In April we made a return visit to Little Cayman Island, about 150 miles south of Cuba, and had a chance to see how the bird life compared this year to the past few springs. We go to “Little” (as the locals call it, distinguishing it from “Grand”) for two weeks of scuba diving every April, having found a dive op, a place to stay and time of year that suit our needs as elderly divers, with coral reefs surrounding the island as healthy as you’ll find anywhere in the Caribbean Sea. Though diving is our primary focus, we’re interested in nature in general, and after our diving, late lunch, a shower and nap, we like to go for a short walk from our cabin on the beach to the brackish ponds nearby to see who’s around. Each year we’ve been coming to Little something stands out birdwise. This year it was the West Indian Whistling ducks, a rare and threatened species that we saw in the ponds. But the ducks were by no means the only fascinating birds within easy walking distance of our cabin.
There are plenty of birds in the dry low forest that covers most of the island, however they are mostly invisible. The brushy woods are virtually impenetrable, plus it’s nearly all private property. I try to triangulate on bird calls as I walk along roads but even though the trees are mostly under 20 feet it’s as difficult to see birds in the foliage there as in any other forest. Certain birds are pretty common though, like the endemic grackle: the Greater Antillean grackle (Quiscalus niger), more specifically the subspecies found exclusively on Little Cayman, Q. n. bangsi. Like all grackles these are very talkative and omnivorous. I saw a flock swarming a flowering Scarlet Cordia tree once apparently feeding on nectar! The Cordia was intertwined with a Gumbo-limbo tree (sometimes known as the tourist tree for its red peeling bark, lol).
Caribbean Elaenias, Tropical Mockingbirds and Grey Kingbirds are common in the trees too.
I have never seen the sapsucker that makes the holes, but there are plenty of trees with horizontal rows like this one. My field guide says the local one is the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker.
I do see oceanic birds while I’m out on the boat, especially Red footed boobies and Magnificent Frigatebirds, and the occasional tern. But I’m carrying only my phone while I’m out diving so photos aren’t great.
A congregation of Frigatebirds can usually be found near the dive dock since the next dock over is where a local fishing boat cleans fish after early morning excursions, tossing scraps out.
But frankly, the vast majority of my birding was in the ponds across the road from where we stayed. Since the ocean breeze rarely penetrates inland that far it was too hot to visit the ponds until after 5:30pm, a short window between then and sunset at 6:30pm. That’s also peak no-see-um time of day so I had to drench myself in bug repellant and wear long pants/shirt. Nevertheless it was well worth it. Aquatic settings are magnets for birds in a dry place like that. The Caymans actually get a fair bit of rain (mostly in the summer and fall) but it washes right through the thin soil over limestone bedrock, leaving the ground very dry.
These shallow ponds are brackish due to seawater seeping through the limestone but they primarily depend on rainwater, and turn to mud in the dry season. In previous years we’ve seen the ponds vary from mostly mud to completely flooded well into the surrounding mangroves, and that affects the birdlife. This year the water was fairly high, the rains having started early.
The Cayman National Trust has built access platforms over the ponds at several spots so you can see the birds feeding, foraging and nesting. In previous years I’ve seen a few elusive Whistling Ducks but this year they were abundant, even perching on the best viewing platform — twice! — which meant turning back for me until the next day. The ducks get priority in my book.
Luckily I had many opportunities on other days to watch them.
Whistling Ducks do whistle, a very different sound from any other duck I’ve ever heard. In fact, whistling ducks aren’t really very ducklike in general. More like geese. They’re big and have long necks, for starters. But also like geese and unlike ducks, the drakes and hens look the same, they both incubate eggs, and they mate for life.
Whistling Ducks are also known as Tree Ducks for their propensity to perch in trees and even nest there, although only some whistling ducks do that. The West Indian Whistling Duck is one. Its scientific name is descriptive: Dendrocygna arborea.
The books say WIWDs are nocturnal. Perhaps they are more active at night but they were definitely busily foraging and socializing during the late afternoon hours. But there isn’t much of a gloaming in the tropics — night falls all at once — and the ducks undoubtedly knew night was imminent.
Whistling Ducks are also non-migrators, unlike most ducks, moving just short distances as different wetlands become more productive.
Mostly the Whistlers waded or paddled around amicably, but once I saw a bill-grabbing incident between two. The third whistled shrilly at them.
