October 3rd. This is a regular work day for me until 3pm. I change into my olive birding gear in the crappy work bathroom. Tui picks me up and runs me to the airport. I begin my journey with the same Delta flight to Heathrow that I took in June with the family and for the whole night I have a sense of deja vu.
October 4th. I arrive in Heathrow around noon and wait a few hours for my Kenya Airways flight that leaves at dusk for Nairobi.
October 5th. I arrive at Nairobi at 430am. I have slept just a couple of hours and am feeling tired. Fortunately I have hired Sammy Mugo smugo07@yahoo.com , a Kenyan birding guide to meet me at the airport and take me to the tablelands between Mount Kenya and the Aberdare Mountains. Our goal is to find the Cape eagle-owl. The local sub species is more rufus than the birds in Southern Africa, and may represent a unique species (Mackinder's Eagle owl). For this reason it's one of my most wanted Kenyan owls. My flight's early and I clear immigration in a minute, so I beat Sammy to our meet up point. It's a beautiful cool morning and still dark outside. A few local guys come talk with me. They figure me for an outdoors person, with my boots and olive clothes and ask me if they can set me up with a trip to Mount Kenya. Sammy soon arrives. He's a warm guy with a big smile. He runs birding trips all over Kenya. He is clearly an organized and knowledgeable person. He's hired a driver, Peter. We load into Peter's silver Toyota wagon and set off for the market town of Nyeri. Sammy tells me that he had been looking for African grass owl to show me. Unfortunately there is a family of lions where the grass owls live. The only way to find the owls, is to walk the tall grass, something that Sammy won't do around the lions. This is too bad as I would love to look for this rare Kenyan owl. It's a pretty quick and painless drive to Nyeri, home town for Sammy and Peter, both Kikuyu people. (The Kikuyu are Kenya's dominant tribe and their homeland is the central highlands). At Nyeri we stop for breakfast, which despite being a local place, has a very English menu of bacon, eggs and the like. Sammy has set up to meet with an owl biologist, Paul, beyond Nyeri. A faded roadside sign of a Mackinder's eagle owl tips me off. We pull up next to an old quarry and meet Paul, who is enthusiastic to show me the owl and explain about his conservation work. He is teaching farmers that eagle-owls are beneficial (by killing rodents) and gives them two beehives in return for their commitment not to hurt the owls. We soon find a roosting Mackinder's high on a cliff. Apparently Mackinder's are dependent on cliffs for roosting and nesting. The light on this bird isn't that great, so we drive to a second location. Paul goes out of his way at each site to check in with the local farmers. We don't find any owls here. We drive to a third site, and hike down a rocky trail and through a thicket of stinging nettles and thorny bushes to a small cliff where Paul points out another Mackinder's. The view is great. This bird has long ear tufts that stand proud, fierce orange eyes, pale cheeks and a powerful gray bill. The breast is densely blotched blackish against a beautiful rust-color, the belly is rust with darker bars, and the tail is similarly barred. Much of the back and coverts are chocolate-colored with just a couple of lighter feathers. It's a really imposing owl. Under the strong midday sun, it's a hot walk back up the hill to the car.
We drop off Paul and Sammy in quick succession near their homes, then Peter drive me back to Nairobi so I can catch an evening flight. We stop at the same eatery, and this time I am able to order Indian food, which is a distinct improvement on breakfast.
The rest of the drive to Nairobi is pretty unpleasant. I am dehydrated, and a blazing sun shines through the windshield. I sleep fitfully, waking with a start when we brake or turn sharply. I thank Peter as he drops me off. I still have a few hours to wait until my 10pm flight to the Seychelles. When we finally take off it's my third night on a plane. All I want to do is sleep, but I have a long night ahead, and need to stay awake at least until I get the meal.
October 6th. When I arrive at Mahe airport in the Seychelles I am greeted by a health officer who asks for my yellow fever card. I hadn't realize this was a requirement coming from Kenya. Fortunately he's a cool guy and lets me pass as I was just in Kenya for the day. Once I clear customs and immigration I walk to the front of the taxi stand and negotiate a cab to take me to the Mission at Morne Seychelles National Park. The Mission is a ruin near the high point along the road that crosses Mahe. The rare Seychelles scops owl occurs in the nearby forest. The driver stops for a piss, and detours to the port to buy gas. Eventually we leave town (Victoria) and climb a very steep road to the Mission. Four times my driver tells me to not go. "No one is there", "it's too dangerous". I ask what is dangerous out there, and he offers that there could be robbers. He drops me at the Mission and I thank him. This place seems far too deserted to have robbers, but who knows? The first living thing I see there is a large rat in a tangle of vines. I set off taping for the scops owl. It will be dawn in two hours, so I don't have long. After a few minutes I hear the distinct croak of an answering scops owl! The owl is high above me and a little off the road. It responds well, but isn't coming closer. Eventually I climb up a very steep bank of granite rocks to get under the owl. I think I am close, and try the spotlight. The trees are high and thick. All I see are leaves and branches. The owl stops responding. I try a little more playback, but get nothing. I wait. It will be light soon, so I decide to look for another owl. I walk down the road for three kilometers away from Victoria. Just to be safe, when I hear a car, I duck out the way and hide in the forest. I hear two more scops owls. One quite near, but it only called once, and one far below that also only called once. Now it's getting light. I walk back up the hill towards Victoria. It's been a long night, it's hot, I am sweating and really dehydrated. I decide to take a short cut along a nature trail to the right that leads through abandoned tea plantations. This turns out to be a long, and arduous hilly walk of about 6km back down to the bus line in Victoria. Huge fruit bats and tropic birds patrol the skies. I get a bus to the terminal, and another to Quincy, where I have booked a hotel. (I never book accommodation, but it is a requirement for entry at the airport (and they did check). I get off at Quincy, and it's a short, but very steep hike up to Chez Lorna, my guesthouse. The sun's really blazing, and I am now really parched.
