‘Do you see a lot of colorful birds in the Philippines?’

Social gatherings can be minefields of awkwardness for a Filipino birder because such occasions give rise to queries like “So what do you do on your spare time?” The trapped Filipino birder throws caution to the wind when he opts to respond: “That’s nice of you to ask. I look for forest birds.” To this, the inevitable response from a non-birding crowd is: “Oh.” Puzzled silence ensues.

Compare that to the reception an open-water diver gets when she says that she looks for sharks, sea turtles and the like: an awe-struck, “Oh, how exciting!” Sharks? Gasps from the audience. Sea turtles? The crowd goes wild.

I’ve since come to grips with the facts: scuba is just way more glamorous than birdwatching. It must be those body-hugging wetsuits. There’s no comparison. A generation of kids grew up dreaming to be Jacques-Yves Cousteau and get to explore the mysterious depths of the oceans. No one grew up wanting to be a famous birdwatcher like…like… My point exactly.

Sometimes, I get a reply to the effect of: “My neighbor has a talking myna. It’s hysterical. It knows all the swear words! You should see it.” If the person I am talking to is amiable enough, I try to steer the topic of conversation towards something that doesn’t involve bird cages and life-long captivity.

Once or twice, though, I get something along the likes of: “You’re a birdwatcher, do you see a lot of colorful birds?”

The question always makes me hem and haw. If I say “yes,” I fear I may be giving the impression that colorful Philippine birds are easy to find—and they aren’t. If I say “no,” then I’m no good at what I do, am I? It’s a darn good question and it deserves careful consideration because it touches on one of the most common misconceptions about forest life that I find prevalent among urbanized Filipinos: that a forest is a picturesque place decorated with brightly colored birds and other wildlife that flit about for the enjoyment of humans.

How I wish our forests were like a kind of Disney-fied glen where cute Bambi-like creatures gambol—but it’s not. To search for a colorful bird in the forest is to work hard. Sure, there are conspicuous forest birds, but more often than not, these noisy ones are plain-colored, drab, and derided by old-time birders as “common”—unworthy of serious pursuit. While tourism-related brochures promote the Philippines with images of the Philippine Eagle and the tarsier, chances are that nine in 10 tourists will never see these animals in the wild during their stay in-country.

The tropical bird expert and author, Steven Hilty, writes about this idyllic image of the tropics peddled by tourist brochures which feature brilliantly-colored parrots and other cuddly creatures.

“A menagerie of colorful birds peering down from the verdant exuberance of a rainforest—it’s an image we all secretly harbor, even when we know better. The famous nineteenth-century naturalist Alfred Russel Wallace clearly knew better when he commented on colorfulness in tropical birds in his now classic Malay Archipelago writing, ‘Although the number of brilliantly colored birds in almost every part of the tropics is very great… they are by no means conspicuous, and as a rule they can hardly be said to add much to the general effect of the equatorial scenery.’”

I once helped a teacher-friend guide her young students to look for birds in the lower slopes of Mt. Makiling. After a few minutes of strenuous walking with nothing to show for our efforts, the inevitable question arises from one of youngsters: “Where are the birds?”

Where indeed.

The other weekend I was back in Mt. Makiling with my birding buddy, Lu-Ann. One of our objectives was the Red-bellied Pitta (Pitta erythrogaster), a jewel of a bird that spends most of its time feeding on the forest floor. Experts say there are about 30 different species of pittas in the world (taxonomists are still figuring it out) and most of them are found in Southeast Asia, Australia and Borneo. Their habitat, the rainforest, is under severe threat and many species are therefore endangered.

The adult male Red-bellied Pitta’s description, as lifted from Kennedy et al. (Oxford Press, 2000) is the following:

Stripe from lores to above each eye dark brown; forecrown and cheeks cinnamon; hindcrown and nape chestnut; collar blue; upper back green; rump, upper tail, wing coverts, and edges of secondaries blue; under tail black; primaries black with dark blue tips and small white wing patch; chin brown, leading to black throat often with white band in center; broad breast band green on sides becoming blue in center; rest of underparts scarlet.

