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Goliath is taking his first looks at the outside world

by Sarah Faegre

The BTM pair of Vaca Muerta are mourning their loss, but on the other side of camp, the Isla 2 chicks are almost ready to leave their nest...

December 13th

A hot, humid mid-day. Muy pesado, el aire. Yesterday Carlos and I walked to Vaca Muerta in the late afternoon, looking at birds and checking up on the parents of the failed nest. Vaca Muerta is now filled with cows, seeking out higher grounds from the flooded savannah, and the island is saturated with their stench. The smell of cows, torn-up trampled earth and cow pies everywhere, the pair of parabas (macaws) mournfully screeching and circling the nest tree, the scrawny, bedraggled female fitting the part of the devastated mother. Vaca Muerta is an island of death. Walking around it felt sad and heavy. “Without the barba azul nest, the island has no spirit,” said Carlos, putting to words my feeling. We saw a small viper. We saw bats. We saw cows. Neither one of us felt like hanging around too long.

Since the gas has run out, we are now cooking on an open fire, using a palm-branch tripod to hang the pot above the flame. We have not yet built a roof for our fire or a structure to keep firewood dry, so if it rains a lot we may have to eat canned peas and tuna for a few days. With three people and only one nest to monitor we have a lot of time on our hands. One 2-hour shift per day each and the measurements and feeding of the chicks every three days. The chicks are big enough that Goliath is starting to poke his head out of the nest cavity to look around. Soon he will probably be climbing all the way out to exercise his wings and at that point he will fledge any day. Manu, the younger sibling, still has a ways to go and probably will not fledge until the first week of January.



December 15th
5:00 pm in the escondite (blind) of isla 2

It’s funny how attached I can become to routines and to ideas of what the routine will be for the near future. It was hard to me to accept the new plan when the Vaca Muerta nest died. Rather than being one of two people here, in this wonderful, isolated little camp, caring for the Vaca Muerta chicks for the month of January, I will be one of three or four people at Tres Palmeras, caring for the two active nests there and living with the family. Despite my sadness at the rapidly approaching departure date from the campamento, I have finally settled into the new routine, minus Vaca Muerta, in which we have all the time in the world every day because we are three people watching over one nest that is a 5-minute walk from camp.

Goliath is already climbing around at the cavity entrance and spending a lot of time with his head outside, looking around at the outside world. Falta poco. He will fly within a week. Ojalá que lo puedo mirar cuado vuele. I hope I can watch him fledge.

Posted by Sarah Faegre on 12/15 at 04:02 PM
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A Sad end to the Vaca Muerta Nest

by Sarah Faegre

Photos: The three eggs in the Vaca Muerta Nest met a sad end, despite all our attempts to protect them. Look closely to see the partially developed embryo which died in the egg (the head is on the left--note the dark eye).

December 9th (6:20pm)

A breeze has finally lifted the stifling humidity from the air and as the sun sets and dark clouds role in we hope for rain. Funny how it has gone so quickly from daily inundations to a serious lack of drinking water after only four days without rain. I suppose that we had become so accustomed to using as much water as we wanted that we didn’t stop bathing and washing clothes until our supply of about 400 liters was half gone. Now we’re down to about 100 liters which, if necessary, will last the three of us 1-2 weeks…but life in the camp is much nicer when one can bathe. The BTM nests of Isla 2 and Vaca Muerta are tranquilo—Manu and Goliath are big, but skinny, and we have had to give them each supplemental feeding once in the past two weeks.

The thunder is rolling closer and the sky is changing from gray to dark blue-black. Lightening flashes on the horizon to the west. Blue-throated Macaws call their whiny screech from Isla 2. The Vaca Muerta nest has thankfully not flooded and the female is very diligently incubating her three eggs. She is quite a mess to look at from spending weeks inside her damp, muddy, nest cavity and it is increasingly easy to tell her apart from the brilliantly-colored, immaculate male.

Yesterday I had the amazing opportunity to watch the male perform a unique bathing technique, taking advantage of a brief rain shower. At first I thought he was just playing when he landed on a slender bunch of twigs and leaves and hung upside down, flapping his wings so that the small branches bounced up and down. Then he took off and landed on another clump of leaves…and another…and as I watched him through my binoculars I could see the water that had collected in the leaves raining down on his ruffled feathers as he hung upside down, flapping his wings in just such a way that it shook the water off the leaves but did not break the twig he was clinging to. After repeating his bat-bird bathing technique four times he flew to a larger branch where he landed upright and vigorously preened his damp, ruffled feathers.

