Unforgettable faces

In just a few days I'll be winging my way northward to Canada from my winter haven in the Caribbean - a migration slightly too early for spring but that welcome season should be just around the corner when I get back home to southwestern British Columbia. I've been pondering how to close this chapter in my life as an artist, and started looking for ideas through the photos I've taken during my travels around Trinidad, Guyana, Grenada and, most recently, Tobago. As I've mentioned before, my camera is an invaluable tool in my art practice so I'm continually clicking away at any bird, bug or other critter that happens to cross my path. From the vast (and I do mean VAST) number of photos I've taken, here is a selection of faces I've recorded - furred, feathered and otherwise.
 
There were some great twosomes, like this father dog his "mini-me" pup I observed at Mount Saint Benedict, Trinidad:

 

It looked to all the world like the senior dog was showing the youngster the ropes, as any devoted dad would, and the little pup was avidly watching his father's every move.

 

Then there were these two companionable doves who appear to be caught up practising some dance moves:

 

In Grenada I observed this solitary tern who rejected perching with his flock on their favourite fishing boat, preferring instead a neighbouring boat and the company of a small shorebird:
 

 

Of course there were some wonderful feathered faces, like this captive blue and gold macaw in who I photographed enjoying its lunch in Trinidad.

 





My enjoyment of tame birds like this one has been forever altered by seeing them in the wilds of Guyana. A long life in solitary captivity (they live an average of 50 years and mate for life) seems like a poor substitute for an athletic, social bird who was meant to be soaring free above the vast rainforest canopy. However, these birds were hunted to extinction in Trinidad some decades ago, and a small population has recently been re-established in the protected Nariva Swamp area through the release of captive-bred birds. For the sake of species preservation it seems that captivity for some individuals is a necessary evil.

"Treasure of Nariva" (silk painting)

Another bird I photographed in Trinidad enjoying a snack was this palm tanager who was munching on some sort of fruit:

 

 

Tanagers are very common in this part of the world and come in some stunning varieties, such as the lovely blue-grey species. I observed this one perched on a gutter:

 

 

I have also photographed songbirds who may not be the most interesting to look at but who make up for it with their striking vocalizations, like this wren:

 

 

And like this chachalaca (locally called a cocrico) I spotted in Tobago's Grafton Bird Sanctuary.

 

 

They're a boring-looking brown, chicken-like birds but their loud, exotic squawks and hoots are like something from the soundtrack of a 1930s Tarzan movie.

 

Everywhere I travelled, tropical mockingbirds could be heard warbling their melodic songs: 

These mockingbirds are a species that appear to have adapted well to urban life. I recently completed a coloured pencil drawing of a tropical mockingbird posed in front of a weathered sign near my apartment in Trinidad.

"Song of the Tropics:
Mockingbird" (coloured pencil)

I intended the image to depict the concept of the urban jungle - a melding of wild and human habitat where wildlife has made necessary adaptations in order to survive, but how the toll of natural forces gradually erodes human structures and reclaims the land, perhaps one day giving it back to the wild creatures.
 

On a less serious note, this jaunty Muscovy duck had a twinkle in its eye, maybe because it was living in a sanctuary and therefore not destined for the dinner table:

 

 

I photographed this wee hummingbird stretching its wings while sticking its tongue out!

 

 

One of the strangest birds I encountered was this boat-billed heron in Guyana (it's a night fisher who roosts in the forest by day):

 

 

And then there was this weird looking bare-eyed thrush - so named for the rings of wrinkly yellow skin that surround its eyes (I saw this one in Tobago):

 

 

Another leathery-faced bird I encountered - a brown pelican - appeared as though it would rather be napping than keeping an eye on me.

 

 

One of the most striking creatures I saw in my travels is this green anaconda:

 

 

Eighteen feet long, 32" in circumference, and weighing over 200 pounds, it was captured just weeks ago beside a roadway a few miles from my apartment in Trinidad. Now in the custody of the zoological society, the snake is resting under observation and veterinary care while humans determine its future. While wild release would be preferable no decision has yet been made public.

 

Another Goliath I observed was this massive grasshopper-like insect that was easily 8" long from head to tail.

 

It was comfortably perched on a dining room chair at the lodge where I stayed in Guyana and posed quite nicely for me.