It is this last bit about the scarlet that grabs the attention of anyone looking at an illustration of the pitta. There is an excellent photo of the species online, taken by György Szimuly in Indonesia, with the diagnostic scarlet belly in full view. It’s an arresting bird.

So now, this can’t be difficult to spot in the forest is it? Doesn’t the bright red belly stick out among all that greenery? The answer is an emphatic No. The pitta, despite its colorful plumage that pops out against a white background, is bloody difficult to see in the forest understorey unless the bird obliges by hopping on to the middle of the trail and displays its belly under full sunlight.

Again, the excellent Steven Hilty:

“Concealing color does not have to be dull and drab. Colorful birds, reptiles and insects may appear conspicuous when taken from their environment, but these colors often closely match the reflective properties of the vegetation where they live. Large patches of bright and dark colors mimic the harsh, high-contrast lighting of the forest. The plumages of [colorful tropical birds], with dark green backs and bright yellow, red or rufous underparts, are evidence of the effectiveness of this coloration. It might seem difficult to believe that such colors would help conceal a bird, but anyone who has squinted into a sunlit rainforest canopy in search of a trogon or jacamar will appreciate how bright colors can disrupt a bird’s shape.”

Going back to Mt. Makiling, Lu-Ann and I were in a gully where a rivulet burbled underfoot. Water has pooled in places making the ground soft and mushy. The understorey was damp and moist. Parts of the gully were in shadow although shafts of light did illumine certain patches here and there. As we rounded a bend, we stumbled on an adult Red-bellied Pitta hopping on the edge of the trickling water. The bird was on a sunlit spot and my pulse quickened as I caught a glimpse of the fiery-red belly. But just as quickly, it turned ever-so-slightly and hopped on to the shade and was gone. As if swallowed by the jungle.

In my recollection, I figure it must’ve turned its body a mere centimeters and yet—what a difference that made! In one slight movement, it shielded its bright red underparts from us and presented its upperparts: a disruptive camouflage of chestnut, cinnamon, blue, green, and black that blended perfectly with the high-contrast lighting in the gully. A double hop snatched it from the sunlight and into the darkness where we lost sight of it. Amazing experience. One second we were looking at a brilliantly-hued creature and in a split-second it was gone.

What happened? Hilty offers an explanation:

“In such cases, our eyes do not react to the sudden change in light quickly enough to follow the movement. When the pupils of our eyes open to receive more light, we lose visual acuity, making the image of the [bird] even more difficult to follow. Additionally, our retinas do not immediately respond to the dramatic change in light intensity when we look from bright light into darkness, so for a moment, our retinas remain stimulated, even after the light has changed. These extreme variations in brightness that occur when the birds dart from sun to shade and back again make it difficult for predators to accurately track their location.”

So, going back to the “bird-less” school trip with the youngsters up Mt. Makiling, I had to tell the impatient one that the birds are there but we have to work a little harder to find them. Looking for wildlife in the forest isn’t like going to the mall where one is instantly gratified. Nature does not reveal its secrets so cheaply; one must work hard, and sometimes, that’s not even enough. I don’t know if I made a difference with the kids that day because the only good looks we had was of the Philippine Bulbul (Hypsipetes philippinus) and the word “bulbul” was hardly out of my mouth when a few snickered and giggled at the word. Yes, we dipped on the colorful ones, but at least I made a few of the kids giggle and laugh so the day wasn’t quite a waste.

I wanted to explain that “bulbul” comes from the ancient Persian or Turkish word that is associated with “nightingale” and has nothing to do with the Tagalog denotation of the word meaning “pubic hair” but they were enjoying themselves so much I decided to let them be, in the hopes that the fun they had about the bird with the colorful name is what they’ll take with them home from the trip.