Feliz Navidad!

Happy holidays from Panama! I’ve been in this beautiful country for the last twelve days. I’m writing this from the airport and shortly I’ll be bound for the US, but figured it was a good time for an update. The rest of the trip will be posted in other installments, but here’s a recap of Christmas day - definitely my favorite Christmas thus far in my life.

I got into Panama City late last night (Christmas Eve) from David. After my first hot shower in a week, I called one of my friends and we set up a trip to Mexico for early January. We booked airbnbs and wondered about the reliability of a $6/day rental car while a spectacular fireworks show went on outside my window. It felt more like New Year’s than Christmas Eve; Panama does it right. 

I got a late start this morning due to another much needed hot shower and a hot breakfast, complete with copious amounts of fruit and juice. When I rolled up to Parque Natural Metropolitano at the crack of nine in the morning, the lot was nearly full. Lots of folks were spending Christmas walking the trails of Panama City’s premier natural area. Despite the people and the time of day, I was pleasantly surprised to see decent bird activity. A White-vented Plumeleteer greeted me when I got out of the cab, as did the sounds of Yellow-crowned Euphonias and a Red-crowned Woodpecker. The folks inside let me drop off my bag in the office while I birded, and I got right to it. 

There were a handful of species I’d missed on the trip and was hoping for - among them Spot-crowned Barbet, White-necked Puffbird, and Yellow-green Tyrannulet. The park also hosts lots of coatis, monkeys, sloths, and other tropical life, and it was a pretty great place to spend my last morning in Panama. It wasn’t long before I’d knocked off one of my targets - a Yellow-green Tyrannulet was with the first mixed flock I encountered. The flock, like most in the park, was led by a crew of Bay-breasted Warblers.

A handful of Crimson-backed and White-shouldered Tanagers bounced around too, then something different flew in. It was gray and a little bigger than the White-shouldered Tanagers. I put my binoculars up and was happy to see a male White-winged Becard! These birds are variable throughout their range; males in Panama are dark gray below with contrasting black caps. A lifer, and somehow my only individual becard of the whole trip. 

At the forest edge, I heard a call that sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it. It went on and on, slightly frustrating, as it sounded like a larger bird and I thought I ought to have seen it by now.  I recorded the call, and while I was recording I saw the bird sally within the canopy of the tree I’d been staring at for several minutes. A few more seconds and I had my answer - Streaked Flycatcher. They are not uncommon in the canal zone or in El Valle, and I really should have heard one by now. I had been a little annoyed at my inability to detect such a frequent bird for so long, as I had certainly been hearing throughout the trip and had not been able to detect one. Bird like this are called “window birds” in point count lingo, and they are a big downside to birding alone. For whatever reason, almost every birder has certain sounds they just subconciously tune out. On trips, to avoid this, I spend a while every evening listening to the calls of birds I feel like I’m not detecting, even if they’re calls I already know well. For the most part it works. Sometimes, though, and in the case of this Streaked Flycatcher,  I just need to see a bird making the noise to snap me out of it. 

A little bit further in I spotted a trogon sitting quietly about 30 meters from the trail. A female Slaty-tailed, a nice Christmas present. The red and green color scheme was fitting.

I was distracted quickly by tell-tale rackets protruding from the undergrowth ahead. They belonged to a Whooping Motmot. The bird and its mate obliged as I got fairly close and took some photos. The turquoise cap and black mask make for quite a spiffy bird.

I kept sorting through mixed flocks and working the trails while the sounds of Rufous-breasted Wrens rang out from the understory. A few hummingbirds danced around the flowering trees, among them Rufous-tailed and Violet-bellied. I got great looks at Lesser and Golden-fronted Greenlets, which I’d seen only briefly during my earlier stint in the area. The titmouse-like song of Green Shrike-Vireo was omnipresent in the canopy, but they were impossible to get good looks at. Olivaceous Woodcreepers hitched up lianas alongside Black-and-white Warblers. Keel-billed Toucans croaked from the forest and occasionally I’d spot one.

Agoutis are quite tame within the park, and there were several just off the trail. I took a few minutes to study a singing male Fulvous-vented Euphonia. Euphonia ID is like a puzzle. They almost all have the same yellow and dark blue color scheme and, more or less, the same pattern. Fulvous-vented have something different - their namesake orangey vent - but in bad light it can be difficult to tell. So instead, extent of yellow on the crown (just the forehead, less than Yellow-capped) and throat color (dark blue, unlike Thick-billed) become the ID markers. 