 

Of slightly lesser stature is this fat toad who came to sit below an outdoor faucet at my apartment in Trinidad:

 

 

Locally called a crapaud (pronounced in Trinidad as "crap-o"), these plump amphibians are relatively common, likely because they secrete poisonous mucus through their skin if they feel threatened. This one appeared to be thriving.

 

I have seen and photographed so many interesting creatures that its difficult to select just a few, but this turtle is one of them:

 

Not particularly large or remarkable, but what a face! And he/she posed so nicely for me.

 

I'll close with this image of a kiskadee flycatcher:

 

 

About the size of a jay, they're named for their raucous, repetitive "kiss-ka-dee" call - I can hear them outside my window as I write this. I captured this particular photograph in Guyana but I've seen these birds everywhere I've travelled. They are not at all shy and can be seen perched on telephone lines, tree branches, fenceposts - you name it - and at virtually any hour of the day. They are, for me, an emblem of my winter stay in this tropical part of the world. Just one of the many unforgettable faces I've encountered during my winter sojourn in the southern Caribbean.

Good things in small, feathered packages

It's no secret I'm a lover of birds in general, and there's something about tiny birds that particularly intrigues me. How can these seemingly delicate creatures, with only a shroud of soft feathers and their wits to protect them, possibly survive in the big, wide world full of predators and hazards? But they do, and in a tropical setting like that of Trinidad, where I am as I write this, they generally thrive. There are some 460 bird species on record here - not bad for an island that's only about 65 miles long and 50 miles wide - and it boasts one of the most dense bird populations in the world. The country's national bird is the stunning, swamp-dwelling Scarlet Ibis but even the smallest birds come in some colourful forms like the wee Blue-chinned Sapphire hummingbird (picture below left), and more unusual looking characters like stubby little Golden-headed Manakin (below right).


While I get a thrill out of seeing the brightly coloured bird varieties, it's sometimes the less conspicuous birds that make the most impact. For instance, I feel a special affinity for wrens - tiny brown birds often best identified by their jaunty tail carriage - and they have become a reoccurring subject for my art. 

Drawing of a fledgling Winter Wren.

"Wren and Salmonberry" coloured pencil drawing.

"Bird on a Wire: Marsh Wren"
coloured pencil drawing.

Most of the time wrens flit inconspicuously among foliage, making it challenging to observe them. However, when it's their nesting season they display the outgoing side of their nature by perching prominently and emitting loud bursts of song that seem mismatched to their tiny bodies and usually reclusive ways. They become fiercely territorial, defying other wrens to even think about crossing the invisible boundaries they have set out for themselves. I have observed this behaviour among Winter Wrens who are abundant in the wooded areas I frequent back home in southwestern Canada. Soon the forest there will come alive with their spring song. I have also observed similar behaviour among Marsh Wrens when visiting the Reifel Bird Sanctuary. At the right time of the spring season I've encountered Marsh Wrens every few yards throughout the sanctuary, clinging to prominent spots among the bulrushes and defining their territory by shouting out loud songs.

I recently spent a couple of days at a rustic cottage on the rugged north coast of Trinidad, enjoying the peaceful combination of crashing surf and towering hills cloaked in tropical rainforest. Bird life was abundant with several types of colourful hummingbirds and tanagers along with numerous other tropical species. However, I was most delighted to find a pair of resident Southern House Wrens living in the clearing around the cottage. Each morning they'd rise and greet the day with a burst of song from a perch among the bougainvillea blossoms.

From time to time throughout the day their song could be heard and the small vocalists observed perched in various favourite locations - perhaps the veranda railing, or a light post, or a branch of a shrub. Later on another prolonged serenade would take place as the afternoon drew to a close and the early nightfall of this latitude set in.

Captivated as I was by these little songsters, they found their way into my sketchbook:

Of course I also enjoyed the other interesting birds in the area, such as a flock of Smooth-billed Anis who came to the cottage grounds one morning to gather plump, green grasshoppers for their breakfast. Their prehistoric looking faces made me think about the linkages between birds and their dinosaur ancestors!

A Smooth-billed Ani munching on a large grasshopper.

But it's the little brown wrens and their vibrant song I'll remember best from my stay at the cottage. Soon I'll carry that memory home to Canada where the spring song of their more northerly cousins will be only a few weeks away.