Vicente and I hiked to Veiniuno today (a different nearby estancia) to familiarize ourselves with the route and meet the people who live there (particularly important since it is the closest estancia and airstrip in case of emergency) and also to initiate a trade of foods. I have been desperately missing fruit since the mangos I hiked back from Tres Palmeras ran out a few days ago and Vicente hoped they might have some cheese and charque (dried meat). He also knew that some of our excessive supply of noodles and chocolate cookies would be very happily welcomed by the folks living there.

So, off we went, our backpacks loaded down with food, GPS on my belt, Vicente leading the way on what is normally no more than a 1-hour hike. Two and a half hours later, exhausted and soaking wet we arrived after taking a rather round-about walk through the hummocky, flooded savannah. We never found “the path”, which turned out not to exist, but we arrived nonetheless, only to find it apparently deserted. We wandered around the palm-roofed buildings, Vicente calling repeatedly, “Gente…? Señora?” Surprisingly, when he looked into one small building he saw a man, working away, totally oblivious to our presence. Vicente had met him before, last year, and knew that the man was entirely deaf and so of course he had not hear Vicente calling. Vicente thumped on the doorframe loud enough to cause vibrations and the man jumped with fright, spinning around and staring at us with confusion. He soon remembered Vicente and invited us to sit down and have some bread and cheese and a yuca drink called chive.

Vicente communicated mostly by writing on a piece of paper when, at times, Ernesto couldn’t read his lips. We learned that all the Ventiuno gente (people) had gone by horse for a Sunday visit to another estancia. Veintiuno had no mangos or achachairu but they did have guineo (tiny, sweet bananas), cheese and charque, which Ernesto gladly traded when we unpacked our food offerings. After a relaxing hour, spent eating bread and cheese and drinking chive in the dry, palm thatched shade, our energy was restored and we began our return trip. On the way out of the Veintiuno property I saw a flock of Peach-fronted Conures—a gorgeous little Aratinga parrot that is common around estancias, but absent from the 7-island area where the campamento is located. This was the only commonly observed psittacid in the area that I had not seen here in the Beni and I was very excited to finally see them. The little Blue-winged Parrotlets, which are nesting in an old hornero nest at Tres Palmeras, are gorgeous little creatures—the brilliant blue on the males’ wings flashes in the sunlight with an iridescent, metallic brilliance.

December 10th

The mosquitoes are starting to form clouds. As I sit in the escondite (blind), re-applying repellant ever half hour, the mosquitoes hum incessantly and cover every deet-free surface with a veil of their black bodies. There are a lot of mosquitoes, but still, “this is nothing,” says Vicente, who is in his second year with the project. “When there are a lot of mosquitoes you can’t even talk because if you open your mouth it fills with mosquitoes.” Even now, I have to put repellant all over my thighs and backside before going to the bathroom—my normal hand-waving technique is totally worthless—and I end up with a very itchy bum after a 10-second pee.

The water is starting to become a nuisance as well—yesterday, we waded back from Veintiuno though thigh-deep water, my water-filled rubber boots weighing me down with every step. “But this is nothing,” says Vicente. “In January the water will be so high that your legs get wet and your boots fill with water even when you are on a horse!”


December 11th

A sad, sad day for the parabas (macaws) and for the project—we have lost our Vaca Muerta nest. What exactly is the combination of circumstances that led to the nest failure, we don’t know, but I climbed this morning to find 2 of 3 eggs cracked and empty and the third cold and damp. The nest cavity damp, but not flooded. The adults were in a palm at the edge of the island when we entered and they have not returned to their nest. I am now waiting in the blind to see if they come back at all, and to try and take a last photo or two. I am curious to see if they have abandoned entirely of if they will come back to look in on their failed nest. Did the nest flood, killing the eggs? It is not flooded now, but it is certainly quite wet. Could dampness alone kill the eggs? Were the eggs fertile? Were they abandoned for some other reason? This couples’ second failure of the season. “Better luck next year, parabas,” said Vicente. “I hope you find a better nest.”

Posted by Sarah Faegre on 12/11 at 03:29 PM
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Todo Tranquilo in Macaw-land

by Sarah Faegre

All is tranquil at the Vaca Muerta nest and we can't wait for the Chrismas babies to hatch!

