Mexican barred owl has always been an enigmatic bird. Unlike their Northern counterparts, who are common and conspicuous, the Mexican birds where unknown apart from some very old records. About 20 years ago taxonomists suggested that the Mexican birds were a separate species. This made sense because the Mexican population is isolated by hundreds of kilometres from the nearest Northern birds in Texas. Others felt this was very controversial as owl taxonomy is greatly influenced by differences in their song, and the Mexican birds were unknown in the wild. This all changed in 2015 when Andrew Spencer and Nathan Piplow discovered a family of Mexican barred owls in La Noria, Nayarit https://earbirding.com/blog/archives/4905. They were able to photograph and record the voices of the owls. The songs are very different from the Northern birds, which strongly supports the two populations representing two species. As soon as I read their report, I started dreaming about visiting La Noria and searching for the owls myself. When the covid pandemic broke out, my original travel plans were postponed, so a short trip to Mexico made sense. I called a local guide, Antonio Robles https://www.mexicanbirding.com/, who said he would help me. A week later I bought my airline ticket. As the departure date drew closer I started to worry that covid would fuck up the trip and the flight would be cancelled or I would be barred from entering Mexico.
July 2nd I take care of the boys all day while Tui works. After dinner Charlie and I walk over to my friend John's home to pick up paper copies of my airline tickets he'd printed for me. We have all been under quarantine for three months and John looks unusually long-haired, having not seen a barber since the winter.
Tui drops me off at the airport. I say goodbye to her and the boys, then walk into the terminal. Inside it's very quite because of covid. People look anxious and is masked. I feel like everyone is departing for a funeral, except me, I am going to look for owls. I have my temperature checked by a Volaris ground agent wearing a face shield, mask and latex gloves, then I get my boarding pass. People follow social distancing, until we enter the plane. The Airbus is completely full, and after boarding we wait a full hour in the hot plane before we take off. Curse this fucking plague.
July 3rd. I sleep for most of the flight despite the tight seats. As the plane taxis into Guadalajara I peer out a rain-streaked widow into the night and see puddles on the wet asphalt. There is plenty more crowding to endure on the bus ride to the terminal and standing in line at immigration. I have my temperature taken again and then am allowed into Mexico. What a relief! I am unable to get my phone to work, so instead of calling the car rental company, I take a cab to their office. They give me a small, manual silver Chevy. The car's empty, so I head straight for a gas station for gasoline and coffee. A man opens the door for me into the gas station store, and I drop a ten peso coin into his leathery, sad hand, with nails like little claws.
I have driven across Guadalajara several times, and like in the past it's easy and fast to cross this big city of eight million. Soon after hitting the open road, I'm pulled over by a police check point. I wait uncomfortably in my car watching other vehicles be searched. Eventually I'm dismissed without explanation. The drive to Tepic passes blue gray mescal fields, huge volcanoes and and finally green cane fields. Many valleys were choked in clouds, but above the sky was mostly clear and beautiful.
View from the road on the drive to Tepic
Traffic is light and it's fun to drive fast. I don't have cellular, so I have to stop at an Oxxo in Tepic to ask directions. A helpful clerk connects me to WiFi, and I get it figured out. I meet Antonio at the parking lot of a Bodega Aurrea (Mexican Walmart). Antonio is a young and thoughtful bird guide from Nayarit.
From the city of Tepic it's just a 15km drive up to La Noria, a tourist ranch with cabins that mostly serves Mexican people who want a mountains retreat. When we arrive a group of girls in royal blue dresses are having their quinceanera photos taken. We check out the forest to learn the trails and make a better plan for tonight's owling. The forest is mostly pine and oak that cloaks the slopes of a large volcano that rises above the ranch. After the social restrictions of covid, it's great to be able to talk with Antonio. We are delighted to discover I stayed at his grandma's hotel, Casa Maria, in San Blas back in 1994. He concedes he has only seen Mexican barred owl once before, which affirms my concern that this isn't going to be a walk in the park.
