An afternoon
in the wetlands

The Good Life with Eli F.J. Tajanlangit

Come in the colors of nature like green or brown, Good Friend M said when I called him up yesterday asking if he can guide us to the wetlands of Pulupandan where we – Good Friends C and C and myself – wanted to go bird-watching.

And please come with hats, sun protection, hardy footwear that can withstand walking and the occasional soft soil and even muddy terrain, and drinking water, he also said, adding: take the four-wheel drive.

The wetlands where some 48 species of birds and ducks have been recorded to fly by, roost or nest are located in the middle of sugar plantations, like it was the town's heart. There are three ways to get there – by land, which means taking off from the town proper, or by a banca ride from the foot of the Bago river or from across Bantayan Park in Bago city.

Taking the banca ups the level of adventure in the bird watching experience, but it was low tide yesterday, the folks said, it wasn't a good time to ride the banca and cross the river. We took the land route, which was not really that far, but was made agonizingly slow by the fact that it was just a rugged pathway for the most part, which zigged this way and zagged that way, and in some parts closed altogether, overtaken by the growth of grass as tall as our cars.

Somewhere along, a notice silently, but clearly declares: “Hunting Not Allowed. Don't Shoot Birds. Birds Shoot Back.”

Soon, as the pathway turned into what I suppose were formerly the thin strips of land separating fish ponds we called “kahon”, the sky stretched into forever, and the quiet were stirred by the music of birds – chirps, cackles, whistles – which got louder as we got deeper into the wetlands.

At an old house in the middle of this all, we got down and started walking, and from the distance the show was on – a flock of birds standing on an abandoned fish pond, their feet in water, their beaks occasionally picking something from the earth. Then, like they were following some choreography, they lifted themselves and flapped their wings and flew up, and then descended on another spot.

Their symphony grew louder as we drew nearer, and this time, the heavy wafts of sea air overlapped with the birds' songs. This is where one can commune with nature and hear it speak, C said. On the west the sun was putting up its own show as it started its descent and burned orange-gold, coquettishly hiding itself behind the clouds, then suddenly peering out and turning in, creating an extemporaneous light show that cast different color hues at different times over the wetlands.

In the show yesterday were the wild ducks, purple herons, a Chinese egret, a purple heron with white spots, and several others whose names I was not able to get.

M said the best times to go see the birds are from 4 to 6 a.m., when they must be waking up for the day's trip, or 3 to 6 p.m., when they start coming back to spend the night in the area. Breeding plumage, he added, when they are in their best and brightest colors, are from March to September. But they are here all year through.*

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