Over the next few weeks, Science Borealis is excited to feature a series of stories developed for a story-telling event held at the joint conference of the Society of Canadian Ornithologists, Association of Field Ornithology, and Wilson Ornithological Society in July 2024. These stories were prepared with the help of Borealis Blog editors and polished for oral presentation by coaches from The Story Collider. We hope you enjoy these behind-the-scenes glimpses into the lives of ornithologists!
By Agustina Torretta
Have you ever felt like some supernatural force was playing cat and mouse with you? Yeah, well, I didn’t believe in those things either, but a certain weekend of fieldwork with friends really gave me a reason to wonder …
I worked as a field technician for the Saffron-cowled Blackbird project in Argentina for a few years. This particular species is on the verge of extinction, and our work as Colony Guardians (our formal job title) involved literally camping and living by the blackbirds’ reproductive colonies. This species has only two disjunct populations in Argentina, and I was working with the southernmost one, found in southern Entre Rios, a province mostly devoted to agriculture and husbandry. Our site was quite close to Buenos Aires, which allowed for the occasional visits of birder friends who wanted to spend a weekend away and were willing to give us a very welcome hand with our busy schedule as Guardians.
Enjoying a perfect day in the field together. Image: Agustina Torretta.
This weekend would turn out to be one to remember.
We had a party of four visiting us from Friday night to Sunday morning … or at least that was the plan. The weather forecast during the week had announced a few, occasional drizzles. Dirt roads in the Entre Rios countryside turn slippery and impassable with the slightest rain, but the forecast eventually cleared up and our friends were good to come. Just out of caution, they left their car at a gas station (on a paved route) where I picked them up in our truck and drove a good hour or so through dirt roads to our field site. The colony was found inside a 10-thousand-acre estancia (a large cattle ranch), and we had permission from the manager and workers living there to come and go at will.
Friday night and Saturday went like a breeze. We enjoyed doing the most rewarding of our Guardian tasks together: we walked the field site; surveyed adults, chicks and nests; set up mist nets, and closed both days with a true Argentine barbecue under starry skies. We laughed, played guitar, sang by the fire, caught up on everyone’s personal lives, spent a wonderful sunny day in the field with the blackbirds… Everything flowed perfectly. A bit too perfectly to last, in fact…
On Sunday morning we woke up to an overcast sky, and before we could finish our morning mates, a light drizzle showered us. We cast concerned glances at each other and, silently hoping the roads would behave under such a trivial rain, our four visitors and I rushed to pack tents, sleeping bags and gear. In half an hour, we were leaving the rest of the Guardians at the camp and making our way to the gas station. Did I mention the estancia was ten thousand acres, that the field site was at the farthest possible distance from its entrance, and that getting to the dirt road involved opening and closing several gates and electric fences? Or that from there, we were a good, full hour away from the paved route? By the time our tires finally hit the dirt road, the real trouble began.
Stuck on the muddy dirt road. image: Agustina Torretta.
My boyfriend (one of the visitors) was behind the wheel, and for 3 miles we managed to advance, our truck fishtailing from one side of the road to the other. After a particularly spectacular skid, it finally came to rest at a full 90-degree angle, blocking the road completely. There was a long minute of awkward silence as we came to terms with the fact that it would be impossible to go on, and we’d have to shamefully abandon the truck there until the weather improved and the dirt road dried up. The tension was palpable. I could feel my boyfriend beating himself up for not making it to the route, as well as the other people thinking they HAD to be home by that night, but that it was pretty obvious they wouldn’t be.
Discouraged, we got out of the truck, grabbed a shovel from the back, and made our best effort—amidst very awkward laughter and a deep feeling of you have to be kidding us right now—to push and move the truck to the side of the road. We grabbed our things, proceeded to remove the magnet sticker with the project’s logo from the truck’s door (God forbid the neighbours saw it had been us, the “city folks”, who had tried to leave in the rain) and plodded our way back to the estancia, crossing a full field of wheat that soaked us from the waist down. We were a pitiful sight.
Soaked and waiting for a miracle. Image: Agustina Torretta.
We felt the Universe was laughing in our faces when the drizzle stopped and all around us hundreds of birds emerged, eager to forage on insects and resume their spring singing. It could have made for a wonderful evening of birding… if it weren’t for the fact that we were chilled to the bones and in a hurry to make it back to shelter.
We eventually made it back to the estancia’s entrance, where the manager and rural workers lived, though no one was home. That meant we could ask for no toilet, no hot water, no towels… We took refuge in a centenarian, dilapidated building that gauchos working at the estancia had used for drinking mate in the morning since times immemorial.
And suddenly, a heavenly sight: a kettle! Did we have a lighter…? Yes, we did! We managed to light a small fire, enough to heat up some water and drink some soul-reviving mates.
A few minutes later, a second heavenly sight: Gringo, one of the gauchos, who had apparently stayed on duty at the estancia during the weekend, appeared on his horse and eyed us with disappointment. In fast and broken Spanish, he told us we shouldn’t have left until the rain stopped and very kindly offered us his old Jeep Cherokee to drive back to camp. I felt a strong hunch I should refuse… but the rest were looking at me with puppy eyes, and I could not decline such a generous offer. The Jeep was dilapidated, the trunk opened by pulling on a rope on the driver’s seat, and most of the lights did not work, making the way back to camp in the growing dusk near torture. I drove the whole time with my heart in my throat. But we made it back, much to the surprise of the group that had stayed.
Saffron-cowled Blackbird at sunset. Photo: Agustina Torretta.
The following day started off on the right foot… though that didn’t last long. By midday, the sun had come out and the wind was blowing. The mud around our camp was already dry, so we assumed the dirt road must be as well. But when we went to get in the Jeep, we realized we had a flat tire. And it had a safety bolt. And the key to the safety bolt was not in the Jeep. You can imagine the tension rising again. How fixated was this place on not letting our visitors leave?? My boyfriend, a friend and I decided to walk aaaaaaaaaall the way back to our truck to bring it back, getting ourselves zapped by one of the electric fences while we were at it. Upon our return, we let Gringo know his truck had a flat tire and we had not managed to change it (to which he shrugged and responded we should simply drive it back that way, the flat could not be that bad). We then made our way back to camp to pick up the rest of the party and drive them safely to the gas station.
But guess what? As we were finally heading out of the estancia for what felt like the hundredth time, (this time with both trucks) the Jeep’s tire CAME OFF THE RIM. The ground was wet and shifted under the jack. We went back to camp and got a few bricks and a wooden board to lay underneath but to no avail. It was late afternoon by then. Defeated, we crammed into our truck and made our way back to face the wrath of Gringo and see if we could, FINALLY, have our (probably traumatized) friends leave the bewitched estancia once and for all.
Well, what do you know? We finally managed to make it to their car, but not without first getting sprayed by a skunk on one of our stops to open the gates between field crops. Our friends made it safely to Buenos Aires… but I’m pretty sure they won’t be looking forward to visiting Entre Rios ever again!
Feature image: Saffron-cowled Blackbird. Photo: Agustina Torretta.
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