The Mythical Picathartes

April 30^th, 2012

Last Thursday, after a long bout with Giardia and a heavy dose of meds, I scrambled myself together for what would end up being one of my greatest adventures. I had received a call from Kenneth Gbengba, a local Sierra Leonean guide and bird enthusiast, informing me that there was a small group heading into the Gola Rainforest in search of the mythical Picathartes. The Picathartes, or Bald Headed Rock Crow, is a unique looking bird that builds mud nests off the side of large rock faces, and is endemic to West Africa. I gladly accepted.

            I quickly hopped into a taxi to Kenema, the nearest big city and home to the Gola Rainforest, to go to the bank and try to meet Kenneth in person. I met him at an Indian supermarket and discussed prices and logistics. Kenneth turned out to be a decently tall and hefty man from Kono district that spoke with perfect English, and proved to be very intelligent and opinionated. He took me to his good friends house around the side of the Gola office to where I we would be spending the night. Our departure was very early so I needed to stay nearby. After a few hours of chatting and entertaining children with my crazy white man antics, I retired to my tent in the middle of the compound. To my astonishment and annoyance I found rocks jutting every which way under my sleeping bag. It was going to be a long night.

            After endlessly tossing around in fragments of sleep on what felt like a skeleton, I awoke around six am to get my stuff together and meet the couple I would be joining. After being described as a British couple going bird watching for the girl’s birthday, I expected to walk into an older couple of dorks, but was surprised to find two young whipper-snappers like myself. Katie, who would be turning twenty five, was from Scotland and easily six feet tall. Her boyfriend Grant hailed from South Africa, and was probably five feet and a few inches. Initially I had a hard time understanding them but as time went on and the morning wore off of me it became easier. We shared a breakfast of bread with butter and coffee in a bowl. As soon as we finished getting acquainted we set off.

We had a twenty five mile journey ahead of us to Lalehun, and the only way to get there is via okada (motorcycle).  It took around an hour and a half and was the most beautiful ride of my life, and also mildly terrifying. The dirt road went up and down the rolling green jungle hills scattered with the occasional village. We stopped a few times to observe birds, including a Palm Nut Vulture and a Snake Buzzard. My kind of a group! We eventually made it to Lalehun around ten am, off loaded, met our guide and our porter, and eventually went into the forest. Our local guide Golihun or Moses was a ratchity fifty something year old man with a few teeth and a constant smile. Our porter was a young strapping fellow with a crazy leprechaun laugh named Mohammed. Great people.

            After trekking for about an hour through the dark green foliage, occasionally crossing rickety bridges made of vines, we stopped and the guides made a delicious lunch of fish and potato with onion sauce. Pretty good! I was surprised by the ability and ingenuity of the guys to make a coal fire and cook a hot meal in the jungle. After lunch we packed up and made our way to our base camp about one to two hours away. We eventually got to our site around three pm and were relieved to be able to dip our sweat soaked bodies into the tiny cold pools provide by a nearby stream. At four we walked up the hill a few hundred feet to a giant boulder to meet our birds. The Picathartes, we were told, usually come home around five pm. After two hours of quietly and uncomfortably  shifting around we caught glimpse of one as it came home and left again after all of five seconds. Sadly, it was all we would see of our bird. Still really cool to see it.

            As the sky darkened, we gave up and went back down the hill to meet our dinner of peanut soup with chicken. Also delicious. After dinner we shared a little Glenfiddich whiskey and the Africans passed a joint, while we listened to the locusts, bugs, and tree frogs. It was very relaxing and everyone made good company. Grant and Katie were great and fun to talk to as they checked off birds in their book. I’m not alone in this nerdy bird world! Both were happy I had come and not annoyed by my tagging along, which I had feared. I eventually went to my tent, read some James Herriot, and tried to fall asleep on what again felt like a bag of bones underneath me. 

            We woke up early again hoping to catch another glimpse of the Picathartes but were unsuccessful. We considered our five second look a blessing and retreated to our breakfast which was some kind of banana cake/ pancake thing with bread. What followed for the rest of the afternoon consisted of slowly trekking back to the village and watching birds the whole way. Back at the village we ate tuna and hung out waiting for the heat of the day to leave so we could get some last minute birding in. During this time waiting I found some monkeys and then mimicked them by climbing a tree and eating fresh picked mango with some local children. It was a great time in my life. Grant eventually got annoyed that he had paid for two full days and was sitting around, so we got up and tried to find some nearby birds. It slowly started to pour, as it does in rainy season, so I ran back to the overhang where we were sitting and literally clothes-lined myself right across the nose, leaving a cool scab between the eyes. 

            After the rain let up we walked to the main part of town and got soaked in another downpour. We shared some drinks and smokes and a few African smiles. I was eventually taken back to site to meet my okada driver, said my goodbyes and was off. I was already soaked and cold so it wasn’t too terrible. However the road was muddy and rocky, the driver uncomfortable and shifting/moving his hands off of the handlebars too much, and the sky was filled with flying ant things that kept going into our eyes. My life flashed before my eyes at several points. It was however still gorgeous and somehow enjoyable as I gripped for dear life and occasionally said small small to the driver. I’ll never forget looking back over my shoulder and seeing the misty emerald hills as the sky painted yet another miracle. I was too tired to make my driver stop and dig my camera out to take a photo, but I’ll never forget the way it looked. Second only to Ivy. Somehow I made it safely back to Kenema just after dark. Got home, called Ivy, took a warm bucket bath, and made ramen soup.