August 3 to August 17, 2001
Participants: Victor Burgett and Nick Franklin

This is an account of a two week exploratory birding trip in August of 2001. We covered portions of five states in Mexico, often driving great distances in unfamiliar territory, under difficult climactic conditions, speaking only a smattering of Spanish, and without any pre-arranged food or lodging. Much of our time, therefore, was devoted to logistical concerns, rather than intensive birding. A final tally of 235 species is certainly below optimum considering the rich and varied areas visited, even taking into account the absence of most of the North American migrant species that winter there. However, we had a terrific time, rarely felt unsafe, and located many beautiful endemic and other interesting birds. And despite the expense of gas, tolls, and lodging, we only spent around 2200.00 between the two of us for the two weeks.
For the most part we visited locations described in Steve N.G. Howell’s excellent book “A Bird Finding Guide To Mexico”. This text is indispensable to any inexperienced person contemplating independent birding travel in Mexico. Throughout the following account, I will refer to chapters in the book when applicable (i.e. [7.4] ). Before traveling, I also read all the trip reports I could find online, and would like to say “thank you” to everyone who took the time to post reports of their experiences. Much of that information proved valuable, and I hope that this report will also be of some use - particularly since there was little information available that was specific to this time of year.

Day One: We crossed the border at Nogales at 3:30 AM, and drove to the checkpoint, which is about half an hour’s drive from the border. Here we took care of the vehicle import paperwork, and obtained tourist cards. Although at 4:00 AM it was completely dark, in the strong floodlights around the checkpoint buildings, Western Kingbirds and Barn Swallows were actively hawking insects along with Lesser Nighthawks! After completing our business, we hit the road.
Between the border and Guaymas we only made two very brief stops; one as dawn broke as we passed through a particularly fine stand of Saguaros (Cactus Wren, Verdin, Gila Woodpecker, Pyrrhuloxia, Purple Martin.), and another just south of Hermosillo (several early? Lark Buntings). By the time we reached Guaymas the heat was intense (on-line weather reports prior to the trip indicated high temperatures reaching the 110’s), but we explored the shoreline a bit wherever we found access. Distant Blue-footed and Brown Boobies swirled around a guano-drenched offshore rock, while more cooperative Brown Pelicans and a very confiding Willet provided closer looks. We parked in the shade of some thick scrub at the edge of town to eat a picnic lunch, and also watched a Curve-billed Thrasher, a pair of Hooded Orioles, and an Ash-throated Flycatcher. A Hummingbird fly-by was a good candidate for Costa’s.
Leaving Guaymas, we next stopped to bird just south of town, along the causeway to Empalme. The tide was high, and waders were scant, other than a few Great and Snowy Egrets and a Little Blue Heron. Two dozen Brown Pelicans actively fished in the bay, while good numbers of Heermann’s and Yellow-footed Gulls were in the area. Overhead we spotted our first Magnificent Frigatebirds, a species that was almost always in sight whenever we were near the coast for the duration of the trip. We soon continued on towards our day’s destination; a campground called “El Caracol”, just shy of the picturesque town of Alamos. Few birds were in evidence en route, other than the ubiquitous Turkey and Black Vultures, White-winged Doves, and the occasional Crested Caracara. Sinaloa Crows first appeared between Ciudad Obregon and Navajoa, and immediately thereafter became a common bird.
Arriving at El Caracol [2.4] at around 5 PM, we found that we had the whole area to ourselves. We had reached the northern limits of the “thorn forest” habitat, and the avifauna was beginning to feel more “Mexican”. Despite the overwhelming heat, bird activity was steady. Violet-crowned Hummingbirds zipped around, disturbing clouds of multicolored butterflies from bushes covered in orange flowers. A male Elegant Trogon called monotonously from the perimeter of the campground, before flying into a large tree in the center. A Gray Hawk perched briefly, to the irritation of Thick-billed Kingbirds, Nutting’s Flycatchers, Gila Woodpeckers, Black-capped Gnatcatchers, Lucy’s Warblers, Lesser Goldfinches, and a Hooded Oriole. A surprise for this habitat was a Gilded Flicker, which allowed us a good study. Sinaloa Crows, giving their odd frog-like calls, and Inca Doves, were everywhere. Not to be outdone, the reptile order contributed several fat and complacent foot-long Chuckwalla lizards, a very rapidly disappearing unidentified snake (reminiscent of a whipsnake), and numerous Sonoran Spotted Whiptail lizards.
At dusk we pitched our tent (this would be the only night of camping the entire trip), and built a small fire to roast hot dogs. Ice-cold beers from our cooler were a welcome treat. However, before we could proceed with our meal, we suddenly noticed that cattle were emerging from the surrounding woods, and for some reason they were converging on our campsite! We viewed this situation with some alarm, for each of the dozen or so of these very wild looking beasts bore an impressive set of sharp and menacing horns, and all seemed agitated and upset. They clustered around us, lowing loudly and snorting, shaking their heads, and stamping their hooves. One bull wheeled on another, and they locked horns with a surprisingly loud “clack!” just a few feet away. We were contemplating taking to the car for safety, when the owner of the campground, an elderly ex-pat lady from San Francisco who had married a Mexican rancher years ago, approached chuckling. She told us not to be frightened of her animals. “They’re very nice cattle”, she said, smacking one of the wild-eyed, frothy beasts on it’s ample rump affectionately. “Just make some loud noise and wave your arms and they’ll leave you alone.” Feeling a bit foolish, Nick and I tried a few yells, accompanied by some gestures, but the animals ignored us entirely. However, they did eventually wander off, leaving us to our meal. Afterwards, we looked and listened in vain for any nocturnal bird-life, but instead wound up enjoying some relief from the heat in the campground’s swimming pool; floating on our backs looking up at the stars, while a steady stream of bats fluttered down to drink from it’s surface.

Day Two: We left El Caracol while it was still dark, and drove through to the far side of Alamos, searching for the unmarked dirt road to the Rio Cuchuhaqui (sp?). I had visited this spot the previous February (my only foray into Mexico prior to this trip), and had found this a delightfully productive area. As the morning lightened enough to see, we found our first interesting birds of the day - a pair of Elegant Quail that ran ahead of the car for at least two minutes. Beautiful plum-colored Varied Buntings and Streak-backed Orioles were both plentiful along the road, as were the abundant Common Ground Doves. We spent about half an hour by the river, but did not find it to be as productive as it had been on my other visit. Absent were the three Bare-throated Tiger Herons, the male Rose-throated Becard, the various Hummingbirds, and others that I had then found. We watched a pair of Green Kingfishers darting up and down stream, as well as the Cliff Swallow colony that buzzed beneath the bridge. White-tipped Doves called plaintively from the scrub, but there was little else.
