as they were, of course, guided by local people who knew the macaw. It lived in a plateau called Raso da Catarina, where the altitude varied from 380m to about 800m -- higher in parts. It is an extraordinary beautiful area of red sandstone canyons and cliffs, the cliffs being used by the macaws for roosting and breeding. This is a transition zone between the arid and semi-arid climates, characterized by low and irregular rainfall. The temperatures vary from 15°C at night to 45ºC daytime. Initial censuses suggested that the population was not more than about 70 birds. The future for this beautiful macaw was looking bleak in the extreme. The main problems it faced were loss of and lack of regeneration of licuri palms, which form about 90% of its natural food source, and shooting by farmers. The macaws attacked the corn crops on which they fed when they were unable to find licuri palm nuts. What hope of survival had this small and extremely vulnerable population? So, in 1978 news of the discovery of the home


range of Lear’s Macaw brought two worrying questions: would it result in the macaws being heavily trapped and what could be done to stop shooting and trapping? Now I will skip a few decades to September 24 2013. It was 4.30am, dark, cold and windy.


I


was with Steve Brookes, who had organised the trip (www.wildparrotsupclose.co.uk) and the other two members of the group, plus two local men. I was standing on a cliff top -- not just any cliff but that in which about half the world population of Lear’s Macaw roosts: the famous site at Toca Velha. The sky began to lighten just a little. Dawn was


breaking and the macaws were leaving for their feeding grounds. Huge, dark shapes appeared overhead -- a steady stream, groups of twenty, stragglers, larger groups, on and on they came, filling the air with their screams and filling my


08 18 BIRD SCENE


senses with awe and disbelief, their long wings appearing huge in the half light of dawn. I was spellbound by the elegance of their


steady, rhythmic flight, hypnotising in its beauty. I had not expected this -- such grace, like an aerial ballet. Silhouettes as yet, they were like airborne javelins, all speeding in the same direction, their long tails pointing towards the next group behind them. They kept coming and coming, the noise -- that lovely sound of their calls -- going on and on. The sun had been creeping over the distant


horizon, tingeing the sky above the mountains in a narrow line of red. The light was coming up fast. They were not silhouettes any more. I could see their faces, the sun glinting off the bare yellow facial area and giving the underside of their wings a golden glow. So beautiful! We had driven to this place in the dark then


walked for a few minutes. I had no idea where I was, how high I was, until the sun came up. Now I could see that we were on a small plateau, surrounded by sandstone cliffs that stretched far into the distance. The cliffs were pitted with holes, large and small, like Swiss cheese. In front of us was a deep, wide canyon. We were right on the edge! The ground was covered in stones and small rocks. The vegetation was sparse, just a few dried up grey bushes, spiny-looking grasses and cacti as tall as a man, where they could get a foothold in a crevice in the rock. Perhaps 400 macaws had passed -- but many


came back in small groups, some of them hanging above us, curious. Looking at their faces through my binoculars made me gasp. They were so beautiful! Small groups continued to return to circle over us. By this time I was so overcome with emotion at what I was seeing that I was sitting on a rock. I could not stand up… The emotional impact was like nothing I had


experienced before. The macaws had been darkening the sky above me. The strange beauty


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