The Hungry Night

The head of the ocelot, such a cryptically patterned beast, could just be seen behind a screen of grass as it sat motionless beside a shallow pool. It's white ear patches reflected the light shone by our guide who, ever alert, had spotted the cat from his vantage point sitting on the front of our jeep. Our small group, all British, whispered to each other in excited tones; all trying to get a fix on this most unexpected of finds. After a little while the beautifully marked animal smoothly sauntered across our field of vision drawing gasps of delight from all. The grace of big cats, lithe of limb, just has to be admired. More so when seen in the wild, in a foreign land with thousands of croaking frogs, cicadas and the cries of night birds echoing all around as the sultry heat of the evening continues to draw sweat.

We've moved south. A three hour drive took us from Rio Mutum to Cuiaba where we boarded a late evening flight to Campo Grande the gateway to the southern Pantanal. After an overnight stay and a further 4 hour drive we find ourselves in the rather wonderful and aptly named Caiman Lodge. Our room overlooks a large wetland where jacanas, capybara and caiman prowl. Over all grey-breasted martins hawk the plentiful insects to feed young in nests squeezed into gaps in the roofing just above our heads. Within minutes of arriving I watched with mounting trepidation a small caiman try its luck with hunting a brood of four well grown jacana chicks. The birds knew something was not quite right, but since the reptile showed its mastery of immobility, they couldn't quite work out where the danger lie. The more experienced parent bird knew better however, squawking an alarm with wings, gathering her progeny and moving them away. The drama continued as they stepped across the lilies on their elongated toes. Another caiman, bigger, covered in weed, more stealthy, rose from the mire and lunged at the birds. They scattered in panic and luckily for them managed to escape the jaws that appeared from the waters to consume them.

The days here fall into a pleasant routine of getting up at about 5.30am, stepping out onto the verandah to watch the sun rise through mist rising from the lake before breakfasting and heading out around 7am for a drive along the many trails crisscrossing the huge estate. It is all quite leisurely with frequent stops to admire any bird or animal of interest. The land here is flat with mixed Savannah, woodland and open water. The raised dirt road was made by scooping out sand and gravel directly from either side. This has resulted in a series of shallow ponds forming at regular intervals where Ibis, herons, storks and spoonbills prowl around on their long scaly legs looking for any movement betraying the location of a frog or fish. The lush forest provides food and shelter for many species of bird and provides cover for peccaries, lizards, and tortoises. We return for lunch at about 12.30 and then are free to lounge around until 5pm when we go out for our evening/night safari scanning the fields and trees for nocturnal wildlife. It is all rather excellent.

There's something altogether magical about looking for wildlife after dark. The senses are sharpened, the excitement palpable as the expectation of an encounter with an animal not normally seen or heard makes you strain eyes and ears to react to the slightest movement. The ocelot was not the only animal we encountered on our debut night excursion here: far from it. Giant anteaters, armadillos, tapir, owls and nightjars feature heavily in the program. What a delight it is to sit quietly watching these wild animals go about their lives unconcerned by our presence.

But we really don't have to travel very far to experience wonderful wildlife. 200 yards from the lodge is a fence which is used by a pair of burrowing owls. They gaze lazily at us every morning as we pass in the vehicle, slowly turning their heads to watch us through half opened eyes. In a tree just beyond resides a pair of bat falcons. As I type we have just returned from a walk with the guide to look at these gorgeous birds close to. One of the owls amazingly sat on a post 10 feet from us and didn't even bother to look around until I whistled to attract it's attention for a picture. One of the falcons whizzed in over our heads and proceeded to sit on a branch to preen in full view. Exhilarating.

I can look up from my seat to see the martins perched on the beams of the gazebo, parrots and parakeets screech past on whirling wings whilst a tiny hummingbird hovers within touching distance. Occasionally there will be a commotion from the nearby shallows to denote a tussle between capybara or a caiman slapping the water to proclaim his right to territory. Myriad frogs belt out a chorus of croaks and squeaks, kiskadees sing their names and vultures sail by on broad black wings. It is, all things considered, a rather pleasant way to spend some time. Another beer will round it off nicely I think.

The Blessed Dawn

My 5.30am alarm was almost drowned by the hammering of an early morning downpour. I rolled over thinking that it was pointless expecting my 6.00 appointment with our guide to go ahead. But then how many other opportunities would I get for a dawn paddle in a canoe on the waters of the northern Pantanal? I hauled myself out of bed, poked my head out of the door to find a gloriously fresh and clear morning. The heavenly fluting of thrushes, the harsh screeches of the guans, the wolf whistling of the yellow-rumpled cacique greeted the emerging rays of the sun. If it was good enough for them then so it was for I. 