Driving back towards Alamos, we were pleased to encounter a fruiting tree that hosted several Black-throated Magpie Jays. These are lovely birds, and are to me the most characteristic species of the thorn forests of northwestern Mexico. When they fly, their long, streamer-like blue tails ripple behind them. As we watched them feed, they were joined by their shyer cousins; a group of Purplish-backed Jays. In the same tree was our first Sulfur-bellied Flycatcher - a species we would encounter most days on the trip. Amongst the other birds we found in the vicinity were Northern (“Arizona”?) Cardinal, Thick-billed and Cassin’s Kingbirds, Lark Sparrow, and Lucy’s Warbler. A deep pool of standing water as we crossed a wash contained a small, grumpy-looking Sonoran Mud Turtle. The surrounding thorn forest was lush and green looking compared to the dusty grey it had been on my winter visit.
As the dirt road approached town, we rounded a corner to find the way barricaded, and several young men wearing fatigues and sporting assault rifles surrounding the car. Although we didn’t understand much of what they were saying, it was clear that we were being asked to exit the vehicle and submit it to a search. Grinning our broadest “harmless tourist” smiles and wisely pretending not to speak even the few words of Spanish we knew, we got out of the car; we could only hope that these were, in fact, “federales”, and not banditos in uniforms! However, the search was brief and perfunctory, and our willing cooperation seemed to be our quick ticket to continuing on our way. Once back behind the wheel, though, I think I can be forgiven if I drove away a little too rapidly!
Alamos is a lovely, sleepy old town; often cited as the embodiment of the Hollywood ideal of a Mexican village. We took some time to explore it’s narrow streets, and visited the old Spanish “zocalo” (plaza), where the ringing church bells on this Sunday morning seemed to transport us to a simpler, romantic past. Hooded Orioles darted between the fronds of the Royal Palm trees. Moving along, we next stopped at the Microondas de Cerro Prieto road (as described in Howell, [2.4]). A narrow cobblestone road leads up the hill here, and we followed it for about one kilometer before discovering our target species: a Five-striped Sparrow. “Pishing” brought the shy songster in for a more detailed study, and the bird warbled cooperatively on an exposed perch for nearly a minute before slipping back into the dense scrub. Other birds on the hillside included Black-capped Gnatcatchers, White-tipped Doves, and Varied Buntings.
Next, we hit the road heading south on route 15. Our ambitious destination for the evening was the Hotel Villa Blanca along the Durango Highway [5.4], east of Mazatlan. We made good progress, stopping only for lunch at a dilapidated roadside restaurant. Throwing caution to the wind, we enjoyed a delicious meal of beef, onions, peppers, fresh piping hot flour tortillas, and thick and spicy salsa. We reasoned that, on a trip like this, we would do best by eating the local foods, and just get our bout of “turista” over with. And, although we were both ill with the usual complaints, I still believe that this is the correct philosophy for eating while traveling abroad.
Light was fading by the time we finally arrived at the tiny Hotel Villa Blanca. Looking deceptively close on the map, the Durango Highway seems to wind forever up into foothills of the Sierra Madre; especially when one is exhausted and stuck behind and unable to pass an ancient tractor trailer grinding it’s way up at fifteen miles an hour in a cloud of noxious fumes. The hotel itself, though decrepit, was a wonderful place to stay, nestled in the pines at the edge of a small hill village. Roughly twenty dollars a night for two put us in a double room on the second floor, with bent and battered beds that must have been purchased as army surplus shortly after the first world war. The bathroom fixtures were perhaps thrown in as a free gift with the beds. A broken and uncloseable window did allow for a fascinating ensemble of nocturnal insect life to share our amenities with us. As we had in Alamos this morning, we once again felt transported back in time, and lucky to be sleeping here this night, basking in the anticipation of the next day’s hunt for the highly prized regional endemic that brought us here - the Tufted Jay.

Day Three: Once again we got off to a pre-dawn start, making our way up the mountainside towards the Barranca Rancho Liebre [5.6]. A roadside pit stop at first light produced a Grey-Silky Flycatcher, several raucous Steller’s Jays, a pair of Spotted Wrens, and a Blue Mockingbird. The forest around us was lovely; lush, tall, and dark - an enchanting hybrid of the dry pine/oak woodlands that mark the northern limits of the Sierra Madrean ecosystem in southeastern Arizona, with a semi-humid, tropical element. A thick, heavy, velvety mist filled each valley, while cliffsides and steep slopes were cloaked in vegetation ranging from agaves and yuccas and other odd plants to dense flower banks of a thin, white tubular flower. Large pines were the dominant trees.
It took us some time to locate the trailhead leading up into the barranca; we passed it more than once while searching back and forth. It runs up the slope between two small houses, and there is little room to park. I was concerned with the security of leaving our vehicle, packed with all our baggage and equipment, in this area, but a man emerged from one of the houses and assured me that it was safe. I have read accounts in which other birders have paid someone to watch their car at this spot, but this man did not ask for money, and I was unsure whether it would be polite or offensive to offer. So we simply smiled and thanked him, and headed up the trail.
This hike stands out as one of the highlights of the trip. It started slowly, as the only birds encountered along the steep initial portion were a pair of fussy Slate-throated Redstarts, that followed us for awhile, scolding. The slope of the trail began to decrease as we reached a small, rocky clearing next to a gorgeous series of little waterfalls. As we lingered here, we realized we were disturbing the territories of a pair of skulking Golden-browed Warblers, as well as a family of agitated Brown-throated House Wrens. Just a few yards further, we were pleased with a Russet Nightingale Thrush that permitted us to study it’s subtle field marks as it lingered on a low twig. Shortly thereafter we discovered our first pair of noisy but personable Rufous-capped Brushfinches.
As the trail finally leveled out, it opened into a flat, grassy area studded with large pines. All of a sudden, birds seemed to be everywhere - we had stumbled into a large mixed species flock, with most species represented by several individuals. Over the next hour the activity continued unabated, and it was with great reluctance that we left the area. Birds new for the trip in the flock and area included Common Tufted, Buff-breasted, Dusky-capped, and Pine Flycatchers, Greater Pewee, Mexican Chickadee, Brown Creeper, Hutton’s and Warbling Vireos, Grace’s and Olive Warblers, Slate-throated and Painted Redstarts, Hepatic and Red-headed Tanagers (much prettier than I expected from the illustration in the field guide!), Black-headed Grosbeak, Yellow-eyed Juncos, and Spotted Towhee. At the overlook just beyond the far side of this area we enjoyed one of the most stunning vistas I have ever seen, looking down through the steep, jagged canyon below, and into a deep valley. Tendrils of cloud drifted up over the lip, merging with the enveloping mists. Here were gigantic White-naped Swifts soaring at eye level, showing off the marks on their napes, along with their diminutive and more familiar relatives: White-throated Swifts. The unmistakable loud, guttural call of Parrots passed overhead as we sat here, and we glimpsed the shape of them momentarily through the fog; a pair of large, log-tailed birds that might possibly have been the rare and coveted Thick-billed Parrots.
