Wintering in the Caribbean
Faraaz Abdool invites us to welcome the birds migrating through our islands by observing them, and giving them space.
The looming winter echoes across the boreal forests and tundra of the far north from where coldness never truly leaves; icy fingers only loosen their grip for a short few weeks. The transition comes swiftly, often overnight - and so this warning must never go unheeded. Waves of wispy winter tendrils thread their way south, thickening as the north pole tilts away from the sun. Like cold air cascading from an open freezer door, it threatens the unprepared without discrimination. Those who can flee do so with urgency, not out of fear but out of deference to time-honoured traditions that form the foundations of global ecology. Human eyes and minds perceive this annual phenomenon as bird migration. Here in the southern Caribbean we bear witness to the arrival of weary wings around September.
Spotted
Sandpipers regain their spots in April, in preparation for their
northbound migration to their breeding grounds in North America. Photo
by Faraaz Abdool
Sandpipers are early birds
A few arrive earlier, others later. Some are transient visitors, stopping briefly to refuel before continuing southward on a mind-bending odyssey that racks up enough mileage to cover the distance between the Earth and Moon over the course of their lifetime. Some species spend the entire northern winter in the tropics. Upon their arrival to our shores they undergo a swift change of outfit. For example, when the Spotted Sandpiper arrives in Trinidad and Tobago in mid to late August, though ragged from its journey, its spots are still apparent. Very quickly, though, it undergoes a complete moult and transforms into a spotless, brown-and-white fixture of our shores and waterways. It would keep this plumage, also known as its non-breeding, winter, or basic plumage, for the months it spends in this tropical paradise. By April of the following year, however, it sheds this drab outfit for a fresh suit of neatly scalloped and edged feathers, complete with the bold, rich chocolate spots that gives rise to its common name. Then, dressed to the hilt and fattened off fertile feeding grounds, it joins its congeners in the northbound leg to the breeding grounds of the far north.
The familiar Spotted Sandpiper is not alone. Thousands of other sandpipers and closely related plovers dot our coasts and moist areas, sometimes turning up in surprising settings such as car parks and backyards. We must remember that these birds have an ancestral legacy which predates human existence, and where concrete lies today may have been a favourite spot to rest and recover in the past.
Already
changed out of its fancy breeding dress, a Blackpoll Warbler arrives as
one of a party of six at Trinidad's north coast this October. Photo
by Faraaz Abdool
Here come the Warblers
While observing the variety of sandpipers and plovers - colloquially known collectively as “shorebirds” or, as I like to call them, “shorbs” as they’re often too cute for words - our ears may pick up a seasonal variation in the soundscape. Another selection of globetrotting birds provides a variety of rhythmic, sometimes metallic-sounding chirps that pervade almost every habitat with some level of tree cover. These little birds are warblers; a highly migratory family limited to the western hemisphere, made famous for their sweet songs and vivid plumage while on their breeding grounds in North America. Like shorebirds, they have two outfits - one for each season. In the tropics we rarely get to experience the breeding colours of the warblers, as most birds are already in relatively drab plumage by the time they arrive at our shores. Blackpoll Warblers, for example, are seen in our islands as pale yellow underneath and greyish-brown above - virtually identical to several other warblers in the winter. When they are in their breeding grounds in the summer, however, Blackpoll Warblers are almost pure white underneath, giving way to black streaking on their flanks, a dark back, culminating in a jet black cap contrasting sharply with white cheeks.
Not all migrants who visit the south Caribbean undergo this change of plumage, however. Some warblers, such as the Yellow Warbler and the ground-loving Northern Waterthrush retain the same coloration throughout their adult life. So too do the migrant cuckoos - large, sleek birds with long tails and pointed wings. This boon in the nation’s birdlife also heralds the arrival of some of the world’s deadliest avian predators, powerful falcons which follow the mass movement of their preferred feathered prey.
This
Eurasian Spoonbill is causing quite a stir in Tobago's wetlands. Photo
by Faraaz Abdool
Global citizens
Each year, billions of birds wash across the globe in a rhythmic tidal flow which takes them across oceans, over continents and islands, and through some of the most hazardous terrain they ever experience: urban areas. Outdoor cats along with window and vehicular strikes account for a shocking proportion of premature bird deaths. Their innate ability to navigate takes them on paths traversed for millennia - many warblers are known to return to the same tree each year! That being said, extreme weather events have the potential to drive birds severely off course. A few weeks ago, a pair of Eurasian Spoonbills turned up in Tobago along with a small flock of Glossy Ibis - species that were likely en route to West Africa from Europe but encountered an unfavourable weather system. Without witnesses, we can only hypothesise. What we do know, however, is that despite not having the ancestral knowledge of well-worn migratory paths in this hemisphere, these birds of the eastern Atlantic knew how to find not only land, but appropriate habitat on the island after days on the wing.
This cycle gives credence to the notion that these birds are not careless wanderers but true global citizens beyond borders or nations. With connections deeper than we can fathom, it is our responsibility to critically examine their existence, one which has enjoyed stability despite living on the edge of their physiology. Perhaps we may be able to glean some lessons from them in carving our own path to a sustainable and regenerative future that will restore equilibrium to the planet.
Many of
the Yellow-billed Cuckoos were exhausted and refused to move from the
road, such as this one photographed near L'Anse Fourmi. Sadly, in some of
the more populated areas, drivers refused to yield and collided with the
tired birds. Photo by Faraaz Abdool 
