Last Seen?

Rufous Antpitta. This is not the bird we saw and is
undoubtedly not the Cajamarca race but it would look much
like this. We, unfortunately,  did not get a picture of our
Antpitta in its tiny patch of forest. ( Photo by Janos Olah, Jr.)

Last Seen?

In today’s parlance we’re Birders, but I’m probably more accurately described by the older, less fashionable descriptor, bird watcher. I don’t keep a list and I have a faulty memory for the myriad of birds I have seen. I just like seeing them; I like the chase; and I love being where they live. There are over 8000 bird species in the world and although it seems highly unlikely we’ll see them all, we travel to places where birds new to us may still be seen.

Birding today often consists of visiting wonderful pristine habitats that have been preserved by individuals, conservations organizations, and governments. In recognition of biological realities, large swaths of land have been set aside to protect all the plants and animals within its borders. But not all species live in these circumscribed, protected areas. Some persist in tiny fragments surrounded by farmers and their farms. Birds are picky, having evolved in a particular area, they don’t move when their homes are first isolated, then destroyed. So birders also seek out—hoping against hope—that tiny bit of wilderness that allows a stranded bird to survive.  It becomes a gesture of faith.

Our latest gesture of faith trip was to Peru, with its many diverse habitats: coastal scrub, wetlands, lowland jungles, highland forests, cloud forests, and grasslands above timberline. It is home to over a ¼ of all the bird species on the earth.  For 20 days we focused on a triangle of habitats in Northern Peru, driving from Chiclayo to Cajamarca.

The road between Celendín and Cajamarca winds through the broad, now mainly agricultural Maranon valley in the Northern Andes. Our itinerary called for “early morning birding in remnant humid forest and Polylepis scrub…We’ll make a special effort for the Cajamarca race of the Rufous Antpitta.” This charming plump, long-legged bird loves deep underbrush; it skulks, it hides, it flits quickly from twig to twig. It is hard to see, but fortunately for birders, it responds to previously taped recordings of its species’ call. 

 A remnant of forest, home to the Cajamarca race
 of the Rufous Antpitta, logged off. (Photo by Jane Bridges)

Our van dropped us off on the road and we slowly walked along the verge of the road, looking, listening, enjoying the cool morning. We rounded a curve and our bird guide, Silverio, a mild mannered man given to such strong language as “Oh Gosh” when we missed a bird, spit out an expletive in Spanish and stopped. The hillside, where our target bird the Cajamarca race of the Rufous Antpitta, was last seen was being logged off, clear cut, as we watched. The big trees were lying in a pile on the road; the dense tangle essential for the Antpitta was gone.  We continued down the road past the scalped slope to a tiny fragment of forest.  It hadn’t been cleared yet but it was riven with burro or cow sized tunnels making it easy for us to penetrate into the underbrush. Silverio played the tape and an Antpitta responded and very briefly popped into view.  Male birds respond to taped calls because they think a rival is invading their territory, but they call to attract females.  Our Antpitta continued to call as we moved away.  There was really no threat and no reason to scare away a rival, but I fear he would continue to call in his little fragment of forest and there would be no response—ever.

The next available bit of forest seemed too far away for this particular individual to pick up and move.

Other birders will look for this secretive bird, but given the minuscule size of his forest patch, our sighting may be noted in reports as “last seen on November 10, 2011.”