Moving
up the Pacific coast to the northwest corner of In an
open area we see something large and black disturbing the branches of a
tree. We approach thinking it’s a monkey,
but to our surprise it turns out to be a bird the size of a turkey, a Crested
Guan, sporting a flashy red dewlap instead of an unstylish wattle. Not far away we hear the cry of a Roadside
Hawk, admonishing us for daring to walk in her woods.
We
entered an empty building and searched for snakes. Looking up to the rafters we found instead
a bunch of bats looking down at us. To
me it always seems strange to see bats up close and still during the day,
dangling in their wraps instead of flying by in darkness, erratic silhouettes
against the night sky.
Outside
we scanned the wooden walls and stone foundation for any sign of herps, and one
at a time they revealed themselves: a
truncated Yellow-headed Gecko, a Black-headed Frog, a male Rose-bellied Fence
We made
our way into the woods, amidst mossy boulders and thorny shrubs, finding an
occasional lizard on a tree or a frog on the forest floor.
Not too
many herps, so we settled for invertebrates:
Large, round roaches hiding beneath boards; a tree snail on a . . uh .
. tree; butterflies on branches and
butterflies on the street, mobbing a meal of delicious dung (obviously taste
is in the compound eye of the beholder).
Through
the leaves we spotted an Agouti, a large brown rodent the size of a cat,
sitting up and nibbling on a snack. And
wading in a still, shallow stream we found a foam nest anchored to a mat of
leaves. Following mating in some
species of tropical frogs, the male uses his back legs to whip up a froth
from the fluid he deposited during amplexus.
This forms a ball of foam that remains intact for several days,
providing protection for the fertilized eggs until tadpoles emerge and slip
into the surrounding water.
As we
walked along we were periodically followed by Capuchins, obviously disturbed
by our intrusion. They scowled from the
branches and called down simian curses upon our heads, but eventually settled
down and became philosophic about us bi-pedal primates.
After
dark we went walking again by the stream, following the sounds of calling
frogs and encountering massive, pot-bellied Marine Toads, apparently in
search of a meal or a mate, whichever came first. But so far, no snakes. At one point Quetzal comes up to me and
asks if I’ve had any luck. I’m just
about to reply, “No,” but before the word leaves my mouth, I look down and
right at my feet is a snake! Turns out
to be another kind of Cat-eyed snake, the third species of Leptodeira we saw on this trip out of
the four found in
About
that same time I hear Ron over the walkie-talkie, telling us he’s
found a snake! Quetzal and I make our
way from the stream, cross a clearing, and head down a path on the other side
of the forest. Earlier that day along
the same trail Quetzal had spotted a shed skin sticking out of a small hole
beneath the twisted roots of a tree.
The shed was about three feet long with two stripes clearly running
down the back, and it was fresh, so we dug into the hole in hopes of finding
the former owner. No such luck. Now Ron’s standing near that same spot
holding a snake about three feet long, two stripes clearly running down the
back, and shiny skin from a fresh shed.
Such luck! Ron
and his luck were also responsible for another find that night, a neonate pit
viper he nearly
After
that we decided to hit the road and do some cruising as it began to
drizzle. Picked up a pretty
red-and-black banded Snail Sucker, Sibon
anthracops, but it escaped before we could take a picture. So did the next red-and-black banded snake
we came upon. Ron
was driving, Quetzal was riding shotgun, and I was in back falling asleep
(unfortunately, Monica had to stay behind in Dominical because of work). Suddenly I’m jolted awake as Ron slams the
brakes, and as if someone flipped a switch to spotlight a dark stage, there
in the headlights are the bright S-curves of
a large Central American Coral Snake, Micrurus
nigrocinctus. We rushed from the
car and the snake made a dash for the side of the road. I tried to pin it with my hook, but the
angle was wrong and the snake too slick in the rain; it slipped right out from underneath my
stick and was gone. I cursed, prayed
for a second chance, and vowed to be more precise with my hook the next time,
should there be a next time.
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