We began heading back down the trail at around midday, and the birding continued to be rewarding. Almost immediately we ran into a family group of White-striped Woodcreepers, and watched them as they probed the mossy bark of trees growing along the stream. Next up was a female Hooded Grosbeak, followed quickly by a male; tropical counterparts to the Evening Grosbeak. A male Mountain Trogon also put in a brief appearance. A bit further on Nick suddenly shouted “Snake!”, and I was delighted to see a small, striped colubrid snake (lacking a field guide to Mexican Reptiles, my best guess is Mexican Garter Snake) slithering it’s way up the bank from the stream. It proceeded with some difficulty due to a large bulge in it’s middle; this snake had made a good lunch of a frog or similar prey! We photographed the snake before allowing it on it’s way, as well as a large, rather ugly greyish frog that we then noticed on a rock in the stream. A Male Mountain Trogon, which we had heard calling distantly on the way up, sat briefly in plain sight on an exposed pine branch as we continued our descent.
As we neared the trailhead, I heard a raucous, jay-like call emanating faintly from just around a large bend in the trail. My heart quickened as I hurried hopefully forward, and a large shape flew across the trail on rounded wings high overhead. Yes! It was a Tufted Jay! These large navy-blue and white birds, adorned with a most unusual bristling coif, are only found in a very small area in the northern Sierra Madre. It soon became apparent that we were in the midst of a group of these jays, consisting of about six or seven individuals. They moved leisurely at mid-levels through the trees, stopping to preen, yap, or just sit for awhile. They seemed faintly interested in our presence, cocking their heads to regard us with their golden eyes, and walking sideways on a branch in a curious manner. They reminded me more of squirrels than birds, the way they moved through a tree with short hops from branch to branch. We spent about fifteen minutes with these likeable birds before they filtered slowly up the slope and into the forest.
Back at the Villa Blanca we treated ourselves to a much-deserved siesta, followed by a stroll down the road (the highlight of which was a Rufous-vented Chachalaca that fed on small berry-like fruits in a gnarled roadside tree). We inquired at the hotel about getting a meal, and the manager handed us a pair of battered, ancient menus, and bade us sit down at one of the little tables on the verandah. This was a pleasant place to be, and we sipped icy Tecates (beer), served with pieces of small, sweet limes and sea salt, contentedly, amongst the clutter of unkempt potted plants and broken statuary. Although a few Teutonic-sounding dishes were still listed on the menu (a holdover from days of German ownership), we felt safer sticking with the local fare, and ordered the carne asada with refried beans. The manager was puzzled as I attempted, in broken Spanish, to order tortillas; we had not yet learnt that they accompany almost all meals in Mexico. It turned out that the manager was also the cook, and as we heard him preparing our meals inside, we were visited first by a lone Black-headed Siskin, and then by a bold Berylline Hummingbird, who remained nearby throughout our meal.
Upstairs in our room that night, we gradually became aware that more and more men from the village were arriving below. That alcohol was being served to them was quite apparent from the steadily increasing volume and boisterousness of their voices. Unable to sleep, we decided that we might as well go downstairs and join them for a round, so we made our way down and out onto the patio. Here about a dozen rough and burly looking men, many in cowboy hats and boots, ringed a large table they had created by pushing three smaller ones together. Each held a Tecate (beer), and many more empty cans were sprinkled liberally over the table, intermixed with a few bowls of lime pieces and a few bowls of sea salt. Conversation halted at our entrance, and all eyes turned to size us up with curiosity. We tried a tentative greeting in Spanish, but the few words we knew, coupled with what must have been a thick and strange accent to them, failed to arouse more than a few shy mumbles in return. Then, from the far end of the table, a large and rather menacing looking man lurched to his feet, and pushed his way around the table towards us. He looked very much like “Tuco” in “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”. He swaggered over and shook our hands vigorously, while squinting at us with bloodshot eyes. Something seemed to be required of us, and then I guessed what it might be. I turned to the hotel manager, who was hovering nervously nearby, and ordered a round of beers for the group. The ice was broken. Tuco slapped my arm delightedly, and the men at the table grinned, raised their beers, or said “gracias, gracias”.
We enjoyed having a few beers with Tuco and his men; that he was regarded as a sort of leader was obvious, and he did most of the talking. He knew about as many words of English as we did of Spanish, and the others watched him and listened intently, as with a somewhat naughty but precocious child. That we were here for birds seemed to be known already, but I scurried up to our room to fetch the field guide to explain that we only wished to view, not shoot, nor purchase, the local birds. Tuco flipped through the color plates with interest, stabbing a well-callused finger at bird after bird that he thought he recognized. I began to doubt the veracity of his statements, however, as he seemed to claim all the most colorful and picturesque species in the book lived on his ranch - including many which did not occur closer than several hundred miles away (such as Toucans and Quetzals, etc.) One bird, however, he was absolutely certain of. At the picture of the Mountain Trogon he lit up. “Ah!” he bellowed. “Kwa!” He seemed to be saying that the local name for the trogon was kwa, or Koa, so I tried formulating a question in my broken Spanish. “Nombre...esta...kwa?” I asked. “Si! Si!”, replied Tuco. The name seemed to be derived from the call of the Trogon, which is a series of rapid, full ‘kwa’ sounds, so I took a deep breath, and gave my best imitation of the Trogon’s call.
“Kwa kwa kwa kwa kwa kwa kwa!”, I emitted loudly.
The entire table burst into riotous laughter, as all must have been familiar with this common sound of these mountains, and all seemed to have an affection for this bird above others. They also must have gotten much mirth at the sight of this strange American making bird calls for them. Later that night, as we drifted off to sleep, we could hear the men gradually leaving, some still going “kwa kwa kwa”, and laughing good-naturedly. We were glad to have met some of the people whose country we were enjoying so much.