I wondered whether some of the Whistlers I saw were juveniles. Perhaps because they are rare, the books have little to say about juv plumage except “paler, duller”. A lot of the ducks I saw were a lighter, redder shade of brown than the others so maybe those were youngsters, like the bickering pair above with the white necks. Cornell’s Neotropical Birds (neotropical.birds.cornell.edu/...) says they can nest at any time of year although spring is most common, with the advent of the rains.
The depth of the ponds this year seemed to appeal to the larger wading birds. A life bird for me this time was a Glossy Ibis, a truly spectacular creature, not just its swooping down-curved bill but its gloriously maroon plumage. I didn’t get much view of its glossiness though, seeing it late in the day.
The ibis shared the pond amicably with herons and egrets. There seemed to be enough prey for all who were there, and they don’t all feed on exactly the same things although there’s a lot of overlap. Here the Ibis hunts while a Tricolored heron takes a break from fishing (or is watching the sunset). Since the ibis feeds mainly on arthropods, worms, mollusks and other invertebrates (www.allaboutbirds.org/...) and Tricolored herons on fish (www.allaboutbirds.org/...), it’s a good example of sharing a habitat without being in direct competition.
Tricolored herons have the same shape as our Great Blue heron up here in the Northwest but their behavior is quite different. They’re much more dynamic. Rather than waiting for prey to pass within striking distance, Tricolors wade — dance really — through shallow water stirring up the small fish upon which they feed. They’ll hold their wings out too, shading the water, attracting fish who think they’ve found a place to hide in safety from predators.
Who’s that anomalous lone white bird with the herons I asked myself. An egret? It took me a while looking back and forth between the pictures and the field guide to realize it’s a juvenile Little Blue Heron. And what do you know, an adult was in the mix too. Darker grey-blue, and smaller than the Tricolors.
The egrets were more skittish than the herons. I never saw any closer than that group. They were at that far end of the pond on several days. As best I can tell, the white birds with black beaks are Snowy Egrets.
In contrast, the Common Moorhens swam directly below the viewing platform. As often, they puttered around along the brushy margin of the ponds.
Often there was a lot going on out of my sight. I could hear rustlings and strange bird noises in the brush and there was nothing I could do to get a better look even though I knew they were just a few feet away. Sometimes there’d be a tantalizing bird head or foot exposed, like the Cattle Egret to my left in the view below. Those bushes between the road and the pond are where I’d seen Green Herons in previous years. None this year — in view. However at least one Zenaida Dove came into view as it scratched around in the leaves under the brush. These doves live only in the West Indian islands (neotropical.birds.cornell.edu/...).
There was one other way I could peek into the pond besides the viewing platforms. Along a few sections of the road the brush was short enough so I could see through or over it. I got my best view of a Yellowlegs that way. I think this is a Lesser Yellowlegs (relatively short beak, lack of black barring on flank, wings longer than tail).
Most shorebirds are on Little Cayman as winter migrants, soon to depart for northern breeding grounds in April if they haven’t already. The Spotted Sandpipers (below) were in breeding spots already.
My favorite shorebirds here though are the Black-necked Stilts. Like most of the wading birds in this report, Stilts are southern birds (www.allaboutbirds.org/...) and these trips to the Caribbee are the only times I see them. Stilts are year-round residents and have sorted out where best to forage, moving between wetlands as water level rises and falls. They are very particular about their preferred depth. The first year I came to Little Cayman there were Stilts galore in these ponds and I heard their distinctive keek keeking from quite a ways off. I thought seeing swarms of Stilts was normal, and it was a big disappointment the following year when there were almost none. Few herons either. That year was exceptionally dry and the ponds were mostly mud. Since then Stilt numbers have been intermediate between those years, and I’ve noticed they tend to congregate in a particular pond or other depending on water level. This year the rains started early and ponds were deeper; one was too deep for Stilts and after a week of looking I gave up even walking down there. Luckily the other nearby pond had areas of suitably shallow water.
Stilts are busy birds, wading briskly along snatching up small crustaceans. They don’t mind other birds nearby but sometimes get into it with other Stilts.
This is breeding season, and there were plenty of signs of that, from pairing up to nesting. The difference between genders is subtle but evident: males are blue-black while females are brown-black. We watched carefully for breeding activity, hoping to get a glimpse of chicks.