A friendly Dutch host greets me at Chez Lorna and offers me water and WiFi. He tells me because it's Sunday my best bet for food is to walk to the corner store. I hike back down the hill and buy some bread and chips, then return to Chez Lorna. I decide to call Steve Agricole, a local birding guide Stevebirdingecotours@gmail.com and ask him to help me with the scops owl tonight. Steve agrees to pick me up at 515pm. It's about 930am, and I fall asleep, waking to Steve's voice outside my room. I fumble around trying to get everything ready while Steve patiently waits. Steve is a friendly local guy, who got started into birding after working with endangered Seychelles Magpie robins. We drive back up into the National Park. It's dusk, and a beautiful warm evening. We hike a short distance up a trail, then Steve plays the call of the scops owl. We sit quietly. In the distance we hear a croaking response. Steve whispers to stay put, and unlike last night's owls, this one soon flies in and actively calls and flies around us. We get a really nice view of a reddish brown Seychelles scops owl. It's a smallish scops, with a very short tail, and long bare legs. It has no visible ear tufts and yellow eyes. Steve was wary about illuminating the owl excessively, so it's hard to make out a lot of details of the plumage. Mostly we just watch it in silhouette as it flies from branch to branch croaking at us. This is a very rare bird with about 50 pairs remaining.
Relieved and happy we descend the trail back to Steve's car. He runs me back to Chez Lorna, where I have time to wash my sweaty clothes, then, despite my 7 hour nap today I sleep the whole night.
October 7th. I still have one more night in Seychelles, and I am keen to find a scops owl without the assistance of a guide. This gives me the whole day without much of an agenda. I sit outside my room and watch the day grow light. Flying foxes squabble in banana trees. Later I chat with Lorna, who owns the guesthouse. She tells me about the Seychelles heroin crisis. (I keep my eye out after this conversation and notice some discarded needles around town, and some remarkably undernourished Seychellois).
I didn't really eat yesterday apart from some white bread rolls and chips, so today I walk along the busy road into Victoria and find a nice place, Dolce Vita. I eat a huge omelette and drink black strong coffee. Outside torrential rain pours. By the time I settle the bill, the rain has stopped, leaving only a blanket of grubby puddles.
The rest of the morning I listen to music and plan my night visit back to the mountains in search of "my own" scops owl. In the heat of the afternoon, I walk to Victoria bus station, stopping at a creole take-out joint popular with cabbies. The food looks amazing, but turns out to be a plate of the finest gristle and bone fragments, served luke warm. I sit in the bus terminal and endure. A slender man sits next to me and starts yelling for me to give him my plate. I am ambivalent about the food, and am considering his request, but then he starts to really yell. I wolf down my plate, dump into a trash can and board an old blue Tata bus crammed full of people. The bus grinds up the mountain. I get off a couple of kilometers below the col and check out the forest. Just past the col I take the same nature trail through the abandoned tea plantations that I hiked yesterday morning. At the end of the trail is a spur, leading to a summit crowned with a radio tower. It's a hot afternoon, and it takes me a couple of hours to do the hike. From the summit I can see both coasts of Mahe far below. It's a dramatic perch with steep forests and granite cliffs below. White-tailed tropicbirds soar over the forest. I have quite a while to wait and eventually I fall asleep on my little rocky perch. I awaken to rain. There is a crawl space under a small building that's part of the radio tower, emboldened by the lack of venomous snakes, I crawl in and crouch under the sharp concrete floor and watch the rain. A little after sunset the rain eases. I get my owling gear out and start to down the trail. Then the heavens open. The rain is torrential, and it's a little overwhelming packing my gear in plastic zip-locks and getting a rain coat on. It's soon completely dark. The effect of my head-torch in the heavy rain is disorientating, like driving through dense fog with bright heads lights. All I can see is a wall of rain. The sky lights up with lightening again and again. Thunder booms. I have to get off here. I stumble along the trail looking for shelter. I step out onto a granite slab, and then in front of me catch sight of an abyss below. Fuck, I nearly stepped right off the mountain. I know that I am not on the trail I came in on, because I didn't pass this cliff on the way up. Soaked and disorientated I walk around a flattish area of the summit searching for the trail. I am soaked and lost. There's a maze of trails, but they all peter out. Eventually I find a huge boulder the size of a house. I crawl under the boulder and squat on my hunkers, sheltered from the rain, except for the toes of my boats, which I can't make to fit. It smells warm and loamy here. I am comforted by the closeness of my hideout. I hunker this way for a long time as sheets of rain fall. Eventually I get tired and wedged between the soft black dirt under me and sharp granite pressed on my wet shoulders I drift in and out of sleep. I wake. It's not raining and only the trees drip. I crawl out of my