was: Re: [Tweeters] Re: State Bird -- Varied Thrush


In a message dated 2/8/2011 8:48:21 A.M. Pacific Standard Time,
joaw9 at frontier.com writes:


Richard,
Do you have a link to a website where I might hear a recording of the
brown-backed solitaire?s song? I Googled it but had no luck. Hmm I wonder
what I did wrong. Thanks.
Jo Waldron, Edmonds


Hi Jo ... and "tweeters" too since I thought some might enjoy the 'short
story'. My apologies in advance as I stray a bit outside the meaning and
purpose of this list and hope I'm not admonished too severely.

Try this link: _Brown-backed Solitaire (Myadestes occidentalis) | on-line
sounds from xeno-can_
(http://www.xeno-canto.org/XCspeciesprofiles.php?species_nr2=3014.00)

There's a whole bunch here. Just scroll down to find my recommended best
ones which are two from Guatemala by Jelle Scharringa, and scrolling
further down, Mexico by Jon King, and lastly, Guatemala by Doug Knapp. Many of
the others seem to be recorded 'too close' or something and to my ear don't
really capture the magic as when heard further away. In life and
experience, I think the further away, the better, and better for truly capturing the
magical moment and sense of 'place'. Distance and perhaps the rich leafy
vegetation seems to filter out some of the seemingly distracting squeaks
and other noises that you'd hear if you were otherwise standing right under
one engaged in full song.

Curiously, after finding this site this morning via googling "brown-backed
solitaire songs", and listening, I wasn't struck with quite the same impact
as when I am actually there amongst them. Maybe that's the key, and
perhaps not unlike the Varied Thrush, you have to be there and in their 'place'
for the 'whole' to come together. Or, maybe just an artifact of my lousy
computer laptop based speakers? When you're in an already exotic bird rich
area in the Mexican and Central American highlands on some ridge
overlooking a canyon filled with lush tropical humid pine-oak forest and assaulted
with all the exotic sights, sounds, and smells, and Brown-backed Solitaires
are going off from near and far, their unearthly descending metallic
sounding tinkling song like a distant waterfall is surreal, unlike anything else
in the forest, and so stirs the soul really beyond words. You just have
to be there! I've been to such places on a number of occasions and have
never failed not to have been so moved.

Now for a short story time...

The foothills and upper slopes of Volcan de Colima (Jalisco/Colima,
Mexico) is one such place which I visited often for quite a number of years.
Unfortunately during the past decade with more activity on the volcano itself,
this area has become a bit of a risk not to mention continual
deterioration of the access road to virtually impassable without 4WD, and probably
totally so now since no one lives up there and there's no reason to maintain
the road anyway if the mountain may simply blow up, this is an area rich in
Brown-backed Solitaires. I remember one such visit, my last to this magical
bird rich 'Pipeline Road of Mexico', in 2003 during a 'quiet' lapse
between eruptions, Brett Jarrett (Australian seabird and marine mammal artist)
and I entered deep into the potentially lethal 'red' zone after having
talked our way around the road block and posted Mexican government geology and
volcanology official remotely stationed way up there to block or at least
discourage access. "Just going a little further and come right back." We
never did, at least not for a couple days, and no one came looking for us.
We knew the risk which seemed to my perhaps naive or in denial self, ever so
slight. The forest on the southeastern slopes was still lush, rich, and
showed no sign of volcanic impact whatsoever (previous recent eruptions,
ash, pyroclastic events, and lava were flowing west and southwest). Strangely
however, during that visit, there seemed to be fewer birds overall than
ever before and the forest much more silent. Always feeling just a little
bit nervous, especially in those few spots where we could catch a glimpse of
the simmering summit three miles away through the trees, I caught myself
entertaining disturbing visions of a sudden explosive Mt. St. Helens moment
and the final seconds of life as a sudden pyroclastic blow-out came
crashing towards us mowing down all trees and life in it's path. As it was, a
very light dusting of ash like fine snow filtered down through the sun dappled
forest, perceptable only in the sunny spots, and the 'place' was eerily
quiet save only for the distant tinkling of Brown-backed Solitaires all
around us. An amazing time but perhaps made seemingly more-so knowing or at
least thinking "we literally could die here at any moment".

We camped back in there just flat out on the ground with only the forest
canopy and stars as cover but just for one night, opting for a ridge top vs
a valley floor. Maybe pockets of undetectable but life snuffing heavier
than air gases in those deep spots was the reasoning. Who knows, why take a
chance? Gases or not, the ridge top was a good choice and we found
ourselves just by chance in the company of a Stygian Owl overhead all night long.
At dawn, the chorus of Brown-backed Solitaires greeted us in addition to
some of the most tremendous views of that owl imaginable, unplanned and
uncoaxed in any way, just pure chance and luck, no effort at all, there it sat.

My most recent visit to the Volcan de Colima region was in November 2007,
and to relative safe but sparsely populated areas on the west and north
slope some distance from the still lightly steaming and gas venting summit
then several weeks benign. The area was still on alert and keeping close
watch but no evacuations at this time, the sun wasn't quite up yet, and the
dawn chorus of Brown-backed Solitaires were happily tinkling away. Suddenly
and silently and without any warning whatsoever, a huge plume of dark gray
ash mushroomed from the top, boiling up and up it went, thousands of feet,
until turning pastel pink upon interception with the very first rays of the
rising sun. A very short-lived event, just a burp, then it was over, but
an indescribably spectacular beautiful few minutes where fortuitous timing
(sunrise) was everything! No one below in the adjacent villages and
surrounding farmland seemed alarmed or paid it any mind, and nor the
Brown-backed Solitaires as they just kept going and going and going. Still, bearing
witness to just that little event certainly made quite an impact.
Reminiscing and adding it all up now perhaps explains why I have such a soft spot
for the Brown-backed Solitaire. I'll bet those Varied Thrushes up in the
deep dark green forests surrounding Mt. St. Helens back on that beat the odds
crystal clear sunny early morning of May 18, 1980 were happily singing
away right up to those final seconds and assured Armageddon. Anyone hear
them? Or, perhaps minutes before, they had already sensed an uncertain fate
and the forest there too was eerily silent? Who knows. Phew, but what a way
to go!

Richard Rowlett
Bellevue/Eastgate, WA