Braden Collard-Costa Rica - Ecology and Environmental Sciences

Costa Rica Study Abroad Program-Introduction

Week One (San Ramón and Monteverde)

Week Two: Jaco Beach and Carara National Park

Week Three: La Reserva El Copal

Nestled among the foggy highlands of north-central Costa Rica sits the small town of San Ramón. With a population of around 10,000, San Ramón, located about forty minutes north of San José, the country’s capital, is well-established as a cultural hub. White, polished churches rise above bustling farmer’s markets on cobbled town squares, where people from the green hills around the town sell what they’ve been growing from the fertile soil. The western part of town holds the University of Costa Rica—San Ramón campus, and it is here that I will be attending classes for four months next semester, from January to May.

Since arriving at the University of Maine two autumns ago I knew that I wanted to study abroad in Latin America. As my major of Ecology and Environmental Sciences may indicate, I’ve been fascinated with the natural world from a young age. Biodiversity reaches its highest point in the tropics of the world, and ever since getting a glimpse of that biodiversity on a trip to Ecuador I went on in middle school, I’ve wanted to go back and experience it to a fuller extent. After meeting with one of UMaine’s study abroad advisors, Erika Clement, last winter, I chose Costa Rica as my destination of choice.

Thanks to its location close to the equator, its position between the Pacific Ocean and the Caribbean, and the major mountain ranges running up the country’s spine, Costa Rica is home to half a million species. That’s roughly 6% of the biodiversity known to exist on Earth, despite the fact that the country takes up less than .03% of the world’s land mass. For example, Costa Rica is home to 920 different species of birds. The United States has a couple hundred more, with 1148 recorded species. However, the United States is almost 200 times the size of Costa Rica! That’s mind-boggling.

Beyond that, Costa Rica is and has been an icon in international conservation for decades. The country takes its biodiversity seriously—nearly a quarter of its land is protected. Not only does this provide loads of opportunities to experience and enjoy the habitats of this tiny country, but for a student passionate about making a positive change in the world, the Costa Ricans, or Ticos, are role models, and I fully intend to learn as much as possible about the work they do while I’m there.

During my program (through the University Studies Abroad Consortium), I will be taking a variety of classes with a goal of immersing myself in both the natural world and the culture of Costa Rica. I’m enrolled in three science classes: Biological Diversity, Ecology and Population Biology, and Tropical Marine Biology. On top of this, I’ll be taking Spanish and Dances of Latin America (and no, I am very much not a dancer). I’ll be staying with a family in San Ramón, which will further allow me to learn and master the Spanish language, and plan to take advantage of our three-day weekends to travel all around the country.

Of course, studying abroad is expensive. That’s where the Gilman Scholarship comes in. The Gilman Program exists to help lower income students study abroad. One of the primary reasons that many students may choose not to study abroad is affordability. The Gilman Program, as started by Congressman Benjamin A. Gilman in 2000, is specifically designed to alleviate that stress. Nearly 3,000 scholarships of up to $5,000 dollars are awarded each year to low-income students planning to study or intern abroad. This year, I was one of those students, and the Gilman Scholarship has already helped me significantly in achieving my goals. If you are interested in studying abroad, but not sure about the financial aspect of it, I strongly urge you to apply for the Gilman Scholarship—they exist solely to help you!

Thanks to the Gilman, I will get to spend my spring semester experiencing one of the world’s most biodiverse places, and I’ll be writing about it! While I’m in San Ramón, I will be keeping a biweekly blog and sharing it with all of the EES students here at the University of Maine. So, if I haven’t convinced you yet that studying abroad is something you should do during your time at UMaine, and that the Gilman Scholarship can help you do so, then be sure to check out my posts! You’ll hear from me soon!

Braden Collard, UMaine Class of 2025

Week One (San Ramón and Monteverde)

The line of ants carried on, oblivious to the seven humans staring down at them in the dark. Each ant held a cut-out portion of a leaf, following a two-inch wide trail cutting through the grass that had likely been the ants’ main highway for many years. Several leafcutter ant nests were scattered around the campus of the University of Costa Rica—San Ramón, recognizable from fairly far away as red, sandy mounds of dirt. These weren’t the only wildlife my friends (fellow study abroad students from all over the U.S.) and I had discovered on the campus grounds in the last two weeks, either. Circular bulges high in trees marked termite nests, and large flocks of two species of parakeet made regular passes over town, sometimes settling to roost for the night in the conifers behind the library. On my first day exploring town, I’d stumbled upon a pair of Mantled Howler Monkeys in the invasive bamboo stand near the university’s major parking lot. Half an hour before we’d run into the leafcutter ants, our group had spotted a Barn Owl flying over clutching some mysterious prey item in its talons, and twenty minutes later we would spot a Nine-banded Armadillo foraging in the grass alongside the road. Animals are not hard to find in San Ramón, it turns out.

Since arriving in San Ramón approximately two weeks ago, my fellow study abroad students and I have walked many, many kilometers exploring the corners of the town. My host family has also taken me on our fair share of adventures. I’ve visited La Parroquia, the tall, white church marking the center of town, several times, both to admire its colorful stained glass windows during the day and the Christmas lights adorning a nearby park at night. My host family has introduced me to the rich flavors of “POPS”, a local ice cream store that will surely become a staple of my post-class activities every week. Us students have climbed every hill on the west side of town, seeking out views of the Nicoya Peninsula and Pacific Ocean not all that far away. We’ve dodged vehicles (cars have the right-of-way here) and filled iPhone storages snapping photos of various plants, animals, buildings, scenery or anything else we can find. I’ve also probably eaten close to a metric ton of rice and beans.

The town of San Ramón and its colorful, ramshackle buildings sit in an ecological crossroads as far as Costa Rica’s ecosystems are concerned, located near Caribbean slope rainforest, Pacific slope dry forest and high-altitude cloud forest. Each of these habitats serves an important role in Costa Rica’s setting. The dry tropical forest, situated in the northwest part of the country, is a habitat characterized by distinct dry and wet seasons. The southwestern part of the country (including the Osa Peninsula) holds tropical rainforest, meanwhile, and these two habitats constitute the “Pacific Slope”. The “Caribbean Slope”, meanwhile, is all rainforest, although its communities differ from those of the Pacific rainforests. Why? Several large mountain ranges run through the middle of the country, reaching heights of 3,800m (about 12,500 feet) in the Talamancas to the south. These mountain ranges not only separate species living on the Pacific Slope from those living on the Caribbean Slope, but also hold another, incredibly important ecosystem: the cloud forest. This ecosystem is the one I’d been most wanting to visit since learning about it a decade ago, and so, on our first of the semester’s sixteen three-day weekends, two fellow UMaine students, Kiley Chen and Leah Hart, and I caught the bus towards Santa Elena to stay there for two nights.