We walked through the meadow to the edge of the lake, passing a family group of capybara and cackling green ibis along the way. Within a few weeks this whole area will be submerged with the waters reaching to the very edge of the lodge itself. The rains will slowly fill the basin that is the Pantanal to a depth of 2 metres or more and will transform an area the size of the UK into a huge water world teeming with acquatic life of all kinds. For now though we had an hour to gently float along the shallow margins of the lake in search of a Pygmy kingfisher that my guide was determined to find. 

Slowly slipping away from the jetty, sliding as if across a mirror, so still and undisturbed was the scene before us. No human sound at all: nothing except the gentle ripple of crystalline water as we glided along, the echo of birdsong gleefully greeting the dawn, the slap of fish escaping our intrusion and the occasional throaty roar of a bull caiman advertising his wares. And all around the reflected image of sun spangled clouds.

We spent our time drifting quietly into the shallow hyacinth cloaked margins but could not connect with the little kingfisher we sought. It didn't really matter though; just being there was enough. What we did see was a troop of giant river otters that were fishing amongst the lilies. One had caught a large fish and with this clamped firmly in its jaws raised its head and long neck out of the water to have a good enquiring look at the intruders. My guide can recognise individual animals by the patterning on their necks; she knows there are three separate groups that inhabit the immediate area. She can imitate their anguished calls which to my ears sound as if the creatures are in pain and whining to each other about their ills. Weird and wonderful.

So, no little kingfisher, but what price an experience like this? How lucky am I to be able to see, smell and drink in the sights and sounds of one of the worlds true wilderness areas. Can I give anything back? Not directly, except that talking to people about their passionate love for the region, trying to understand the problems that it faces, giving them encouragement in their endeavours may help just a little. Asking someone to try and find me a little kingfisher is in itself an inconsequential thing, but allowed us to talk about her hopes and fears and maybe, just for a small amount of time, allowed her to immerse herself afresh, through my eyes, into the wonders of the natural splendour she works in every day. In some small way perhaps it also allows you to appreciate what we all have around us and how fragile it can be. In contrast later that evening at the airport, we watched a little boy laughingly stamping on flying insects that had become trapped in the building, an act of human brutality compounded by his ignorant mother who, with a proud smile, continually pointed out to him another hapless creature he could despatch with a stomp of his foot. The Pantanal, Brazil, the World, faces many challenges: exploitation of wildlife (here it is over fishing and persecuting of Jaguars that sometimes attack cattle), pollution, human encroachment - the usual thing - all of them are man made and based on greed and ignorance. Thank goodness some people care enough to devote their lives to conserving the place because without them there really would be no hope.

Pygmies and Giants

It glared at us from baleful lemon yellow eyes, sat atop a tangle of fallen branches and roots. A ferruginous Pygmy owl, one of a pair our guide had picked up calling from the track along which we had been strolling. The ability of this knowledgable lady to filter out from the cacophony of frog croaks and birdsong an isolated call of a target bird is uncanny, but luckily for us unfailing. We watched this diminutive owl for a couple of minutes until it decided it had provided enough entertainment and flew across the road and disappeared into some bushes.

It was so good to be able at last to venture out from the lodge because finally, thankfully, the rain had eased in mid afternoon allowing us to walk along the puddle strewn road. Butterflies, dragonflies and insects of all kinds, especially mosquitoes, revelled in the cocktail of 95% humidity and a never ending supply of still water in which to set about their breeding cycle. The hungry female mosquitoes certainly found a good food source in this particular lily-skinned Brit. Sweet blood for all.

Our guide, making up for lost time, was most keen to show us as many of the special species of the area as was humanly possible in the couple of hours available. First up a helmeted manikin that frantically responded to a recording of one of its kind, hopping around tantalisingly from branch to branch in the forest of dense scrub. What a stunning bird, jet black body capped by a shock of scarlet on the crown and nape. Quite lovely.

The great potoo we saw from the safari wagon yesterday had chosen to roost in the same spot and didn't flinch as we gathered round it's chosen tree to crane our necks for a second look. What a strange looking bird, although its camouflage is truly extraordinary. Seen from any angle it simply looked like an extension of the dead bough on which it perched motionless throughout the sodden wet of the day. 

