The Saint Lucia Amazon and Other Island Endemics

On my first visit to the Caribbean island nation of Saint Lucia in almost ten years, it was easy to decide what to do on my cruise ship's nine-hour stop: find a Saint Lucia amazon. The island is the only place this endemic parrot lives, where only fifty years ago it faced near extinction due to habitat loss and hunting. Even with a robust recovery in its population, Saint Lucia's national bird still only roams a small portion of its historic range - so I hired a guide to guarantee I found it.

While most of my fellow passengers scattered towards thermal springs, beaches, gardens, and the majestic volcanic spires called the Pitons, my husband and I met Nestor on a busy street outside the cruise port in Castries. In addition, two other birders from the ship also piled into our guide's well-worn 4Runner.

We made our way out of Saint Lucia's capital and largest city as lines of heavy traffic streamed in for work and school. The mountainous landscape was mostly forested as we passed small communities and country homes. Mangrove and banana farms advertised the country's biggest exports. We drove through Dennery, a large, scenic fishing village on the rugged Atlantic coast.

The Des Cartier Trail was our destination, still another forty-five minutes drive south and west up into the mountains. We eventually entered the Quilesse Forest Preserve and parked at a modest trailhead with outhouses and covered picnic tables. Curious Lesser Antillean bullfinches were easy subjects to photograph as we started our ascent up the steep trail.

We were in the shadow of Saint Lucia's highest peak, Mount Gimie, rising over three thousand feet in elevation. It crested a volcanic mountain range that captured the ocean moisture that fed the island's rivers, rain forests, and the slick, muddy trail we followed for more than a mile. Not for the last time, Nestor advised us to follow close behind him because dangerous boa constrictors inhabited the jungle.

Our guide played some recordings from his smart phone at a clearing, hoping to attract parrots and other island endemics. At one point we heard the melodic songs of rufous-throated solitaires that are common throughout the Lesser Antilles, but we didn't see a single bird. Undeterred, we continued on the trail to another overlook higher up where the clouds were clearing and we could hear the roar of rapids in the green canyon below us. And then - just like that - a pair of Saint Lucia amazons cut across the sweeping landscape before us.

The other couple from the ship hadn't yet reached the stop so they didn't get a glimpse of the flyby. And over the next half hour we would all only content ourselves with common birds that ranged throughout all the region's islands: bananaquits, bullfinches, and two hummingbirds - the purple-throated carib and the Antillean crested hummingbird.

While Nestor played his cacophony of bird songs, we could hear the clucks of the parrots taunting us from the jungle above. Chris wandered up the trail in their direction, following another birder and his guide. Soon a different endemic, a Saint Lucia oriole, landed on a tree branch forty feet in front of us. Just as Chris returned describing the movements of the gray trembler he discovered, one magically appeared in front of us, flitting about in a dark corner of the forest canopy.

I would swear that these birds were hired decoys because just at that moment another pair of amazons flew across the canyon in the same flight plan as the earlier two. And again, no one captured a photo. Yet another distraction deep in the foliage beside us appeared in the form of a pair of Lesser Antillean euphonias. They were tiny and far away but I managed to capture some images of these cute, greenish-yellow birds with bright blue heads and thick yellow brows.

Then suddenly in a burst of clucks, an amazon materialized in flight overhead at a moment when I was ready with my camera. With six snaps of my shutter I managed to get my shots, one of them decent considering I had to react in a heartbeat. This parrot was beautiful, its head and primary feathers gleaming blue in the sunshine, its eyes focused straight ahead somewhere in the safety of the jungle beyond us.

Nestor soon thereafter directed our attention to a Saint Lucia warbler, another endemic, hidden in the canopy of trees to our left. But we were only half paying attention, our minds more focused on amazons. Lower in the canyon, we spotted a broad-winged hawk circling in the warming day's tropical thermals. After about an hour and a half at this site, it was time to make our way back down the trail.

Shortly into our descent, we listened to an amazon close by in the tight foliage above us. Invisible, it flew off in a loud clattering that sounded like a mourning dove bursting into flight. We later stopped by a Saint Lucian magnolia tree and examined its scattered, ravaged seed pods, most likely the remains of an amazon's feast. Towering above us, the tree was empty of any bird life.

We soon encountered one last endemic on the trail, a Saint Lucia pewee, a diminutive variety of flycatcher. And then back in the SUV, we made our way to our next stop, a dry forest habitat along the busy road back to Dennery. Nestor warned us one last time about snakes, this one poisonous.

With more assistance from audio files, we soon encountered a white-breasted thrasher, again, endemic to the Lesser Antilleans. Chocolate brown with a snowy chest and throat, it was a quite striking thrasher compared to the pearly-eyed that is much more common in the region and the curve-billed back home in Arizona. A minute later, another crested hummingbird perched overhead. And then a last endemic appeared in the thicket of trees, a male Saint Lucia black finch. I would have easily mistaken him for the omnipresent bullfinches, except he was completely black and much shyer.

This finch was even more endangered than the amazon that figured so prominently in my day's adventure. In fact there might be only half as many black finches in existence, numbering in the mere hundreds. And this very rare encounter on Saint Lucia was also my very last for any bird on the island. I was initially disappointed it wasn't the island's third resident hummingbird, the green-throated carib. But that bird was quite common throughout the Lesser Antilles; I even photographed one on Saint Lucia nine years ago. My best wishes and hopes would forever more be attached to that finch instead.