to our left.

Knowing that there was a bear there, one of us kept our eyes peeled while we were in the meadow. It was a small meadow, so we only did one call point, and did our habitat assessment after we were done. While doing so, I saw the bear again. What follows is my impression on what happened:

"Jacob, I see the bear again."

"Where."

"Right across from us, over there."

"Cool"

We admired it for a few seconds, and continued our assessment while I kept an eye on the bear. It occurred to me when watching the bear that it was bigger than the first one we saw. Then the following:

"Um, Jacob?" (mild quaver in voice)

"yeah?"

"Look beside and below the bear, to the right."

"Oh crap" (I don't recall if that is the exact quote)

Next to mama bear, was baby bear. And we were about 20 meters away. Maybe closer. Yeah, that in itself was scary. We didn't take our eyes off them for one second. But we still finished our assessment. We conversed, and knew we should slowly back up a little, but then also make noise, let her know we were there. She still hadn't realized we were there. So, we made noise. And she stood up on her hind legs.

Okay, so I know that black bears are for the most part, harmless. But still. When a grown bear stands on its hind legs, there is one thought that will first go through ones mind. We overrode instinct and stood our ground. While she sniffed the air and looked at us, we watched bear number 1 (the first one we saw, in the woods), go galloping away from us in the woods behind the mama and her cub. Yeah, the mama was NOT the first bear we saw.

Mama dropped back down, and baby ran away too. Mama just kind of ambled along, angling away from us, but not in a big hurry.

Jacob and I looked at each other, and I think we had the same thought. Why is she NOT running away? Which is the normal behavior of a bear in this situation, at least in our thoughts. But, we kept making loud noise, and proceeded to walk up the ridge, to the next meadow. He walked forward, I walked backward. Always watching the bear.

When we left the meadow and we were in the woods, at the edge of the meadow we just left:

"Jacob?"

"Yeah?"

"She's walking into the meadow where we were."

At this point, at least I was getting really worried. This did not seem right.

"Um, she's following us."

"Uhhhhhh......"

At this point, I have no idea what my mindset was. But we kept walking, and thankfully she stopped walking along our path, and then went into the woods by where we were originally standing. And we kept making lots of noise (just conversing really loudly).

Later, we decided there was likely another bear cub, behind where we were originally standing in the meadow. At least, that's what I think it was.

So, there you have it. Possibly the scariest wildlife encounter I have had, if only because the behavior of the bear just was not expected. Jacob and I saw each other a few years later, and talked about it. Our stories still meshed, for the most part. And we both still agreed that it was a really good thing we were not alone, but that there were two of us there. With only one person there, it is really hard to say what would have happened.