…when you were in Costa Rica?  Yes.

Did you get a photo of a Resplendent quetzal?  No.

And was the Quetzal resplendent?  Yes.

Resplendent quetzales (Pharomachrus cocinno) are glimmering emerald birds who inhabit the dense, wet montane and cloud forests of parts of Central America. The males have splendid iridescent fringed tail plumes which trail extravagantly behind them, inviting stares and admiration from both female quetzales and birders, and challenging artists with inadequate pages.  During my recent visit to Costa Rica, several quetzales crossed our path, looking down on us from a secure height, feeding, drying wet feathers, or just loafing.  One adult male bird appeared suddenly overhead, so silently we almost missed him, while we were admiring hordes of busy hummers at feeders near Monteverde.  As with hummingbirds, the exact shade of a quetzal’s plumage depends on light and angle, and can look emerald, azure, glinting with gold, or simply black.  I’ve never seen a photo do the colors justice, let alone an unsubtle computer-graphic image like my effort (although it improves with enlargement, click on image to embiggen).

Throughout their range from southern Mexico to Panama, quetzales are endangered, mainly due to habitat loss.  They are frugivores, and favor the fruits of trees such as the aguacatillo, which has a sort of miniature avocado-like fruit.  Quetzales are cavity nesters, laying two eggs in old woodpecker holes fairly high in the canopy, and males and females share nesting duties.  During the day, nests can be located by the trailing tail plumes of el macho hanging out of the nest hole.  A curious feature of Quetzales is that, unlike most birds, their toes are arranged two forward, and two back.

Queztals or Quetzales?  Either is a correct plural; the first is standard in English, the second in Spanish.

The name quetzal (usually pronounced KETzul in english and ketSALL en español) is reportedly a word from the Nahuatl language, and refers to the spendors of the birds’ tails.  It’s likely associated at least etymologically with the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent.

Click here for an excellent photo essay on Resplendent quetzales by T.Beth Kinsey of Firefly Forest.

…a drastic chromatic aberration.

Living in Arizona there’s no room for complaint about the quantity and loveliness of the hummers which visit our yard feeders. In the Phoenix area we have Costa’s and Anna’s year round, Black-chinned in summer, with Broad-tailed and Rufous making migratory appearances. I’ve seen a brilliant Broad-billed just two miles from here at the Desert Botanical Garden, so it’s a potential yard bird, as well. Further southeast in the state, hummer numbers swell to around 17 species — by contrast much of the U.S. hosts only one species, the Ruby-throated.

So only a truly spectacular hummer turn-out would impress a southwestern observer. Without doubt, Costa Rica provided that. During a thirteen-day trip, in various habitats and elevations, we saw about 34 species of hummers. Most I couldn’t capture in pixels: with a zoom-impaired camera, the best chance I have for snagging hummingbirds in photos is at feeders. These three posed obligingly on and around the feeders of Savegre Mountain Lodge.

<< Green violet-ear (Colibri thalassinus). These were quite common, and quite beguiling. A bit crabby, too: when another hummer got too near, those violet-ear patches would flare outward. Very threatening; we quailed at the sight. This bird has new feathers molting in on its forehead, visible as tiny white quills, still wrapped in whitish keratin like shoe-lace ends to facilitate outward growth.

>> Right: male Volcano hummingbird (Selasphorus flammula). These little toughies are related to our norte americaño Selasphori like Allen’s, Rufous, and Broad-tailed, and are just as glittery green-gold-bronze. This Cordillera de Talamanca subspecies has a plummy sheen in its gorget, slightly visible in this photo.

And lastly, below is a female White-throated mountain gem (Lampornis castaneoventris) feeding at an aloe, or perhaps a Kniphofia, flower. Her mate (not shown) has a spotless white throat and an azure forehead, but the female is marked with a handsome rusty underside, the “chestnut-belly” of its species name, castaneoventris.

(All photos A.Shock)

Here are some things you need to watch birds in Costa Rica, presented in no particular order:

A pack or bag with a waterproof stuff sack inside (I used a Sea to Summit drysack, lightweight, relatively durable, quite waterproof).  Trust me, the waterproof part will make your camera, checklist or notebook, and cookies happy.

Waterproof binoculars.  These will come in handy because you’ll most likely encounter rain, and maybe a tippy canoe (as on an earlier trip to Belize).  Also sunscreen, because it doesn’t always rain.

Cookies: I recommend chiky (above), a tasty chocolate-covered bickie readily procured from quickie-mart type establishments.  Crunchy, chocolaty, affordable, and eminently share-able.  Everyone loves a chiky!  Also recommended, jalapeño-flavored plantain chips.

