Winging It!

A Birding Adventure
Andy Tibbs with Carly Edwards and Karen Walsh

For most people the resort city of Agadir on Morocco’s Atlantic coast is home to only 2 species – tourists and locals – and the only outdoor environment worth noting is the beautiful crescent beach with its bright sunshine sparkling off the tops of slow rolling breakers. Certainly after six months in small bled outposts where the only species often seemed to be them and you the presence of other, stranger, foreigners and the ability to lay out on the sand and soak in the sun in minimal clothing was an idea that had much going for it.

However, Carly, Karen and I, being card carrying members of Peace Corps team environment, born outdoor enthusiasts, bird lovers, and often more than a little strange felt it important to take full advantage of the more ecologically diverse experiences offered by Agadir. We wanted to see some birds! What better opportunity than our In-Service training at the beginning of December? Never mind that Peace Corps staff had prepared an intense lecture and workshop schedule that kept us busy from early morning to late evening each day. They had also brought us together (and footed the bill for accommodations that included warm water showers!) and that’s all we needed. We managed to scrape together enough time for one daylight excursion.

Encouraged by some early – literally before the sun – failed attempts, our trusty and ubiquitous Lonely Planet guidebook and a rather loony British chap who spent the week pestering us about plastic bag contamination but also mentioned that there were wild flamingos as an afterthought; we set out in the mid-morning to find the Souss River estuary. Allegedly easy to find it is located just to the south of the Kings residential compound and reachable by the number 40 local bus. What wasn’t so easy to find was the number 40 local bus. After missing it in the excitement of simply seeing it the first time we gave up and took a taxi.

Since we only had the vaguest idea where we were going and barely passable communications skills the driver soon gave us up as a lost cause and dropped us off in the middle of a scrub forest next to the King’s fence. A few very confused guards and helpful locals later we came across a camel track that ran in the right general direction and our first birds of the day. Magpies – crow sized black and white birds with a long tail.

Eventually, we spotted a sign proclaiming that we were entering the estuary, a small sub-division of Souss-Massa National Park further to the south. This portion had been established specifically to protect the native birds that called it home and the many species that use the area as a stopover in migration seasons. Ironically the entrance was on the road we had left when we had lost the taxi.

A friendly and very talkative chain smoking park warden was just emerging from his hut to go on patrol as we passed. After his initial excitement that we could speak his language faded somewhat he agreed to take us to see the birds. He lead us down some narrow and winding trails towards the river, over barbed wire fences and around piles of plastic garbage, pausing now and again to show us his wardens badge (in his wallet because he didn’t want to ruin his new coat by sewing it on), his ID card or to expound on how there was too much garbage or too few tourists. We nodded at the appropriate moments and took in the surroundings amidst the chatter.

We crested a dune and suddenly the river spread out before us. Sluggish and clam brown water lapped against muddy banks and tree stumps. In the center was a large sand bar with tufts of grass growing on it in patches. On the far bank, perhaps 50 meters distant, groves of trees leaned out over the water, shading it. The late morning sun was in our faces as we stopped and looked across. The warden paused in his monologue and gestured sweepingly with his arm up and down the rivers expanse. “Birds,” he said.

And there were. Immediately in front of us a flock of Flamingos, almost a hundred strong, stood lazily napping or filtering river mud for food. It was the first time that any of us had seen them in the wild and they made for quite an impressive sight. The binoculars came up and we began to identify the various waders and shorebirds in the shallows by the sandbar. The warden – using a pair of binoculars that looked as if they had last seen service in the African campaigns of WWII – resumed his speech and pointed out a group of Grey Herons in one of the clumps of grass. The Curlews were also easy to spot because with their long curved bills and spotted plumage they were among the biggest of the waders.

We parted ways with the warden and moved up-river to an observation post that was all the park had in terms of infrastructure. Essentially no more than a platform raised about the level of the surrounding scrub it nevertheless provided a clear view of a large section of the river. Unfortunately is was also already occupied by a merchant who tried to sell us cheap necklaces and by a forest guard who insisted on playing his radio at our feet as we were trying to have a natural moment.

In spite of these intrusions we did manage to see some great birds including Black Winged Stilts with their tall pink legs, a Cattle Egret, and Several Cormerants both flying and paddling around in the river. Upriver some, perched on a tree stump in the center of the river sunning itself was an Osprey, a fish eating bird of prey and Carly’s sharp eyes picked out some Oystercatchers amongst a large group of sleeping waders in the channel.

We could have stayed longer but we had decided to walk back along the beach and time was of the essence. We attempted to have the forest guard take our picture on the platform but he insisted on being in the picture instead only to later ask us worriedly not to publish them anywhere because pictures of his uniform were illegal. Following a clear trail through the scrub along the river bank towards the ocean of which we could catch glittering glimpses in gaps between the dunes. Along the path we added several other bird sightings to our list for the day including a Great Grey Shrike flitting from tree to tree and a Stonechat perched on the barbed wire lining the trail and posing proudly for us.

Farther along we realized suddenly that we had been paying a bit too much attention to the birds and too little attention to the path which had dead-ended in a salt marsh; criss-crossed with tidal streams, smelling of slow rot and covered in low rubbery salt-resistant growth. In no direction except the way we had come was the path obvious. We could still see the ocean however, and the brush was low so after a hasty conference we decided to press on and bushwhack to the surf. This worked out well until we came to a junction surrounded on three sides by deep tidal streams. A bit more scouting revealed that we were stuck unless we wanted to go all the way back and start again.

There was nothing for it. Karen plunged in, hiking boots and all. I tried a different route but the result was the same. The muck threatened to come over our boot-tops and the water soaked our rolled up pant legs but we made it safely and only a little wet. Carly after another moments hesitation showed she was the bravest of us by attempting the crossing in flip-flops with the muck oozing over her feet. The fragile shoes proved to be more of a hindrance than a help so she shed them only to discover when she tried to retrieve them that they had been swallowed whole by the bog. The group converged and soon the three of us were doubled over and elbow deep in swampy water probing the mud on the bottom. One sandal was recovered but attempts to locate the second were abandoned after a crab climbing halfway up my boot caused some excitement and sparked our imaginations. We left the sandal to the bog as our cost of passage and – helping Carly get along barefoot – we crossed the rest of the marsh without further incident.

Once safely on the sand we ran into the warden completing his rounds. He could only shake his head at our soaked, smelly, mud coated and sunburned appearance. “The trail was over there.” He informed us, pointing. We thanked him and moved on.

The walk down the beach was pleasant. Karen plunged into the ocean fully clothed and I dumped out the slime from my boots and socks before joining Carly barefoot to complete the adventure. We saw a few more birds on the beach. A Little Egret wading in the surf showed off its flashy yellow legs and flocks of Lesser Black Backed Gulls made easy pickings off the European tourists. The tourists must have thought us very odd indeed as we walked dressed but dripping and with boots hanging over our shoulders, lugging bird books and binoculars. Even the hawkers selling things on the beach near the hotels gave us a wide berth.

That was fine with us. We had had an adventure.