The Life of a Pothound

For an animal lover, it's impossible to spend time in the Caribbean without being acutely aware of the dogs. They're everywhere. Some have homes, some don't, and even those that do are often free to wander about at will. They're commonly known as "pothounds", and although I have heard them euphemistically referred to as "Caribbean Terriers", in reality they embody the true definition of a mutt, representing what happens when dogs of all shapes and sizes breed indiscriminately. They tend to be medium-sized, slender, short-haired and golden-brown in colour. Sometimes there's one with a longer coat, or more varied markings, or shorter legs, but after a few generations the outcome tends to be a lean, athletic, brown dog.

In Grenada, along Grand Anse Beach, there were several resident pothounds I got to know over the course of the time I spent there. Because they were all quite friendly and in good physical condition (some even wore collars), I believe these lucky dogs had homes to head to at night unlike many I have observed in my travels - those who exist on the fringes of humanity and fend for themselves with varied levels of success. I have seen some pitiful sights, but thankfully the dogs of Grand Anse were not among them.

There was this male who patrolled the beach each day. I called him "Swimmer" because when he got too hot he'd take a dip in the water and paddle around for a while. He'd come to me for an ear scratch and a few words, then head on about the business of his daily patrol. If I happened to be heading in the same direction, he'd amble along with me in a companionable fashion for a while.


Then there were these two little girls, smaller than average, who I believe were mother and daughter. They could often be found frolicking with playful abandon in the sand near one of the beach bars (I think that's where they lived), and were always eager for a visit, particularly the younger of the two who squirmed with puppyish delight. After a minute or two they'd zoom off down the beach to continue their game. However, as sweet as these two girls were, one day I saw them ferociously defending their turf against a stranger dog. They may have been smaller than most of the dogs on the beach but as a team they were a force to be reckoned with!

And then there was this elderly, grey-muzzled sweetheart. Each morning she'd trundle down the beach to hang out in the shade under a large tree. When I'd call to her, her expression would soften, her tail would wag (in fact, her whole bum would wiggle), and she'd come lean against my legs for as long as I'd keep lavishing my attention. She touched my heart and I wish I had a better photo of her.

The life of most dogs in the Caribbean is markedly different from those in my home neighbourhood in Canada where dogs are leashed, spayed/neutered, vaccinated, well fed and generally pampered; where entire parks are dedicated to their enjoyment and doggie spas serve their grooming needs. Thankfully, dogs in Grenada benefit from the presence of a university that hosts a reputable veterinary school so inexpensive medical care is available at the hands of practicum students. Even so, not every family has the will or budget to offer their dogs more than the most basic necessities of food and shelter, and some dogs have no home at all and must get by as best they can. Disease, parasites, malnutrition and injuries take their toll. They can be observed perilously winding their way through traffic on busy streets and often sleeping on or only inches from the road, and as a result they are very car savvy. Even so, I observed many getting by on three good legs, likely as a result of not having moved moved quite quickly enough to avoid being struck by a vehicle.

However, pothounds are resilient creatures. The many generations of breeding that have given them their athletic physical attributes has also made them smart and independent. Observing the canine community on Grand Anse beach I couldn't help but speculate as to whether, if given the option, they would choose to be pampered house pets and give up the freedom of the life they have. I think I know the answer.

From my sketchbook: a sunbathing pothound

Ending the year in fine fashion

For the past two weeks, and with one more to go, I've been living an idyllic sort of life. I already think of my life as pretty great given I'm able to make my living making art, but right now it's almost too good to be true. I wake up every morning to things like this:



Anthurium lilies growing in a sheltered garden on the grounds of my apartment.

 

... and this... 

 

Royal Terns roosting on a fishing boat just a few yards from my doorstep.

I eat fresh, sun-ripened fruit (I'm absolutely addicted to papayas)

I walk on the beach, most days I swim, some days I snorkel, every day I do a bit of work. And the end of each day looks something like this:

Kids playing on the beach at sunset.

This 2' x 3' table is my studio:

 

It's not much in terms of square footage but the view is pretty spectacular!

 

 

I'm enjoying life in Grenada - a small, green Caribbean island with archetypal sandy beaches and crystal clear waters. I have the good fortune to be ensconced in an apartment at the end of Grand Anse beach - a 3 km stretch of sand that's hailed as one of the finest beaches in the Caribbean. Sometimes I almost need to pinch myself to be sure I'm not dreaming.