On my way up to the mirador, I heard the long yipping song of a White-necked Puffbird. Towards the end of the song it deteriorated in pattern into various yelps, somewhat like the end of a Black-chested Puffbird. I had to check some recordings to make sure this was within range of White-necked; it was. It was too far to even try to see, but it was neat just to be in the presence of this charismatic bird. 

I reached the mirador and took a few minutes to admire the skyline of Panama City, alongside many other folks from all over the world doing the same. The skyscrapers remind me of Miami tucked into the rainforest. Frigates, vultures, and a Short-tailed Hawk soared on the thermals overhead.

The nasal calls of a distant Laughing Falcon took me a while to process as a bird, but when I tuned in I smiled. Another little Christmas present. I got closer but it was too far from the trails to find. I started down the mountain, still working each mixed flock but quickly, hoping to have enough time for some shorebirding before my afternoon flight.

Perhaps my favorite part of the day was playing guide for other folks on the trail. Most hikers are fairly oblivious to the wildlife, but pointing out a charismatic animal to them can brighten their day. Such was the case today. First, I pointed out a Keel-billed Toucan to a delighted group of Germans.

I handed them my binoculars. They passed them around, smiling as the toucan flipped back and forth on the branch, swinging its rainbow bill. I had the same feeling I get watching someone open a gift I know they really love. That warm, bubbly feeling is most of the reason I enjoy guiding and outreach - the only thing better than a great bird is sharing it with others. 

After the toucans, I encountered a couple quietly photographing something in the canopy. They’d spotted a Mantled Howler Monkey but it was far off. People stopped in the trail to see what we were looking at, and I got them on the monkey. Again, I passed my binoculars around. I had to give a demonstration on turning the focus knob - something that many non-birders have never encountered. As we watched, the rest of the troop of monkeys came into view. Almost silently, the only noise the swooshing of leaves and branches above us, about 15 monkeys swung into view, eventually stopping in the trees just over the trail. There were a few young monkeys, including one tiny guy clambering around the trees and riding on his mothers back. About 25 people ended up standing around, enjoying their Christmas monkey experience. Some of those standing just under the monkeys got a more memorable gift when a young monkey started peeing from the canopy. 

After 20 minutes with the monkeys I got on my way. I encountered a group of White-nosed Coatis in the trail. Curious what they would do, I squeaked at them. I’ve had bobcats, Red and Gray Foxes, and mongoose all respond well to squeaking, and the coatis were no different. They trotted right up to me, within arms reach, and I squatted down to try and get some shots. They were too close to focus on while they snorted in the dirt. I took some video on my phone and was overjoyed to crouch among the coatis until they’d moved on. 

The rest of the way out was fairly quiet. I heard the short drum of a Crimson-crested Woodpecker, likely the same bird that was my lifer just 11 days ago. Southern Bentbills sang like tiny elephants. I encountered a couple flocks of ant-tanagers, all giving the low raspy chuck calls of Red-throated. They’re very confiding birds but tend to be in the understory with little light, so I didn’t even try for pictures. Dusky Antbirds scolded from the underbrush and Black-crowned Antshrikes sang nasal songs, ending with a funky “wha!” quite similar to their Barred cousins. A Squirrel Cuckoo bounded over the trail, giving me a last chance to admire their brilliant rufous plumage and long tails. A large hummingbird caught my eye overhead, coming to some high flowers. The shape, thick decurved bill, long tail, fairly thickset overall, was familiar. I’d just seen its congener in Louisiana a couple weeks ago. I was looking at a Black-chested Mango, my first and only one for the trip and just my second mango ever. I didn’t go to any birding lodges on this trip, and as such I didn’t get the pot-shots at feeder hummingbirds characteristic of so many neotropical trips. Still, I did pretty well at natural food sources. I was happy with the mango, though it zipped off into the forest before I could get a picture. 

I got back to the beginning of the trail and ordered an Uber with about 2 hours to kill before I needed to head to the airport. Just outside the parking lot, I found a couple of Red-crowned Ant-Tanagers giving higher rasps than their Red-throated cousins. It would be my last new bird of the morning.

We went to Costa del Este where the mudflats can hold jaw-dropping shorebird concentrations. I had a few targets in the adjacent mangroves as well. When I got there, I was unsurprised but a little sad to see trash piled up against the mangroves so thick it formed one continuous layer as far as the eye could see.