The long and winding bus ride did not do good things for our stomachs, but soon enough, we arrived in Santa Elena. The next morning, we caught a taxi up the mountain to Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve. Despite the fact that this reserve is a well-known tourist destination in Costa Rica, especially during the dry season (December-April), Kiley, Leah and I were the first people to get in, and proceeded to spend the next seven hours exploring the cloud forest, hiking nearly every trail available to us. Needless to say, it blew our minds.

A forest with nearly 100% humidity year-round is a botanist’s dream. Giant bromeliads grew from every branch, and we could hardly see the bark on any trees because of the high densities of moss and lichen. Thick, woody vines (known as lianas) hung down from above, and prehistoric-looking tree ferns, with the trunk of a tree and the leaves of a fern, rose above us. At one point we walked across a red, metal bridge, suspended above a gully below us, and we could see just how the habitat had received its name. Powerful winds carried large fogbanks through the trees, and we could not see further than thirty or so feet out from any viewpoint because of all of the mist. These constant clouds, caused by winds from the east and high-altitude condensation, led to the air being constantly saturated with water, allowing so many plants to grow here. High concentrations of plants usually means high concentrations of animals, and the animals we saw did not disappoint. Leah rescued several giant millipedes from the path during the length of our hike, and at one point we saw a group of White-nosed Coatis approach us, completely fearlessly, as they foraged for insects in the damp soil. From the suspended bridge we spotted a large mixed flock of birds, including Ruddy Treerunners, Spotted Barbtails, Spangle-cheeked Tanagers, Prong-billed Barbets and a variety of warblers (including some that spend the summer in Maine!). And, after returning to the entrance to ask directions, we finally found ourselves sitting on a wet bench, staring at an epiphyte-laden tree looking for Resplendent Quetzals.

Resplendent Quetzal is not the national bird of Costa Rica, but with all of the attention it garners, it might as well be. We spotted a female in the tree as we first arrived, admiring its deep, emerald green plumage reflecting light through the mist. The real prize we sought, however, was the male—a bird of emerald and ruby, with green tail streamers up to three feet long. These birds are altitudinal migrants, meaning that they spend the non-breeding season at lower elevations. During the breeding season, however, they travel upslope to the cloud forest to feed on wild avocados and raise young. They are icons of the cloud forest, a rare animal living in a rare habitat. Eventually, as we sat on that bench, we did spot a male, although the look was incredibly brief and unsatisfying. What was satisfying were the other animals that paid us a visit as we waited for quetzals: Spider Monkeys. After sitting there for about thirty minutes, we suddenly spotted movement in the tree ahead of us. From the leaves emerged a pair of long-limbed, rust-orange monkeys, a mother and baby, and we watched in awe as they swung effortlessly from branch to branch in front of us. It was awesome.

Following Monteverde, we made a stop at Café Colibri, a restaurant known for and named after the feeders it hangs in the garden outside and the animals that visit those feeders. At Café Colibri, we spotted seven different species of hummingbirds, almost thirty or so different individuals, each zipping right by our faces in search of sugar water. The hummingbirds here had a hierarchy, with the large Violet Sabrewings bullying many of the smaller birds. My favorite of the hummers were the Purple-throated Mountain-gems, the males of which had turquoise foreheads and violet gorgets that shimmered in the sunlight.

We walked back down the road to Santa Elena, admiring the rainbows formed by the mist being blown down the mountain. Following a short rest, we headed out again, this time with a guide to see what animals dwelled in the mountain forests at night. The night walk exceeded our expectations. Our guide, Brandon, pointed out all manner of animals, including Pygmy Rain Frogs, a Robust Climbing Salamander, a Horned Tarantula, an Orange-kneed Tarantula, a Stripe-sided Palm Pitviper loafing in a tree, and two Keel-billed Toucans, fast asleep above us (or they were, until someone pointed a light at them). At one point Brandon wetted a stick with his lips and used it to try to draw a tarantula out of its burrow for us. On our walk back to the entrance to the forest, we spooked a Mottled Owl from its perch in a large banana tree.

Our weekend in Monteverde abounded with sightings of wildlife, and while it may sound like an out-of-reach location, it’s not! The Gilman Scholarship, a scholarship specifically provided to low-income students looking to study abroad and experience new places, is a large part of how I was able to afford going to Costa Rica this semester. If you’re looking to go to Costa Rica, or Ireland, or Japan, or anywhere else, but are worried about the costs, I highly recommend applying for the Gilman. It’s easy to apply, and can support you following your dreams of spending part of your college experience in another country. On top of that, nearly everyone from the University of Maine who applies receives it, so it isn’t some extremely prestigious, unobtainable award. If you’re enjoying learning about my time abroad and want to have a similar experience of your own, I could not recommend the Gilman more.

Monteverde was just the first place I’ve visited since I’ve been here in Costa Rica, and I already have more weekend trips planned for the next few weeks, so be sure to check out my next blog to learn about the other cool wildlife and ecosystems I see!

Braden Collard, UMaine Class of 2025

Week Two: Jaco Beach and Carara National Park

I stood on the wooden platform a hundred feet above the forest floor, staring down the long metal cable leading off into the foliage. The ziplining guide unhooked the carabiner on my belt from one line and attached it to another, then banged on the cable with a wooden bat twice—a signal to whoever was on the other end that I was ready to go. A colorful iguana watched from a nearby tree as I leaned back, grabbed the cable with my leather gloves, and jumped into the air. Humid, tropical wind hit me as a zipped past epiphyte-covered trees, and I heard the calls of a flock of parrots fly over. Thirty seconds later, I arrived at the next platform, where the guide unclipped my carabiner, clipped it to another cable, and the whole thing happened again. An hour and fourteen platforms later, I touched down on the ground and joined the rest of the USAC students in gushing about how awesome ziplining had been. And ziplining was just the beginning to an exhilarating, chaotic weekend on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica.

After lunch, our program directors took us to Jaco, a coastal tourist town. Some people split off to take a paid surfing lesson, but I opted to stay on the main beach and enjoy the waves. As my friends and I waded into the warm, salty water, however, we discovered that we were not the only ones swimming in the surf. Fifteen minutes into our allotted beach time, I felt something soft and slimy collide with my leg.

“Ack!” I cried, jumping backwards. Everyone around me looked at me. “What?”

Suddenly, a pair of fins appeared in the water to our left. At first we thought they belonged to a shark, but we quickly realized that sharks did not move in the same manner that these animals did. A wave rolling towards us suddenly gave us a glance at the creatures in our midst—they were stingrays! And the Pacific Cownose Rays (according to our limited research on Google) were not strong swimmers. Every time a more powerful wave rolled in, it carried the animals straight into us. Thankfully, none of the human—stingray collisions ended in harm to either party, but feeling a large, slimy animal run into you was not something we got used to.