Day Four: This morning we devoted entirely to the Panuco Road [5.5], a lower elevation spot which promised a mixture of thorn forest and widespread tropical species. We easily located the turn-off just after dawn, and were immediately rewarded with a Squirrel Cuckoo and a pair of Yellow Grosbeaks, which would be the only ones of the trip. Although in years past this area is reputed to have had trouble with drug cultivation and smuggling, more recent reports had indicated that it was safe, and we found it to be a wonderful and productive place to bird. The next two new birds to be discovered each has a reputation for being a skulker. The first of many Sinaloa Wrens we were to find lived up to this reputation by scolding and chattering invisibly in the dense brush for a long time before finally showing itself for about ten seconds. The Rusty-crowned Ground Sparrow behaved in exactly the opposite way of what my research had led me to expect: it perched in plain sight, bristling with indignation at my presence, after I had stirred it up with a few “pishing” sounds. Other individuals of this species that we would find on this trip were similarly bold. Perhaps it was the season.
The vegetation along the Panuco road was the most tropical in appearance that we had yet encountered; lianas and epiphytic plants adorned a thick second-growth forest. However, there was still evidence, such as the low, almost stunted, height of the canopy, that we were not yet in anything like a real tropical forest. Every impenetrable thicket seemed to conceal either a Sinaloa Wren, or it’s close cousin, a Happy Wren. Once we had a decent look at both species, we realized that they are more distinct from one another than the field guide portrays them: in posture, shade of brown, boldness of markings, etc. Both are ardent songsters, singing and fussing continuously while concealed in the brush, and we soon learned to tell them apart by song. Both species proved numerous in many places we visited, other than at higher elevations.
Other common birds we encountered for the first time here included Red-billed Pigeons, Rufous-backed Robins, Yellow-green and Golden Vireos, Golden-cheeked Woodpecker, and Groove-billed Ani. A large colony of Yellow-winged Caciques (abundant further south), seemingly more like Oropendolas in size and bold behavior, were foraging noisily, not far from an emergent tree bedecked with their pendulous nests. A flock of about thirty gorgeous Orange-fronted Parakeets flew up from the valley into a tree not twenty feet from us, providing a dazzling display as they lingered momentarily, before bursting into flight once more. This would be the only Parrot species we would repeatedly encounter on the trip. And finally, the star of the day made us aware of it’s presence. We heard a monotonous, evenly spaced whistled note emanating from just down the slope. “Pygmy Owl!”, I hissed, and we both began scouring every branch and twig for the diminutive raptor; no easy task, considering the volume of foliage. The whistle increased in response to my imitation, but then stopped as we approached more closely. It resumed when we backed away, and then stopped again as we returned closer. For fifteen minutes we searched, and then suddenly Nick whispered “I see it.” Even then it took some time for him to show me the elusive owl, but finally I saw it too, staring at me belligerently with fierce golden eyes; an owl not much bigger than a fat sparrow. Moreover, we identified it as the west-Mexican endemic, the Colima Pygmy Owl, rather than the more widespread Ferruginous Pygmy Owl. Elated, we photographed it repeatedly before departing, while it glared back at us all the while.
Although we made a few brief stops on the way back to route 15, hoping especially for a Flammulated Flycatcher, the fierce sun was beating down, and bird activity was minimal. At the edge of an agricultural field we added our first Blue-black Grassquits and Ruddy Ground Doves, along with more Elegant Quail, and a pair of White-tailed Kites. Continuing south towards San Blas, Nayarit, we stopped only two or three times, when the road was passing next to some birdy-looking wetland habitat. Least Grebe, Northern Jacanas, Neotropic Cormorants, a Purple Gallinule, Black-necked Stilts, dozens of Great and Snowy Egrets, Green and Little Blue Herons, Black-bellied Whistling Ducks, and White Ibis were all seen well, despite hair-whitening traffic whipping by us, inches from the narrow shoulder. The increasing tropical humidity made our binoculars fog up each time we exited our air-conditioned vehicle! Before we pushed onto San Blas for the night, we stopped for twenty minutes at El Mirador del Aguila [6.3] to search for the Military Macaws. This roadside spot overlooks a gorgeous forested valley surrounded by rocky cliffs, but the pullout itself was thick with litter and smelled strongly of rotting garbage in the 95 degree humid heat. Very little stirred, other that a few lazily soaring Black and Turkey Vultures, and a few Common Ravens.
San Blas is a famous Mexican birding destination, and an interesting town, to boot. Part fishing village, part sea port, and part tourist destination, it was never much developed, apparently due to the overabundance of biting insects. We drove through the narrow streets, eventually stumbling upon (by luck as much as by navigating) our destination hotel, the well-known Hotel Garza Canela (Garza Canela is the Mexican name for the Boat-billed Heron, which is the hotel’s logo). Compared to our last hotel, this seemed to us to be the height of luxury. It is a large, comfortable hotel, with spacious, clean, air-conditioned rooms, and a secure parking lot. Cinnamon Hummingbirds, Sinaloa Crows, Great-tailed Grackles, and the “Cinnamon-rumped” pacific race of the White-collared Seedeater were all plentiful on the hotel grounds. The manager at the front desk spoke perfect English, and called Chencho for us to arrange our boat ride for the next day. [6.1d] Chencho was fortunately available, but unfortunately told us that this was the wrong time of year to find our “most-wanted” bird; the Rufous-necked Wood Rail. The Bare-throated Tiger Heron was also unlikely to be seen at this season, we were told. Before going to dinner, we decided to use the remaining hour of daylight to visit the nearby shrimp-ponds road just outside of town [6.1f], where we saw most of the waterbirds seen from the roadside, plus Green and Ringed Kingfishers, Tricolored Herons, Yellow-crowned Night Herons, Wood Storks, Roseate Spoonbills, Grey, Common Black, and Harris’ Hawks, Mangrove Swallows, and Mangrove (Yellow) Warblers. Despite the clouds of mosquitoes, we enjoyed watching the thousands of Egrets and Black-bellied Whistling Ducks flying over the ponds towards their evening roosts, gradually becoming mere silhouettes against a deeply reddening sky.

Day Five: This was the morning that we would first explore the highly regarded lower Singayta area [6.1h], yet I awoke reluctantly at dawn, feeling quite unwell. Stomach cramps and a mild fever had settled upon me in the night. Still, we loaded up the car in the dawn light, and set off for the village of Singayta, a drive of approximately ten minutes. Singayta is a very poor village; mango orchards surround a cluster of thatched roof houses, and pigs and chickens roam freely on the few muddy, rutted streets. Few people were about as we drove through, but those that were gave us a cheerful smile and wave as we passed, presumably used to “crazy birders”. Within ten minutes we had spotted a number of species that would prove to be abundant in the area, including Black-bellied Whistling Ducks, Groove-billed Anis, Golden-cheeked Woodpeckers, Tropical Kingbirds, Ruddy Ground Doves, Sinaloa Crows, Yellow-winged Caciques, and Blue-black Grassquits.