shelter and make my way down a small trail. I come to a creek and a field of huge granite boulders. This isn't the way I hiked up here, and the trail goes no further. Fuck this. I hike quickly back up to the radio tower. From there I do my best to retrace my steps. I recall the last part of the trail was through open small trees, and I had picked my way through the trees towards the summit, rather than having followed a real trail. I curse myself for not having left when it was still light. I scour the stunted forest and eventually find a marker on a tree next to a faint trail. I follow, apprehensive at first, and then with flushing confidence as I recognize a wooden bridge over a rocky section of granite. I am confident I am getting out of here tonight, and am going to make my morning flight. I start owling as I walk off the mountain, but get no response. When I reach the nature trail it starts to rain. I owl a little more, but the rain picks up, and I decide to descend into Victoria. It's a steep decent into town, and by the time I reach the upper suburbs the rain has stopped. I consider hiking back up the hill, but the sky is starless and the mountains are wrapped in clouds. I check out a rustle at the side of the road and find a great tenrec, a sort of hedgehog. After a long walk I find an open convenience store where I buy a coke from a small man hunched over by scoliosis. A little refreshed I walk back to Chez Lorna, a walk that takes a couple of hours. Victoria is eerily quiet. Dehydrated and beat I drink a couple of liters of water and then fall asleep.
October 8th. I wake before dawn. I wash my clothes in the sink and pack for my flight. I catch the bus into Victoria. At the bus station, I buy a questionable English breakfast in a box which I eat while waiting for a bus to the airport. I have plenty of time at the terminal before my midday flight so I lay out my wet boots in the hot sun to dry.
I was booked on Kenya Airways direct to Nairobi (and then on to Mayotte), but the schedule had changed by 16 hours which no longer worked for the leg to Mayotte. I had to purchase a replacement flight via Mauritius to Nairobi. This is a the long, wrong way to get to Nairobi. The journey was made slightly more interesting by a 35 minute lay over in Mauritius, where I have to run through the surprising large airport to make my connection. In contrast I have 13 hours to wait in Nairobi. The international terminal of Jomo Kenyetta isn't a terrible place to be. I'm able to stretch out and sleep a few hours. And I finally get to thoroughly dry out my bloody boots so they don't stink up the plane.
October 9th. I catch the morning flight from Nairobi to Mayotte. Mayotte is one of four major islands in the Comoros Archipelago. These island lie in the Mozambique Channel between Africa and Madagascar. Each island has it's own endemic sops owl. Mayotte is unique because it's politically French despite it's geography and population (Comoran people). The airport is on a little island next to Mayotte itself, so after clearing EU immigration, I take a taxi brousse to a ferry terminal. It's just short ferry ride to the big island. Despite my horrific command of French, a really nice taxi brousse driver patiently listens to my request then spends a few minutes hunting down the right van to take me to the mountains. I cram into a really beat up Ford Transit and we drive for about 10km into the hills in the center of Mayotte where I am dropped off at a col. I walk a couple more kilometers down a red dusty road to Le Relais Forestier, https://www.giteamayotte.com/ a forest lodge in the hills. I am met by a nervous but kind Frenchman who explains that he did CPR on a coworker's daughter for 20 minutes this morning. Remarkably she is in the hospital and alive.
It's France. so the food is brilliant. After lunch I catch up on some sleep. My alarm wakes me at 430pm. I am so groggy tired and confused that it takes ages for me to be able to get myself ready and out into the forest. I walk the entrance road, listening for Mayotte scops owl, which apparent will call during the day. I don't hear any owls, but I do see the endemic drongo, white eye and sunbird. A France's sparrowhawk calls noisily from a tree. There are also plenty of lemurs, which seem charming until they start shitting from high overhead. The sun sets, and almost immediately the scops owls commence singing. I knew these owls though very restricted in range where common in the remaining forest. Still I am amazed, an owl sings, another starts up, then another, soon five, then more. I play a tape, but they don't seem to respond, probably they are used to other owls singing very close by. At my fourth attempt I do get a bird to hunker down in a thicket and sing strongly. I clamber through a viney tangle and over some big boulders and there low on a horizontal vine is a singing Mayotte scops owl. The song is a steady deliberate series of hoots that sounds more like a Strix owl than an Otus. It's a medium sized scops owl. Ear tufts are short, eyes are bright yellow, bill smallish and gray and cheeks both indistinctly marked and outlined. The breast and belly feathers have dark shafts, crossed with dark vermiculations. The flanks are washed tawny and the rest of the underparts are pale gray-brown. Toes are gray and unfeathered. Claws are gray and small. The upper-parts are gray-brown with few light feathers in the scapulars. The crown has both white spots and dark markings. Tail is short.