We retired from the beach to the hostel we would be staying at for the night, a mere hundred meters from the ocean. As the sun set, however, our activities did not stop. At around 5, two of my friends and I went on a probably ill-advised walk through the town of Jaco in search of owls. We ended up on a long dirt road, leading towards the jungle. Before we got there, though, brooding clouds materialized above us, soaking our clothes through in minutes. We didn’t see any owls (or at least, not well), but we did spot a few other night birds, including Lesser Nighthawks and Common Pauraques. Upon our soggy return to Jaco, we stopped briefly on a bridge crossing a small stream in town. There, in the dark, moonlit water, stood a tall, powerful-looking heron, staring straight down into the current below it. We stood on the bridge, our clothes airing out, as the Bare-throated Tiger-Heron crept closer and closer to its desired target. After five minutes of holding our breath, the heron plunged its neck into water, pulling out a fish and swallowing it whole. Our dusk adventure in search of wildlife had been worth it.

That night, our entire cohort of students went out for drinks in downtown Jaco (because the legal drinking age in Costa Rica is 18). Some of us grew restless sitting in the bars, however, and made our way back to the beach to watch the ocean pound relentlessly into the dark sand. Near our hostel, a river mouth emptied into the ocean, running in all directions to create a maze of shallow streams and sandbars. And there, under the moon, we spotted more herons, fishing in the dark. Another tiger-heron strutted on the shore that a beach party had taken place on just a few hours earlier. Two Yellow-crowned Night-herons fought over their frog dinner. But the coolest animal we saw there was a bird straight out of a horror movie—the uncommon and elusive Boat-billed Heron (I didn’t take a picture because it was so dark but you should definitely look this thing up). There on the sand it stood, with large, dark, soulless eyes complementing its wild, black hairdo. Its bill looked more like a shovel than a boat, and we watched as it rushed into the water, chasing after a fish.

The next morning, Kiley, Leah and I caught an Uber to Playa Hermosa (which means “Beautiful Beach” and is one of several Playa Hermosas scattered around the country) south of Jaco. Silvery streaks of sand ran across the coastline here, and we were faced with many fewer tourists than we had seen in Jaco. For me, though, the biggest prize had little to do with the ocean. Planted along the edge of the stand stood large trees of many species, including palms as well as almonds. And feeding on those almonds were giant, long-tailed Scarlet Macaws. The macaws flew over us in groups of two or four, calling abrasively and flashing the streaks of blue and yellow that decorated their otherwise crimson bodies. At one point, one landed directly next to us, no more than ten feet away, and we watched and filmed it in awe. Scarlet Macaws are a threatened species, thanks to the illegal pet trade and habitat loss, but their story in Costa Rica is one of success. After declining significantly in the 1900s, Scarlet Macaws are increasing in numbers again on both the Pacific and Caribbean coasts of the country, thanks to conservation work. Thankfully, they are now once again a common sight in much of Costa Rica.

The next morning, our last of the weekend, a group of eight of us caught an early-morning bus north about an hour to Carara National Park, one of the last tracts of pristine Pacific lowland rainforest in the country. Once we finally bought our tickets and got into the park (if you go here, make SURE to buy tickets online in advance—it was a hassle doing it there), we followed a trail deep into the forest, marveling at the height and circumference of the smooth-barked trees rising before us. Many of the trees had thick buttresses stretching out from their bases—here, there was little nutrients to be found deep in the soil, so tree roots stretched out rather than down. Leafcutter ant trails crossed the trail every couple hundred meters, and we thanked a guide who pointed out a White-lined Bat roosting on the side of a tree. Loafing on a log laid across a bubbling river we spotted not one but two Brown Basilisks or Jesus Christ Lizards, that special reptile with the ability to run on water. White-faced Capuchins stared down at us from trees as they picked through each other’s fur, and we startled a White-nosed Coati from the trail, where it had been quietly gobbling down ants. Birds that we got good views at included Slaty-tailed Trogons, big, red-bellied birds that look kind of like frogs, and a Yellow-throated Toucan that flew in as we watched yet more Scarlet Macaws. My personal favorite bird of the day was a Black-faced Antthrush, a small, quiet songbird poking through the leaf litter about a fifty meters away from the trail. This lowland rainforest (which was the final of the three prominent forest types in the country for me to visit) held many species from the tropical dry forest, too, as Carara National Park sits near the zone where the two habitats blend together. If we want to see true, pure lowland tropical rainforest, we’ll have to visit the Osa Peninsula or Manuel Antonio National Park, which are quite a bit further south from where we were.

In just a few weeks I’ve already seen so much cool wildlife here in Costa Rica, and you can too, with the help of the Gilman Scholarship! The scholarship, which provides up to $5,000 in aid to low-income students planning to study abroad, is easy to apply for, so why wouldn’t you? The money that the Gilman gave me has helped me take care of costs of transportation to and around Costa Rica and allowed me to make the most of my time here, including the trips to both Monteverde and the Pacific Coast! So please, if you have any qualms about studying abroad because of the money, take advantage of the Gilman and go see that place you’ve always dreamed of going to!

Braden Collard, UMaine Class of 2025

Week 3: La Reserva El Copal

I arrived at La Reserva El Copal just as the sun dipped behind the rainforest-covered foothills, my clothes soaked with sweat and every part of my body tired from the four bus rides and two-hour walk it had taken to get to one of Costa Rica’s best birding locations. My weekends in Monteverde and Jaco had been eventful and fun, but I was in need of some solo birding time, and so four days earlier I had made a reservation for this cheap, out of the way property sitting on the lower slopes of the Cordillera de Talamanca. Patricia and Beto, the couple that ran the reserve, welcomed me as darkness fell, showing me to my room and then to the dining hall for a dinner by candlelight. As I stared at the photos of rare and colorful hummingbirds on the walls, I realized that I was the only guest staying here for the night. Patricia served my rice and beans and said that she and Beto usually lived in Pejibaye, the town the final bus had dropped me off in, and only came up here when guests arrived, which wasn’t particularly frequently in January and February. I could not believe that, given El Copal’s location and the high number of desirable bird species reported from here.

The next morning I arose at dawn, grabbed my binoculars and camera and headed off into the property as the trees began to glow with increasing sunlight. Almost immediately after stepping outside, a small, dark hummingbird buzzed by me, stopping to feed at one of the many flower bushes adorning the property. Despite the fact that it was still dark, I could see the brilliant white cap for which the bird was named quite clearly. Snowcap, in the weeks leading up to my trip to Costa Rica, had quickly risen the ranks as one of my most-wanted birds. Rare denizens of the Caribbean slope, there were very few places in the country where these birds were reliable. El Copal was one of them, and I ended up seeing at least half a dozen of the birds during my stay here. The tiny, fairy-like hummingbirds eliminated any doubt I had about the trip the second I laid eyes on one.

And El Copal is full of rare birds. Back in the late 90s, the land now holding El Copal had been purchased by several families for agriculture. Instead of developing the rainforest, however, they decided to first establish a form of sustainable agriculture, then open it up for ecotourism, preserving much of the primary forest on the property. Now, some of Costa Rica’s most sought-after birds (and other animals) thrive here, thanks to the decision of those local farmers. This includes the Snowcap and a variety of other hummingbirds, as well as my #1 Target Bird for the whole country: Yellow-eared Toucanet. Of the six toucan species found in the country, this toucanet is the rarest, only found in middle elevation-rainforest on the Caribbean slope. El Copal seemed to be one of the best places to find them in the whole world, and I had my fingers crossed for one as I headed up the steep trails leading into the reserve.