Grenada is home to about 95,000 people, and the ones I have met have been friendly, congenial folks. The island was basically flattened by Hurricane Ivan a few years ago, which destroyed, among other things, the nutmeg trees this place is famous for (they're now re-growing), and a couple of decades prior to that the island experienced internal conflict that saw many lives lost and brought about an unprecedented invasion of U.S. troops. A casual visitor would never know this place has such a troubled past, but the way of time is to keep moving forward, healing old wounds as it goes.

Being here has caused me to reflect on my life as an artist and just how fortunate I am. I work hard but I never fear that I won't have food or shelter, or that I will go without the other basic necessities of life. I have met people who call this place home, who lived through political upheaval that included the violent execution of their prime minister, and whose homes were destroyed by the forces of nature. I have spoken with people whose livelihood depends on tourist dollars, and some of their stories make me sad and ashamed. Through anecdotes and first-hand observation, I have learned and seen just how rude many visitors are, and how poorly some of them treat local folks who are trying to keep body and soul together by selling cold drinks on the beach, or fresh-cooked lunches, or tours of the island, or baskets of spices, or hand-made necklaces. Many of the perpetrators appear to be cruise passengers whose ships make one-day calls in Grenada's beautiful harbour of St. George. I can only suppose they have no empathy for what it's like to really struggle for the next meal, the next rent payment, the next pair of shoes for a child in a place where job options are few. If they did, they would at least be polite about saying "no thank you" and maybe share a few words of conversation instead of pretending they can't hear or see the person in front of them who is offering their services. I have also heard sad stories of cruise ship workers who spend long months at sea, far from their families, working endless, difficult shifts because that's one of the few job options available. Some of them are even indentured to "brokers" who find the cruise ship jobs for them, and they must work off those fees before they can begin to keep any hard-earned money for themselves. I realize I am very lucky to have the choices I do. I know all about working long shifts, but in my case it's a labour of love and the benefits of being self-employed include the opportunity to take time in the dead of the Canadian winter to head south to places like this. I am indeed fortunate and I am continually grateful for my good fortune. I do not, for one moment, take it for granted.

But Grenadians appear to be a cheerful, hardworking, resilient bunch who don't need me to stick up for them. And anyway, I'm sure that some day Kharma will do its thing and the tables will turn. I am of the belief that this is one of the most beautiful places on earth and hopefully one day, in combination with good jobs and a strong economy that isn't dependent on tourism, it could fulfil its potential as paradise! In the mean time, I do my best to be an aware visitor to this place, buying local products from local people (the fresh fruits and vegetables in the St. George market are second to none) including the rent for my apartment which is owned by a Grenadian couple. It's the least I can do in payment for being able to spend time in their beautiful country.

While here, I started and completed my final artwork of 2012: a complicated drawing of a tropical songbird - a Palm Tanager - in a setting of (appropriately enough) palm fronds.

As I struggled through it, I asked myself "what was I thinking?" to I undertake such a daunting project. Maybe I needed to challenge myself, to work hard while enjoying this idyllic place where visitors can bask, oblivious to their good fortune, while locals hustle for their daily wage. At any rate, this drawng represents the culmination of my work to date as of December 31st, 2012.

As the sun goes down on this final day of the year, I bid farewell 2012 while soaking up the beauty of a Grenadian sunset. I welcome 2013 with the challenges I know it will bring and the rewards for which I am hopeful. And I'm truly thankful for the life I have.

The best photos ... almost!

My camera is an invaluable tool in my art practice. Given the focus of my work is animals and birds, a photographic record of my sightings and experiences not only offers solid reference material, it triggers my memories of where I was and what the moment felt like. My firm belief is that the art I produce must be based on my own experiences, and my camera helps me fulfill that personal and professional mandate.

Photographing critters is not without its challenges. As often as not, they're far from cooperative and it's important to have speedy reflexes in order to get a photograph before they fly away or dart into the undergrowth. During my recent travels in Guyana, I experienced a few disappointing instances where, had I been just fractionally faster with my camera, I'd have recorded some pretty special moments.

