Early on April 6, after almost six weeks of preparation and longing for the tropics, the time comes to embark on our journey to Costa Rica. My father and I are equipped with our field guides, and with the birding knowledge that comes after finally acing (or almost acing) dozens of regional eBird photo quizzes. My family awakens, we gather our suitcases, and enter the taxi at 3:30 a.m. Classical music plays a soft and peaceful symphony for an ungodly hour.
Once in the airport and through security, more instrumental tunes are blasting out from the various speakers (don’t they know how early it is?!). The memory of waiting for the plane is largely a blur, but things become more interesting on the flight. Whilst high in air over the states, we pass by many coastal areas: viewing varied marshy habitats and Atlantic cities from New Jersey and Virginia.
About mid-way through our non-stop Boston-Logan to Daniel Oduber Quirós International Airport flight, I attempt to watch a bird-themed movie so chock full of avian inaccuracies that even amateur birders would be ashamed to enjoy it: Migration. Now, I could go on and fill another blog post with everything wrong with the film, but let’s fast-forward a bit. The movie has ended, and I’ve just flown over the two-volcano island in Lake Cocibolca, Nicaragua (look it up!), and after circling five times over a boat-filled Pacific awaiting clearance from the control tower, the plane finally heads to its final destination. As we descend across vast swatches of farmland and arid forest, a flash of black with white wingtips zips by—my first Costa Rican bird! It’s a Black Vulture, a bird so ludicrously common that by the end of the trip (according to my eBird data), I had tallied almost 100 total individuals and had seen them in more than half of my checklists.
After landing and adjusting to the xeric surroundings—with my bird list up to three thanks to some Gray-breasted Martins and a curious Great-tailed Grackle—we meet with our enthusiastic and knowledgeable tour guide and airport shuttler Alex Monjarré. In the parking lot, I count a Tropical Mockingbird perched on a road sign with nesting material galore: some strings and whatnot probably collected from the outskirts of the runway. In the van, it is roomy, cool, and gray, the chilliness a nice shift from the stifling heat that hit us as soon as we had walked outside. As we drive speedily onward, our tour guide shares some tidbits about Costa Rica, including details about their diverse ecosystems and commitment to clean energy. He also explains that we will be taking a back road near sugar cane fields with more wildlife and then stopping for water in Filadelfia de Guanacaste. As we near the aforementioned road, I don my larger camera, preparing for roadside wildlife.
The first bird for me to photograph is a cooperative Squirrel Cuckoo, a rufous, long-tailed fellow with a decurved bill and eyering, which gives it an odd, almost skeptical expression. Followed by this are numerous doves: Common Ground-Doves, Inca Doves, White-winged Doves, you name it! Entering a more forested part of the path we leap (not figuratively!) out of the car to watch a simply spectacular Turquoise-browed Motmot, cyan brow, wing, and forked tail practically glowing in the light. Alex helps us find its location by using a handy green flashlight, a contraption that really ought to be used by more birders. Also pinpointed using this method is a curious Rufous-naped Wren, a melodious inhabitant of suburban areas. As this road borders a river (the River Tempisque, to be exact), we were able to spot quite a few waterbirds, such as Western Cattle Egret, and Black-bellied Whistling-Duck. All these birds are regularly recorded in the southeastern US, mind you, but are nonetheless good sightings.
Almost all the species I have mentioned so far have been lifers and all of them fantastical birds, but perhaps the highlight of this leg of the trip were the Black-headed Trogons. We encounter them panting (er, sorry, Gular Fluttering), and they allow us to take numerous quality photos. They are truly beautiful birds, with their bright blue fleshy eyerings that contrast nicely with their dark gray heads. The females are dull and more grayish, but the males have a bright iridescent blue-green and purple upperside stretching from their backs to their tails. Both sexes have tiny feet compared to their body size (like a hummingbird’s), and a bright orangey-yellow breast. During our drive, one male inspects a termite mound, of which there are many, possibly to be used for nesting purposes.
For most of this trip, we have been driving slowly, pausing for birds periodically as we see them. But now that we have entered the main road, the capabilities of Alex’s van are revealed. These roads are dirt and not paved, and are bumpy and filled with potholes. Combined with a speeding van, this makes for a most exhilarating, nauseating, and mildly terrifying experience. To add to the “fun” there are giant dust clouds created whenever a truck or a strong wind passes by, where I have to quickly crank up an obsolete window handle. After stopping for water and seeing many roadside caracaras (sharply plumaged scavengers with fleshy faces), we break at a restaurant in the small town of Ortega. Wandering outside are various poultry–domestic chickens and ducks roaming free. My belly felt a little upset (hmm, I wonder why…), but after eating some delicious Rice and Beans™, I feel instantly better and prepared to visit a private reserve near Palo Verde.
A while later we arrive, with the hope of seeing the nest of a Scarlet Macaw. Instead, we are greeted by a juvenal-plumaged Bare-throated Tiger-Heron, numerous iguanas, and a bunch of lazy howler monkeys slouching in the treetops. As we look at a beautiful female Rose-throated Becard, a pile of dung flies down to the ground with a plop, missing us by a few meters. It’s the howler monkeys again, clearly displeased by our presence. We bow courteously and drive towards a section of the Rio Tempisque (again). The banks of the river are filled to the brim with Black Vultures, some in the treetops, but concentrated most densely on the ground, where they preen, stretch their wings, and waddle around. Also here is a Wood Stork and another Bare-throated Tiger-Heron, this one a fully-grown adult.
Now we enter a giant expanse of open marsh, with tones of green light and dark crossing together in a vast pattern as well as hints of azure water peeking through. On the edges of the marsh are electric fences designed to stop cattle from straying from the property. A second after seeing a small group of territorial Inca Doves flashing their red wing patches as they fly, I spot a large wading bird in the distance. Instantly I recognize it as a Jabiru: a larger, more colorful relative of the humble and widespread Wood Stork. A patch of white on its neck indicates it is an immature, but it still has its distinctive bulging red throat patch bordered by black. After a quiet minute passes, the bird flies away slowly, quite majestic though somewhat ungainly.
The day is wearing on, and at last it is time for our journey to Tamarindo. But this is not the end of our birding: many more birds await in the mangroves, the plains, and the suburbs. Our last bird to bid us adieu is the Great Kiskadee, which, given its commonness in many parts of its range, might be renamed the Amateur or Subpar Kiskadee. On my trip (once again according to my eBird data, which never lies) I saw 42, trumped only by Barn Swallow, Black Vulture, and Black-bellied Whistling Duck, and surpassing Great-tailed Grackle by one individual. Much, much later, we finally arrive at our tropical paradise, a week of adventure ahead. 
GALLERY
