An Amateur Birder's First Trip Report

June 19, 2005
American War Memorial
Fort Bonifacio
3:00 pm - 5:30 pm

Bird list by Ned Liuag


Trip Report:

I know it will not be all about mayas (those ubiquitous little brown birds), but I don’t know exactly what to expect about birding, which, to my surprise, is now a verb. I join the bird-watching (birding) trip anyway.

Our motley crew of 20 or so birdwatchers arrive at about 3 PM on June 19, 2005, at the American Memorial Park in Fort Bonifacio, Taguig City. A briefing is given by the main birders Mike Lu and Ned Liuag on how to use the binoculars, how to avoid heatstroke (stay under shades), how not to scare the birds away, etc.

Slowly we walk on the downward cemented path of the park. We try to observe closely any movement and listen intently to any sound that we may encounter. A crew from the Probe Team is there to do some footage.

Soon we find ourselves being led on the tour by the birds themselves with their respective bird calls. “That’s a Golden-bellied Flyeater,” Mike, founder of the Wild Bird Club of the Philippines (WBCP), says of the high-pitched warbling issuing forth from the acacias or some other luxuriously crowned tree.

But we can't see exactly where that bird is. We crane our necks and there is only that mysterious trilling.

A few minutes go by and Mike says this won’t be a very productive day. Indeed, the weather is so humid that there must a heat wave. “It will be good if it rains a little,” explains Mike, “because you’ll see all the birds come out in hiding to dry themselves out.”

For the moment, we content ourselves with those we see flying from afar. White-breasted Wood Swallows, we find out, hover in abandon. “It’s easy to mistake them for hawks,” Ned says. “On a lucky day, you’ll also see hawks here.” But raptors (birds of prey), we also learn, are oftentimes bad for birding because they make the rest of the birds flee for cover. Meanwhile, other kinds of raptors – the metallic kind (airplanes!) – give us some moments of funny distraction on this bird trip. (The memorial park is a few kilometers away from the Ninoy Aquino International Airport.)

We trudge on the well-paved path of the Memorial. Pretty soon, a boisterous flock of what we’ll come to know as Yellow-vented Bulbuls come out diving and then flapping their wings over the tree crowns. Now you’re talking! Our guides show us a book illustration of this species and try to give a little backgrounder.

***

We move on to the other side of the park by padding on the soft Bermuda grass, avoiding the ghostly white, solid-marble crosses of some poor soldiers who had met their destiny in some ugly war of yore. Soon our effort is rewarded by the sight of an exquisite wonder – a Black-naped Oriole! This beauty has long pink beak and bright yellow plumage. (Its cry, though, does not match its looks; it goes “aaak…aaak”) It seems to be sunning itself like one vitamin D-deprived Scandinavian at the onset of summer.

I can’t help exclaiming, to the amusement of the veteran birders, that such a creature actually exists in our midst. “It’s locally called the kilyawan,” Nicky Icarangal, a club member volunteers. I can end my trip
right now and come home satisfied just for the sight of this one. “It’s not uncommon,” Mike soon adds, though, dousing my awestruck moment with cold water.

Well, you can start blaming such a blatant misconception on those pesky mayas, known in taxonomy as the brown Eurasian tree sparrow, for giving a bad rep to the rest of the Philippine birds.

Indeed, there are still the other equally engaging species waiting for us to discover. Flitting to and fro in the middle-growth darkness formed by the thick foliage of the trees is a Pied Trill which, Alice Villa-real, another
member, identifies. I am clueless about this one because I fail to track it down. The Chestnut Munias and Pygmy Woodpeckers, though, will be a total no-show.

Mike reassures us, however, that this is definitely not a typical day for them. In most days, he says, the birds are readily seen as this Metro-based birding club goes about its Sunday afternoon business.

Armed with the official field guide, Kennedy’s Birds of the Philippines, Mike and the other tour guides volunteer tidbits of natural history infos at unexpected times, so it’s good to stay close to them.

“For some reason, the kalachuchi trees don’t attract birds,” Mike says, for example, as he points this way and that. “Kalachuchi is an introduced species; maybe that explains it,” he shares his own hypothesis, to which I can only nod in agreement. “But the fire trees…,” he continues, “they are the ones that attract a lot of birds.”

Along the way as we crane our neck, we see a little, round, compact structure built on the junction of a bifurcating tree branch. Mike says it’s a Pied Fantail nest. True enough, there are fantails graciously flying in the undergrowth, picking red berries, or is it insects, along the way. Called Maria Capra by the locals, fantails are known to fan their tails indeed, like some perspiring ladies fanning themselves, as they move about on their perch from one direction to another.

***

We move again and position ourselves on a vantage point that gives us, um, a worm’s eye view of the big arch formed by the dead branches of two trees. Lo and behold! Perched on top of this arch are a pair of White-collared Kingfishers with bright, iridiscent aquamarine/blue wings, their ivory beaks pointing to opposite directions. They seem to refuse to stay a minute longer, though, as they espy us and the noisy commotion that we make upon our luck. Birding, we find out further, is also about the thrill of whether you stumble on a rare find or not. It’s probably one thing birders share in common with game hunters.

