It was my second visit to the Queen Elizabeth II Botanic Park in the Cayman Islands and I was particularly excited because my wife was with me. I had already scouted out the location the previous day and had become so enraptured with the magic of this place that I simply had to show Susan everything that I had seen. So, as is generally the case in situations like this, upon entering the park I let her walk ahead of me so that she could feel the thrill of discovering things for herself.
First we entered the Orchid Garden and I was very happy when I heard all of the appropriate “oooos and ahhhhhs.” Susan was captured by this magical place just as I had been. The water garden had a similar effect and the big smile on her face suggested that she was having as good a time as I had hoped she would. Next we entered the tight, winding paths through the Color Garden and slowly made our way through the labyrinth of floral splendors. Eventually, we found an open area with a large polished granite bench and we took a moment to sit and soak in the surroundings.
The bench was situated at the end of an area of manicured lawn. Palm trees towered over the smaller bushes and there were flowers blooming all around. Then, Susan said, “Oh! What is that?” I turned in the direction she was pointing and saw the bird that had produced the exclamation. Then I turned to Susan, the smile on my face matching hers, and said, “I don’t know!” I’ve spent so many years watching and studying the birds of the Northeast that I am seldom stumped when it comes to identifying or understanding the birds that I see. In this new place, however, almost every bird that I saw was something new. It was fun!
I was absolutely devastated when my reflexes had proven insufficient to capture a photograph of this stunning mystery bird, but I didn’t let that sour the mood. After all, I had several more days on Grand Cayman Island, so there was ample opportunity to come back another day and get into real birding mode. This particular visit was about being together, so I focused my attention on Susan and resolved to return another day.
Two days later, on what would be my last visit to the Botanic Park, I arrived early and alone. I was the first visitor to enter the gardens and I took that opportunity to record some ambient sounds for my podcast. Then I carefully combed the various display areas in search of species that had eluded me on my previous visits. It wasn’t until I arrived at the Children’s Garden that everything fell into place, but boy did things work out.
The only way to ensure the health of the luscious greenery in a garden like this was to provide the plants with regular doses of fresh water. The park’s grounds had been fitted with underground pipes and sprinkler heads similar to those you sometimes see in our area. I was so early that I arrived while the sprinklers were still in operation, and I was able to witness the response of the birds. The broad, waxy leaves of some of the plants were covered with drops of water and the little birds were bathing in the wet bushes. I saw a Bananaquit that was absolutely soaking wet, but then I saw that mystery bird.
The bird’s plumage was amazing and as an added bonus its feathers were dry, but the bird was in the shade and none of my photos were coming out. Every single frame had just enough blur to make the images unusable and I was beginning to panic. But then the magic happened. Nikonus and Iso must have noticed my dedication to my quest and with just a whisper they coaxed the gorgeous bird out onto a sunny branch where it paused for just a moment. The result was the perfect profile photo of a western spindalis (Spindalis zena).
Originally thought to be some sort of tanager, the western spindalis is a denizen of the Caribbean islands. Its remarkable plumage overshadows its rather unremarkable life history. Like many birds in our area, it nests in trees anywhere from 3-30 feet above the ground. The nest is a shallow cup of grasses built in the fork of a branch and the female lays two-four eggs, which she alone will incubate. The adult male will help feed the chicks, which will fledge in 12-15 days. Adults will eat a mixture of fruits and insects, while the chicks are fed a diet that is predominantly insects. Pretty standard stuff, but I think that you will agree that the plumage of the male is far from standard.
To my knowledge I never saw a female spindalis. Had I, it is very likely that I might have looked right past her. Aside from a very faint pattern of stripes on the head and neck, the female western spindalis is predominantly gray and unremarkable. This is perfect for hiding from predators, but not particularly interesting to look at. In fact, the blue eggs that the females lay are more colorful than the females themselves. Still, I would love to see a female spindalis for myself, so Susan and I have agreed that we probably need to go back to Grand Cayman Island again … for the birding. The turquoise water, waving palms, gorgeous weather and endless opportunities for sumptuous rest and relaxation had nothing to do with our decision.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.