And this brought us via various woodpeckers, lapwings, cowbirds and flycatchers to the aforementioned pygmy owl, after whose acquaintance we traversed a rough meadow to enter a grove of tall palm trees. More pesky mosquitoes. But these things must be brushed aside for we had come here for another owl, a much larger great horned owl, which before long was being admired through binoculars and providing frame filling images for us to post on Facebook or maybe into a blog. What a contrast to the little chap we had seen earlier. This bird was big and impressive with large brown eyes set in a facial disk ringed with black feathering. Ear tufts raised, the bird looked impassively down at us, quite unperturbed by our presence. It twisted its large head to and fro a couple of times, yawned in a leisurely way before launching itself on silent, rounded wings to twist and turn between the trees to another unmolested roosting spot. 

All that excitement took place yesterday, the late afternoon of Saturday 12th. Today with fears of another soaking clouding our minds we once again took to the water in search of acquatic wildlife. It did rain, light misty showers refreshed our sweaty faces from time to time, but happily the experiences of two days ago were not repeated. Instead we were treated to the impressive sight of a family party of giant otters that we tracked as they swam powerfully across the lake. These creatures were inquisitive to a degree, thrusting their heads out of the murky, mud churned water to have a good look at us, but had some small cubs in tow so were unwilling to expose them to potential danger. Once they reached the far bank they were gone in an instant.

We reached a shallow lagoon where predators had gathered to feast on the huge numbers of fish using the river system to spawn. Around this small area we espied lots of caiman, large yellow-billed terns, anhingas, black collared Hawks, herons and kingfishers all waiting to cash in on the hordes. Who'd be a fish? We witnessed a strange phenomenon as we motored along with fish jumping out of the water all around us. Two actually landed in the boat much to the surprise and delight of all. No teeth to worry about on these river inhabitants so they were picked up and returned to their homes.

Then it was time to chill, write up this blog, listen to the birds, frogs and cicadas and watch the butterflies float around the grounds. There may have been a beer or two involved as well.

Early Rains

Saturday 12th November.

It is raining. As I sit here typing this post I am looking at a bedraggled woodpecker clinging to the underside of a stout bough, there to shelter from the deluge. The poor thing is clinging motionless at 45 degrees with its stiff tail feathers bracing it for what looks like being a lengthy stay. A few moments ago a greater kiskadee briefly perched on the back of an adjacent chair, called loudly, indignantly, at the thundering rain and flew off to find its own place to hole up for a spell. It is coming down hard and has been since just after dawn. At 5.30 as the first tendrils of daylight fanned through the trees, the air was fresh from the previous night's downpour; some promise of a drier day ahead. By 6.00 the first few spots of liquid dripped from a gloomy sky and before long cascades of water were flowing along the paths and forming puddles in the already sodden ground. The rains that normally arrive in December have decided to come early this year.

Yesterday, Friday, was a day of contrasts, a game of two halves as they often expound on Match of the Day. During the oppressively hot, steamy morning we boarded an open sided vehicle to bump and grind our way along sandy tracks through the Pantanal Savannah. Bird life was prolific here with frequent stops to appreciate the various species that are now into their breeding season; some singing, some tussling with rivals, some building nests or feeding young. The rains bring life to the parched land that bakes during the dry season; the wildlife takes advantage of the bounty following in its wake. We paused to discover that the broken branch of a tree being pointed to by our guide was in fact a great potoo roosting for the day, watch a roadside hawk fastidiously preening itself, admire a family party of burrowing owls sunning themselves from fence posts bordering the track, marvel at a pair of red-legged seriema strutting on ridiculously long legs through the dry brush. And all the while the dark shapes of vultures cruised the warm air above.

Virtually every bird seen here is new to us, but there was one that I have personally wanted to see in the wild for a long time. And our expert guide knew exactly where to look. Can there be any finer colouration on any bird than that adorning a hyacinth Macaw? I think not. We found a small flock feeding in a palm, a little skittish at our approach. They decided soon enough to find a more secluded feeding spot and one by one launched into the air to delight us as they glided past, their velvet, electric blue, feathering shown to perfection in the strong morning sunlight. Only nature can produce such finery; subtle tones and shades on a theme that no artist can match. The reason the birds are suffering here, as many birds and animals are suffering all over the globe, is thanks to the activity of man. The small coconut palms bearing fruits of specific attraction to the birds are grubbed up to make way for crops and grass with which to feed the cattle that roam here in numbers. The macaws are forced out. Happily the lodge where we are ensconced for a few days is engaging with the local farmers to educate them to the needs of the birds while also pointing out the benefits their presence brings in terms of Eco tourism. A classic win-win, which in this case means the macaws have an ample supply of nuts upon which to weald their tremendously strong beak and the lodge supplements the farmsteads with food. Such gorgeous creatures and a serious tick for me. Happy smiles all around.