By early afternoon I am tired and decide to take a siesta. I have a nightmare about a cheetah attacking me. I don't know if it's because we found puma scat on the trail earlier or a metaphor for my covid fears. I wake feeling groggy and accidentally lock the car keys in the bedroom. The cabin key won't open the bedroom door. I check the windows. The first is locked. The second is open. With enthusiasm I pull myself up and into the room. My enthusiasm turns to horror as I realize from the leather purse on the bed that I have climbed into our neighbor's room. I jump out quickly. Miraculously the four young Latinas are sat just a few feet away listening to music and are talking up a storm. They pay me no mind. Still locked out, we figure out we can pull away the trim, and slide a knife to push the latch and release the door. We drive down the steep winding road to Tepic. Most places are closed due to covid, so we settle on a formal hotel restaurant in downtown. I'm vegan and Antonio's vegetarian. There is nothing for us on the menu, but the waiter kindly suggests that they can fry some vegetables and serve them with beans and tortillas.
Church in central Tepic
After a good meal we return to the cabin around dusk. Although the owl has been seen near the cabins, it's very noisy tonight with people singing and playing music. We decide to owl the trail system that we had explored earlier today. I am startled by a trail cam with a flash. The forest is beautiful tonight. The air is cool and dry and smells like pines. There's a full moon and everywhere are fire flies.
View from the rim of the crater at dusk
We eventually hike down a very steep trail into a volcanic crater. The floor of the crater is a rough pasture, the grass silver in the moon light. Above a black forest of thick oaks and pines, then higher still a blinding bright moon. We hear a great-horned owl, four mottled owls and three whiskered screech owls.
We eventually find a couple of very vocal screech owls along the rim of the crater. It's been twenty one years since I've seen this owl. I am surprised just how diminutive it is compared to a Western screech owl. It's feet are especially weak and tiny. It's underparts are strongly marked and contrasting. Both birds are gray rather than red phases. They have yellow eyes and greenish bills.
Whiskered Screech owl taken by Antonio
By now it's midnight and I am really tired. We agree to sleep for a couple of hours and try again before dawn.
July 4th. I don't normally have nightmares, but I dream of a bridge collapsing and a car falling into the water. Inside a family screams as the car fills with water. (My nightmares must be covid tensions). We return to the same trails at 4am. The same trail cam with a flash startles me. At the end of the trail we hear a distant Mexican barred owl from across the valley. We decide to hike back around on the trail, rather than bushwhack directly. Along the way we hear two really close mottled owls. I can't resist spotlighting these birds for a quick minute, before hustling along the road towards where we heard the Mexican barred owl. Dawn is fast approaching. Unfortunately we don't see or hear anything else.
We walk slowly back to the cabin and sleep from first light until late morning. The kitchen is open for the weekend and several ladies are preparing corn tortillas on a wood burning stove. I ditch my vegan ideals and we enjoy fresh cheese quesadillas, salsa, spicy pickles and hot black coffee. Sated we set off to explore the trails that lead up the main volcano. Again, we are not really looking for owls, just scouting for the best trails that lead to the really good forest with the most mature trees. It's a beautiful hike that leads through great mountain oak forest. Near the end of the trail we pass through an orchard and we find some fallen peaches to devour. Thick mist starts to pour into the valley, followed by rain. We retreat to the cabin. Later we drive back down into Tepic in search of food. We buy a pizza and feast on it in the Chevy, with the widows all steamed up. Back in La Noria at dusk it's still raining heavily. At least it's just an isolated cell over the volcano, and not a big weather system. We drive down the gravel road and away from the volcano for a few minutes and park up by a roadside alter. Despite the weather, the figure inside is illuminated by yellow candle light. The weather has improved, and we set of down the road under a light rain. A huge electric storm lights up the sky, with lightning so bright that it lights up the huge trees above us like an arboreal cathedral. Along the way we hear three mottled owls and Antonio hears a distant Mexican barred owl. A couple of hours later we return to the car and the weather has dried up. We stop at the cabin for water, then set off for the volcano above La Noria. As we hike silently over wet pine needles we hear more mottled owls. Climbing a steep slope a surprised fox peers at me just a little ways ahead. It trots jauntily up the trail while I follow behind breathing heavy. I hear a noise like an animal ahead and am confused. Then I'm spotlighted. I am a little concerned that I have met a hunter (who may mistake me for a game animal), so I seek shelter behind a stout pine and greet the person. Luckily he's a camper who was calling out to his companions. Antonio explains our mission and the camper wishes us luck with the owls. We continue up the steep trail, making our way around wet slippery boulders. Even with my pulse pounding in my ears I hear a beautiful Mexican barred owl singing spontaneously from the pines ahead.
