Our last day in Northwest Ecuador began at the ungodly hour of 3:45 AM, as we needed to arrive at our destination before dawn to have a chance at spotting our quarry in action. We had a new driver Mauro--Marcello’s brother--and we were on the road by 4:30. Mauro didn’t believe in lanes, and the ride was spent in absolute terror as he drove at 100+ km/h along a two lane highway perched on the far-wrong side of the road.
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| sunrise near Junio 23 |
But the recklessness was worth it, as we arrived at the intended foothill massif just in time to watch the sun rise over the cloud forest-covered hills, accompanied by the hoots of pacific howler monkeys in the distance. And then deep booming echoed out from a patch of forest adjacent to the pasture we were standing in. Marcello ran down the pasture to try to get a better look. We waited. It started to get brighter out, and the booming stopped. A man rode past on a mule, metal milk cans to either side, off to milk the cows. Marcello gestured. We raced down the pockmarked field, and saw perched on a high snag above the canopy a most bizarre and wondrous bird: the long-wattled umbrellabird. He was the source of the earlier booming, and now, spent with his efforts, he preened in the open, his absurd wattle dangling, his proud crest flopping over his head, his shiny black plumage just beginning to capture the early morning rays of the shimmering Andean sun. And then he took off, and we were left with the bellowing of cows, and the heat and humidity of the tropical foothills.
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| long-wattled umbrellabird! |
We left the pasture that bordered the umbrellabird’s scant forest domain and, accompanied by the grandson of the landowner, went to visit grandfather, who was busy hurrying a mule around a mill to squeeze the juice out of fresh cut sugar canes. The sweet broth was poured into mugs and Emily and I downed a full mug of the tangy fruity syrup each--the Ecuadorians had two mugs apiece. Then we went to the house of our guide, Luis, down in the town of Junio 23 (named after the date the town decided that their town needed a name). There we were served two empanadas con queso each, with cafe to wash it down. The umbrellabirds of Junio 23 had only been “discovered” 11 months ago, and Luis had been training to become a guide--he had just recently bought his first scope. For now his family and their neighbors see a future in saving and showcasing their umbrellabirds, instead of clearing yet more land, and the umbrellabird’s chances here seem much improved.
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| Marcello making sugar cane juice |
After the incredible umbrellabird morning, it was time to try for another Choco specialty: the club-winged manakin. We drove up into the forest surrounding Mindo and soon heard the buzzy harmonica tones of lekking males, right by the road. It took some doing, but Marcello coaxed them into dancing by whistling their song, and Emily and I watched through the scope as they produced their song by rapidly buzzing their wings, like enormous crickets. Near the manakins we saw our first quetzals, some stunning toucans, and a host of mixed flocks. Finally, after such a full morning, it was time for a long siesta.
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| golden-headed quetzal calling |
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| club-winged manakin |
Rain was crashing down and we waited it out at the hostal, watching the storm from hammocks strung up on an upstairs balcony. A hummingbird feeder hanging from the roof attracted white-necked jacobin’s and andean emeralds, undeterred by the downpour. Eventually the storm let up and we headed out to stuff ourselves with fried plaintains. The evening ended with us chatting with Marcello: he gave us a CD of Puerto Rican pop songs that we had been listening to on our road trips, and we bid our farewells. Mindo was wonderful--I highly recommend looking up Marcello and his wife Norma if you are ever nearby, they are wonderful hosts and Marcello is both a delightful companion and a knowledgable guide of the area--but it was time to move on. The next day would see us across the Andes.
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| the good life |
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