“Garza del sol! Garza del sol!” I speak some Spanish, but even so, I struggled to understand what I was being told. Ella – the sister of José, owner of the Hotel Quelitales in Costa Rica – impatiently beckoned me down the path, until we reached a small, tree-canopied creek.
Then I realised what she was so excited about: the “sun heron” – in English, a sunbittern – was posing motionless as a statue, just a few metres in front of me.
Sunbitterns are unique, in a family of their own. Their nearest relative, the equally bizarre kagu, lives about 7,500 miles (12,000km) away, on the Pacific island group of New Caledonia.
If a bird were ever designed by artificial intelligence, the result might look rather like a sunbittern. Everything about its shape, actions and plumage played havoc with my brain: the oddly elongated body, the strangely flattened head, and the jerky movements of the neck as it edged tentatively forward.
So excited I was barely able to breathe, I realised there was a second bird close by. As the duo met, they eyed each other warily, before discharging a loud volley of bill-clattering – whether this was intended as a friendly greeting or a hostile warning I could not tell.
Then, on cue, both birds spread their feathers to reveal their hidden secret: dazzlingly bejewelled wing-linings sporting bright red, yellow and black eyespots. Even in the dark, shadowy creek, the effect was, quite simply, mesmerising.