We hike up the trail to get closer. The bird stops singing and we perch at the edge of a little grassy bluff overlooking the pines. We wait. Then Antonio whispers to me and gestures to a large pine. In the flashlight a glorious Mexican barred owl stares with unflinching black eyes! It's just a perfect creature; perched in a wet pine, with mist suspended from the crown of the tree; in this wild lovely place. Between the dark eyes is a powerful, heavy, yellowish-orange bill. The facial disk is blank and pale gray. The neck and upper breast are barred and the belly heavily streaked with dark brown set in white. The flight and tail feathers are dark brownish gray, with whitish spots. The upper parts are dark grayish brown with white spots, small on the crown, and increasing in size down the back. Feet are large, yellow and powerful. I soak up the whole owl, while Antonio quickly sets up his camera and starts photographing.
A rare photograph of Mexican barred owl taken by Antonio
The owl flies. We find a fallen log and rest for a minute.
Antonio and I in the moment
Then two barred owls duet back and forth. The (presumed male) sings a six or seven note song. The spacing and quality of the song is clearly different, being less emphatic and resonant than a Northern barred owl. The other song (likely a female) has four notes and again is less emphatic and resonant than it's northern counter part. Think more like Bob Dylan (Mexican barred) vs Freddy Mercury (Northern barred). The two owls return under a bright moon to the original tree. He sings high in the brushy crown of the tree, out of sight to us. She perches below and poses, her wings hang low, still wet from the rain.
Female Mexican barred owl taken by Antonio
Fucking brilliant! Just an amazing and beautiful creature. Probably Mexico's least known and most enigmatic bird.
It's two in the morning and we are giddy but tired. We pick our way down the steep wet trail, both slipping on patches of mud. Deep in conversation about the owl and our luck we completely miss the turn off and have to hike back up the hill again to find it. It's three by the time we get to the cabin. I lie in bed and still can't believe our night.
July 5th. I sleep until eleven. We pack up and then say goodbye to Paulo, the easy going aquiline owner ofs La Noria. Entering Tepic we see a couple holding a beautiful cerulean flag asking for money. I struggle to recognize the flag. Antonio tells me they are Honduran people making their way North on the Pacific Railroad. He goes onto explain that in general they are well received by the people of Tepic, and some stay for a few months before slipping back onto the trains after nightfall and continuing their perilous journey. In Tepic we go to a vegetarian buffet. I've missed a few meals, so it's great to feast on thick corn tortillas made of hominy and flame roasted poblanos stuffed with onions, corn and cheese.
I had planned on staying a third night at La Noria, but having seen the Mexican barred owl, we decide to head to San Blas, a fishing town about an hour down the road. San Blas is Antonio's home town and a great place for us to look for some owls that I have seen before, but are still special. I'd visited San Blas in 1994 and again in 2000. It's a really charming small town, with an amazing history. Ships from San Blas plied the route to Manila and explored the Pacific coast of America all the way to Alaska. We drive down the toll road to the coast and Antonio explains to me the complicated relationship between the state government, police, army and the cartels. A few years ago a cartel held this road for a month until an agreement was reached with the new governor.
We stay in the Hotel la Casa de los Pelicanos https://sanblasrivieranayarit.com/en/lodging/casa-del-pelicano/ which is a lovely little place downtown, that's run by Antonio's mom.
Late in the afternoon we drive up to La Bajada. This is a classic birding site in the foothills. Along the way we ford a small creek. We gently squeeze the Chevy passed a large family, soaking in the creek and barbecuing in the road. (The beach is closed due to covid, so this is the next best place). We drive up a stony track, through mango orchards and park under a large mango tree. The air is heavy with the rich smell of rotting fruit. It's really hot and humid. Orange-chinned parakeets shriek as they feast on over ripe mangoes. We hike up the track and soon enter scrubby tropical woodlands. Antonio calls in a Colima pygmy owl and for a minute we enjoy this angry little mite, before it returns into the forest.