As we progressed along the beautiful track, we found ourselves amongst tall, liana-coated trees interspersed with palms shaped like inverted feather dusters. For the first time, we felt like we were in a real tropical rain forest. Mosquitoes were quite thick, and we were forced to apply insect repellent in liberal quantity. A loud call from up the hill was likely a Collared Forest Falcon, but we could never locate the bird. An emergent Cecropia tree hosted a pair of Masked Tityras, and a family group of Greyish Saltators. Grey and Common Black Hawks, Rufous-bellied Chachalaca, Green Kingfisher, Squirrel Cuckoo, White-tipped Dove, both Pale-billed and the similar Lineated Woodpeckers, Social Flycatcher, Great Kiskadee, Black-throated Magpie Jay, and White-collared Seedeater were amongst the birds seen over the next hour, despite a sustained drizzle. My condition was worsening, and I began to shiver uncontrollably from a deep chill, despite the heat. Reluctantly, we turned back. Before reaching town, we followed the extremely steep cobblestone road to the San Blas Fort [6.1c] overlooking town. This brief trip is worth it simply for the fantastic panoramic view, although I confess I was more interested in turning up a few Mexican Parrotlets (we did not). As a consolation prize, Grey-breasted Martins were plentiful around the ruins.
Unwillingly, I took to the bed and slept feverishly for the next several hours, while Nick explored the town on foot. By three o’clock I was feeling slightly more able to function, although every muscle ached terribly. I decided that, well or unwell, I could pour myself into a boat and sit more or less upright, so I would not miss the boat ride with Chencho [6.1d]. When we arrived at the docks by the bridge a small boy informed us that Chencho would be there soon, so we waited, and presently he motored up in his boat. The small boy wanted to watch our car for a few pesos, to which we agreed, before stepping into the boat. We motored down the edge of the broad lagoon, finding most of the water birds that we had seen along the shrimp ponds road, only at much closer range. Every ten yards or so, a Brown Pelican would lift itself ponderously into the air, while such lovely birds as Green Herons, Yellow-crowned Night Herons, and Green Kingfishers posed for our cameras. On a sandbar we noted several Laughing Gulls, a Whimbrel, a Willet, and a Spotted Sandpiper. A trio of White-fronted Parrots flew high overhead; the closest view we would get of that species on the trip.
After putting along the unbroken wall of Mangroves uneventfully for a few minutes, Chencho suddenly swung the boat towards them, and into a small channel we had not noticed up until then. We now found ourselves traveling down a corridor through the Mangroves so narrow that at times we could almost touch the tangled roots on either side, and the canopy closed overhead, forming a tunnel. Small, glistening, purplish-red crabs scuttled here and there amongst the root tangle. Caciques were abundant here, while both Red-billed Pigeons and small groups of chattering Orange-fronted Parakeets winged overhead. Of special interest was a Northern Potoo, which Chencho located perched amongst the branches. We thoroughly enjoyed seeing and photographing this strange nocturnal bird by day, while the Potoo only acknowledged our presence by briefly opening it’s gigantic yellow eye, before resuming it’s slumber. Chencho confirmed that these passageways were manmade, for the popular “Jungle Boat” rides. Over the course of the boat trip, we were passed several times by these boatloads of tourists, zooming by at reckless speeds, and rocking us violently in their wake.
The composition of the vegetation changed as we progressed; gradually we emerged from the Mangrove passages, and into a swampier area hemmed by dense beds of reed-like plants, large spidery white lilies, and taller, but sparser trees. We began to find birds such as Northern Jacanas, Wood Storks, White Ibis, and various other waders, plus two family groups of Purple Gallinule. Black-bellied Whistling Ducks were everywhere! One tall fruiting tree contained several Rufous-bellied Chachalacas. The shadows were lengthening by the time we reached a brackish backwater area, where the water was still and black. Here, finally, we found what is clearly the star bird of the tour, the Boat-billed Heron. Several of these chunky, large-eyed, unique waders with their greatly oversized bills were nesting in a large bush that extended well over the water and down to it’s surface. We felt privileged to have such face to face looks at these birds, which usually lead such secretive lives.
The moonless night came on quickly, and most of the hour and a half return journey was made in darkness, broken only by Chencho’s spotlight. Large Fishing Bats swooped down to the water’s surface every so often, and twice the light picked out an active Caiman, just before the large reptile had time to submerge. However, we were not to be lucky with night birds. An owl that could have been a Mottled Owl melted silently away just as the light hit it, as did an unidentified nightjar. Even the potoo had abandoned it’s hideout, and was off gulping down moths somewhere in the black forest. Surprisingly, there were far fewer mosquitoes than there had been at Singayta, although we applied a good coat of repellant just in case. The steady drone of the engine, the inky night, and the absolute stillness of the water and air lulled me into a semi-conscious state by the time we arrived back at the dock. We thanked Chencho profusely for a wonderful experience, and promised to return at a different season someday, so that he might find for us those birds that cannot be found during the summer, when water levels are so high.

Day Six: I was feeling completely better as I awoke at dawn this day, and we soon had the car loaded and were on our way. La Bajada [6.2], a shade-grown coffee plantation, was to be our early morning stop, but I grossly miscalculated the traveling time, and we spent an hour taking wrong turns in the vicinity of La Palma, so by the time we arrived at the “trailhead”, the sun was blazing down, yet the mosquito population was undiminished in ferocity. We spent about half an hour in the area, and could clearly see its potential, but on this day there was little bird song, and the physical discomforts had us glad to return to the car. We added no new birds here, but amongst the few common species present were Golden-cheeked Woodpeckers, Dusky-capped and Sulfur-bellied Flycatchers, Streak-backed Orioles, and Greyish Saltators. It was interesting to see the red coffee berries ripening on the bush. We hit the road south towards the state of Colima by ten A.M., with at least six or seven hour’s driving ahead of us.
We meant to continue on straight south in the direction of Puerto Vallarta, but without realizing it, we had hopped on the road towards Tepic. The rugged, hilly, scenery was mesmerizing, and we made a few quick roadside stops whenever we spotted a pullout large enough to safely accommodate us. We found a few good birds this way, including some that we would see nowhere else on the trip, such as Grey-crowned Woodpecker, several White-throated Robins, and a pair of Golden-crowned Warblers. As we progressed, we noticed at one point a dirt road marked with a small sign that read “Cerro de San Juan” [6.4]. I remembered seeing that name in the book, and, although it wasn’t a planned stop, since fate had guided us here, we decided to explore the area a bit. We ended up driving several miles up the road, and did find a few birds despite the midday heat. A brush-filled gully offered up a pair of perky Rufous-crowned Warblers, which flitted around near us for a few minutes. As the road climbed, we found ourselves amongst clumps of pine trees, and we noted several Acorn Woodpeckers, Dusky-capped Flycatchers, Eastern Bluebirds, and a pair each of Hutton’s Vireos and Hepatic Tanagers. A Black and White Warbler was a real surprise to us, it being early August, but we would find several more during the days to come. However, the prize of the day was a trio of beautiful Green Jays that flew up the slope towards us, seemingly out of place amongst the pines, when one is familiar with seeing them in the humid scrub of south Texas.