The morning was…complicated. I heard a whole lot of birdsong, but very few of the singers actually appeared for me to get good looks at. Merlin (the bird identification app developed by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology) was only so helpful, as there are significantly fewer recordings of Latin American species than North American species. Bird sounds that the app identified for me included Bright-rumped Attila, Broad-billed Motmot, and Northern Schiffornis, the latter of which is an entirely brown bird with one of the most entertaining whistling songs I’ve ever heard. Despite my frustration at not being able to see many of the birds hidden in the foliage, I did get eyes on a few. I spotted both a Collared Aracari and a Keel-billed Toucan, two species of toucans quite common in this type of rainforest. And I did lay eyes on several large, mixed flocks of tanagers, colorful birds that traverse the forest in search of fruit. The species I picked out at the tops of trees included Silver-throated, Emerald, Speckled, Golden-hooded, Hepatic, Summer, Scarlet-rumped, Tawny-crested, Black-and-yellow, and Bay-headed Tanagers. I also got to watch a family group of coatis quietly foraging on the trail ahead of me—these ones were significantly more wary of humans, and they scattered when I stepped on a branch by accident.

I returned to the main property for breakfast, then headed off on a different trail, this one leading down towards a stream. I found a Buff-rumped Warbler foraging on the rocks in the water, and peered around tree ferns and buttressed trees to try and glimpse the calls I was hearing. This trail also took a left turn and then continued up the mountain, and further up I spotted Scarlet-rumped Caciques and Chestnut-headed Oropendolas, big grackle-like birds making crazy calls. As I rounded a corner, a shiny green bird with a long bill alighted on a branch in front of me. The bird’s beak was longer and thinner than that of a kingfisher, and it had a warm, orange belly complementing its shimmering, green back: a Rufous-tailed Jacamar! Few birds had given me such a good look that morning, and I stood there for several minutes, watching the bird peer down at me curiously. A few minutes later, a large Ornate Hawk-Eagle soared through a gap in the trees, and my attitude began to improve—the birds were showing themselves! On the way down, I heard a rising and falling song, signifying the presence of an antbird. I poked around a little, eventually getting eyes on a Bicolored Antbird overturning leaves! This species, like many other antbirds, are ant-following obligates, meaning that they depend on army ants to find food. As large swarms of army ants rush through the rainforest, they stir up and scare hundreds of other insects, who leap out of the way, straight into the waiting mouths of antbirds, antwrens, woodcreepers and a variety of other birds that just follow the ants around. Ground-cuckoos, one of the most enigmatic groups of birds, also belong to this ant-following group.

While I didn’t actually lay eyes on any army ants, the antbirds signified that there must have been some nearby. The leafcutter ants, meanwhile, were everywhere. Their trails ran alongside and crisscrossed the walking trails, and I always had to keep an eye on the ground so I wouldn’t step on any.

When I arrived back at the lodge for lunch, another birder who had just arrived pointed out another Ornate Hawk-Eagle, this one perched up on a distant snag. As I peered at the bird through his spotting scope, he introduced himself as Carlos, a local also living in Pejibaye. Carlos is an English teacher and regularly visits El Copal during weekends to search for the hundreds of bird species found here. I told him that I hailed from the University of Maine, and spoke of my hunt for the Yellow-eared Toucanet. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a few more hours…do you want to hike the trails and look for the toucanet together?” So, after a quick lunch, we headed back up the mountain in search of my target.

Carlos’s knowledge of the birds of the area was impressive. For one, he could identify many of the calls I’d felt hopeless about earlier, which included several more species of antbirds, Collared Trogon, and several species of wrens. He also knew exactly where all the birds hung out, at one point pointing down the side of the cliff to a White-crowned Manakin, a tiny little black bird white a white cap, sitting in a bush fifty meters away. “He’s always here.”

As we gained altitude, I could begin to see the influence of cloud forest. Slightly different species lived here, and the plant composition looked a bit different, too. One thing in particular made us realize we’d entered a higher-altitude area, however. “Toucanet!” Carlos yelled, pointing to a large, bromeliad-covered tree rising from the slope. I held my binoculars up to see, not my target bird, but an entirely green toucan: a Northern Emerald Toucanet! We tried in vain to photograph the species but neither of our cameras would cooperate, although it will be a long time before I forgot what it felt like to see that bird. This species is much more common at higher altitudes, and it was the first time Carlos had ever seen one on the property! It was, of course, a lifer (a bird I’ve never seen before) for me. As if the Emerald Toucanet wasn’t enough, as we rounded the corner, Carlos stopped me again.

Slowly and quietly, he pointed out a large-ish bird sitting about twenty meters in front of us, up in a tree. The bird was black, with a chestnut cap complementing the blue and green skin around its eye. Its long yellow and black beak, combined with green wings, orange flanks and red rump, identified it as the bird I’d been searching for: a female (hembra in Spanish) Yellow-eared Toucanet. I just about lost my mind, holding my camera up slowly with shaky hands. Never had I actually believed I would lay eyes on one, and yet, here one was, right in front of us. Then, the male appeared, sporting that yellow ear the species was named after.

We enjoyed the birds for about ten minutes, then headed off, as Carlos had to get back home. I thanked him profusely for sharing these amazing birds with me, and we exchanged contact information. Then, I spent the rest of the evening looking at and deleting photos and enjoying the tanagers feeding in the fruiting trees in front of the rooms. Before I went to bed, I spotted several of what I believe to be bioluminescent beetles flying through the rainforest (though they may have been fireflies. I’m not good with bugs).

In total, I spotted 117 species at El Copal over the weekend, including a few the next morning like King Vulture, Gartered Trogon and Green Thorntail. La Reserva El Copal could be described as nothing short of magical. Are there places like this that you’ve always wanted to visit? A mountain range full of endemic plants? A reserve dedicated to protecting endangered amphibians? Perhaps your bucket list is topped with places like the Serengeti, the Great Barrier Reef, the ancient castles of Ireland? If so, guess what, the Gilman Scholarship can help you get to these places! Studying abroad is an experience that every student should have the opportunity to have, and the Gilman helps put this philosophy into practice. The money they awarded me as a lower-income student has helped me afford to go on adventures like this, the rain forested foothills of Costa Rica, and they can help you too! So please, if you’re considering studying abroad (which you should be), apply to the Gilman!

Week 4-Chilamate

The sounds of claps, buzzes and whirs greeted me as I walked down the gravel path towards the reception of the Chilamate Rainforest Eco Retreat. As I approached the desk, I looked to my right, identifying the source of the sound: a juvenile White-collared Manakin, sans white collar, bouncing between twigs in an attempt to attract a mate. Within seconds of arriving at the Caribbean lowland rainforest of Costa Rica, I’d already seen one of my target birds, displaying right in front of me on the hotel grounds. It was going to be a good few days.