The afternoon was given over to a trip along the river Mutum in a motorised canoe, slowly examining the riverbanks for whatever birds and mammals felt like showing themselves. Of course the showy kingfishers are the main stars, sitting ever watchful on overhanging branches scrutinising the clear waters with bright beady eyes. I blogged a few months ago about my rather over ambitious thoughts of seeing all the worlds kingfishers, bee eaters and rollers. Whilst I stand little chance of fulfilling this aim, it is nonetheless quite possible to see all five of the South American kingfishers on this trip. In fact having seen three species in Ecuador I only need green and Pygmy kingfishers to complete the list. The quest was on. So, for the next couple of hours eyes and ears were strained in an attempt to locate these small and obviously elusive gems. We saw several brazen Amazon kingfishers and lots of ringed kingfishers, but nothing new. That is until it began to rain when a small green bird shot across the river in front of us and disappeared into the overhang. 'Green kingfisher' came the cry from our guide and with that another minor, to many insignificant, to me immensely satisfying, goal was reached. Only one more to go, but sadly this is where the adventure ended, at least for that day. The heavens opened and then some. All in the canoe frantically pulled on the plastic ponchos provided, covered cameras, binoculars and other things of value with any waterproofs to hand, gritted teeth and braved the angry elements. Despite worrying about my optics, I actually enjoyed the feeling of fresh cool rain on my face. Zipping around, blasting into heavy squalls with curtains of water lashing all around was quite exhilarating. It was only later I discovered a sodden wallet full of damp and soggy bank notes which took the shine off the experience a little. 

And so we come to today. It is now early afternoon and the rain is still falling. Toads and frogs are having a ball, Muscovy ducks have paid a visit and ibis probe the wet earth with long decurved beaks. There is talk of a walk around the site a bit later, but I'm going to crack open a beer and relax. I'm no weather forecaster but it really doesn't look like we're going anywhere, anytime soon. There's always tomorrow.

A Touch of Brazilian Magic

We arrived to the ominous sound of rumbling thunder issued from the depths of evil looking clouds that every so often would spit jagged forks of lightning. The accompanying humidity made for an uncomfortable welcome to our stay in the southern Pantanal. But the rain didn't materialise, at least no more than a few drops helping to refresh our tired and unwashed selves. We had been travelling for 30 hours with the last three of them over rough roads that meandered through small townships and at last gave way to a sandy track cut through the open savannah where termite mounds dotted the fields like so many gravestones.

We were given little time to rest by our guide who was keen to maximise the time she has with us; four weary Europeans that for the next little while find themselves guests of people who dwell in a remote Brazilian land that for 7 months of the year in under water. This first stop is at Pousada Rio Mutum, a lodge placed on the banks of the river from which it borrows it's name. The open grounds play host to an array of exotic looking birds, chief among them being the cantankerous, loud, ever watchful rusty-margined guan that vie with the high strutting bare-faced curassow, buff-necked ibis and thrushes for the pleasure of feasting on ripe mangoes that drop without warning from heavily laden trees. 

The fruits that still hang in tempting clusters are ravished by an array of other birds, parrots, McCaws, Orioles, tanagers and jays. Greater kiskadees eye their territory from convenient perches ready to pounce on any passing insect or small lizard. We watched a pair hunt frogs at the water's edge whacking the poor amphibian mercilessly against a branch in the manner of a kingfisher. In a tree by the water's edge a pair of black collared hawks were busy courting as oblivious to the osprey perched nearby as it was to them. There is so much here that it is hard not to be overwhelmed; I am already like a child in a particularly sumptuous sweet shop.

