All over Patagonia, from Chiloé in the north to Tierra del Fuego in the south, we saw Chilean Firebush, Embothrium coccineum . A tall shrub or small tree, in spring it is covered in dramatic scarlet blossoms.
They hang in thick clusters:
Each long thin bud (rightmost below) has four petals which split apart and curl back (center), exposing the long style:
The nectar is very sweet, and as it oozes out it attracts insects:
like this tiny sweat bee, which I think is Callistochlora chloris:
Our guide suggested we try the nectar too: and indeed if you suck on a flower the most ethereal mead-like taste fills your mouth:
Milvago chimangotemucoensis is the subspecies of the Chimango Caracara found in southern Chile and Argentina. It is a bird of prey, about 17″long with a wingspan of about three feet. They seemed to be everywhere, and the one below is dive-bombing my friend Kerstin.
They hunt small prey like lizards, insects, and mice, and scavenge larger prey. We found one near our Hotel Parque Tepuhueico in Chiloé, having a dustbath :
The purpose is probably to remove parasites, though it has also been suggested that it removes excess lipids deposited on the feathers from the uropygial preening gland. You can see it in action in this video:
It seemed to enjoy that lovely glow you get after a good body scrub:
I’ll end with an entirely different bird that somehow never found a place in any other post, the endearing Rufous-collared Sparrow, Zonotrichia capensis:
It sang its tiny heart out on a fencepost:
It is common over much of South America, and tolerant of human presence.
The Black-faced Ibis, Theristicus melanopis, is a handsome bird, which breeds in Southern Chile and Southern Argentina. It is very adaptable, so although open fields are its expected habitat (and outside the breeding seasoning it migrates to the Argentine pampas), it also ventures into quite different territory. Here are a pair poking around in a field for insects, worms, or small vertebrates:
They nest in colonies, often on rocky cliffs:
And in Chiloé they are so laid back that this one settled down on a window ledge. I think it is a juvenile, because of the scalloped wing edges.
I also liked the Blackish Oystercatcher, Haematopus ater.
It haunts rocky coasts from Peru to Tierra del Fuego, dodging the waves:
foraging for shellfish:
Apart from that flashy red bill, it has red eyeliner and pale pink feet with black claws, looking as though it had partied all night, with a very Goth pedicure:
After two full-time puma-hunting days, we spent our last complete day in Patagonia just walking in the Torres del Paine National Park, a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve with rich bird and plant life, not just pumas. My goal in this post is to give you a flavor of this stunning place.
We stayed in the Hostería Pehoé, a simple lodge on a tiny island in the middle of Lake Pehoé, reached only by a footbridge.
This was the view from my room.
On the island an Austral Thrush had caught lunch:
Palomita, the Dog Orchid, Codonorchis lessonii, punctuated the undergrowth, with two dark eyes on its hood:
and an enticing entrance to the innermost sanctum underneath:
Streaked Maiden lilies, Olsynium biflorum, almost but not quite over..
The island is exposed:
and the perfectly named Darwin’s Slippers, Calceolaria uniflora, sheltered from the strong winds:
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Rather unusually, this 4″ tall plant is pollinated by a bird, the Least Seedsnipe. It eats the conspicuous white lower lip of the flower, which is high in sugars. As it does so, the stigma and anthers of the flower tap its head and back, and that pollen is then transferred to the next flower it visits.
Moss hung in the small trees:
After breakfast we walked a short and easy trail further south in the Park. We wandered through the scrubby vegetation:
The low trees were a type of beech relative, called Nothofagus antarctica, festooned with Southern South American mistletoe, Misodendrum punctulatum.
In the long grass a Magellanic Snipe, Gallinago magellanica* , was busily poking around:
We then climbed gently to yet another great view:
All along the way there were orchids:
Torres del Paine has nine species of orchid. The yellow one below is a Yellow Orchid (!), Gavilea littoralis:
The greenish white one is a Porcelain Orchid, Chloraea Magellanica, with a spectacular tongue to entice in the pollinators:
On the way back, we saw the snipe again, posing on a rock:
After a delicious lunch at Hotel Lago Grey we walked to get a proper look at Grey Glacier, dwarfing the quite large boat in the foreground:
It is 3om high at its leading edge. I took these photos 15 years ago, from a boat:
On the way back we were observed by a Dark-bellied Cinclodes:
and a few more wildflowers…
Arjona patagonicaCutleaf Anemone
PS * Top tip: if you are searching for the name of an unfamiliar bird down in this part of the world, try choosing an appropriate familiar one from home (thrush, snipe, finch, woodpecker…) and add one of three adjectives: Patagonian, Magellanic, or Austral. Works a treat.