I walk on down the road and spotlight another singing owl high in a tree, and another flying. I come to an overlook and sit down so I can listen to the owls. Far below I hear the Adhan from a mosque.
Dinner is served communally, and is brilliant. By the time I have eaten it's 9pm, and after last night at the airport I am in need of sleep.
October 10th. I wake around 4am. I step out onto the veranda and listen to a pair of duetting scops owls. Eventually the night sky fades. It's time to leave. I see one last scops owl in flight as I walk through the grounds of the lodge. I walk back along the dusty entrance road to the main road.
Predawn walk from Le Relais Forestier
The first vehicle that passes me is the same old Ford Transit that picked me up yesterday. Unfortunately a couple of minutes down the hill the van gets caught in traffic. After about a half an hour of barely moving, I set off on foot, passing a couple of kilometers of cars as they wait their turn at a round-about. I gather with some local people at the round-about waiting for another van. A Peugeot car pulls up, and I hop in with a young couple who were waiting. Only when I get to the ferry terminal do I realize this wasn't an unmarked cab, just a nice guy offering us a ride in rush-hour traffic. I grab a quick breakfast at the docks, then hop a ferry to the airport.
Ferry to the airport
I arriv at the airport at 8am, expecting a 10am flight with AB aviation. AB had confusingly updated their schedule and my flight ends up leaving at 1245pm. I loaf around the hot airport all morning and am mightily relieved when AB aviation's rather old propeller plane shows up. I squeeze on board and stare pessimistically at the plane's wing scared by crude repairs and small dents.
The flight to Anjouan (part of Comoros) is uneventful. Ouani airport at Anjouan comprises of a tiny runway that leads from the beach, quite steeply up into the hills. Several planes, and an old fire truck decompose under a tangle of vines next to a tiny concert terminal. Although only a dozen passengers disembark it's completely chaotic clearing immigration. I meet Patrice ( patricekeldi@yahoo.fr ) here, a fixer that Ross Gallardy had recommended. Somehow Patrice is able to convince the custom's guy not to search my bag, on the down side we manage to slip through immigration without picking up a visa.
Patrice is a fun, if slightly roguish slight man. He runs a store, and has a side line in assisting tourists in Anjouan. Ouani is a small place without any obvious trappings (restaurants, ATMs etc) of a tourist destination. It's hot and dusty as we walk to Patrice's well worn Toyota 4wd. We stop for a warm egg and mayonnaise sandwich and then head out to Moya forest at the other side of Anjouan. Although only 20km away as the crow flies, we have to cross the island's mountainous back bone twice and the drive takes over two hours. Along the way we drive through groves of cloves and ylang ylang. In places the road is good, and in others it's completely destroyed and we lurch over rocks and broken asphalt. Climbing the mountains the second time we pass a huge baobab tree overlooking the Indian Ocean. "Symbol of Africa" gushes Patrice. Elephant-like, and enduring it's a good likeness for the physicality of Africa. Descending from the mountains again, after many, many switchbacks, Patrice pulls over. He asks me to take my backpack as his Toyota was broken into when he parked here before.
We hike up through mango and banana groves, mixed with gullies of original forest. After climbing for a kilometer or so, we reach an area with a few larger native trees. It's only 4pm, so we wait. Small flocks of song birds pass, and I see the endemic fody, drongo, sunbird, brush-warbler and white-eye. Vasa parrots call noisily from a snag, while blue pigeons flirt with the late afternoon sun. Huge fruit-bats fly high overhead. Eventually I doze off. Mosquitoes wake me at sunset. I douse myself in Deet, as malaria is common here and wait for the owls. While it's still light we hear our first Anjouan scops owl. It's a lovely modulated whistle, not completely different from a bay owl song. Patrice enthusiastically tells me to use playback, and soon a scops owl flies in and perches on a open bough. It's medium sized, with ear-tufts. Soon it flies much closer, and I can see just what a strange and amazing owl it is. Almost black, with just the finest white bars across the breast. Eyes are yellow, bill dark gray. When it sings it extends it's neck dramatically and opens it's bill wide. This is a very rare bird, with about 50 pairs remaining. We leave soon, so we don't disturb them excessively.
The walk back to the car after seeing Anjouan Scops owl
Patrice is keen to get to his Toyota, and despite wearing dress shoes he jogs down the trail. I follow after, clomping along with my big brown boots. No one broke into his car. It's a lovely drive back with the windows down. We stop where ladies hawk baguettes outside the bakery gates, and I buy a couple of small loafs for us to eat. Later on Patrice stops at a water bottling plant to pick up half a ton a bottled water for his store. I think I hear a barn owl at this place, but can't be sure. The drive back over the mountains is slow with the extra weight of the water.
Around 9pm we pull into the Al Amal hotel, a big shore-front hotel in suburban Mutsamudu (the main city of Anjouan). The hotel is a mass of concrete, with two sky blue swimming pools that are as empty as their rooms. The hotel staff are really nice, and although the kitchen is closed, they rustle me up Octopus cooked in hot sauce with rice. Despite being a Muslim country, they serve beer here, and I treat myself to a cold Heineken. By 10pm, I am in bed, exhausted.
