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By Bob Payne
To be a birdwatcher in Bonaire, you need only know the answer to one question: What's pink, wades around on stilt-like legs, and is often mistaken for a lawn ornament?
It's the flamingo, of course. And Bonaire, a cactus-covered island 50 miles north of Venezuela, is one of the few places in the world where flamingos congregate in large numbers. The excitement of seeing the pink birds makes birdwatchers out of even the least disinterested visitor like myself, whose previous experience with feathered observations was limited to opening the oven door to check on the Thanksgiving turkey.
I was in Bonaire for the scuba diving--ranked with the best anywhere--and was waiting topside until it was safe for me to fly again. Apparently the 24-mile long island, mostly scrub-covered hills in the north and flat salt pans in the south, is as much a magnet for divers as it is for birdwatchers--or birders, as they call themselves. They come not just for the flamingos, but for 190 different bird species, including parrots, parakeets, and the not-at-all-shy bananaquit, which even nonbirding visitors soon recognize as the yellow-breasted imps that perch on the lip of your sugar bowl at breakfast.
"You can observe most of these species in South America," said a Dutch biologist I met on the island. "But South America is big, and where do you go to look? On this island, you know exactly where to go at certain times to see everything."
I have always found birders an overly serious lot. They keep aloof from anyone who can't name all the species of North American sparrow. They assert that if they had only one wish it would be for better hearing. And they seem unable to recognize the humor in telling someone you are going into the bushes to "pish," which is a kind of bird call.
To best increase my acquaintance with the flamingos, I signed on for a tour by minibus and headed south past Flamingo Airport, and out of the tiny capital, Kralendijk (pronounced kraw-len-dike). We followed the coastal road to the evaporating pans of the still-active solar salt works. Amid the pans is a flamingo sanctuary where thousands of the pink-plumed birds permanently reside. Flamingos are extremely shy, so the sanctuary is off-limits to the public. But even from the road they were hard to miss.
"Look, there, the long line of pink," said the bus driver. Even in the harsh noon light, the coloring of the birds was brilliant, and especially vibrant against the snow-white mountains of salt. They get their color by ingesting water-borne fungi and bacteria that are rich in carotenoid, a substance related to the carotene found in carrots. As I learned, it's the same thing that gives shrimp their color and may be the reason, after a youth spent being forced by my mother to eat all my carrots, I blush so easily.
Our amazement at the intensity of the flamingo's hue was somewhat diminished with the discovery, upon getting out for a better look, of just how rose tinted the windows of the bus were. Still, it was a beautiful sight and was even more spectacular, we were told, just after sunrise and just before sunset. During those hours, an extra tint of pink is added to the sky as groups of flamingos wing to or from
Venezuela, which is apparently their idea of where to go for a good meal out.
It was a sight that further strengthened my belief that nothing breaks down long-held prejudices as much as travel. Because, had I not traveled to Bonaire and spent time learning about one of the world's truly beautiful creatures, I would not have the tolerance I now possess for lawn ornaments.
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Illustration by Jason Schneider
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