Nemesis birds.

        I wasn't familiar with the concept of a "nemesis" bird until Costa Rica. But approaching the second hour of my second hike in the Ecological Sanctuary just outside of the Monteverde Butterfly Garden (headed by biologist Jim Wolfe) yesterday morning...these little buggers were everywhere around me and nowhere in sight: their plaintive "muaaahhhh" and characteristic "to-le-do" coming from every thick patch of breast-height vine I happened upon. Nemesis bird: the long-tailed manakin.

Two lekking males. 

   Absurd. I would follow their calls off trail, trying desperately to be silent, and then I'd trip over a branch/get tangled in vines/crunch -all- the leaves in typical Nikki fashion, and they'd all switch from their song to these little pip-popping calls---then nothing. Gone. Minutes would pass before I'd hear them or another group in a patch further off. 

    Luckily, in the epic battle of woman vs. makanin, the ecological sanctuary offered plenty of feathered diversions to keep spirits and confidence high.  A great antshrike with critical crimson eyes, a long-billed starthroat hummingbird looking aloof in a tree stripped bare by leaf cutter ants (the clay swept clean in a five-inch-wide highway, leading away from the base), gray-throated wood wrens with stubby, bobbing tails, a shifty-looking orange bellied trogon, the shock of a blue-crowned motmot on a bridge rail, feet from where I stood---and the constant, croaking antics of emerald toucanets. An entire acre or so of angry violet sabrewings. 

...Fierce. 

   

     Birds for days, as some may say. But none so satisfying as that first glimpse of yellow feet peeking out from dark plumage in the understory, streamer tail feathers barely visible in the shadow---then the other males flanking the first, red caps and then glimpses of bright sky blue backs--seven in total on three branches, singing more or less in sync. It's amazing how much more satisfying it is to make a sighting of a bird when you've given it nemesis status. 

Birds.

         Then, of course, once I'd seen that lek, they were everywhere. I probably saw ten or so more males, and the females judging them from perches closer to the canopy--drab, with two lancelets instead of streamers for tails.What am I going to do when I leave this place ten days from now and can't blow off an entire morning drunk off forest beauty? Ten days. Not much else has happened beyond spanish class and data analysis, minus all of us looking forward to the Chanchos del Monte concert on Saturday. Goodness. 

I think it's work time. Until later...