Colima pygmy owl taken by Antonio
A little higher up I hear a rustle. In the leaf litter I find a beautiful viper.
Mexican cantil, taken by Antonio
Antonio confirms the obvious, that this is a dangerous snake. He is really happy about this find. It's a lifer for him. I feel it's beautiful but repulsive all at one. Higher up the track we reach some nice taller forest. Antonio finds a Mexican woodnymph in a thicket. This is an uncommon endemic hummingbird that's new to me. We reach a spring. We both drink from the water that bubbles up from the forest floor. It's delicious and feel special because I never drink this way in the tropics. We wait near the spring for nightfall. It is a beautiful place. The air is warm and the insects are loud. The cloudy sky is rich with yellows, mauves and grays. Antonio and I talk about life. After months of near isolation from covid it is really great to be able to talk.
Our conversation is interrupted by a pair of singing mottled owls. Antonio spots them high in a tree and we see both birds fly overhead. We follow the stony track back to the car, careful to avoid any vipers along the way. We listen for Middle American screech owls, but hear none. We do find a cat-eyed snake. The hills resound with the songs of dozens of paraques.
In the village of Bajada we grab a cold drink. Young Latinas are driving motor scooters. This is something new comments Antonio. Just a few years ago such agency was not acceptable in this community. We drive a little further, stopping by some cow pastures on the coastal plain. We search for barn owls, before being driven back by hungry mosquitoes and an absence of owls. Our last stop for the night is the mangroves by the harbor. The place is deserted except for some skinny cats. It smells like the beach, warm mud and fish carcasses. It's intensely humid, and both wonderful and overwhelming. Hoards of tiny mosquitoes attack us. I coat my self in Deet, but it's not that effective. The tide is really high, so we have to pick our way along a partially flooded track, balancing on rocks or choosing the shallowest tidewater to walk through. We hear a Ridgeway's pygmy owl, but ignore it. Our quarry is Middle American screech owl, a much harder bird. Eventually we hear one screech owl briefly from deep in the mangroves. We continue along the flooded track. A little girl was recently eaten by a crocodile here, so I try and keep an eye on the water. When we can go no further we stop and listen. Surprisingly a screech owl flies up into a mangrove tree and starts singing. It song is a insect like trill, and as it sings it's wings vibrate.
Middle American screech owl by Antonio
It is a little after midnight when we make it back to the hotel. I struggle to calm down and sleep after such a great evening. Eventually I do, only to be woken by the sound of breaking glass. A young woman is crying and yelling. She shouts "puta". Her friends take her away.
July 6th. My alarm wakes me at first light and I am completely disorientated. The big ceiling fan is still running on high and the hot air is churning around the room.
Down town San Blas at first light
We set of to Singayta, another classic Mexican birding site, just out of town. We arrive just before sunrise and park by a small mango orchard. It takes just a few minutes to find a territorial Ridgeway's pygmy owl. I love it's fierce eyes and longish tail that flicks from side to side like an agitated cat. We also find a golden-tailed emerald, a green hummingbird with an long elegant forked tail.
Satisfied we leave Singayta and drive back up the green hills to Tepic. We eat breakfast at Tepic's other vegetarian buffet. The food is excellent, and because I only ate one meal yesterday I could have gorged, but Antonio eats modestly, so I follow suit.
I run Antonio to a place where he can get a cab home. I am sorry to say goodbye. He's a very sharp eyed and observant guy. More than that he is really good company and I really enjoyed our long conversations. The drive up to Guadalajara airport is fast and easy, just like every journey I have taken on the cuarta (toll) roads in Mexico. I end up with too much time to kill at the airport, but least it's a comfortable place to be. On my trips I make a point of giving away whatever change I have accumulated to a janitor at the airport. This time the money changer is closed due to covid, so I am actually able to give a small lady who is determinedly mopping the floor a substantial handful of cash.
The flight back on Volaris was just fine. I think of Mexico and dream of returning while the jet rushes towards the chaos and limitations of life in a pandemic.
PS If you are concerned about the impact of your airline travel on global warming you can help mitigate this at https://www.goldstandard.org/take-action/offset-your-emissions