October 11th. The heat and the light from the big ocean front window wake me at 6am. At breakfast I ask around about obtaining a visa. The staff tell me to speak to Patrice, who sure enough is waiting in the lobby. He agrees to help me get a visa, some Comoronian Francs and a ferry ticket. Today is Friday and most everything closes at 11am so I appreciate his help. Patrice knows everyone at the immigration building. Both Patrice and the administrator are stunned that I don't have Euros. Patrice kindly loans me the Francs to pay for my visa. Later I exchange dollars at the bank. At the ferry office I am asked for a bribe to get on tomorrow's "sold out" boat. Reluctantly I pay it.
I don't really have anything else set for the day. Patrice offers to show me around old town Matsamudu. I take him up on this, and we walk around a labyrinth of very narrow alleys. Above tall old buildings lean precariously towards each other. There is a lot of crumbling architecture. It's both charming and and slightly claustrophobic. I am surprised that Patrice flirts with so many of the women he meets on the street.
Patrice
After our tour we return to the Al Amal and I pay Patrice. I consider trying to get to the mountains tonight for another look at the scops owl. It's clear that this is going to involve a lot of night hiking, and in the end I decide to skip it. In the evening I take another walk into town. Matsamudu really is a remarkable town, both ramshackle and vigorous.
Matsamudu
Matsamudu
I eat a brilliant fish curry for dinner and watch the fruit bats in the palms from my balcony.
October 12th. After a light breakfast I shower and pack, then head out for the docks. It's a hot dusty walk and by the time I arrive at the SMT ferry terminal it's pandemonium. I stand in line for about an hour in the hot sun to get my bag weighed. It's a constant jostle not to lose my place as fellow passengers jockey for position. SMT staff yell a lot at the passengers, and the place it just unbelievably noisy. We are eventually led into very hot waiting room. There is a lot more yelling by the staff then after another hour and a half we are lead onto the boat. My ticket has a picture of a fast looking aerodynamic boat, but we board a modern enough looking, but very slow ferry. The journey to Moroni (the main island of the Comoros) takes over 6 hours. Along the way I see a couple of Bulwer' petrels, as the boat lumbers through the blue swell under the relentless afternoon sun.
We arrive just after dark in Moroni. Right away I am concerned that it's been raining heavily and Mt Karthala, the huge volcano high above town is wrapped in thick cloud. Hopefully it's not raining up there. It's intimidating to have to get up to the volcano with my handful of French words in the dark, but after a couple of short cab rides I arrive in Mvouni, the small town at the trailhead. I get dropped off at a hotel where I hope to get directions to the trailhead. Alas the hotel is closed. I walk around, and find a guy selling chicken cooked on charcoal. I haven't eaten since breakfast, so I buy some, along with a fanta and grilled manioc. Another customer shows up, and I ask him the way to Mt Karthala. He kindly takes me to the unmarked trailhead at the head of the village. It's 8pm, and the owls inhabit the forest at least two hours up the trail. I thank him and set off up a narrow rocky path that climbs through fields of bananas. It's really overgrown and the wet vegetation soaks me. Not wanting to stop and eat, I open up my bagged dinner and suck the meat of the bones as I hike. I gulp down the manioc, but it's so dry and starchy it gets stuck in my throat. I panic as a struggle to swallow. I fumble for the canned fanta and eventually crack the can and gulp enough down to be able swallow. I eat the rest of the manioc very warily.
After an hour of hiking the stony trail it veers off to the left and begins to descend. Ah fuck. It's not the trail up the mountain. I hurry back down to Mvouni, soaked through with sweat, my hands covered in chicken grease. I am a fool. Back at the trailhead I take a diagonal track and start hiking until I reach a gravel road, and then a gate. The road leads straight up and I follow it as fast as I can manage. I consider dumping my pack, but it's nice to have as it carries my bivy tent and sleeping bag. It's a long climb into better forest. Along the way I pass small stands of intact forest and tape for Grande Comore scops owl. A couple of times I get a (African) barn owl to fly in and investigate. It's a dark mantled bird compared to the barn owls I see in Oregon. After two hours of hiking up the correct track I come to fairly decent mountain forest. After taping a a couple of times I get a response. I lie down on the stony track, and stare at the vast black sky. A scops owl flies into the canopy. It takes a while, but I eventually get a good view. The song of this scops owl is a short repeated toot, similar to a Northern Pygmy owl but delivered rapidly. I can's see it's tiny ear tufts. The eyes are yellow. The plumage is really dark with fine light bars on the underparts. The belly and flanks have some rufous tones. The upperparts are dark, with a couple of pale feathers in the scapulars. It's a small scops owl. I'm just thrilled. It's midnight and I have hiked miles. I was worried that the rain and wind that Mt Karthala is well known for would ruin the owling. I grab my wet sweaty backpack and walk happily down the track for a few minutes, until I find a grass spot on the side of the track where I pitch my bivy. Despite the coffin-like dimensions of the bivy I fall into a deep sleep.