Route 200 from Tepic to Puerto Vallarta is one of the most exhausting roads I have ever driven. It is narrow and sinuous to an extreme degree, so that there is scarcely a straight stretch along it’s length, and yet the locals drive at speeds that might be considered foolish on a two-lane interstate. Moreover, they will queue up inches behind you, pass you in tight, blind spots, and the trucks and busses maneuver as if they were the size of the numerous Volkswagen beetles. Driving here clearly could be a jolly game when you know the road well, but to us outsiders it was a white-knuckled experience. Passing through Puerto Vallarta is not any more relaxing, however, due to it’s aggressive and competitive traffic. For the first time since we had entered Mexico we had arrived in a place crawling with American tourists, and thick with American institutions, ranging from McDonald’s to Hooters. We passed through without stopping, and were not at all sorry to see it dwindle in our rear-view mirror, despite it’s beautiful setting on a white-sand fringed bay.
The state of Jalisco which we were now driving through is the heart of Mexico’s Tequila production, and we did pass a few fields of Blue Agave as we traveled. We were pressing hard to make good time now, as we wanted very much to be off the road before nightfall. Stopping by the roadside to relieve ourselves, we scared up the first of many Stripe-headed Sparrows. The Sinaloa Crows, abundant for the last few days, were now absent: we had traversed the entire length of their range. We finally arrived at the seaside town of Barra de Navidad, just shy of the Colima border, as the last purple light of dusk faded. We navigated the maze of streets for another hour before finding a hotel that offered what we felt was secure parking, and rented a room for the equivalent of about forty-five dollars; the price was high because this is a popular weekend getaway for Mexicans from the larger cities.

Day Seven: I had read conflicting reports of the Playa de Oro road [7.2], so it was with a mixture of excitement and apprehension that we arrived at the well-marked turnoff just after dawn. This is a highly regarded several-mile cobblestone/dirt road that winds through rolling hills clad in lush, virgin thorn forest, and ending at a sandy beach. Some birders had reported excellent birding here, but others had written of criminal activity, difficult road conditions, and a poor selection of birds compared with nearby spots. We found only one problem with this spot, and one that would likely have existed in any nearby area at this season, and that was the physical discomfort of the heat and near total humidity combined with ravenous clouds of mosquitoes; worse here that anywhere else we went in west Mexico. We even tried out some mesh mosquito head coverings that I had brought along, but found them to be too inconvenient for birding. So we applied our repellant frequently, and tried to ignore the stinging sweat that trickled down our faces and bodies.
Ruddy Ground Doves, Stripe-headed Sparrows, and Blue-black Grassquits popped up as we turned onto the road, and then, almost immediately, our first San Blas Jays. These richly-colored birds are similar to the Purplish-backed Jays, which are only found further north. Just ahead was a manned checkpoint, where the two guards asked us where we were going. There was no fee, but we felt comforted by the security presence. We could hear that birds were numerous along the road, but they were also being quite stealthy and elusive, and we were spending more time swatting mosquitoes than patiently searching. We heard, but did not glimpse, parrots more than once; likely the Lilac-crowned Parrots that are often reported from here. Also vociferous were the resident Chachalacas; this time the West Mexican Chachalacas, which had replaced the Rufous-bellied Chachalacas of further north. As we had been noting throughout the trip, many of the most common birds, such as the Sulfur-bellied Flycatchers, Golden-cheeked Woodpeckers, and Streak-backed Orioles, were in family groups; in mixed stages of scruffy molt and various in-between plumages. A welcome surprise find was a cooperative adult male Blue Bunting. Tropical butterflies were abundant along this road.
Eventually the road begins to wind it’s way down throughout the hills, and we glimpsed the ocean sparkling in the distance. Jewel-like crabs had now appeared, vividly orange or scarlet trimmed with yellow. These crustaceans, in large size and shape reminiscent of the translucent ghost crabs of the tropical Atlantic, were abundant as they scuttled sideways off the road-edge into their awaiting burrows. The forest opened up at what appeared to be an old quarry, and we braved the elements to walk down into it. Here, at last, we saw our first West Mexican Chachalacas, feeding raucously in the crown of a stunted tree. Stripe headed sparrows were thick in this area, but what was that flash of color just over there, in that large bush? At long last, a highly desired bird, the gorgeous Orange-bellied Bunting! We didn’t want to take our eyes off of this glowing passerine, until it decided to vacate the area. Before we followed suit, we were treated to yet another blue and orange bird; this one even tinier, an actively foraging Scrub Euphonia.
We had the beach all to ourselves when we arrived. This large crescent of golden sand is pounded by a vigorous surf, with towering, foamy-green waves crashing down on the steeply-angled shore. It looked like a rather dangerous place for a dip, but we were so hot and sore that we thought we’d try it anyway. So for the next hour we bobbed and splashed in the surf, struggling against it’s powerful undertow, sharing the shore with the pelicans whose grace and skill at skimming the waves was all out of proportion to their ponderous, bulky bodies. The guano-decorated isle offshore was indeed surrounded by wheeling birds, but our limited optics did not allow us to turn any of them into a booby or tropicbird. Refreshed, but encrusted with a film of salt, we finally left the beach at around noon, and headed down to the rather charming port city of Manzanillo to spend the afternoon doing a little gift shopping and exploration.

Day Eight: The Barranca El Choncho [7.4] sounded like it would provide a pleasant contrast to the Playa del Oro road, so it was to here that we headed in the early morning this day. I would rename this canyon the Barranca El Yellow-green Vireo, for this bird was more abundant here than I could have imagined. The barranca is a lovely, picturesque spot, with tall, tropical riparian forest surrounding a gurgling, rocky stream. A group of San Blas Jays greeted us at the entrance, but as we made our way along the trail, we noticed only smaller birds flitting through the foliage; and each one was turning out to be a Yellow-green Vireo. Either the same family group was following us along the trail, or there were family groups or these Vireos every twenty yards or so. For the duration of our morning,, this species was never once out of sight or earshot. We spent about two hours walking the trail, but the only other birds of interest that we saw were a Louisiana Waterthrush and the pale pinkish Pacific race of the Red-crowned Ant Tanager. We did not find a Fan-tailed Warbler, as I had been hoping.