[I have (as you’ve noticed if you read this regularly), been obsessed with my Chile trip, but in January while my Chile blogs were still in full flow, I went to Spain on a different mission, so I thought I’d take a week off from Chile to show you why.]
This post has been planned for a few weeks, but after my previous post it just couldn’t wait any longer ! In case you missed it, I saw my first bobcat on my beaver pond in Maine… read on.
There are four species of lynx in the world. Where I live in Maine, we have bobcats, which are technically lynxes, (Lynx rufus), and the Canadian Lynx (Lynx canadensis), which seems to moving back into some areas of the state. In Europe, there are two other species. The European Lynx (Lynx lynx) is found in northern and eastern Europe and eastwards across northern Asia. But the rarest of all is the Iberian Lynx, Lynx pardinus, found only in Spain and Portugal. I really wanted to see this, and you will understand why when you see their tufted ears and endearing facial ruffs:
In 2002, the Iberian lynx was on the verge of extinction, with only 94 individuals left in two isolated subpopulations in Andalusia. It was considered the most endangered feline in the world, classified as Critically Endangered by the IUCN.
A hugely successful conservation program, focussing on improving habitat, restocking and keeping healthy their main food of rabbits, and a breeding and reintroduction program, means that now there are over 2000 in the wild, and in 2024 they were re-classified by the IUCN as Vulnerable.
These two small areas are still the best chance to see them, so that is where we went. We started in Huelva, in the Doñana National Park. On our first day, we had 180mm (7″) of rain, the most rain in 24 hours in eight years. Needless to say we saw nothing. The next day, most of the roads into the park were flooded, and again we saw nothing.
So on we went to Andújar, further north. First day, no lynx, but a group of lovely male mouflon.
On the second day, we heard that a lynx had been seen, and we roared off in the hope of catching it. Initially, no luck, but then someone spotted it, lying on a rock about 800 meters (nearly 1/2 a mile) away, circled.
The dirt track and surrounding landscape is only open to rangers, so this was the closest we got. There was the lynx, lying on the rock facing away from us, with its head up. Here is my best photo (!); the black spot is the tip of its tail, and the two smaller black spots are the tips of its ears. .
This was our only view in the wild, the fruits of four days of trying.
But … so as to keep the suspense up, I omitted to tell you something. In Doñana National Park (our first stop), there is a reproduction centre called El Acebuche that houses a pair of lynx in about 5 acres of wild countryside. Over the years, their offspring have been used to repopulate the area, so successfully that reintroductions are now being sent as far as Portugal. They’re aging, but still there. They hunt rabbits in their enclosed area and may not be seen for days. The centre is not open to the public, but our guide got us in, and we were very lucky. Not only were they hanging about near the viewing area, but they weren’t hiding behind a bush, and they weren’t asleep (though dozy!). These photos were taken through a pane of glass, under lowering skies, but I hope they give you a sense of these glorious animals.
This is Felix, the male.
And this is Dama, the female:
They were deliberately chosen from the two different geographical areas, to mix the gene pools, but they seemed like a fairly contented couple:
Felix had apparently originally had another bride, and when Dama first arrived he was not initially friendly, which could be intimidating judging by these teeth:
Indeed, on one occasion while we were there he snarled at Dama, asserting his dominance:
and you can see how she cringed:
But she too can be fearsome, look at that glare:
They are not huge, the larger males can be up to 32″ long (not counting that stubby tail) and 35lbs in weight. But they can dispatch a rabbit with ease.
I have lived in Maine on and off for 43 years, and never seen a bobcat. I have caught them on camera traps, and seen tracks, but that’s it. Until now.
I was out for the second time that day snowshoeing and hoping to see otters. None. I had turned for home, and as always I looked over my shoulder one last time in case they had appeared as I left.
And there one was, on the far side of the pond. So, I headed back out for a closer look:
The otter dived under the ice, but there was another shape on the snow, rounder and fluffier:
My first ever bobcat, Lynx rufus. I took a few shots from very far away. It was barely moving, carefully placing one silent rear paw in front of the other:
then settling into a crouch:
I wasn’t sure, but I wondered if it was preparing to stake out the otter hole. I was a very long way away, so I moved a little closer. From my new angle, I could see that it was now right next to the otter hole (the disturbed snow to its left):
But it smelled me or heard me or saw me,
and took off, just letting me snatch a short video:
It stopped on the edge of the woods, and looked back reproachfully:
Three minutes of a privileged glimpse into its world.