October 13th. I sleep until dawn. I pack my dew-soaked camping gear. I have no food or water, so it's a long, parched walk off the volcano on an empty stomach down to Mvouni. The forest is full of birds, and I see fodies, white-eyes, sunbirds, both vasa parrots, Comoros olive pigeon and the thrush. Quite a lot of friendly guys pass me going up the mountain, mostly farmers and a group of guys who are hunting.
In Mvouni I grab a coke, I'm completely parched and it tastes brilliant. Then settle in for a long wait for a share taxi to Moroni. A man suffering from compulsions known only to him paces into the road, checks for rain with an open palm and then ducks dramatically back under an awning again and again, dozens then hundreds of times.
Six of us squeeze into an old diesel Renault and ride down the steep hill to Moroni. Outside the taxi stand is a remarkably cosmopolitan-looking cafe. The sign declares "brunch buffet". I demolish a huge plate of delicious French breakfast items and real coffee. I am fortified again. Using their WiFi I track down a hotel. I walk to the Hotel Arcades, which is sort of shitty and expensive. Still it's a safe place to dry out my gear and hang out. It rains for most of the day and I don't do much. A couple of times when the rains ease up, I walk down to the docks. There is a big market and it's good entertainment. Moroni is the biggest town in the Comoros, but it's still small enough to feel safe wandering around, even after dark.
October 14th. My alarm beeps at 445am. I pack and head out. A beautiful moon sets over the ocean. I search the quiet streets for a taxi. I find one and the driver does not speak French, so he takes me up the street to his friend who translates. It's a long drive north out of town through naked sharp lava flows to the airport. I'm first person to arrive. It's fun to watch the airport staff arrive. There is obvious warmth between people.
The flight to Moheli (the last major island in the Comoros) on AB aviation is fine. There is a tiny store outside the terminal, I squeeze inside, and am delighted to find a lady who both serves coffee and speaks English. After a couple of cups, she points me in the direction of Auberge des Abou, a coastal hotel just up the road. After a short sweaty walk I arrive at the hotel. The non A/C rooms are cheep and the staff are really helpful. I order up a real coffee and plan my owling. I have a very useful trip report by Markus Lagerquist. He found Moheli scops owl within walking distance of this hotel, in remnant forest that crown the hills in the center of the island. I decide to scope out the area in the day time. It's a really hot walk west along the coast road, then inland and steeply uphill. Utility wires run next to the road, from which a half dozen fruit bats have been electrocuted. Their unfortunate corpses hang from the wires, baking in the relentless sun. Eventually the road peters out into a path, which leads through some fields and then into some degraded forest. This seems to be the place that Markus described in his report.
I spend the rest of the day at the hotel waiting for dark. A noisy group of Peace Corp teachers descends on the hotel and I retreat under my headphones for some peace from the corp. Late in the afternoon I hike back up to the owl site on the hill. Despite the setting sun I am soaked with sweat when I reach the end of the road. A steady stream of local people pass me, returning from their fields. I find a log to sit on and wait for darkness. In a thicket below me a paradise flycatcher scolds noisily. Has the flycatcher has discovered an owl? Piqued, I scramble down the steep hill into the thicket. The paradise flycatcher falls silent. The thicket looks just perfect for a scops owl so I hunker down and wait. A moment later a long winged creature passes. My first impression is that it's a bat, based on it's erratic flight. I follow it into the thicket and find it perched on a large branch. Scops owl! It drops onto the leaf litter and then flies up into the tree again. It's larger than Grande Comore scops owl, with only slight ear tufts. In the flashlight it's eyes shine back and I can't make out color. The cheeks are chestnut and the lower edge of the facial disk is black. The legs are sparsely feathered, and legs and feet are pale gray. The tail is brown, darkly barred. The upper-parts are fairly uniform dark brown with reddish tones, like mahogany wood. The scapulars are lighter. Then it starts calling, two loud explosive scream-like growls. Amazing. This owl was just discovered 20 years ago. It's wonderful to just stumble upon this bird without playback. There are estimated to be just 400 pairs of Moheli scops owl.
I hike further along the trail in search of more owls. I hear another five owls across the valley and far away. Mostly the trail just crosses cleared land. Huge fruit bats fly by. Eventually I turn around and walk happily back to coast road as the yellow big moon rises over the Indian Ocean.
I eat chicken curry for dinner, sharing the meat with a slender cat that stalks the restaurant.
October 15th. I don't really have anything planned for today. After breakfast I set out to see if I can find a taxi brousse to cross the island. I end up giving up as I am short of Francs and I am wary of inadvertently chartering a vehicle and getting stuck with a large bill. Instead I walk the coast road. everyone is very friendly and apart from the relentless sun it's a nice way to while away the morning.
Baobab Tree "symbol of Africa"
Later I walk to the pier and check out the rusting boats.
