Bob's Hope

The encouraging comments to my yesterday's post in Facebook about my lamentations on not seeing the Eyebrowed Thrush after five attempts buoyed my hope. Friends and family urged me to go back to Ecopark and try again. I communicated with our friend, Bert, who saw it last. He gave me very precise directions on where he saw the thrushes (he said there were about four) and even the time that he saw them.

Armed with these information Cynthia and I returned to the La Mesa Ecopark this morning. Full of hope I brought along my big lens which elicited a "you must be very confident" comment from my wife (to which I replied with a wide grin). 

One of my handicaps is that I am not good at finding locations. Despite the directions given by Bert, I still had problems getting there. Through the convenience of SMS with our friend we finally located the exact place that he described. The time was about 11:30.

It was at that time that the prophetic words of my Facebook well wishers came true.

Sometimes sad movies have happy endings.

Sad Movies

Cynthia had grandma duties so I went to Ecopark alone.

I saw my first bird which didn’t take too long

An Ashy Thrush flew up to the branch of a tree

Just as I was being joined by Bert and company.

We climbed up the narrow trail hoping to see

The kingfisher that birders nicknamed Spotty

But Spotty strangely was nowhere to be found

So we all decided to explore the other trails around

When we stopped to rest we saw some movement above

Looking up we all saw a lovely White-eared Brown Dove

Farther into the forest we went and then once again paused

Because a Mangrove Blue Flycatcher stopped by and posed

As rising temperatures announced the approaching midday

I said goodbye to my friends and went my own separate way

That night as I was going over my friend’s posts in Facebook

There was something there that made me do a second look

A photo of an Eye-browed Thrush was posted by Bert

Suddenly I felt as if I was cursed by mother earth

Five times I went to Ecopark hoping to see this thrush

Five times I failed, five times my heart was crushed

I was sniffling softly as I watched a dramatic TV show

Then slowly, silently my tears began to flow

Cynthia noticed this and she asked me why

I just told her that sad movies make me cry

"The Scream" Birding

The story goes that when Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian painter, was walking with two friends, and as the sun was setting the sky suddenly turned blood red. He paused, and feeling exhausted, leaned on the fence. His two friends walked on and he just stood there trembling with anxiety and sensed a scream passing through nature. That inspired him to create an art masterpiece which he titled Der Schrei der Natur (The Scream of Nature).

My wife and I were back at the La Mesa Ecopark yesterday (Friday, January 31). This was our third visit in a week. Again our primary purpose was to look for a lifer - the Eyebrowed Thrush. We staked out the possible places where we hoped the thrush would appear. We were soon joined by fellow birders, Bong Nabong, Steve Albano and Chin Fernandez. Another fellow birder and new acquaintance, BJ Capacite, also joined us. Three hours passed and no thrush showed up - not even the resident Ashy. BJ, who had been going around the area, showed me a photo of a bird that he, being a newbie, wanted me to identify. 

"Mangrove Blue Flycatcher," I said congratulating him on his find.

"There's another bird that I saw right after this," he said showing me the photograph. My eyes fell out of their sockets.

"Eyebrowed Thrush!" I shrieked. "Where'd you find it?"

"Not far from where we are now," he replied and quickly led the way.

"There was where I saw the flycatcher, then I heard a bird call and there (pointing to a fruiting tree) was where the thrush was!"

All six of us stood there with our cameras pointed at the tree that BJ referred to. Half an hour dragged by. Not even a sound came from the trees. An hour passed. The mini-forest was now filled by loud voices of school children having a field trip. We all agreed to call it a day.

As Cynthia and I slowly trudged along the trail on the way out it seemed that the sky just turned blood red. Our companions walked ahead. I stopped by the fence feeling exhausted, trembling with frustration and sensed a scream passing through nature.

I felt what Edvard Munch experienced 121 years ago.