Our next stop was the road to the Manzanillo airport [7.1], birding marshy and swampy habitats that were as different as could be from the Barranca. We started by driving to the airport itself, and then slowly working our way back slowly down the road, stopping wherever was appropriate. In the field and scrubby edge in front of the airport itself we found several charming little Ruddy-breasted Seedeaters, along with a Lineated Woodpecker, a Northern Mockingbird, and many White-collared Seedeaters and Stripe-headed Sparrows. Along the road we located almost all of the waders and waterbirds that we had seen previously, with particularly good looks at Roseate Spoonbills, Wood Storks, and Northern Jacanas. Basking Caimans were also plentiful. A pair of Limpkins was an unexpected treat, and they posed in a tree for our cameras. But the best sighting of the day was a King Rail that emerged from a dense clump of Lily Pads almost at our feet, and fed quite openly in front of us for nearly fifteen minutes, wagging it’s stumpy little tail up and down the entire time.
We pushed on to the city of Colima, which we reached by about one in the afternoon. Colima is hands down the prettiest and most prosperous looking city we visited in Mexico, with abundant old Spanish architecture, and a gorgeous, lush, well-maintained central plaza. After lunching on some tasty roadside barbecue just past Colima, we decided on a whim to attempt the non-cuota back road to our next stop, the Volcan de Fuego near the village of Atenquique [7.8]. We came to regret this decision, for although the road twisted and turned through some beautiful pastoral country (looking half tropical, but half like English countryside), it took us three times as long to reach our destination. The cuota roads are almost always well worth the expense in Mexico!
By the time we turned onto the dirt road that lead up the mountain, there was little more than an hour of daylight left; moreover, the sky had turned a nasty, ominous black, and fingers of cloud were snaking rapidly down the slope. “Are you sure we should try camping tonight?”, asked Nick uncertainly, but I insisted we press ahead. A mile or two further the first large raindrops hit the windshield like bullets, just as the road made a steed turn up the slope. “This can’t last long”, I muttered, not really believing it. We continued along the slick track, as the daylight faded. “The book says there’s a good campground somewhere ahead”. The rain intensified. Gradually, the road became rutted with a mosaic of rivulets, and in a few level patches, contained deep, muddy puddles. More than once we cautiously navigated a spot where a large section of the road had been washed away entirely. Visibility was decreasing. After forty minutes that seemed like hours, the road finally widened enough that there was just barely room to pitch our tent. We sat for a moment in the car with the engine running, contemplating the squishy spot where we would sleep. “Let’s get the hell off this mountain!” I said, finally surrendering to reason, disappointed as I was to not be awakening to the dawn chorus the following morning on the volcano as I had planned. Nick, glad that I had come to my senses, did not argue. We crept down the road in the downpour and blackness at a snail’s pace.

Day Nine: At the outskirts of Ciudad Guzman, just off the main exit, is a motel of a type I had never before encountered, and it was here that we had passed a gratefully dry night. It was a drive-in motel; each room including it’s own garage, which one pulls into. Then an attendant comes around and takes payment (quite reasonable), and pulls shut a heavy curtain, blocking the garage, from which one enters the room. The rate is good for up to twelve hours, with an surcharge for any additional hours. The room was large and comfortable, but the “blue” movies playing on two of the four channels led me to believe that this motel was as often used for illicit rendezvous as for the weary traveler.
It was still dark when we set out for the Volcano, but was light enough to see by the time we turned onto the dirt road. We began to find new birds almost at once, starting with a beautiful adult Black-vented Oriole. Next up was a covey of the most adorable, fat little gamebirds I had ever seen; Banded Quail, which scurried along the road ahead. Then, a medium-sized bird flew across the road, and we screeched to a halt. Could it be? It was! Our first Russet-crowned Motmot, who regarded us for about ten seconds, his tail swinging side-to-side in pendulum fashion, before dropping down into the scrub. We would scare up two more of these uniquely-plumaged birds, with a breast color like a Caribbean bay, along the lower part of the road, but none would linger long.
A bit further along, and the road lifted onto a pastoral plateau, where clumps of pines stood out here and there in the fields. We kept an eye open in vain for a Sinaloa Martin or two, but did find a number of Rusty Sparrows, Spotted Wrens, Rusty-crowned Ground Sparrows, and more familiar birds such as Sharp-shinned Hawk, Hepatic Tanager, Eastern Bluebird, Acorn Woodpecker, Loggerhead Shrike, Vermilion Flycatcher, Cassin’s Kingbird, and Canyon Towhee. A little further still, and Grey Silky Flycatcher and Blue Mockingbird became common for a stretch, until we began to enter the thicker forest. We were watching a pair of Slate-throated Redstarts here when we were startled by a car coming down the slope with Washington State licence plates! A group of young male birders, rather disheveled looking, told us that they had spent the last few days camping on the Volcano, with great success, and had found almost all of the specialty birds. They said that almost every bird we asked about was plentiful further up, but that the Long-tailed Wood Partridge was only easy to see well past where the road was navigable. We told them that we had seen a few motmots, the one bird that they were still very interested in finding. We each continued on our way, and, although I was glad to have some extra information, I admit that being on the Volcan de Fuego had now lost some of it’s adventurous quality.
The birding was excellent throughout the remainder of the morning. The other birders we met were right about the road; we reached a point where it was so treacherously washed out that even our high-clearance Suzuki couldn’t manage to proceed any further, and we nearly got ourselves into an ugly situation trying. So we never did get to the haunts of the wood-partridge. But we did find plenty of good birds; most of them part of a mixed-flock that just seemed to keep going and going and going. My advice to other birders: if you find an area with a decent amount of activity, stick with it as long as possible, and let the birds come to you! This day we would find Hairy and Arizona (Strickland’s) Woodpeckers, White-striped Woodcreeper, Greater Pewee, Mexican (Grey-breasted) Jay, Bridled Titmouse, Bushtit, White-breasted Nuthatch, Brown Creeper, Brown-throated House Wren, Orange-billed Nightingale Thrush, Brown-backed Solitaire, Plumbeous and Hutton’s Vireos, Grace’s, Black-throated Grey, Crescent-chested, Black and White, Red-faced, Rufous-capped, and Olive Warblers, Painted and Slate-throated Redstarts, Blue-hooded Euphonias (a pair), and Rufous-capped Brushfinch. But of course, the one that stole the show, and one which without I would have been reluctant to leave the mountain, was the Chestnut-sided Shrike Vireo. What a bird! It was larger than I had anticipated, and sported a cheeky, knowing expression. It allowed us time to enjoy every detail of it’s subtly multi-colored plumage before continuing on it’s way. Quite tired, and chickening out of camping once again, we descended the volcano by mid-afternoon. We stocked up on supplies in Ciudad Guzman, before retiring to the same convenient, (if sleazy), hotel for the evening.