So, our guide invited us to step into a canoe and gently paddled us around clear, calm waters for an hour or so. Here were kingfishers: ringed - bold and showy;  green and rufous - smaller and more evenly proportioned; and the Amazon - dagger billed and impervious to our close scrutiny. Other birds dotted the riverside vegetation; neotropic cormorants, anhingas, jacanas and herons. A pair of southern screamers lived up to their names screeching their almightilly loud, raucous cries across the still air of the gathering dusk. And then somehow from great distance our guide thought she had caught a glimpse of a capybara. We strained our eyes but could see nothing but acres of water plants and dense vegetation until as we edged closer and closer, the bulky shape of a small group of these weird animals could be seen sitting stock still on the shoreline. How big are they! I've seen these things many times on TV but was not prepared for the reality of seeing close to these pig sized aquatic animals. Most impressive. 

We retired early, completely worn out but looking forward to whatever delights the following 3 days here will bring. We are promised an action packed agenda. Watch this space.

Here There Be Dragons

Away from the brisk westerly breeze sweeping across the swaying mops of fading pink hemp agrimony, apart from the rustling of thousands of swaying reed stems, we found a sheltered spot in the lee of gnarled and twisted birch. Here was the domain of the dragonfly. Atop every dead stem a common darter perched, its multi-faceted eyes scanning the area around its chosen observation point for potential prey or a mate. We watched these four winged predators as they sparred, hunted and courted, arrowing through the warm August air on their short-lived mission to foster another generation. We were quite mesmerised by these jewels of the insect world; wings glistening, backlit against the burning sun of high summer. With the aid of binoculars every minute hair on the dragonflies legs could be seen, every vein on the paper thin wings, every hexagonal lens of their bulbous, rich brown compound eye. The challenge of course was to photograph these sparkling miracles of nature and do justice to their form; an impossible task really, but we felt compelled to try and capture something of their ethereal beauty and record the moment.

The venue for this spell of insect photography was the wonderful Norfolk Wildlife Trust reserve at Hickling Broad. I can remember the first time I espied this rather special place. On that occasion it was from the high ground near Martham on a pristine June day the best part of half a century ago.

Me and my young friends had spent the day aimlessly cycling along country lanes with no particular destination in mind and here we were taking a breather whilst overlooking the famous Broadland haven. Eric Hosking was to blame for us having knowledge of this place; his autobiographical work ’An Eye for a Bird’ had enthralled us and filled our young minds with visions of exotic places and even more exotic birds. But the most interesting aspect of the book (borrowed regularly from the local library) was the whole chapter devoted to Hickling, a place held dear to his heart and one this pioneering photographer visited regularly during the war years. Within this chapter were accounts of intimately close encounters with bitterns, bearded tits, harriers, both marsh and Montagu’s, as well as anecdotes concerning other species we had hardly heard of let alone dreamed of seeing. But it was getting late, the sun slowly lowering into the western sky and we had 20 miles to cycle home. The reserve was tantalisingly close but its exploration would have to wait for another day.

As it happened that day was many years in the future; the 1980s in fact when I began to visit the area regularly to watch the harriers and cranes coming in to roost at Stubb Mill, then simply a raised muddy bank, exposed and lonely. And it wasn't until I started working for NWT much later still that I got to know the reserve better. Of course much has changed since the days of Hosking. NWT now manages a vast area of this unique landscape allowing public access to much of it year round. Summer boat trips take eager eyed visitors to secret niches where otters, spoonbills, waders and purple hairstreaks can be seen, whilst the Visitor Centre ensures a warm welcome. But the essential wildness remains; acres of reed interspersed with shallow creeks where the billowing sails of river craft glide sedately past. Wide open skies punctured by silhouettes of wind pumps and stands of wet woodland. Broadland at its most evocative.

For all that, it can sometimes seem an empty place, frustratingly devoid of the bird life for which it is renowned. But then a brown spangled form will rise from the reeds and fly over your head, a bittern moving between feeding stations. Or yelps from lapwings will alert you to a passing peregrine. A feeling of being watched will make you look up into the spindly oaks to find a pair of fledgling tawny owls curiously gazing down at you and a gang of bug hunting children, or you will find a swathe of marsh thistle where swallowtails dance supping nectar. Or as today you will chance upon a quiet, sheltered spot where a swarm of dragonflies entertain you with their aerobatics beyond anything man can, or ever will, be able to achieve.

We were privileged to have a brief encounter with creatures whose world we will never fully understand and whose pedigree is eon. Soon this year’s generation will succumb to the gathering chill of autumn but for the next few weeks they will buzz around this excellent nature reserve completing their life cycle. Go look, go experience their mastery of the air, go to simply celebrate their existence, go because you can.