Debby Cotter Kaspari, Field Notes from Panama, Tropical Rainforest

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Black-breasted Puffbird, seen on BCI along the Fausto trail; perched on a bare tree not more than 40 feet above the ground. My first look was from directly below, and as most of the field marks are on the head I had a little challenge trying to identify it, until it peered down at me, exposing the white patches.

Welcome to my Panama travelogue...I am on Barro Colorado Island on Lake Gatun until the end of June, 2005, and will post as I go. For now, I'm putting up a bunch of drawings and a few photos from the field, and entries from my journal. Enjoy the trip!

Drawing the Spectacled Owl
6:30 am, up and out of the cooled room, the fog on the binoculars impossible to wipe away until the temperature of the glass equals the temperature of the air. A bit of patience is needed; interesting birds are flying around and all you can see is the fog on the glasses. The high squeaks of Chestnut Mandibled toucans calls attention to a quartet of them performing a wierd Kabuki dance in bare branches against a gray morning sky. A ravine with a shaded creek at the bottom is crossed by way of wet black stones and a rope handrail. Spotted antbirds flit alongside, calling back and forth to each other with high-pitched cries and clinging sideways on the thin saplings that stretch upward from the dim forest floor. On the steep trail going up the far side of the creek there's a low bullfrog murmer, a deep chested lowing. I turn my head toward the sound and stop short. Not twenty feet away at eye level a spectacled owl stares back at me, perched on a thin tree trunk arcing over the creek. It's motionless except for the feathers of its throat puffing outward as it lows. For a moment I hold still too, then slowly sink down until I'm sitting on the trail.

Slowly opening my pack and pulling out my sketchbook, a pencil and an eraser, I try to be silent and move slowly. The owl has one eye partly closed, and does not appear to be alarmed.

This isn't the usual experience of drawing a bird: usually you have a flash of feathers, a brief memory of the shape and maybe a good look at the way the bird turned its head, all burned into short-term memory long enough to move the hand and get a pencil line on paper. Here is a priceless opportunity, but who knows how long it's going to last? I start with a small gesture sketch to get the overall shape before it flies, which I expect it will do soon, all the while trying not to frighten away my subject. When I'm done with my little sketch, the owl looks sleepy and comfortably settles in for a snooze.

It's no longer making the bullfrog murmers, a good sign, I think. Turning to a fresh sheet in the sketchbook I pause to study the face, looking at the round head and soft feathers around the facial disk, noticing how they crease and overlap at the cheeks, how the owl is now sinking its head down between the shoulders, pushing the dark breast feathers up against the shell-colored bill. The white "spectacles" are brilliant against the dark chocolate color of the head, and there's a pale patch right at the throat like a cravat. Its black eyes are partly closed, but a highlight gleams between the curving lids. Light breast feathers fluff over and soften the edges of the dark wings. I have the luxury of time in which I can erase my mistakes and lengthen the body, then draw the sapling's diagonal line against the breast and shade the roundness of the wood. One long-taloned foot is visible gripping the bark and the other is drawn up beneath the fluffy belly feathers. The owl still holds the pose, a wonderfully cooperative model.

Next I draw in the long primaries that curve inward in front of the tail, peering through the dark shadow beneath the branch to see details and to note how the wing feathers close over themselves like fans folded shut. The secondaries cover the primaries more than halfway down their length, and I count the barring on the secondaries: 4 dark bars each and 4 light ones in between them; over them are the greater wing coverts, a stack of feathers just a little shorter than the secondaries. They are placed below the softer scapulars, which rise up over the back and drop a shadow dark as night beneath them. I want to touch the owl with my fingers, and settle for touching it with my eyes, feeling how soft and warm the feathers feel in imagination. The owl is still sitting there, giving me time to sketch the surrounding vines and stems and leaves, amazed by this luxury of it all. The owl turns its head away from me a little, its expression changes, and now I open to another page and draw quickly with much surer lines, now more familiar with the bird. In the new drawing I catch something more alive and direct: a bird that breathes a little fire.

The owl cranes its face upward and squints, seeing something in the canopy. I look down at my paper for just a moment and when I look back the sapling is empty, swaying up and down in the disturbed air, but of course there was no sound, silence being the way of owls in flight. I look at my watch. I've been drawing the Spectacled owl for almost thirty minutes. 6/1/05

Here's a wonderful Three toed Sloth from Pipeline Road in Gamboa, dangling by one foot and combing it's hair with the claws of it's front feet. Looked like a tousle-headed teen grooming for a date.

One of the delightful things about the tropics in the rainy season is that it's also breeding season for a lot of birds. I found nests and babies everywhere. Here's a handsome and dignified-looking Red Legged Honeycreeper being pestered out of its mind by a hungry child.

This Blue chested hummingbird is pretty common in the open areas, sits out where you can really see it and squeaks for hours every evening.

Gulliver in Lilliput, is the first thing that comes to mind, when looking at a forest giant lashed down by vines. Most of the vines were thin but a few thick ones writhed like Anacondas.

This a big toad, very common and one that positions itself under a light like a kitchy garden ornament to catch insects that swarm around the buildings at night. I nearly stepped on this one out in the forest and it swelled up like a hot water bottle until I backed off a few feet and sat down to draw it.

An Ochre-bellied Flycatcher was gathering soft fibers from a vine near a tree-fall gap. It came whizzing past me every minute or so with another beakload, disappearing into the tangle of vegetation a few feet to the left of the trail.

A nice little patch of small palms deep in the forest on Gigante, a penninsula accessible only by boat. I was fortunate to spend the day there with two researchers who let me tag along and sketch while they collected their data.

This is a Thick-billed Euphonia, all yellow underneath and dark metallic blue above. It apparently had a nest in the spines of an epiphytic palm attached to a regular palm tree. At least it climbed into the hole at the left and snuggled down for a few minutes. I couldn't see if there were eggs.

What could be cuter than a Puffbird? A family of Puffbirds! Here is a baby Puffbird, round, fluffy and short-billed-and-tailed, begging bugs off of Mom. There were three of the little guys, and two adults to feed them. I was sitting on a slope just above them trying to suppress, unsuccessfully, my own squishy anthropomorphic responses.

There's a whole complex of yellow-bellied stripe-headed flycatchers (now there's a nice string of invectives to confound your enemies) that up till now, I just thought were Kiskadees. Then I took the trouble to study the field guide a little harder and by golly, there are a bunch of these things flying around here. This is the White-ringed Flycatcher. The bird below is a Red-legged Honeycreeper, no particular relation.