Our fellow birders are disappointed that they came in too late to see the elusive pair. Nevertheless, the kingfishers did not vanish without leaving their telltale cry of delight, maybe from a repast of a fish or two? (“No,” Ned counters, “these are inland kingfishers; they need not fish, they can live on insects.”)

As we stand under the 4:30 PM sun, another species from out of the blue announces its presence with a staccato of a song. “It’s a colasisi!” Mike himself almost gasps in surprise, and the rest of us crane our necks to trace this endemic parrot’s flight. The pretty colasisi is a green brightness punctuated by a short red-orange beak. That most probably explains why a “secret mistress” in Tagalog is named after this intriguing parrot variety.

You never know what comes up, really. The element of surprise rivals that of a movie thriller. We walk further on in this well-manicured, spankingly clean desolation (also called a cemetery) and, what do you know, we stumble into a pair of Zebra Doves (bato-bato), singing in a faint bubbly tune and walking like regular doves on the grass. Zebra Doves are so called because of the distinguishing stripes on their body and wings. I learn from Mike that there are four species of doves present in this place, a fast fact that can only make my round eyes grow even larger. I see the word “competition” suddenly emblazoned on the horizon, but Mike explains just as quickly that the grassy plain is wide enough for four different kinds to share or find and establish their own respective niches.

***

Our visit is capped by a longish waiting game. We sit on the stucco benches alongside the memorial edifice for the appearance of the Barred Rail, which is called that way because of the whitish ‘bars’ on its breast. “The bird is also known as tikling, from which name the native dance tinikling came from,” Ana Gonzales informs us. “This is the kind of moment that really needs a prayer,” I think to myself anxiously. But no sooner that I finish my wish than out comes the shy creature, emerging from the bushes like a chicken stealing some grain out of its home base.

I remember Mike saying a while back that other bird guides have the ability to imitate calls that make the birds come out, like a ventriloquist’s voice. The idea of throwing pieces of bread in the sea to attract the fishes likewise comes to mind, but these serious hobbyists (advocacy people is the better term), I figure, will disapprove of any activity that disturbs the natural way of life of the birds just so they come out for some nice photo ops. Alas, the one and only Barred Rail we see early in our watch will be our last, too, for this trip. No other such fowl follows suit.

Nevertheless we persist in hoping to see some other species still. The different melodies we’ve heard early on were just too numerous to match our current tally sheet of, how many, 10 species?

***

As we repair to our respective cars, a pair of introduced species, the Ring-necked Parakeet – lovers, we suppose - make us pause in the gathering dusk. The pair reportedly has been released here and apparently made this park their own home. They have nowhere else to go anyway; they are practically marooned in this urban ‘island’ by the towering Essensa Towers, among other behemoths in Fort Bonifacio and Ayala Ave. The birds’ shade of green obscures them because it mimics the shade of the leaves of the trees around. But when they fly away, it’s impossible to miss them as they make a whole racket of it. Such scene stealers! Mike reports that the security guards of this park claim that they used to see crested mynahs (martinez) here, too. Mike considers the possibility that the mynahs have been displaced by this exotic pair.

There seems to be some kind of a bird god because another member confirms next the presence of yet another native species, the Lowland White-eye. These are fast-moving birds that twitter noisily, making a lot of commotion as they hop from branch to branch, from tree to tree. I actually see one myself after tinkering with the adjustments of my binoculars, following at least one bird head until I get dizzy. A little patience is really key in bird-watching. Being finally rewarded for it, however, is certain to strengthen your resolve. It also makes you hope and anticipate to catch up on the next trip what you have missed on your last.

Meanwhile, it’s important to note that the ubiquitous little brown mayas are roundly ignored all along in this trip. “But when the migratory shrikes come in (from Japan),” Ned volunteers, “not a single maya can be seen.” Ned volunteers the factoid like some kind of consolation.

For this amateur birder, I can see why nothing beats observing birds in situ. You may not see them up close and personal as in an aviary - though a good scope will do the job in bird-watching tours, but you also won’t see them for who they really are – beautiful creatures with distinct ‘personalities.’ They make bird calls, pose in silhouettes that trigger a guessing game, forage for food, build nests, peck on red berries, preen like narcissistic and vain supermodels, play with each other like little kids, play hide-and-seek and snub their nosey visitors like they’re a bunch of peeping toms, poop and be like agents of seed dispersal, control insect
population and prevent them from becoming pests, dance in a courtship ritual, mate, and generally keep the world happy and gay.

Bird list:

Barred Rail - 2
Zebra Dove - 15+ scattered in pairs throughout the park but not more than four seen at any one time.
Colasisi - 1
Ring-Necked Parakeet - 5. One of the pair, possibly the male was feeding the other, possibly courtship behavior.
Pied Triller - 4+, singles encountered in the southern section
Yellow-Vented Bulbuls - 20+
Black-Naped Oriole - 1 calling in tree in south-eastern section of the park
Pied Bushchat - 2 males (one of which was a juvenile in the process of attaining its adult plumage)
Golden-Bellied Gerygone - heard singing throughout the park this afternoon. I didn't see any because of the lush foliage.
Tawny Grassbird - 1 singing in the hedge on the southern section of the park. This ID based on call. There must also have been a Striated Grassbird elsewhere just past the hedge.
Pied Fantail - 10+, pairs seen in trees
White-Breasted Woodswallow - 2
Lowland White-Eye - 12+