After checking in, I immediately headed off into the rainforest. I spotted a White-whiskered Puffbird, a small, round bird, sitting silently on a low branch, and a Wood Thrush darted across the trail in front of me. The thrush would only be here a month or two longer before turning North, flying across the Gulf of Mexico and arriving on its breeding grounds in some forest in Pennsylvania or Kentucky. As I crossed a small stream, a Long-billed Hermit, a large hummingbird with a curlew-esque bill and an even more spectacular white-fringed tail, appeared on a branch in front of me, calling in defense of his territory. After walking a few hundred meters more, though, I realized that if I wanted to see more birds, the rainforest, with its tall trees and dense foliage, probably wasn’t my best bet. I headed back to the hotel grounds and immediately felt good about my decision.

As I stepped out of the trees, I heard the loud, raucous calls of macaws flying nearby. I’d learned how distinctive these birds’ calls were in Jaco, listening to the Scarlet Macaws, but I was hoping for the other species found in Costa Rica. I craned my neck skyward, and soon saw them: huge, vibrantly green birds with long tails adorned with blue and yellow. I pumped my fist in the sky—I’d just seen Great Green Macaws! Only a couple thousand of these birds still exist in the wild, and the northern Caribbean side of Costa Rica was one of the best places to spot them—it’s part of why I’d chosen to stay at Chilamate. With another major target bird down, I continued to poke around the reserve, unearthing tons of lowland rainforest birds I’d never seen before. White-collared Manakins dominated the property, strutting their white beards and making mechanical sounds from every patch of forest I walked by. Roving mixed flocks of birds, including Masked Tityras, Baltimore Orioles and a variety of tanagers blew through the trees, picking petals off of flowers and plunging their beaks into juicy fruits. I wandered out onto a rocky river island, and spotted Bare-throated Tiger-herons and Amazon Kingfishers peering into the vibrant blue water from their respective perches. On the river island itself, I flushed a pair of rust-colored Ruddy Ground-Doves.

There were also more herps (reptiles and amphibians) here than anywhere I’d been so far in Costa Rica. House Geckos adorned the walls, hunting flies and moths. Multicolored lizards of several species darted through the leaf litter, and I snapped a photo of a green basilisk—one of those species of lizards that can run on water, but a different species from the one I’d seen on the Pacific side a month ago. And, in the afternoon on my second day at Chilamate, a hotel worker surprised me by walking up to me with a large snake wrapped around his hand. He said he’d found the boa constrictor in one of the hotel rooms, eating rats, and was now taking it back into the jungle. I followed him, marveling at the seven-foot-long snake curled around his arm like it was a tree branch. Once we’d walked a fair distance back into the woods, he set it on a large log, where it promptly curled around a new tree branch, sheltered by a mat of fallen leaves.

At night, the frogs came out. When I shined my headlamp down at the river adjacent to the property, I spotted dozens of large, glowing eyes staring back at me. Frogs swam through the water and sat on the shore, and on my way back I nearly stepped on a Cane Toad, a terrible invasive species elsewhere in the world but native here, as it crossed the path in front of me. The river rocks also sported large fishing spiders, staring hungrily at the minnows swimming below them.

On morning two, I headed out down the road next to Chilamate in a search for big, colorful birds. I was not disappointed, and started to hear and see toucans nearly immediately. Yellow-throated and Keel-billed soared over me as I glanced up at the trees, and I ran into a small flock of Collared Aracaris, a small, uniquely-patterned toucan found only in extensive rainforest. I came across a cavity high in a tree that I was almost sure was a Red-lored Parrot nest, and spotted Scarlet Macaws flying over a nearby pasture. One large tree at the top of a hill put on display for me three birds I’ve never seen before: a Black-striped Woodcreeper, a Rufous-winged Woodpecker, and a family of White-fronted Nunbirds, the latter a fairly rare and local species in Costa Rica. Along with the bird sounds, I also heard quite a few Howler Monkeys, perched high in trees and giving me judgmental looks. At one point, a mother with a baby on her back crossed above the road in front of me.

Upon returning to Chilamate, I scarfed down a quick breakfast and headed back into the rainforest, determined to spend more time there than I had yesterday. Again, though, I didn’t see many birds besides an incredibly cooperative Rufous Motmot, its vibrant orange head on full display for me. However, I discovered my problem—I was looking up when I should have been looking down. For when I began to stare at the leaf litter around me, I spotted one of the coolest animals I’d seen so far on my whole stay in Costa Rica. On the trail in front of me, three tiny Green-and-Black Poison Dart Frogs leapt into view, the green and black colors on their back weaving together in a pattern I’d never seen on an animal before. I leaned down to get a better look at these animals that were roughly the same size as my fingernails—never had I dreamed I would get to see these animals, which I thought only lived at the tops of trees! I snapped a couple of dozen photos then went on my way.

You’ve heard it before, but here it is again: do you wish you could see Green-and-Black Poison Dart Frogs, or Great Green Macaws? Or perhaps you’d rather walk through the Colosseum in Rome, or climb into the Himalayas in northern India? Either way, I’ve got good news—the Gilman Scholarship is here to support you! The Gilman is specifically designed to help low-income college students afford to study abroad in the places they’ve always wanted to go. Applying is free and easy, so why wouldn’t you? The Gilman is part of the reason that I’ve been able to visit Costa Rica, and they can be your means for getting to see the world, too!

Week 5 Caño Negro

We had thought Spectacled Caimans were large until we saw the American Crocodile. A behemoth at least two meters long, with a snide face and crooked teeth, eyed us from its muddy resting place on the shore of the river as our boat approached. Then, in a second, the beast glided into the water, most of its body disappearing into the murky waves as it swam back towards the direction we’d just come from. I shuddered thinking how the interaction might have gone differently had I been not on a boat, but in the water with it.

Our boat tour of the Refugio de Vida Silvestre Caño Negro had begun a little after seven that morning, when fourteen study abroad students had piled into a small boat with open seatings so as to maximize wildlife viewing. Our guide pulled out into the slow-flowing river, taking the boat against the direction of the flow. We started seeing wildlife before we even got onboard, in the form of dozens and dozens of wading birds—flocks of Cattle Egrets judging us from their places on the shore, Bare-throated Tiger-Herons snatching fish from the drink, Boat-billed Herons roosting quietly in trees and stunningly pink Roseate Spoonbills circling high above us. Every bough overhanging the river held an Anhinga, a cormorant-like bird with an even more snakelike body, basking in the sun, or one of three kingfisher species. In fact, at no point in time could I look anywhere and not see several species of birds. It felt like a zoo, but all of these animals were completely wild.