For instance, a split second before this shot was taken, two red and green macaws were perched perfectly, well lit and at close range, on the trunk of a tree where they were scoping out a nesting site. I came around a bend in a trail while hiking and suddenly there they were! Had I been just a fraction of a second quicker, you would see them in their full glory rather than just the the flash of their feathers as they exited the scene to the left.

There was also this brocket deer who started to cross the road in front of my vehicle, but then thought better of it and disappeared into the underbrush.

Several times I saw agouti (oversized, long-legged relatives of guniea pigs) scamper across my path while I was on foot or in a vehicle. Not once was there time for photograph.

And the crowning "almost" moment was the sighting of a jaguar, yes a jaguar, at the side of the road. It was just a glimpse as the vehicle I was travelling in approached the huge spotted cat from behind. It glanced back over its shoulder and then slipped away into the forest. As we pulled along side, I caught a second glimpse of it disappearing behind a fallen tree into the undergrowth. This sketch is an embellished version of that moment and is what I will always see in my mind's eye:

It's times like this when it comes in handy to be able to put pen and paint to paper and capture, from memory, a moment that either happened too quickly for the camera or was simply too special to even think about doing anything but watch it unfold. My jaguar sighting was both.

Happily, in addition to the "almosts" there were some truly golden photographic moments that I won't reveal here. All I can say is you can expect to see some new art pieces from me soon based on my truly amazing time in Guyana.

For those interested, my camera is a Panasonic Lumix FZ 200 and I love it! It's an adaptable, versatile camera that works perfectly for my purposes.

Meet Teddy

It's my pleasure to introduce you to Teddy:

Have you ever seen a cuter face? Teddy is an adorable baby sloth (a Southern Two-toed Sloth, to be exact). I made his acquaintance on my recent trip to the Iwokrama rainforest in Guyana. He would normally be hanging on tightly to his momma high in the tree canopy but was found about six weeks ago stranded on the ground. Sadly, it appears that he was orphaned when his mother was killed by a harpy eagle - the apex predatory bird of the South American rainforest. How he survived is a mystery but he's definitely one lucky little sloth not only to have survived the attack but to have been found by kindly and knowledgeable humans.

This is Teddy with his human foster parent, Leon Moore:

Leon is a guide based at the Atta Lodge, near where Teddy was found (I'm told another local guide, Ron Allicock, first spotted Teddy). Leon takes visitors on tours of the rainforest that include a precarious man-made walkway suspended from trees a hundred feet above the forest floor, offering a bird's-eye-view of the forest.

The rainforest canopy walkway.

A Yellow-green Grosbeak doing some human watching.

In addition to being a knowledgeable guide, Leon is an avid birdwatcher and nature photographer, and is obviously very devoted to his work. His face lights up when he talks about it, and he can name even the most obscure bird species just from the sounds they make or a fleeting glimpse. He's also very devoted to Teddy. In fact, the other guides jokingly refer to Teddy as "Teddy Moore".

For lack of a sloth momma to hang on to, Teddy makes do with a wooden board covered in thick layers of fabric. His long, sharp, hook-like claws are built for climbing trees and hanging from branches, and would be uncomfortable, to say the least, for a human to tolerate. Plus the goal is to keep him from becoming completely habituated to human contact.

It's not perfect, but under the circumstances Teddy is making it work. He can clamber on top to gaze at the world:

Or when he gets tired...

... he can curl up below for a nap:

Or use it as a "high chair" during meal times:

Teddy is being fed formula by Leon every two hours, supplemented with morsels of fruit and bits of greenery such as lettuce. The hope is that six months from now he can be released into the wild. Of course it's entirely possible that the bond between Teddy and Leon will be strong enough to keep Teddy hanging around (pardon the pun) in the trees that surround the lodge, just like these semi-tame, turkey-sized Black Curacaos who wander the grounds.

The story of Teddy and Leon is just another example of the commitment Iwokrama staff demonstrate for their work. They're passionate about the well being of the rainforest and its inhabitants, dedicated to the management and preservation of this invaluable resource, and enthusiastic about sharing their knowledge with visitors. Plus they're willing and able to give a helpless little forest orphan a second chance at life.

I think Teddy is in very good hands.

For more information about the Iwokrama International Centre for Rainforest Conservation and Development, visit www.iwokrama.org.

Please note that all photos are protected by copyright.