Above Photos (left to right): 1) Vaca Muerta female in nest (note drain holes, created by the team to help flood-proof the nest)
2 & 3) The river crossing
4) Hoatzin

December 1

Back at the campamento after a short, piranha-free visit to the main camp at the estancia, Tres Palmeras, about 10 km away. I swam the ever-widening river and floated my belongings across the same way the locals do—tie everything up in a big, canvas rain poncho and tow it across while swimming. The horses swim too, of course, and it is much less scary swimming next to a horse because the turmoil of their kicking legs is said to scare away the piranhas. When we arrived at the crossing on the way back there was a large caiman floating in the chocolate-colored water—but the caiman don’t worry me—they are smart enough to know that my toes are not fish. The piranhas, on the other hand…

All is well at the estancia, minus the stud horse and Sarah D.’s hands. The young stallion dropped dead quite suddenly, after an attempted treatment for an unknown illness. They dragged the carcass off a ways, but the dogs still make many trips daily to their new restaurant, “Caballo Muerto.” The stench of death hovers near Tres Palmeras with the dogs, but it is a very happy, stinky home. Poor Sarah D. no longer has the use of her hands, at least for a few weeks, until the blisters heal. She slid down a climbing rope after forgetting to attach the figure-eight to the harness before descending from the 7-meter nest. Sarah is very distraught by her sudden handicap but is holding amazingly well considering the difficulties of living out here without the use of your hands. “I am the foreman now,” she joked, as she pretended to direct me and Matthew in our wood-chopping attempts.

At the river crossings on the way to and from the estancia we got obstructed glimpses of the incredible Hoatzin, an amazing bird that might be described as a giant, prehistoric, painted chicken. The Hoatzin has bright blue skin around its eyes, crazy, spiked yellow hair-do, rufus primaries which glow red in the sun and contrast with tan secondaries and body coverts. Bright red eyes and red leggings on the upper thighs, like bloomers, and a long, full, black and white patterned tail are a few of its striking plumage characteristics. Its distinctive, reptile-like hiss is the first sign of its presence, as it is always hidden in the thick, riverside vegetation. By following the hisses, one can soon spot the clumsy movements of this large, but rather shy bird. How I would love to get a clear photo of the Hoatzin, but for that, I will need a day at the river.


December 3rd

A cool, cloudy day at Vaca Muerta, watching the tranquil BTM nest. How it has survived such a tremendous amount of rain without flooding I do not know, but I am thankful. Mom is incubating her eggs non-stop and all is well. Her eggs will hatch between the 17th and the 25th of December—Christmas babies!

The rainy season is here in full force and the mosquito season is just beginning. Already we are starting to feel that our island is just that…there are not many places we can still walk to without the water rising over our rubber boots. Yesterday I tried to walk down the “road” to Isla 4, normally a 30 minute walk in the dry season. It took me an hour of wading carefully through the deep water and making large detours around ponds too deep for my boots. It is very tedious walking through flooded savannah and I can’t say that I’m terribly fond of it. But just to put things in perspective, this is “very little” water, compared to the massive flooding that will occur during late December and all of January. Probably our little Isla Chiquita will flood entirely, says Vicente, and we will have to move to a higher island. This is the first year the project has camped on Isla Chiquita because the camp location is determined by where, throughout the 7 islands, the BTM nests are located. Isla Chiquita is the perfect location for visiting the nest on the adjoining Isla 2, but as the rainy season progresses, the walk to Vaca Muerta will eventually become impossible, unless you accept that your boots will flood and you will be very wet for a while (which is a likely outcome, unless we get a horse or move the camp to Vaca Muerta). There is already talk of moving the camp to Vaca Muerta, come the end of December, when Manu and Goliath have fledged—but only if we have help from the neighboring estancia, Veintiuno, and the use of their ox-pulled cart.

I’ve been in the field for three weeks now and I finally feel that I can reliably tell apart the vocalization of the 3 large macaw species. Normally I have a good ear for bird and animal sounds and I have been rather disconcerted during my time here to be the only one who can not differentiate between the raucous screeching of the blue-and-gold macaws and the slightly whinier BTMs. The Rojas are easier to differentiate—their dinosaur sized voice matches their gigantic bill.

As for the conservation aspect of this project, I am actually surprised by how well the BTMs are doing. I was imagining a species nearly doomed by predators and competitors—Blue-and-gold Macaws and Toco Toucans stealing all the best nest cavities, toucans, iguanas, snakes, hawks and owls snatching eggs and chicks from nests left and right…us, sitting in the blinds 24/7 with slingshots and pelting the invaders with mud balls. I am happy to see that in reality it is a much more tranquil seen—a hopeful scene, where the BTMs are not being mercilessly persecuted by the larger, more abundant macaw species. In fact, the Isla 2 nest belonged to a pair of Rojas (Green-winged Macaws) last year and it is probably no coincidence that pair of Rojas is always nearby—probably waiting for the BTM chicks to fledge so they can use the cavity for themselves.

