I recently made a trip to Colombia with only the secondary purpose of birding. In only a few outings I was able to see 80 species and get 40 lifers. Here's the full trip report if you're into that.
The highlight was birding La Guajira, the northernmost peninsula in South America, in the far Northeast corner of the country. It is an off-the-beaten-path destination, its capital Riohacha only accessible via plane from Bogotá or Medellín. It is a striking landscape of desert and dry forest against sea, and has popular kite-surfing spots that take advantage of a strong breeze on the water (I didn't fly my drone much around the beaches because of this). Its unique topography means that there are a few species of birds that can only be found here and in similar landscapes east along the coast in Venezuela. Naturally, one cannot realistically bird in these places, so La Guajira is it if you want to see these elusive birds.
The crown jewel of these near-endemics is the Vermilion Cardinal. It is of only two close relatives in the Cardinalis genus of the common Northern Cardinal (the other being the Pyrrhuloxia or Desert Cardinal of Mexico/SW U.S.).
The Vermilion Cardinal, or El Rey de la Guajira (King of the Guajira) lives up both its names. Its red is garish, striking, as if a Northern Cardinal has been plugged into a light socket and electrified.
They flit around the drab browns and greens of the dry scrub as if looking for maximal juxtaposition to show off its impossible vibrance. As such, spotting one is relatively easy--even a brief flash is hard to miss.
Yet this bramble lends itself to few clear views--enter the enterprising Jose Luis, an indigenous Wayuu with land outside the town of Camarones, who has set up feeders--aka putting seeds on the top of cacti to lure the cardinals and other feathered denizens in for perfect photo ops. So now I, along with many others passing through have great pictures like these.
Personally my favorite shots were the ones the Cardinal's fanbase--and this male scaring off a female on a branch I saw the day before out wandering around by myself.
One final amusing Vermilion Cardinal note--it is a popular symbol in Guajira's capital of Riohacha, however it seems that most of the artwork that features it actually uses an image or depiction of a Northern Cardinal (note the black covering the eyes and beak). I imagine someone just googled "cardinal" and they came up and were like "yep, that's the red bird here!"
Also the local Wayuu people have a whole origin story for how the Vermilion cardinal got its shade of red that also involves how menstruation started that I will spare you the gory details of.
Two other species that are only in the area and Venezuela are much less exciting: the Tocuyo Sparrow... which pretty much looks like a regular old sparrow, and the Buffy Hummingbird--named for its yellowish-beige color and not its discover's fandom of vampire hunters.
Buffy Hummingbird
Not quite as localized but still special is the Orinocan Saltator, which I pause to interject the eBird description of, with some absolutely top-tier adjectives:
"A beautiful and colorful grosbeak-like bird with slate gray upperparts, black mask and bill, immaculate white eyebrow and throat, and rich salmon-buff underparts." I don't know what makes a white eyebrow and throat immaculate or salmon-buff underparts rich, but this bird apparently has it.
The dry forest landscape of La Guajira looking not as dry after recent rains, with a Great Egret lurking in the background.
My only other brush with Vermilion is the Vermilion Flycatcher, which I have seen in the U.S. many times and happened to catch here as well along with its Cardinal color-brethren. If you were wondering, as was I, of the origin of this brilliant red hue--it comes from a dye pigment through grinding of cinnabar, and its name comes from the Old French vermeil, or worm, it had a similar color to a red dye at the time made from an insect. The actual pigment is a range of hues from red-orange to duller reddish-purple--and somewhat pales in comparison to the fluorescence of its bird namesakes. The color is found in numerous cultures, but most significantly it is the preferred color of the Japanese Torii gate religious symbols dotted around the country.
Some other species I saw in the area:
Pileated Finch
Red-crowned Woodpecker
Tropical Mockingbird
Buff-breasted Puffbird (this one looks especially pokemon-ish)
Yellow Oriole
Glaucous Tanager
Scaled Dove
White-tipped Dove (serving)
I also did some birding in mountainous areas in Bogotá and saw these:
White-throated Tyrannulet
Rufous-collared Sparrow (the ubiquitous sparrow of the region)
Golden-fronted Redstart (stunning)
Blackburnian Warbler (migrates through U.S. and a rare sighting there)
The main birding outing in Bogotá was at Monserrate, a church on top of the hills above the eastern side of the city. One can take a funicular or cable car up to the top, where there are shops and a few trails. However, the very lesser known area is the Paramuno Bird trail, a tiny path along the side of the mountain sealed off specifically for birdwatching with hummingbird feeders galore. It costs about the equivalent of $20 to get in, but once you do you are treated to a nonstop cavalcade of hummingbirds away from the crowds.
Without further ado--selections from the 13 different hummingbird species I saw (among a few others):
Sword Billed Hummingbird
(if I try hard enough, I can pretend I am a branch)
Blue-throated Starfrontlet (male and female)
Coppery-bellied Puffleg
Black-tailed Trainbearer
Glowing Puffleg
Lesser Violetear
Longuemare's Sunagel
Shining Sunbeam (great name, only showed up once so got a middling photo)
Tyrian Metaltail
White-bellied Woodstar (female and male)
Scarlet-bellied Mountain-Tanager
Masked Flowerpiercer
Eared Dove
extremely puffed up due to moist conditions
Andean Guan
Guans are arboreal turkey-like birds of many species found in central and South America. They look vaguely prehistoric. Two of them showed up on the path when I was walking back.
That's all for now! So much more of Colombia to explore, but it was a nice amuse-bouche. Or whatever the equivalent is in Spanish. Which, as I was reminded countless times on this trip, I am unable to comprehend or speak.