Dead boat, Moroni
Late in the afternoon I pack and set out into the hills again. I try and cross the valley I visited last night to get situated in the better forest where I heard multiple scops owls calling from. After crossing a lot of banana fields I get to small gorge. It's not possible to clamber down the cliffs. It's nearly dark, so I decide to just wait here for it to get dark. I am surprised to see a Malagasy harrier quartering over the scrubby hillside. Despite drenching myself in Deet the mosquitoes are out with an appetite tonight. Malaria is common here, so I do my best to swat them away until a surprise owl flushes from the gorge and flies into a tree. It screeches hoarsely; much lower pitched than an American barn owl. Moments later it flies by and I see it's an African barn owl. I hear three scops owls, but all are on the far side of the gorge. It's a beautiful walk back to the hotel. Everyone greets me with either "bon soiree" or "As-salamu alaykum".
The thin elegant cat is waiting for me at the restaurant, and we share another chicken dinner.
October 16th. I wake early. I have a 2pm flight back to the "big" island of Moroni. I have plenty of time to eat a big breakfast then take a walk into town. Later at the airport I run into an Australian birder called Richard. The flight to Moroni goes well, although I have my usual misgivings about riding in a vintage African propeller plane. We hit turbulence and I curse the old plane. At the airport I dodge the taxis and walk out to the main road. While waiting for a taxi brousse, a couple of Comoran ladies pick me up in a Fiat van, once they realize I don't speak French they pretty much ignore me. Nonetheless I am entertained. They chain smoke and carry themselves with an autonomy I hadn't previously noticed in Comoran women. They kindly drop me at Les Jardin de Paix, which is the fanciest hotel I have stayed in this trip. It's a beautiful evening and I walk down to the docks. The kids are swimming in the harbor, while fruit bats patrol for fruiting trees.
Harbor area Moroni
I find an Indian restaurant, Carre Four. The waitress is hilarious, refusing to believe I can't speak French, she keeps coming back to me with more questions in French.
Back at Les Jardin de Paix, I am able to order a beer, a rare beverage in the Comoros.
October 17th. After breakfast I take a cab out to the airport. It is a long hot wait, first outside the terminal, then inside before boarding my Kenya Airways flight to Nairobi. At Nairobi I had a three hour layover, then catch a flight down to Mombasa on the coast. At the approach to the runway I see brown standing water. A river has burst its banks. This isn't going to be good.
Mombasa's Moi airport is humid. Monkeys patrol girders in the ceiling. I am due to meet Albert, a bird guide from Sokoke Forest at arrivals. He's not there, and after waiting a while a friendly cabbie lends me his phone. I call Albert and he tells me that after unseasonable rains, traffic is really messed up. I wait around and watch the gray sky turn black. I turn down so many cabbies. After a couple of hours Albert shows up. He apologizes for the delay. We leave the terminal and almost immediately are caught in terrible traffic. For three and a half hours we inch along a muddy road, constantly jockeying a way forward. Huge trucks spin wheels as steam rises and they lurch dangerously into our lane. It's a real shit show. Eventually we come to a roundabout and are able to take a clear street. Then we drive two hours up to the small coastal town of Watuma near Sokoke Forest. Albert drops me off at Mwamba field study center, a Christian-based conservation cooperative that runs a lodge. It's midnight, and I am starving. Thankfully Patrice, the nightwatchman, has saved a plate of curried chicken for me. I say goodnight to Albert, wolf down the chicken and head to bed.
October 18th. I slept restlessly and get up before dawn. Patrice has made breakfast. I am delighted to find real coffee and am ready for the day when Albert shows up at first light. We drive up to Sokoke ranger station. I am excited because I have been thinking about Sokoke since 1991 when Pete Fox, a college friend, told me about this special coastal forest that's home to an endemic owl that occurs no where else in the world. (I later learned the Sokoke scops owl also occurs in a small area of Northeastern Tanzania). Because of it's very restricted range, the owl has a small population and is vulnerable to extinction. I made a fateful trip to Kenya in 1992 and had planned on travelling to Sokoke to look for the owl. I was heartbroken by a recent breakup and then derailed by salmonella and returned home defeated having never reached Sokoke.
At the ranger station Albert pays our admission. We walk around the administrative buildings in search of a resident pair of African wood owls. This was a bird I had heard in Gambia in 1992. I remember walking through tall grass in the darkness without a flashlight and praying for no snakes. I failed to see a wood owl in Gambia. Eventually Albert finds a wood owl roosting fairly high in a tree. It's drying itself off after last night's rain and it's feathers are loose and the wings are held low, consequently it looks bigger than I had expected. Both the wings and tail are dark brown, barred with warm, almost cinnamon bars. The breast and belly are off white with warm, light brown bars. The bill is conspicuously yellow.