I have since tried to discover if bobcats hunt otters. There is the occasional reference to otter remains being found in the stomach contents of bobcats, but that’s about it, and these could easily have been either carrion, or very young otters. An adult otter would be a formidable prey, being much the same weight as a bobcat. Look at this video of a bobcat recoiling from an angry otter: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/TJZlFwmdo64
Their main food is snowshoe hares, but they do very occasionally eat fish, so they may have been trying to steal the otter’s catch. See Newbury and Hodges 2018 for more on their diet. Bobcats’ feet don’t cope well with deep snow (unlike Canada Lynx), and we have had plenty of snow this winter, at the northern edge of their range, so my bobcat may be very hungry indeed.
Scott Lindsay, Regional Wildlife Biologist at the Maine Dept. of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife, agrees that it was unlikely to be hunting otters, and he tells me that bobcats are curious, and it was probably just checking things out.
PS Maine has a total bobcat population of around 1500, and a female’s home range is about 23 square kilometers. So it is not surprising that they are hard to see! There’s some useful,information here, including how you tell the difference between a bobcat and a Canadian Lynx.
The quiet bays and lagoons around Chiloé are the perfect habitat for waterfowl.
Some shore birds are famous for their long-distance migrations from the sub-Arctic to southern South America. Chiloé Island is where 21,000 Hudsonian Godwits, Limosa haemastica, go outside the Alaskan summer. They comprise 99% of those estimated to occur along the Pacific coast during the boreal winter (Andres et al 2009). And there they were, in Caulín Bay near Ancud on Chiloé island, hundreds of them stoically facing the wind and doing their best to catch forty winks.
They are not flamboyant birds, at least in their non-breeding plumage, except for that long slightly upcurved bill (look at the one on lower right):
Their wings are not huge, either, making their long migrations (including stretches of as much as 8000Km over five days without stopping) even more remarkable:
They like to sleep with one foot tucked into their feathers for warmth:
Until the 1940’s, they were considered extremely rare, and in danger of extinction, but it turned out that both their breeding grounds and their non-breeding hangouts are so remote (Alaska, Chiloé..) that we humans just hadn’t noticed them! This Birds of the World map has breeding grounds in pink, migration in yellow, and non-breeding in blue.
The world population is thought to be 50,000 to 70,000 birds, and stable. Nevertheless, in Chile their hunting or capture is, thankfully, forbidden. This website tracks their migration from Chiloé to Alaska and back: https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/1ebf7c221c654e6d8a06355501f40cb9
They are under pressure from increasing development in the area, but blessedly at present they seem to be stable enough. Nonetheless, one study found that even traditional artisan seaweed harvesting adversely affects the birds, (Navedo et al 2019), so there is some reason for concern that the high concentration in this one spot leaves them vulnerable in the future.
Close by to the godwits we saw these charming Chiloé Wigeon, Mareca sibilatrix, a duck found only in southern South America, with a flash of iridescent turquoise on its head. It is not endangered. Locally, it has two other splendid names: Pato Real (ie Royal) or Pato Picasso.
Finally, even more majestically, we saw a group of black-necked swans, Cygnus melancoryphus, including this family:
They have a huge red knob above their bill:
One had a very disconcerting neck-ring: our guide didn’t know if this was a proper scientific research-related ring, unlikely, or put there by a seriously misguided jokester.
This is the only swan that breeds in the Neotropics, and the worldwide population is thought to be less than 100,000, of which around 20,000 are in Chile. Around Chiloé the population is if anything increasing, and they are not considered endangered.
PS One of my previous posts is about a different godwit, and its migration:
Just as I had thought all dolphins were the same, so had I all sea lions. Again, not so. The familiar California Sealion is Zalophus californianus. Males can grow up to 2.7 m (8.9 ft) long, while females are typically around 2.1 m (6.9 ft).