Field guides for birds, plants, arthropods, whatever your interests are.  I went with Garrigues and Dean for the birds (above), as it’s more portable than the venerable and learned Stiles and Skutch, which has more info in it.  Your call, your back.

Notebook: Rite-in-the-Rain or Moleskine (above, green), again, your choice; both are tough enough to withstand moisture, repeated opening and closing and rapid shoving into velcro-closure pockets as new birds suddenly appear.  And, again, I recommend a waterproof writing tool.  I used a Faber-castell Pitt artist’s pen, color Sanguine, also good for sketching.

Umbrella.  Good for optics, and does not produce excessive sweat like encasing yourself in a plastic poncho. Take special care while birding in groups to not poke each others’ eyes out with spokes, especially in the heat of the moment when the Silvery-fronted tapaculo is singing in the drippy undergrowth at your feet.  (If you’re going with a tour, make sure umbrellas are approved by your birding leader/company).

A comfy, easy-to-see-out-of bus to get you around (left).  Air conditioning is a plus. In the bus: a cooler full of drinking water (right).

Also in the bus: People Who Know What They’re Doing.  Our leader and driver were Borderland Tours’/Costa Rica Expeditions’ Charlie Gómez and Niño Morales (below), who can both readily find a bird by sight or sound and see to it that everyone in the group gets their eyes (or at least one eye) on it.

With the assistance of these experts and items, you’re ready to look for a bird.

Here’s one now.  And it’s a good one — Charlie and Niño are exhibiting excitement.  “Just” a Mourning dove, you say?  Why, no!  It’s a female Maroon-chested ground dove (Claravis mondetoura).  Take a close look with those waterproof binoculars, you may not see this one again (digiscoping by Charlie Gómez):

(All still photos A.Shock)

To say that pygmy owls are sparrow-like isn’t entirely true.  But it’s almost true.

To start with, there’s their size: they are Very Very Small (the technical term).  Almost sparrow-sized.  Perched in a conifer, they look like a tiny pinecone. Also, like sparrows, they’re largely diurnal, and can frequently be found glaring down from a high branch in daylight hours.

Ferruginous pygmy owl, San José CR.  (photo A.Shock) >>

Then there’s their fierce, predatory nature.

OK, that’s not like a sparrow at all, unless you’re a seed.

But then, there’s their population density: they’re almost as numerous as sparrows.  Of course this is hyperbole too, but, for a predator, whose numbers are usually limited, they are fairly numerous.  In a walled garden of our hotel in San José, Costa Rica, we encountered (heard or seen) at least three if not more Ferruginous pygmy owls, simultaneously responding to their own staccato calls, recorded and played back to them. (By contrast, in Arizona, Ferruginous pygmy owls reach their maximum northward range in the southern part of the state; they’re not terribly numerous.  In fact, the Cactus ferruginous pygmy owl is endangered in the state)

<< Here’s another pygmy owl in Costa Rica, making its repetitive “poop” call, at the rate of about 3 per second, each note accompanied by a slight lift of its tail, showing the whole-body effort that goes into making a noise that’s pretty loud coming from such a small entity. (Photo A.Shock)

Costa Rica is especially well-supplied with pygmy owl species: Ferruginous, Costa Rican (endemic to the country), and Central American pygmy owl all make their homes there, varying slightly in appearance and voice, but not overlapping much in range.

Three Star Owl blogging resumes after a hiatus of two weeks in Costa Rica…

Volcán Turrialba at dawn, from Rancho Naturalista (photo A.Shock).

In the view above only a small plume of steam and gas is visible from the most active of the three summit craters of the nearly 11,000 foot stratovolcano.  Its last major eruption was in 1866, but a recent increase in activity and a release of volcanic ash in January of this year, resulted in the evacuation of two nearby villages.

Gray-headed chachalacas (photo A.Shock) >>

Local residents may be used to living in view of this steaming giant, but for visitors it can be a little unnerving.  However there’s lots to distract, including vocal groups of Gray-headed chachalacas eating bananas at a fruit feeder, and a Crested Guan perched and silhouetted against the green valley far below.

<< Crested guan (photo A.Shock)

One of our destinations during the recent eastern California trip was the dramatic and amazing Mono Lake and its crumbly, gradually ephemeral tufa groves.  Tufa towers are mineral formations deposited underwater when calcium-rich spring water pours up into carbonate-rich lakewater.  The resulting mixture precipitates calcium-carbonate which builds upward into the lake water, sort of like stalagmites in a cave, but underwater.  If the lake level drops or the lake dries up, the towers are exposed (like the Trona Pinnacles).