We drive south to another gate and enter the reserve. After a long drive along sandy dirt tracks we park up. Albert instructs me to bird from the tracks why he searches for Sokoke scops. African barred owlet also occurs here, so I set off walking along the tracks and taping for the owlet. I don't get any response. After an hour I notice a message scrawled in the sand next to the car "wait here". I am excited that Albert has found the scops owl, however he soon shows up empty handed. We start a new strategy, walking together through the maize of elephant tracks checking out potential scops owl roost sites. We do this for another hour. Then Albert calls a friend. The friend saw a scops owl in the area yesterday. We continue searching for another hour until Albert's friend shows up on a motorcycle. He takes us down an elephant track to a thicket, but the owl isn't there. Albert stubbornly continues the search checking nearby thickets. Suddenly a beautiful big smile spreads across Albert's face. He grabs my shoulder and points. At head high just a few feet away an anxious Sokoke scops owl makes itself as trim as possible. It's a stunning owl. Not much larger than a deck of cards and so vividly orange it shocking to look at. It's eyes are beautiful lemon yellow and the ear tufts proud. The bill is pale. The breast is lightly marked with neat dark spots and the wings barred with light rufous bars, and dark spots along the shaft of the primaries. The owl flies a short distance away and perches. More relaxed now, it's plumage is loose and it looks less diminutive. It's just a gorgeous looking owl and I am thrilled to see it in the day light.
We try a couple of spots for the barred owlet, but this is essentially a nocturnal bird, and it's midday. We take a break and drive back to Mwamba field study center. The place has a really wonderful egalitarian feel, staffed by both local people and volunteers from abroad.
Late in the afternoon we return to the forest in search of African barred owlet.
Albert prowling Sokoke for an owlet
Albert tells me that the owlet will respond to scops owl calls. At dusk, while imitating a scops owl, Albert gets a response from another scops owl. With great skill he locates the owl several hundred meters away in a thicket. Sokoke scops owl occurs in red, brown and gray morphs and this bird is brown. It's a tiny light brown owl with small black dots on it's breast.Back at the track it's now dark. We try for the owlet and get bush-babies crying like babies and jumping through the canopy of the trees. We also hear five African wood owls singing. Perhaps because of the unseasonable rain, or the calling wood owls we don't hear any owlets. We try another site and only hear wood owls. By now it's 730pm and we have to leave or risk getting locked in the forest at the gate. This would be fine for me, as we would have the whole night to find the owlet. Albert clearly respects the rules of the reserve and we rush to get out through the gate.
Back at the field study center I eat a robust dinner and talk with the volunteers.
October 19th. Albert had originally planned on taking me to Tsavo East National Park to look for roosting African scops and spotted eagle owls. These are both widespread African owls that would be new to me. Unseasonable rains have caused the Tsavo River to burst it's banks and even the robust Toyota landcruisers are unable to pass the flooded section of the road. There is no way we can make it in our modest Peugeot. Instead we decide to stay local. Unfortunately the Peugot is defeated by a small flooded area in the center of town and Albert shows up with a replacement car a little late.
We drive to Gede ruins, which are just out of town. Albert explain the ruins are a slaving town from about a thousand years ago. They are set in tall monsoon forest. African barn, Northern white-faced and verreaux's eagle owls all occur here. Albert enlists the park guard to help us. It had been pouring last night and we are only able to find the eagle-owl. This is a bird I saw in Kenya back in 1991. It's an absolutely huge owl, with an outsized beak and talons. Most remarkably it has vivid pink eyelids.
Albert then takes me to the northern edge of Sokoke forest. We check some farmland for roosting Northern white-faced owl, but come up short. We also venture into the edge of Sokoke forest and try taping for the owlet but don't get a response.
Given how shitty traffic was in Mombasa we decide to leave early for my 4pm flight to Nairobi. The first couple of hours on the road are uneventful. Then at the northern edge of town we hit gridlock. After half an hour we have only moved a couple of hundred meters. We decide to hire a motorcycle taxi to take me the rest of the way. Albert does the negotiating. We say goodbye and thanks. I introduce myself to the rider, Hassan, and hop on his blue Chinese motorbike. The first ten minutes is like the car chase scene in The French Connection only slower. Hassan expertly pilots the bike through crowds of people on the sidewalk, then in and out of traffic, weaving the bike dramatically in front of roaring trucks and buses who come at us from either side. We slip through the smallest of fast disappearing gaps between unforgiving dusty wheels of huge trucks. We push through deep puddles and choking blue exhaust. Past beggars, hawkers and degenerate tourists prowling gogo bars for Kenyan girls. It's intoxicating. I feel bulletproof for ten minutes. We break free of the congestion and settle into a long hot ride into downtown Mombasa. It's clear that Hassan is out now of his element and does not know this part of town. I convince him to stop and ask directions. We do this about a half dozen times. I am mighty relived when we see a sign for the airport. We get to the security gate before the terminal. Hassan drops me there. I thank him and give him a proper tip.
Hassan (a very talented motorcycle rider)
Almost immediately a couple of Kenyan guys pick me up and drive me to the terminal. They tell me they saw me miles away on the back of Hassan's bike and knew that I was rushing to make a flight. I fly to Nairobi. At the terminal I meet a guy from the Comoros. He is distraught because he was making his way to a better life in Turkey when he was denied boarding on a Turkish Airlines flight. He had been in limbo in the airport for a couple of days. I try and talk to him on Google Translate but his French isn't formal and we get nowhere. He has gotten into a bottle of duty free. He weeps openly. It's hard to see any good way out of his situation.
October 20th. The rest of the journey is unremarkable. I fly to Paris, then Seattle. The security lines in Seattle are fucked up and I end up running through the terminal making my flight to Portland by a couple of minutes.