Beyond the garbage were mudflats holding impressive shorebird numbers. The large shorbs were mostly Short-billed Dowitchers, Whimbrels, and Willets, each present in the hundreds. Dozens of Marbled Godwits, Black-bellied Plovers, and Greater Yellowlegs were among them, as were a handful of Black-necked Stilts. Dozens of Neotropic Cormorants, hundreds of Laughing Gulls, and a sprinkling of terns also sat on the shoreline, as did a swirling flock of a few hundred peeps. It was mostly Western Sandpipers with some Leasts and healthy amount of Semipalmated as well. I’d never seen Semipalmated Sandpipers in the winter, as finding one is equivalent to finding a legitmate vagrant in most of the US after October. Lots of Spotted Sandpipers and a couple Red Knots were out on the flats, not really paying heed to the flocks of shorebirds.

I picked through the shorbs for a while, but I didn’t have a scope and they were far enough that I wasn’t able to be very thorough. I spent a few minutes looking at the edge of the canal running under the road, as lots of birds were roosting along it. Seeing Brown Pelicans in trees felt wrong, but there they were, alongside Neotropic Cormorants and an assortment of herons.

Great-tailed Grackles made a ruckus and a couple Common Tody-Flycatchers snapped calls to each other and chased one another around. I was hoping for a kingfisher and even played some tape for American Pygmy but to no effect. Eventually I found a trail along the edge of the mangroves and walked it for about a mile. The amount of trash was saddening, but there were still plenty of birds. A large flock of Ruddy Ground-Doves was in the leaf litter alongside some Variable Seedeaters.

Tropical Kingbirds and Great Kiskadees made a racket while Clay-colored Thrushes and Thraupis tanagers ate from fruiting palms. Northern Waterthrush “chink” calls were omnipresent from the understory of the mangroves. The first show-stopper I encountered was a gloriously large Ringed Kingfisher at eye level. I admired it and snapped off some photos. I’ve seen plenty of Ringed Kings now between southern Texas and the neotropics, but they never get old. The black spotting on the wings really struck me - they’re quite gorgeous and well patterned upon close inspection, once you get past the initial shock and awe. 

A young heron in the same pond struck me as small and pale for a Great Blue and I gave it a closer look. Pale thighs and pale gray sides to the neck meant it was a juvenile Cocoi Heron, my first!

I studied it for a long while, my main takeaway being that I’m sure glad Cocoi and Gray Herons don’t overlap in range because that would be an ID nightmare. A couple Yellow-bellied Elaenias and a Panama Flycatcher reminded me that I was in a time crunch and should move on. I kept moving, enjoying my best looks ever at Pale-vented Pigeons and watching a Fasciated Antshrike sing from just above me.

I whistled back and it gave me a funny look but didn’t move closer. I flushed a Common Black Hawk, which allowed quick views before disapearing further into the mangroves. 

Just after flushing the hawk, I heard a ridiculous cacophany of screeching. It sounded like Yellow-headed Caracaras, but what was going on? Soon I had a better idea, as a juvenile caracara landed on the ground in front of me and was pummeled by two screaming adults. I’m not sure at all what was the motivation for it, but they were brutal. Every time the juvenile would flee, the adults would pummel it again, pinning it to the ground often on its back. The whole time they would scream to each other. At times, the youjng bird would stand up and the adults would perch above it, but invariably they would go back to harassing it. I took an audio recording for the three minutes that I watched the caracaras until their fight took them into the forest. The sounds are quite nightmarish and I can only guess at what the youngster did to deserve that treatment. Infringing on the pair’s territory? Their own offspring that is trying to set up shop too close to home? I’ll do some more reading. Caracaras have the most complex social system of raptors and the biggest brains, so there’s a good chance there was a lot going on that I won’t be able to figure out. 

After the caracaras took off, I had another half hour or so before I had to leave for the airport. I studied a juvenile Butorides for a while before I decided to take pictures and consult a field guide. I was leaning Striated in the field but its not an ID conundrum I’ve ever encountered before.

I eventually emerged back onto the flats where dozens of Whimbrels and Willets were. Hundreds of Laughing Gulls flew by and pelicans made plunges as it started to rain. I stood under a bridge for a minute, but the rain started to ramp up and I opted to head to the airport a little early. On the way to the airport, I spotted two Gray-cowled Wood-Rails on a side street, playing in the rain. I was very happy with my last day in the country. The shorebirds really padded my Panama list, getting the trip over 350 species. It was a great way to spend a holiday that’s always been hard for me - and its one I’ll remember fondly forever.

Feliz navidad!