>> Osprey-nested tufa tower, Mono Lake.  The tips of the hen’s primaries look like a little black alligator head, if you click to enlarge.

Lots of birds and mammals use the pinnacles to perch, shelter, forage, and nest.  This tufa tower, about 15 feet tall, is completely surrounded by water — a pair of ospreys has built their nest on the platform of its top.  The Osprey hen, sitting tight on either eggs or chicks, is barely visible as two black wingtips sticking up just over the the middle of the untidy stick nest.  She’s hunkered low down in a whipping wind.  Her mate, not in the photo, was coursing low over the water nearby.

This streaky, buffy-lored Savannah sparrow was hunting along the highly alkaline, hyper-saline water’s edge, like a very tiny T-rex, searching for alkali flies and larvae, yum.  The cold temps and wind made it fearless or at least heedless — hunger does that — and it passed right by me, intent on finding a late afternoon meal. >>

Mono Lake is also the second-largest California Gull rookery in the U.S.  Below is one, bright and bold, who landed on our truck roof to see if we had anything to eat.  I suppose this photo might qualify as a “The Bird Spots You.”

(All photos A.Shock; click to enlarge.)

The Mono Lake story is a complicated one of rich natural history, ruthless water-greed, and hard work by a lot of dedicated conservationists and politicians, for better or for worse.  Check it out here.

<< check out the orange “gape” or flexible skin at the corner of the mouth, all the better to gulp down bickies with.  We did not oblige.

After much battling, litigation and legislation, current policy is to let the lake fill naturally, so the South Shore tufa towers pictured above are slowly being inundated.  A good reason to visit now, if you’ve never been; in a few short decades, these tufas will be underwater.

[This is a Spot the Bird, although it’s less of a quiz than a photo series. All photos A or E Shock.  Click to enlarge.]

Here are some feral date palms, growing wild at a substantial oasis in Death Valley, CA.  The date palm is Phoenix dactylifera (“finger-bearing”), but in this case we could call it P. bubifera, “owl-bearing.”  There’s an owl in this palm, although you can’t see it. >>

Owls seem to like roosting in palms.   Every birder the world over checks palms for owls.  Great horned, Barn, Grass, whatever the local species are — if there are owls and palms together in a habitat or region, they are likely to be acquainted.  This is because palms (like pine trees) provide what owls like: concealing, sturdy roosts, and habitat and food source for prey items.  An owl perched hidden in palm fronds has a grand view of scurrying, foraging rodents at its feet — imagine regularly finding dinner on your very own kitchen floor… or, to quote Homer: “Mmmm, Floor Pie!”  (that’s the epic Homer Simpson, not Homer the epic poet).

Spot the bird: In the center of this photo, you can see a vague milky blur on the right edge of the darkest dark: the vermiculation, or fine breast barring, of a Great horned owl, Bubo virginianus. >>

It’s nearly invisible because its distinctive yellow eyes aren’t visible; owls roosting in plain sight will often consider themselves concealed by squinting.  When even one eye is revealed, the bird become easier to spot. <<

I’ve checked a lot of palm trees.  I never find owls in them (although I know others who have), but I keep checking.  This repeated optimistic searching is known in our family as checking for lard. The term was coined after a cat named the Beefweasel found an unattended pile of chopped fat on a windowsill in our St. Louis apartment, waiting to be put outside for winter-hungry titmice and chickadees.  Making good her name, the Beefweasel wolfed down the yummy chunks.  Balancing on her hind legs and sniffing hard, she checked that bountiful window-ledge for years hoping for a fatty repeat.  Birders are well-known to check for lard, too: there was a nut tree in St. Louis that was searched every winter by local birders on field trips because once in a decade past it had hosted an out-of-range Bohemian waxwing.  Among birders, places to check for lard are passed down as oral tradition: I knew about that pecan tree, but the waxwing that made it famous alit there long before my time.

So out of habit and hope, I was checking these particular palms with my binoculars, searching the deepest shadows for Good Feathery Detail (vermiculation).  And there was an owl.

>> The bird never fully unhid; this was the maximum best sighting it allowed.

It was a Great horned owl, tucked in out of the breeze, and not at all worried about us (although we didn’t go very close, being equipped with telephoto lenses and optics — owls are like cats; sometimes you have to respect their invisibility, even if it’s just in their heads).

It’s so delightful to luck into a surprise owl (which, mostly, they are), that we talked about it for the rest of the trip.  We referred to this bird as “the Boss in her Office”, because she reminded me of a boss I once had, who lurked invisible at her desk most of the time.  Although she was hidden from us as we scurried around busily, it was never a good idea to forget she was there…