Wetlands are well-known to be one of the most productive ecosystems on Earth, and this rings true especially for wetlands in the tropics. Caño Negro is famous for this reason, being on of the best places to observe wildlife in Costa Rica and home to a variety of uncommon and rare species. As far as birds go, these include the Jabiru, the tallest flying animal in the Americas, the Agami Heron, a reclusive but stunningly beautiful heron adorned with purple and silver feathers, the Sungrebe, a duck-like monophyletic species with stripes on its head like a zebra, and more. On top of that, the refuge was known for its incredibly high diversity. Birders could spend six hours on the river and see more than 150 species, if they were lucky. Today I did not expect to accomplish that, given that I was the only birder on board and our tour guide was not particularly focused on seeking out every possible bird species, but I hoped for a high, double-digit number at least.

We stopped several times as our boat meandered upriver. First, we got out and climbed a tall observation tower that provided views of the surrounding landscape, a mosaic of wetland, rainforest and cattle ranches, being made up mostly of the latter. Caño Negro sat in northwestern Costa Rica, an area that had previously been home to extensive rainforest. Now that habitat only existed in a few fragments (including La Selva Biological Reserve, where I’d visited in late February), which made places like this wildlife refuge all the more special. As I peered out at the bright sky from the observation tower, I spotted a large kettle of vultures soaring with a few Swainson’s Hawks, raptors that had spent the winter in South America and were now headed for the grasslands of North America. These birds were in active migration.

At another stop, we got out to walk towards a distant lake. As I approached, I could see large quantities of birds milling about in the water, including flocks of Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks, Least Sandpipers, Roseate Spoonbills, Great Egrets and Wood Storks. As I got closer though, I spotted one bird that towered above the rest: a bird with a creamy-colored body and black head, a bulging neck and a massive bill. It could only be on species: a Jabiru! This stork had been high on my bucket list for this boat ride, and my jaw dropped in disbelief that we were actually staring at the bird. I snapped a couple dozen photos of it, then just stared at it for a while, until it leapt into the air and flew away with slow, powerful wingbeats.

We continued upriver, watching Black Spiny-tailed Iguanas, Green Basilisk and Spectacled Caimans (a smaller relative of the crocodile) lounging onshore. At one point, our driver positioned us so that we got incredible, close-up views of baby caimans, each about a foot long and absolutely adorable. Turtles larger than basketballs flopped into the water as we approached, and every once in a while we’d spot a Blue Morpho butterfly making its way through the trees onshore. Then, I spotted another one of my targets, quietly floating under the tree branches on the far side of the river.

“Sungrebe!” I yelled, pointing out the tiny waterbird to everyone. I again held up my camera, admiring its black-and-white head and mud-colored body. This elusive species had been another bird I had no confidence that we would get to see, but there it was, paddling in the water beside us.

We stopped for lunch at a small village upstream, where we got to have delicious fruit juice and gallo pinto as well as watch Collared Aracaris feeding on papayas in a nearby tree. I also played fetch with the local dogs, who chased after small tangerines rather than tennis balls. Then, we loaded back up in the boat and headed back downriver.

In roughly six hours I had spotted 79 species of birds, a crazy amount considering that the tour had not been particularly bird-focused. Among these were the Jabiru and Sungrebe, two mythical species that I’d never dreamed of seeing. The experience was awesome, and you know what else is awesome? The Gilman Scholarship (okay, not my best segue)!

The Gilman Scholarship, which focuses on helping lower-income students study abroad, is a big part of the reason I was able to visit Costa Rica and places like Caño Negro. The scholarship is easy to apply for and can give up to $5,000 in aid to students looking to spend a summer, semester or year of their college experience in another country (which I highly recommend, if you couldn’t tell). They’ve helped many a college student see the world, and can help you do so too!

Stay tuned for more adventures from Costa Rica!

Week 6- Osa Peninsula

A low growl emanated from the dense jungle up the hillside from the highway, stopping me in my tracks. The sun hadn’t even thought about rising yet, since I’d woken up before 5 a.m., but some animals were awake, including the Crested Owl I’d just heard call from the rainforest. I laughed in disbelief as I stood on the side of the highway, looking up the hill—while I could not see the animal, Crested Owl was one of the country’s largest owl species and one I’d been hoping for but not expecting to get during my time here. And yet here one was, singing for me as I began my trek from El Chontal (my hostel) to the Río Rincon Bridge in extreme southwestern Costa Rica.

The walk from the hostel to the bridge was about an hour, and as I plodded along the highway, I could hear and feel the forest waking up. Little Tinamous and Great Curassows called in the dark, and about half an hour before dawn many other species of birds started up. Immense roars echoed from high in trees as male Mantled Howler Monkeys welcomed the sun into the sky, and I eventually arrived at my destination, the bridge spanning the Río Rincón. Nearly every birder visiting the Osa Peninsula stopped here, albeit usually with a vehicle and not on foot. The bridge offered great views of mangroves to the east and rainforest to the west, as well as a wide open vista from which to watch parrots of many species leave their roosts in search of food. The primary reason birders stopped here, however, was for a specific, critically-endangered bird species: the Yellow-billed Cotinga.

Cotingas are a strange, remarkable and hilarious group of birds. These plump birds feed primarily on fruit and come in a wide variety of shapes and colors, including tangerine orange, like the Andean Cock-of-the-rock, shadow black, like the Bare-necked Umbrellabird, or electric blue, like the Turquoise Cotinga. The family features some of the world’s weirdest species, like the monk-like Capuchinbird, and the loudest birds in the world, the bellbirds, one of which resides in Costa Rica (and will be my target for my final weekend trip in this country, so stay tuned!).

Yellow-billed Cotingas are angelic white, and are endemic to southwestern Costa Rica and extreme western Panama. They live in extensive lowland rainforest and mangroves, and thanks to habitat decimation, are largely restricted to the Osa Peninsula, one of the country’s wildest remaining areas. This species was one of the primary reasons that I had requested to skip classes this week and visit this far-away peninsula. And the Río Rincón Bridge was the most reliable place to see them.

By the time I arrived, barely before dawn, the birds were already active. Hordes of parrots, from the pint-sized Orange-chinned Parakeets to the chunky Red-lored Parrots to the spectacular Scarlet Macaws, flew over me towards distant locations. A Bare-throated Tiger-Heron hunted for fish in the river, and another one, a juvenile covered in its namesake black and orange stripes, watched from a nearby tree. The sandy river island hosted several Spotted Sandpipers, a Willet and a Northern Jacana, the latter the first I’d ever seen. Jacanas have massive feet which they use to walk atop lily pads, although there weren’t any lily pads in sight here. Flocks of swallows and swifts wheeled overhead, and I spotted a few Fiery-billed Aracaris swooping across the river, their flame-colored bills shining in the sun.

As I stood on the bridge, unsure of where to look for the cotingas, I heard a distinctive song from a nearby tree. The “bouncing-ball” call sounded exactly like a Wrentit, a bird native to the chaparral of California, which had never been recorded in Costa Rica and probably never will be. I knew exactly what it was, though, since I’d studied the song the night before and noticed the resemblance it had to a Wrentit. I walked over to the tree and whipped out my speaker, playing the call right back at the bird. Then, a large, blue and red bird flew in, landed several dozen feet above my head, in clear view: Baird’s Trogon. This had also been one of my chief targets on the Osa, given that it was difficult to find nearly anywhere else in the country, and I snapped some poor photos of it before returning to my cotinga watch. After about fifteen minutes, that watch paid off, as a mottled gray female cotinga flew over, landing briefly in a tree in front of me before disappearing in the foliage.