Day Ten: Having read glowing reports, and hoping to locate some of the species we were still missing, we headed on this morning to the Volcan de Fuego’s sleepy neighbor, the Volcan de Nieve. Finding the road to this peak proved to be more of a challenge, and we spent at least an hour lost, searching for it, assuming it would be further from town than it was. When we did finally locate it, we were quickly rewarded with a Lesser Roadrunner; another “wanted” bird. The road here was steeper than the one on Fuego, and much more quickly enters the coniferous forest. We quickly reached higher elevation habitats with Spruce and Fir than we were able to on Fuego, and our minds turned immediately to thoughts of wood-partridges. But a regular scattering of shotgun shells dampened our hopes. For the next three hours we enjoyed decent birding, although not as rich as it had been on Fuego. Two outstanding finds, of which we located several of each, were Red Warblers (at long last!) and Green-striped Brushfinches. The other prize of Nieve, which took a serious amount of coaxing and pishing to finally see, was a Grey-breasted Wood Wren. Several Common Tufted and one Buff-breasted Flycatcher were also appreciated. We spent the afternoon relaxing and recovering our energies from many early mornings and long days in a hotel at the outskirts of Colima.

Day Eleven: Today, we realized sadly as we awakened, we would have to turn our car around, and point it towards home. But before that, we would have one more good bash in Colima, and try the Microondas La Cumbre road [7.10]. This cobblestone road leads to the summit of a hill overlooking the city of Colima, and is topped with a shrine and gigantic statue of the Virgin Mary. We began driving slowly up the road, but it became quickly apparent that we would not have this road to ourselves for birdwatching. Groups of people were everywhere walking up the road to pay homage at the shrine. I am guessing it is not properly devout to merely drive up, for we seemed to be the only car on the road, and got a number of dirty looks. The only birding we managed to do was at a small, scrubby pullout, where we stopped because a bird I glimpsed as it flew downslope may have been a Citreoline Trogon. The maybe-a-trogon never returned, but we got point-blank studies of two fantastic birds; a stunning male Orange-breasted Bunting, and a Black-chested Sparrow. Also present was a pair of bold and scruffy Rufous-naped Wrens, here at the northwestern limits of their range.
Returning to the highway from this spot, we turned off to explore the road by the river for about a mile. It was here that we encountered our only group of noisy and conspicuous White-throated Magpie Jays. We watched them for several minutes. flying from tree to tree at the edge of the thorn forest. The remainder of the day, from 9 A.M. to dusk, was spent driving all the way back to San Blas, and the Hotel Garza Canela. The only noteworthy bird seen on the return journey was a Tropical Parula, found flitting around as we took a rest-stop in a lush area. Always bring your binoculars!

The Rest Of The Trip: It took three more days to get home, spending the next two nights in Mazatlan and Guaymas, respectively. Birding took a back seat to traveling, but we did manage to sneak a little in each day. The morning we left San Blas, we enjoyed a quickie return to the Singayta road, which was birdier than it had been the last time. We now added a Northern Beardless Tyrannulet, a pair of Ivory-billed Woodcreepers, Russet-crowned Motmot, Rufous-backed Robins, a Northern Waterthrush, and others. The real goodie, however, was not a bird, but a reptile; a four-foot young Boa Constrictor that was lazily making it’s way across the road. We photographed it at length, pleased with our discovery.
Mazatlan, we decided, was a most unpleasant city. There is a sort of predatory intensity about the place; a dirty, overbuilt town surrounding the towering mega-resorts on the shoreline. Endless seedy giftshops intermingle with American chain-restaurants along it’s crowded streets. We hunkered down in a cheap motel room for the night, and left early the next morning in a steady drizzle for the La Noria road [5.3], which would be our last official birding destination of the trip. Despite the rain, we enjoyed our two hours there, bidding farewell to many now-familiar birds. Varied Buntings were back, and immediately plentiful, as were Black-throated Magpie Jays. Purplish-backed Jays and one more Russet-crowned Motmot we considered to be good finds. We also stopped along the highway going north, near some birdy roadside ponds. Here, amongst other waterfowl and shorebirds, we found the single Fulvous Whistling Duck of the trip, Western Sandpiper, Greater Yellowlegs, Long-billed Dowitcher, Whimbrel, Black-necked Stilt, and two delightful early migrants in rich, colorful plumage; Yellow-headed Blackbird, and Painted Bunting. These would be the last birds we would add to our trip list.
We had seen many of the fantastic Mexican endemic birds that we had studied so often in the field guide, but by no means all of them. Even within the confines of this one region of Mexico there remain as many exciting species left to discover as there were ones that we did find. We failed to find a number of species which I had assumed would be quite common. These include Buff-collared Nightjar, Lilac-crowned Parrot, Mexican Parrotlet, Citreoline Trogon, several hummingbirds, Grey-barred Wren, Fan-tailed Warbler, Red-breasted Chat, and Collared Towhee. Then there were those prized regional specialties that had been highly desired, such as Long-tailed Wood Partridge, Eared Poorwill, Military Macaw, Flammulated Flycatcher, Rosy Thrush-Tanager, Slaty-capped and Dwarf Vireos, etc. All the more reason to return again to West Mexico! I would not drive this far again from the border, but rather fly into Manzanillo or Puerto Vallarta, and rent a vehicle. Driving all that way was a great adventure, and it did save money, and allowed for a high degree of independence, but it was exhausting, and detracted from the birding. Worrying about the vehicle and it’s contents often kept us from walking as far as could have been productive. I would also wish to return during the recommended season, not in the hottest time of the year.
Mexico, in my opinion, is the next great birding frontier. Far more people journey to Costa Rica or Belize than seem to sample the richness of our neighbor to the south. Yet within a day’s drive of the Arizona border one can find more than thirty species of birds in the Alamos area that do not, or very rarely, reach the United States. The same thing can be said, heading south from Texas; yet with a completely different set of birds. With a two week road trip, one could bird most of Mexico’s many diverse, localized, and unique habitats. Hopefully Mexico will continue to become a safer place to travel independently, away from the resort cities. And, hopefully, Mexico’s awareness of conservation issues will grow along with an increase of interest in its natural beauty. When we approached the border at the conclusion of our trip, a man from the Mexican tourism bureau was questioning returning Americans in order to complete a survey about their travel experiences in Mexico. We made sure that he, like everyone else we had met in Mexico, knew exactly what had brought us there.
“For us,” I quipped to the man, “Mexico is for the birds.”