 11 March 2009High in the Sierra Madre Mountains of western Mexico, the cabañas at Tufted Jay Preserve offer a rare, almost unique experience. I refer not to fascinating bird life or delicious Mexican home cooking, although both are in abundance. What is most remarkable here is the silence. It is like a graveyard at midnight. Last night I sat on the patio. I could see the faraway lights of Mazatlan, 2 hours west of here along the Pacific Coast. The moon had just risen, casting its light on pines and oaks around the cabaña. But I could hear nothing. Not the roar of traffic somewhere. Not even the rumble of refrigerator or other electrical gizmo. There is no electricity here, only the quiet. |
 And this morning, amid feeding flocks of warblers and finches, more
silence. Occasionally a Townsend’s Warbler would rattle off a cheerful ditty.
In the distance came, now and then, the plaintive kyow-kyow of a Mountain
Trogon. But mostly the birds went about their day with scarcely a peep.Here then is a sanctuary, offering respite from the blaring TV; from the clamor of traffic, the air conditioner, the lawnmower, the chatty cell phone user, the neighbor’s yapping dog and every other assault on our ears that comes with modern life. In the afternoon, stillness again. Not even bird song now, just the sigh of wind in the pines beneath a deep blue sky you see at an elevation of 6800’. The hours drag by. I take a nap; drink a cup of instant coffee, and strain to hear any sound other than the breeze. |
 Two hours before sunset, the birds are
active again. A flock of Tufted Jays, who live in these
mountains and nowhere else in the world, passes near the cabaña. From
them comes an occasional chenk-chenk, but they are far more taciturn than
our own garrulous Blue Jays. They feed and move about quietly. Like the other
birds, they seem in full accord with our philosophy here that silence is golden;
the less said, the better. Afterwards I have a Pacifico beer with Alfredo Valdes Aragon and Carmen Esquival, caretakers who provide my breakfast and supper. The quiet is interrupted for a while by Carmen’s grandson Orlando, but he is only three so it is to be expected. By seven they are gone; silence returns and now darkness as well. With no street lights, no house lights blazing in every room, night descends like a shroud. I have a flashlight and battery-powered fluorescent tube, but the night rules. With it comes a dazzling blanket of stars. Here at 23°N latitude, Orion sits high in the sky near the zenith. The binoculars with which I viewed Golden-browed Warblers and White-eared Hummingbirds today now reveal the Great Nebula in Orion’s belt, a splendid sight. |
 12 March 2009I rise at dawn, have some instant coffee, then survey the open areas near the cabañas for all the skulkers: Spotted Towhee, Blue Mockingbird, Russet-crowned Brush-finch, and the most common bird here, Yellow-eyed Junco. It is very similar to the gray-headed race of our Dark-eyed Junco, aside from those startling yellow eyes. Later I birded with Santos, a birding guide from the nearby village of Palmito. Alfredo told me that Santos spoke a little English, but that proved not to be the case. Except for the occasional American birder passing through, it seems I will spend the week without conversing in the King’s English. |
12 March 2009 |