“Well, that wasn’t the view I’d hoped for,” I said to myself, a bit disappointed but still relieved that I’d seen my target species. The cotingas weren’t done yet, though. Over the next hour and a half, I spotted seven more of the birds flying over, many of them strikingly-white males. I got a decent picture of one in flight, too.

After two hours of great birding, I walked back along the highway to my hostel. From there, I packed up and caught the bus down to Puerto Jiménez, the largest city on the Osa (which is still quite small). I found a small soda (the name for any number of small, family-owned restaurants in Costa Rica) and waited there for about an hour before a tiny, run-down van pulled up in front of it at 11. “Dos Brazos?” asked the lady driving it, and I nodded, throwing my bag in the van and climbing up after it. The interior of the van was in rough shape, although the seats were comfortable, and I taught the lady’s young son how to use my binoculars as we rattled up dirt roads towards the “town” of Dos Brazos, hidden deep in the rainforest.

The woman let me off in front of the reception house for the Bolita Rainforest Hostel, where an American greeted me. “Welcome to Bolita! The hostel is a 30-minute hike that way, “ she pointed up into the jungle. So, I set off, my heavy pack on my back. I spotted a pair of Buff-rumped Warblers next to a creek I had to cross, and eventually arrived at the open-air hostel, caked in sweat. Another American and several volunteers from all over the world greeted me cheerfully, showing me to my “room”, an outdoor bed with a mosquito net over it. There was no “inside” at Bolita, except maybe the supply closet, which hosted half a dozen roosting bats on its walls. After I settled down, Pascal, an older French volunteer, noticed my binoculars.

“Are you a birdwatcher?”

I nodded, and she proceeded to pull out a faded “Birds of Costa Rica” book, flipping it open to a page with small, colorful birds on it. She pointed to the bird that just so happened to be my number one remaining target for the entire trip: Orange-collared Manakin.

“I saw these guys here! The males all dance for the females at places called leks, and I found a lek on one of the hostel trails. I can show you if you’d like!”

I nodded profusely—fate had somehow delivered to me the perfect opportunity to see the bird I wanted to see most here. Soon, Pascal led me and a few other interested guests up the “Big Banana Trail”. After twenty minutes of hiking, we rounded a corner and heard claps from the nearby trees. Pascal waded a few feet into the foliage off the trail, and pointed. There they were, tiny, football-shaped birds with sunset-colored collars and tiny black caps, like the White-collared Manakins I’d seen in Sarapiqui but with fiery rather than white throats. We enjoyed them for fifteen or minutes or so before everyone else wandered back down towards the hostel. I decided to poke around the trails a bit longer—and I’m glad I did.

Almost immediately, I heard the loud, repeating call of a wren coming from a tangle near me, and with a little verbal coercion, I was able to spot the culprit: a Black-bellied Wren, another southwestern Costa Rica specialty bird. This wren happened to be the beginning of a large mixed flock and I spotted several more wrens as well as antshrikes, antwrens, a foliage-gleaner, and a Little Tinamou, a hard-to-see forest bird, feeding right on the trail in front of me. I stopped at one lookout and watched as the birds came to me: parrots, flycatchers, hummingbirds and more. Highlights included a female Thick-billed Seed-finch, a tiny bird with a massive bill; an Olive-sided Flycatcher, a bird that winters in South America and summers in the boreal forest of Montana and Maine; and a Purple-crowned Fairy, a flashy, usually-arboreal hummingbird that steals nectar from flowers rather than pollinating them. Extremely satisfied with this mid-day birding, I headed back to the hostel to watch the sunset.

I found a nice little bench overlooking much of the rainforest and quickly realized that even the hostel had great bird activity. Piratic Flycatchers, Scarlet-rumped Tanagers and Bananaquits flew around me, and about an hour before dusk, I spotted another bird that blew me away: another cotinga, this one the color of the sky. I’d looked for Turquoise Cotingas three days earlier and completely missed them, and yet here they were, delivered right to my doorstep in all their blue and violet glory. I had gotten, quite simply, every bird I’d wanted to see on the Osa Peninsula. And I still had one morning left!

That morning was spent exploring more of the trails behind the Bolita Rainforest Hostel. With no real targets, I just set off into the jungle, hoping to discover something unexpected, and I did! I spotted three more lifers, including Black-crowned Tityra, Black-cheeked Ant-tanager (the only species completely endemic to the Osa Peninsula) and a Northern Black-throated Trogon, which was one of four trogon species I reported on my hike. I heard dozens of antbirds, antwrens, antshrikes and antthrushes, spotted groups of Scarlet Macaws flying high above me, and watched the sunrise over the misty hills stretching all the way out to the Pacific Ocean. I’d seen some beautiful places in Costa Rica so far, but none had been so wild as here. From one vantage point, I could see no signs of human habitation—just forest and sea. Even for a country that has done so well protecting its environment, places like this are rare, and I’m so happy I got to experience it.

You can experience it too! Whether you want to see the jungles of Central America, like me, or the snow-capped peaks of the Alps or the Andes, the castles of Europe, the hubbub of Tokyo or the grasslands of the Serengeti, you can, with the help of the Gilman Scholarship! I’m sure I sound like a broken record, but it’s because it’s true—the Gilman can help low-income college students reach far away destinations to study abroad with just a simple application! I urge you to apply today, so you can have a life-changing, international experience during your college years, like me!

Week 7-San Luis Canopy

A couple of years ago, I asked my parents for a selection of bird books for Christmas, given that I’d just learned that Princeton University Press was having a sale. Large, detailed bird guides are often quite expensive, but at this time many were being sold for significantly below their usual amounts, and I had my eye on several of them. Fast-forward to December 25th of that year, when I tore the colored wrapping paper off of the boxes with my names on them to reveal the books inside. Two of those books I’ve barely touched—I think one is about waterfowl and the other is about North American rarities. They’ve sat on my bookshelf collecting dust. The other one, however, has gradually replaced the Sibley Guide to Birds as my nighttime reading material. “Birds of Central America”, by Andrew Vallely and Dale Dyer, is not simply a bird guide. It is an in-depth collection of all of the species in the class Aves that have ever occurred in the seven countries that make up Central America, equipped with some of the prettiest, most detailed drawings of birds I’ve ever seen. The cover, especially, is a work of art, displaying seven species foraging at an ant swarm in the understory of a tropical rainforest.