Through a gap in the brush by the road (4 paces east of an orange marker, our reference from day to day) we saw our first sign of nesting. One stilt was arranging something carefully in a bowl-shaped coral formation that was about 5 inches above water level (using their 8-10” long legs for scale). A careful examination of my photos shows at least one greenish egg in the bowl! Yay!
Males and females share the work of nest construction. While one observes, the other scrapes into the dirt with breast and feet to form a depression about 2 inches deep. As they dig, they add small bits of lining back into the nest. Most lining is added to the nest during incubation and consists of whatever material is closest to the nest, including grasses, shells, mud chips, pebbles, and bones. Some nests are left unlined. Both sexes participate in incubation and chick-rearing
www.allaboutbirds.org/...
Since it can start raining any day during nesting season you might be concerned about the water rising and swamping the nest. Well, birds who nest on little islands have an engineering solution: they jack up the eggs by slipping twigs and such underneath. Cool huh? Birds of North America cites a study: “In Waiwa, O‘ahu, a nest was built up from an original height of 12 cm to a height of 25 cm in 2 d using dead saltwort (Batis sp.) twigs (Coleman 1981). “ That’s more than 5 inches for the metric-challenged among us. Birds can also move a nest as much as 50cm horizontally that way too.
We knew we wouldn’t have a chance to see these eggs hatch since incubation is 3.5-4 weeks and we were leaving on the 20th, but we wanted to see if it was all going well. I estimate the first egg was laid on April 13. They typically lay 2-5 eggs, with 4 the average size clutch. Any more than 4 and they don’t fit snugly in the nest cup with pointy ends inward (birdsna.org/...). In warm climates like Little Cayman, eggs begin developing as soon as they are laid and chicks hatch sequentially. We saw a clutch of 4 hatch over several days once with the chicks learning to explore and feed after that. There was a clear difference in the boldness of the chicks, though otherwise we couldn’t distinguish their ages.
If the eggs are warm enough already why do the parents sit on the eggs? Mostly to cool them off. In fact they’ll soak their feathers to wet the eggs, which are then cooled by evaporation. This explains why on our last day we saw the nest unattended, with both parents at some distance away. I can see 3 intact eggs in the nest, so those parents clearly know what they’re doing (not surprisingly!). There might well be a 4th, blocked from view by the coral.
It’s sweet to think about how the parents stretching their legs after a long hot day crouched under the blazing subtropical sun. By 6pm the sun is sinking low in the sky and the eggs won’t overheat. These parents had established a secure territory against intruders, so could safely wander a ways from the nest to feed. Most likely the little ones have hatched by now and are wading around the pond snapping up tiny crustaceans, listening for their parents’ calls to keep them safe.
The birds of the West Indies are well adapted to the often harsh environmental conditions of nature. What threatens them, even to extinction, is human activity. Wetland habitats are critical for birds and other wildlife, and since settlement a few hundred years ago marshes have been steadily “reclaimed” for development and agriculture. Pollutant runoff like agricultural pesticides and sewage have poisoned wetlands. Other threats are cutting forest habitat for lumber and development, and the introduction of invasive animals that prey on or outcompete native wildlife (www.nationaltrust.org.ky/...). Sea level rise due to unmanaged global warming might well wipe out everyone in the Caymans, human and wildlife. The highest point on Little Cayman is 10 feet above sea level.
The West Indian Whistling Duck, rare across the region, was nearly extinct in the Caymans by the 1980s due to hunting them and their eggs for food and sport. Protection measures, including the purchase of wetlands like these ponds by the National Trust, have given them a reprieve. Under CITES protection, their survival as a species will depend on how seriously each country enforces that protection. The rule of law is taken seriously in the Caymans. These ponds and others like them on Grand and Cayman Brac may well be a refuge for the West Indian Whistling Duck region-wide.
Sunset is both a busy and peaceful time for birds on Little Cayman. The diurnal birds are grabbing a last bite and finding roosts for the night. The nocturnal birds like the Whistling Ducks are getting geared up for a night’s activity. We love to be there for even an hour soaking in all that beauty of nature.
That’s my bird report for 2019. I’ve written Dawn Chorus diaries about previous trips to Little Cayman. If you’re interested, here they are: 2017 Dawn Chorus: Return to Little Cayman, and a Tale of Two Tour Guides, 2016: Dawn Chorus: Trip to the tropics - birds on a little island in the West Indies.
Dawn Chorus is now open for your birdy observations of the week. Who have you been seeing lately?