Posted by Sarah Faegre on 12/03 at 11:09 AM
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San Pedro (The God of Bad Weather) Makes an Appearance

by Sarah Faegre

Rain and wind might make our camp life a bit uncomfortable...but for the Blue-throated Macaws a leaky nest can spell a quick end to eggs or young chicks

Note: The above photos were taken when camp was dry. I know that doesn't quite fite with the title of this entry, or all my complaints about flooding, but the picutres of flooded camp just aren't as pretty. Mud and water...you'll see plenty of that in more striking pictures yet to come...

People in the photo are Me and Vicente, a Bolivian Field Technitian who joined Carlos and I at the camp.



November 27th

One flooded tent and one wind-crushed tent…falling trees and a flooded kitchen…maggots in the food and a stinky, muddy bathing area…no bathroom and no shovel to dig a hole when you find a spot that serves as a bathroom. Tropical heat and humidity, mosquitoes, gnats, horseflies…a piranha-infested river that must be swam…if I want to visit the Crowned-eagle nest. A pair of Aplomado Falcons who swerve through the palms on graceful, pointed wings to grab a giant month in their talons. Changuito the armadillo, standing on hind legs to sniff delicately at the air, his face covered in mud and clumps of dirt from his excavation efforts. Puerquito, the arboreal porcupine, clambering through the canopy, dropping motacu fruits and making a racket with his whining and fussing noises like a sleepy and disgruntled hedgehog. The musical whirr of a toucans wing beats, the raucous screech of macaws. Kee-u kee-u ki-u kiu k-kk-k, say the Aplomado Falcons. The wind throws an entire palm tree vaguely in my direction as I sit in my hammock (strung between two palms) and crushes Carlos’ tent like a fragile skeleton—a mighty crunch and it is a flattened heap of broken poles and fabric, the jagged ends of poles poking through the skin like so many compound fractures. “Se ha llevado me casa,” laments Carlos, who is amazingly good-humored about the destruction of his living quarters. “I guess I will just have to get down on my belly and crawl in like Changuito,” he laughs. His hammock breaks and dumps him on the ground. He ties a knot to hold the broken strings together. The next day the other end breaks and dumps him on the ground. I wonder if there are ever hurricanes here.

Please note: There were only maggots in the food because we left the lid off for too long (thinking to give it air) before eating it as leftovers—our own fault, not anything imposed on us.



November 28th

This afternoon it is with sadness and worry that I sit, watching the nest cavity. The female is not here and her nest and eggs are wet after this morning’s torrential downpour. When we arrived at the nest to climb the pair was in a nearby tree. They screamed at us briefly and then disappeared. And this morning, during the 2 hours of inundating rain, the female was not at her nest.

Oh—but here she is now! She has just arrived and entered the nest—so maybe all is okay after all. I just can’t imagine why an incubating mother would leave her nest unattended for so long, especially when up until now she has not left her nest for more than 15 minutes at a time. Maybe she was just hunkered down in her nest during the rain storm and Carlos, not seeing the tips of her tail feathers as we often do, thought that she wasn’t there. More often than not we can see the tips of her tail poking out of the cavity entrance when she in there, but not always. In fact I can’t see it right now and if I hadn’t been watching closely to see her enter I would think that she wasn’t inside and had surely abandoned.

This is a beautiful time to be in the blind: It is 5:30 pm and the sun is starting to set. The birds and the frogs are singing their evening songs and a light wind is blowing. The sky is cloudy, as always, and it will probably rain again. Since my tent last flooded I have moved it and arranged the tarp overhead to divert some of the water, so hopefully I will not be sleeping in soggy wetness anymore this year. I suppose a flooded tent is better than a flattened one…Luckily Carlos managed to fix his broken heap of a tent by using copious amounts of duct tape.

The monkeys are crashing around in the trees and something is grunting a snorting from the ground nearby. The female BTM just poked her brightly-colored head out of the nest cavity, looked around calmly, and then yawned. She delicately preened her shoulder and chewed at the cavity entrance for a moment before settling back down her eggs. I hear the shrill cries of Aplomado Falcons, flying back and forth behind the blind. A pair of Blue-fronted Amazons fly over, giving their typical “karu-krau” yelping calls, and a blackbird is croaking.

Posted by Sarah Faegre on 11/28 at 04:15 PM
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