In Search of a Quetzal in the Monteverde Cloud Forest

After witnessing six new hummingbirds in the course of just a few minutes, I would have normally been happy to call it a good birding day and gone home. But I wasn't just anywhere; I was near the entrance to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Preserve in Costa Rica, at a shop that hung several sugar water feeders on its patio. Violet sabrewings, green-crowned brilliants, and lesser violetears were among the scintillating birds competing for dominance at the hanging stations. The misty rain didn't deter any of us awed tourists from snapping photos and risking ruining our cameras. However I was actually visiting this park in search of a completely different bird, the resplendent quetzal.

It wasn't surprising that the variety and sheer numbers of wildlife I was finding in Costa Rica after barely four days in the country was mind-blowing. Over the two previous days in Arenal National Park, I had counted close to forty species of birds alone. In Monteverde's unique ecosystem, I had already discovered even more, like the squirrel cuckoo right outside my hotel window earlier that day. The high elevation along Costa Rica's continental divide helps create the ideal conditions for a cloud forest where consistently low cloud cover provides perpetual moisture. Even though I was visiting in the dry season, rain was falling all morning.

The environment is prime habitat for the resplendent quetzal that I was seeking. It's a spectacular bird in a family of birds, the trogons, renowned for their remarkable beauty. I was already familiar with the elegant trogon that breeds in my home state of Arizona and with the gartered trogon I encountered three years before in Belize. Each species is a feast for the eyes in its own right due to their brightly colored torsos, emerald green backsides, and prominent eye rings. However the resplendent is in its own class simply because of the male of the species' upper tail coverts that look like four long tail feathers, doubling the bird's overall length.

In addition to purchasing admission to the national park, my husband and I joined a two-and-a-half hour guided walking tour. I was quickly learning that the fascinating flora and fauna of Costa Rica were often impossible to see without the knowledge of a trained guide. We hadn't even entered the preserve before our small group's guide, Michael, pointed out tarantulas hiding in the crevices of a stone wall and insects disguised as leaves. There was even an infrequently-seen highland tinamou greeting us at the entry gate. Surely Michael would locate a resplendent quetzal for us.

We followed multiple trails, called senderos in Spanish. Sendero Camino to Sendero Nuboso gave us no luck on the quetzal hunt. Our group was, however, delighted by a lone capuchin monkey as it munched directly overhead on a lunch of bromeliad stalks. We peered into a hollowed tree trunk to witness a cluster of sleeping bats. And another sneaky insect, this one mimicking a thorn, drew snaps from every camera.

We saw a few birds including a pair of slate-throated whitestarts and a salty-backed nightingale thrush. A green-crowned brilliant even perched cooperatively for photos. Maybe because the rain was letting up, a northern tufted flycatcher was easy to spot at it made forays over a ravine. At that point on the walk, we were actually on Sendero Cuecha, or Stump Trail, not far from where some wild avocados might be ripe enough for quetzals to dine on.

Michael had been communicating via phone and face-to-face with other guides, sharing information on the subjects we paying tourists were most interested in. Monkeys at the bench on Nuboso, a coati at the junction of Tosi and Chomogo: that sort of thing. Michael knew I was eager to see a quetzal, and was apparently taking us into the vicinity of a recent sighting.

The trail was carved into a steep hill so I needed to watch my step as I peered up into the canopy of trees. I was hoping to spy abundant avocados and a flock of quetzals munching away. Meanwhile Michael paused to look much closer to ground as he identified a type of mushroom that infects a host insect. It was a fascinating, horror-story inspiring cloud forest phenomena, but I still mostly wanted to see that bird.

My frustration was soon assuaged when another birder on the tour pointed up into the trees and told us he had found a quetzal. But where exactly was it? This fellow from Houston had told me earlier on the walk that he had learned in birdwatching to look at horizontal branches versus vertical ones. Unless you're looking for a woodpecker or a woodcreeper, that technique eliminates half of the foliage in an area. But still, it took several minutes for most of us to locate the female quetzal who perched on what I would have called a diagonal branch.

She was quite high up, and deep in the canopy. And her back was facing us. But her distinctive emerald green-colored feathers contrasted with the chlorophyl-rich greens in the leaves and moss surrounding her. I snapped dozens of pictures, upping my camera's exposure compensation to add some extra light. The resplendent quetzal hid her head in most of the shots, only casting a gaze in a couple of them. And she never turned around, barely moving or flicking a tail feather over the ten minutes we gawked.

Michael explained that the bird had most likely just eaten, and would remain resting and digesting for more than twenty minutes before looking for more food. Unfortunately there was no time to follow Sendero Chuecha deeper into the preserve in search of a male bird. Instead we started working our way back to the main entrance where we began the tour, but this time following Sendero Tosi. Maybe it was a wise choice because we did finally find a flamboyant male bird, a candy apple-red colored summer tanager. We also encountered a striped-tail hummingbird in her nest.

After a snack break at the park's restaurant - where we watched several howler monkeys from the terrace - my husband and I re-entered the preserve on our own, in hope of discovering another resplendent quetzal. The showier male and his long tail coverts were still on our wish list. Convinced lightning wouldn't strike twice in the same place, we abandoned Cuecha but instead walked further along Sendero Camino to a point we'd not reached earlier in the day. Michael had informed us in parting that there were some reports on the guides' informal network of a sighting.

It was the first of February and Michael had also said we were still two months away from breeding season, so we didn't have the birds' calls to help our search. And we didn't have the younger, trained eyesight of a guide. In fact there were very few other people in the park as we approached its closing time of four o'clock. So there were very few possibilities for word-of-mouth sightings to relay as we passed other hikers. And for the record, I could not identify a wild avocado tree if my life depended on it. Also the fruit was mostly not ripe in our area of Monteverde. The good news: we did finally have sunny skies for the first time all day.

We walked Camino to Sendero El Puente where, unsurprisingly, we crossed a long bridge over a deep, forested ravine. We could hear water racing far below. But there were no bird calls or birds except for some swallows. Disappointed, we returned to the main gate via the steep Sendero Wilford Guindon. ("Wolf" was an American Quaker who settled in the area in 1951 for dairy farming but devoted his later years to protecting the cloud forest.)

Always eager to add to my encounters, I managed to identify a brand-new bird, a chestnut-capped brushfinch. And I saw a bird that was turning out to be quite common on my Costa Rica trip, a black and white warbler. Alas, no more quetzals that day or on that trip. We'd be leaving their range the next morning, heading to the Pacific Coast for the final leg of our journey. An abundance of new luck in the form of macaws, sloths, and squirrel monkeys awaited me there.