Corey and the Trogon

 I told you all that I was a real snapshot artist on this trip. Because I am easily nauseated when conveyed in diesel buses on winding mountain roads while fighting dysentery, I usually score a front seat. The cost of not giving me a front seat on a diesel bus on a winding mountain road is steep.

So I amuse myself and try to take my mind off my periodically rising gorge by shooting snapshots out the windshield. It's also a good place to spot birds. On this morning we were headed to Cerro Azul Meambar National park, a fabulous montane forest habitat just full of great birds. First, though, we had to negotiate an extremely steep road that was in the process of being paved. They only pave two tracks, where your tires go. I'm not sure what the advantage is--using less cement? It seems like having to make four forms would cancel that out, but what do I know? These dogs figured we weren't going to make it for awhile, so they were free to rest on the track.

Of course, we got stuck and everybody had to get out and help push the bus. Corey Finger and I had already gotten out to walk up, since we were more interested in birding than sitting on a stuck bus.

I was pleased to see that Homo sapiens var. Bubba  is distributed not only through the American South but all the way to Honduras. Bubbas are attracted to car trouble, and there is a lot of that in Honduras, hence a lot of Bubbas.  Floridacracker, this one's for you. Because it makes me laugh every time I look at it.

The one thing that struck me most about Honduras was that everyone walks. No matter where you are, how far out in the middle of nowhere, there are people gamely walking to destinations unknown. They can't afford cars. The lucky ones might have a horse or donkey, or grab a ride in an overstuffed pickup bed. There are very few cars per capita in Honduras. You'll see commercial vehicles like this truck, but very few personal cars.

There would have to be a street fair going on in the US for a road to be this deserted, peopled only by...people. It is amazing, and I never really got used to being whisked by people patiently walking in the hot sun. I wanted to give them all a ride in our bus.

Especially this man, who was carrying a chainsaw on his shoulder.  Up a mountain. Ye gods. We are sooo soft in America. So soft. Note that he also has a bumbershoot, because he can virtually plan on getting rained on before he gets to wherever he's going. He doesn't even have a pad between the metal and his flesh.

We passed plantations of tropical houseplants, like these red variegated dracaenas.

Children played in the yards, and I wondered where or even whether they attended school.  I'm telling you, Honduras is a whole different scene. It is well worth seeing--it will blow your mind.

Finally we reached Cerro Azul Meambar, having thoroughly enjoyed the sights along the way. The first bird to greet us in the parking lot was a collared trogon! Corey Finger did almost lose his mind. It was his first trogon on his first Neotropical birding trip, and he may be forgiven for jibbering. The collared trogon is a jibberworthy bird.

I caught him pole-dancing with his tripod, trying to get a good digiscoped shot. Oh my.

 Like I said, the sights along the way were worth the trip alone. 

 Less lambada, more trogons and hummingbirds anon.

Back to Los Tarrales

A native heliconia flower. When these are put in bouquets, they're usually inverted so they point up, but they look best hanging, I think. An enormous hummingbird called the violet sabrewing feeds at heliconias. I saw it for a shining moment, perfectly purple in the sun, its big wings beating so slowly I could discern individual beats.

I really don't know whether these Guatemala posts are up your collective alley or not. But I took something like 900 photos in four days, so you're going to get Guatemala on your plate, and by God, you're going to at least try it. Or maybe you'll sit back and wait for a Chet Baker post. Ah well...After minor diversions, we're back at Los Tarrales, the uber-cool horticultural farm/shade coffee/banana/flower plantation with fabulous habitat for ecotourism (and ecotourists!)

Tarrales is owned by Andy and Monica Burge. Andy's grandparents bought it about 80 years ago, and it's been in continuous family ownership ever since. A little village of about 300 people has grown within its bounds, many of them employed at the finca. Andy is kind of like the town's mayor/boss/landlord--a position that's probably as hard to describe as it is to fill. You couldn't find nicer people than the Burges, and Tarrales in many ways seems like a charmed place.A Maya woman wraps and packs bananas for the market. These baskets will be carried in the traditional way, balanced on her head.

Other fruits abound. These are breadfruit leaves--enormous against the brilliant sky.A gumbolimbo tree, outrageously shiny, muscular, otherworldly. I wanted to run my hands up and down it.

The juxtaposition of human habitation and wild second-growth habitat makes for some interesting images. I peek through a bamboo stockade to see a fine, fluffy chicken butt.You'd better have a signed release from Henrietta, Missy. She's not going to like that photo one bit.A few dozen yards away, a cinnamon hummingbird guards one of Tarrales' many feeders. Though they're kept clean and filled, they don't get much action, because there's a nasty lil' cinnamon hummingbird guarding each one. This gave me to wonder if rufous-colored plumage is warpaint to hummingbirds (in North America, rufous hummers are the feeder-guarding bullies!) We saw some fabulous nectivorous bats, species unknown, sneaking nectar from the feeders at night. We advised Andy to try grouping a bunch of feeders all together to foil the cinnamon bullies.Just up a trail, a collared trogon called, jetting its tail up with each salvo of soft whoops.Check out the wing position. I love the Christmas colors of this outlandish bird. Trogons are among my favorite birds to draw, but I didn't get time to sketch on this trip. We were always going, moving on down the trail.
More Guatemala anon.