That book came with me to Costa Rica, and I’ve opened it every single day I’ve been here. The cover is now creased, and there are wrinkles and smudges all along the spine. I can still see the image on the front perfectly well, however. There’s the White-whiskered Puffbird and Plain-brown Woodcreeper in the back. There’s the Kentucky Warbler, hiding behind the skinny plant stem. In the foreground, there are three of Costa Rica’s most iconic antbirds: Bicolored, Spotted and Ocellated. I’ve seen the puffbird and woodcreeper, and I’ve seen two of the antbirds. I’m still missing Kentucky Warbler and Ocellated Antbird. This blog is not about those species.

Smack-dab in the middle of the cover, surrounded by the other six birds, is a bird that looks like a dinosaur. It stands there in the image, equipped with a scaly, brown breast; a black neck collar; a deep green feathered crest atop its head; and, of course, that dark purple, iridescent tail sticking out behind it. There are some creatures on Earth that seem made up, animals that are so mythical and enigmatic that few people ever are fortunate enough to lay eyes on them. This bird is like Sasquatch, but even cooler. This bird is like if roadrunners lived in the jungle. Seeing this bird is akin to seeing a Jaguar. This bird is the Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoo.

I learned about ground-cuckoos in 2020, during a cuckoo-themed bracket-style voting event that took place in a Facebook group I’m a part of, and I remember being absolutely shocked by their existence. A few ground-cuckoos live in the Old World, but those that stuck out to me the most were those in the genus Neomorphus, of which there are five that all live in the Neotropics. Learning that Rufous-vented live in Costa Rica helped me choose it as a study abroad location. And upon arriving, my dreams were all but crushed.
Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoos are the most widespread of the five Neomorphus, but even they are unreliable and sporadic at best. For one, in Costa Rica, they only occur on the Caribbean slopes of the big, central volcanoes, places with enough intact forest to support the large ranges they need. For whatever reason, though, they are simply absent from large swaths of the country, including the large lowland rainforests in northeastern Costa Rica and the jungles of the Osa Peninsula. In South America, they occur in lowland areas, but here, they do not.

One of the most reliable spots to see the ground-cuckoo in Costa Rica is a place called Pocosol Biological Station, a remote research center nestled deep in the Children’s Eternal Rainforest. When I say “reliable”, I mean that the cuckoo is spotted there a couple times a year, at best. Regardless of this, it was high on my bucket list to visit Pocosol when I got to Costa Rica, but I quickly realized that the logistics of it would be too much, especially since I am only really able to use public transportation. So I gave up on the cuckoo. There were easier birds to see that were almost as cool. Besides, even if I made it to Pocosol somehow, there was a very low chance of actually seeing the bird.

And then yesterday, on Monday, April 15th, I logged in to eBird. And I just so happened to look at the eBird page for Alajuela, the province I live in here. The top photo was of a Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoo. The photo had been taken the day before. And it had been taken at San Luis Canopy, a location only thirty minutes north of San Ramón (my host city). Some quick investigation revealed that not one but SEVERAL Rufous-vented Ground-cuckoos had been spotted at San Luis a few weeks ago, and that they had been fairly reliable since then. Without a second to lose, I went downstairs and asked my host brother if he could call me a taxi. Thirty minutes later, I was on the road north, and just before 11 o’clock I arrived at San Luis.

San Luis Canopy is known less for its birds and more for its adventure activities, which include hanging bridges, a zipline course and bungee jumping, and I hoped, when I walked up, that I wouldn’t need a reservation to get in. The woman at the front desk smiled at me and asked me for twenty dollars, the entrance fee, then told me to wait by the bird feeders for her partner to arrive. I rounded the corner to see a log suspended from a roof by chains, currently covered in Silver-throated Tanagers absolutely devouring bananas.
As I watched the tanagers and a curious coati watching the feeding frenzy hungrily from below, I sat down. I was nervous. This whole morning excursion wasn’t particularly cheap. Plus, I might not even see the bird. But then again, I definitely wouldn’t see it if I had stayed in San Ramón.

Soon, a man walked onto the patio and beckoned for me to follow. I got in his truck with a local birder by the name of Jimmy, and he drove us down the road for about ten minutes. He then parked, and motioned for us to walk down the trail. Fifty meters into the rainforest, we spotted a large group of birders, all sitting silently by the side of the trail, watching. Most of the birders were locals, but I saw a few Americans, too. So, I sat down, got my camera ready, and waited.
The ants weren’t particularly hard to see. Ground-cuckoos, like antbirds, follow army ants around and feed on the insects the ants scare up. I could only imagine that being three times the size of an antbird means they have to eat so many more insects, which might explain part of why they’re so rare.
After fifteen minutes, a couple of birders left—they’d already seen the cuckoo earlier this morning. I frowned. Had I missed my shot at the bird? There weren’t many other species around either. One local pointed out the call of a Golden-browed Chlorophonia as it flew over, but that was about it.
Suddenly, everyone was looking behind me, at the other side of the trail. Several birders had just heard bills clacking, a telltale sign that a ground-cuckoo is nearby. People raised cameras that cost more than I’d spent on my entire study abroad experience, ready to capture the ghosts of the jungle. And then, some people started looking through their binoculars.
I caught motion out of the corner of my eye, and looked through my binoculars. There, the flash of a dirty brown wing. Two large, scaly feet. A long, dark purple tail. The ground-cuckoo was here.
“There’s two!” someone whispered.
The ground-cuckoos were here.
And then, more movement, and suddenly, a species I’d only dreamed of seeing appeared on a log, seven feet away from me, posing perfectly. I shot some quick photos. Ten or fifteen seconds passed and the second bird appeared. They both gave us humans a quick look before disappearing into the brambles, clacking their bills all the way.
The whole experience lasted maybe thirty seconds, and then they were gone. I’d gotten good photos and good looks, but wanted more. I wanted more time with these elusive birds. But sometimes, thirty seconds is all you get. Still in shock, I lowered my camera. And after twenty more minutes of waiting, I wandered out of the forest.
How do you tell someone you’ve seen a ghost? What should it feel like? I still don’t know. I still can’t comprehend that I actually saw this legendary bird species.

For the next hour I wandered around San Luis. I got another lifer, Pale-vented Thrush. I also got great views of a variety of birds visiting the banana feeders, including Silver-throated, Emerald, Blue-gray and Blue-and-gold Tanagers (the latter of which is another rarity that people had been coming to San Luis to see), Clay-colored Thrushes, Black-cheeked Woodpeckers and a Tawny-capped Euphonia. And then I caught a taxi home.

I still don’t know what to think. When I saw the Orange-collared Manakins, I was ecstatic. When I saw the Yellow-eared Toucanets, I was in awe. But with this species—it almost doesn’t feel real. If not for the photos, I might think I had dreamed up the whole experience. I feel fulfilled and at the same time inexplicably empty, craving more time with this mythical bird. And yet, it may be the only time I ever see this species, for the rest of my life. The cover of “Birds of Central America” means so much more to me now, but I’m not exactly sure what.
But in the meantime, I’m still in Costa Rica for three more weeks, so stay tuned to see what I get up to next!

P.S. Are you a student? Do you want to study abroad? If so, apply for the Gilman Scholarship! I’ll advertise it more on the next blog.