But in Chile, we saw the unrelated South American sea lion, Otaria flavescens, whose males are slightly bigger than the Californian ones, measuring up to 3 m (9.8 ft) in length with a weight of 350 kg (770 lb) while females are fractionally smaller, at 2 m (6 ft 7 in). So the size disparity is huge; this group are hanging out next to a salmon farm; look at the huge bull on the left:
Their more natural homes are rocky shorelines, often pretty steep:
The dominant male claims the highest spot, where any pups will be safest from predators (like orcas):
Their huge bulk makes getting down a rock face quite tricky:
This bull was heading for the water, but he got briefly waylaid by a group of females. Eventually, he made it, as the video below shows:
This was the start of the breeding season, and dominant males establish a harem of females. The group still had last year’s pups:
Not yet fully grown, but ready to forage. They waited for the big bull to go in, then followed:
There is lots of socializing in these groups:
The socializing extends to decisions to go for a swim, caught on video:
Pups are born 0.86 m (2 ft 10 in) long, and black. They lighten as they grow. They first enter the water at about four weeks old, and stay with the mother for a year. This one was not sure about going in, so its mother gently encouraged it:
then followed once she could see it was safely launched:
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They bob around, very curious about us:
A brief video gives you the flavor:
Back on shore, the sea lions share the rocks with turkey vultures, which may eat the seal poop, scavenge, and but also attack newborn pups, so they are watched closely by the sea lions:
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To end, a few closeups:
And finally one emulating the performing sea lions at the New England Aquarium that my kids used to like, but this time a wild one on a float in a mussel farm:
I’m guessing that unless you grew up in a place where dolphins live (lucky you), a dolphin is a dolphin is a dolphin. But gradually over the years I have realized this is pure ignorance. There are 42 species of dolphin (not counting porpoises), orcas being the largest (up to 6,600Kg.) In the waters off southern Chile, we saw two of the smallest: Peale’s Dolphin, Lagenorhynchus australis, and the Chilean Dolphin, Cephalorhynchus eutropia.
The Chilean Dolphin is one of the world’s smallest; at around 63Kg. it is 1/100th the size of an orca, and it is found nowhere else in the world. It is a short, fat dolphin, called tonina in Chile.
Unlike many dolphins, it doesn’t always appear to enjoy being near boats, but these were pretty playful:
We saw a small group of three or four, which is typical, but they can form pods of up to 50. They have a distinctive short rounded dorsal fin, and a black stripe from blowhole to eyes to fins, just visible on the closest one here:
One of these has been hit by a boat, and injured its dorsal fin:
Their bellies are white, and for a while they swam loops under our boat, upside down, giving us a good look:
They favor shallow waters and estuaries, which makes them vulnerable to boat traffic and pollution. It is thought there are no more than 5000 left in the wild, and in Chile although they are now protected enforcement is difficult, and some fishermen still use their meat as crab bait.
As it happens, the day we were out on the Maullin River estuary watching these rare dolphins was Thanksgiving Day, and we were lucky enough to see a mother and baby, something very special to give thanks for:
On a different day, we also saw Peale’s dolphins, a little larger, and now thought to be related to the Chilean Dolphin. They are found all round the southern end if South America, in both oceans, and the population is probably more than 21,000 .
Their fin is much more pointed:
The two species are sometimes found together, but we saw them separately.
In 2010, on the shores of Bahía Inútil (Useless Bay!) on the Straits of Magellan in Tierra del Fuego, king penguins established a new colony, now numbering about 60 birds. (For comparison, many of the more established colonies, all on tiny islands, have 100,000 birds!)
This map shows all known King Penguin colonies, in red, and this new one, in yellow
It is a very unusual breeding colony because unlike most other colonies, whose residents travel long distances from tiny islands to forage, these birds forage only locally in the Magellan Strait. This second map shows where these penguins forage; the yellow star is their colony. It is the only colony in the world reachable by car.
The convenience of this local food shopping should help them feed their chicks more efficiently, but the chick mortality rate is quite high, perhaps due to either predators like gray foxes, or diseases like bird flu?
Here is the new community. The Straits are behind them, and they are sheltered by the intervening dunes:
An adult is up to 1m (39″) high, and weighs up to 18Kg (40lbs). That’s about 75% of the size of an emperor penguin. Look at the interacting pairs, stretching themselves tall.
They are most probably courting, since it is breeding season.
They are serially monogamous, keeping the same mate all year, but not necessarily the next. These two seem to have bonded:
Some are undecided:
He seems to have rejected both of them:
Some are apparently fending off competitors:
And some may sadly be destined for a solitary life:
But for those who succeed, one year later you become the proud parents of a teenager:
This is last year’s chick, and it will soon shed its down and head out to sea. Meanwhile, only its mother could love it.
PS: All maps are from argos.com, the high tech company that helped tag and track the penguins for a study by Pütz et al 2021.
Eyes on the Wild 