22 August. The Dez River.
In contrast to its southern parts, the north of Khuzestan Province is a gentle land of unassuming attractiveness, quiet rural villages and ancient cities of the Elamite Empire. In common with the southern parts, it also swelters under a burning sun to almost unbelievable degrees, summer temperatures frequently rising to 50 C, humidity hitting a crippling 80% ...but even in this sticky state of affairs, the birding remains simply phenomenal.
Before battling the climate however, I had already faced a challenge on my quest to see such delights as Iraqi Babbler. Pre-trip planning had turned up precisely nothing with regard localities for any of my target birds, a Birdlife document merely mentioning a '55 km stretch of the river' being good, but not a single report seemed to exist to fill in any additional details (and one, Jerzy's 1999 epic, searched for the key birds, yet failed to find). I was on my own. I resorted to google satellite images - from the comfort of my living room, a virtual trip down the Dez allowed me to practically pick out where habitat seemed better, where it looked hit and miss, where I would be totally wasting my time. I settled on the area just north of the ancient ziggurat pyramid at Choqa Zanbil, not only did the mosaic of old oxbows and river loops appear to be a carpet of dense vegetation, but it also allowed relatively easy access, a road running between the historic cities of Shush and Shushtar crossing the Dez River exactly where the habitat seemed at its best.
So it was, several weeks later, I was about to discover the success of my internet rambles. I had intended to camp somewhere near the river bridge, but with night temperatures remaining in the 30s and the air almost oozing water, I deemed it not the most pleasant of options, half believing I would wake to find my tent a melted blob of grease, me swimming somewhere in its remnants! So instead, leading a life of luxury, I indulged myself in the comforts of air-conditioning 60 km away in the historic centre of Shush, a Elamite city dating back to the 3rd millennium BC.
Not wishing to stack the birding cards ever more against me, nor harbouring secret desires to endure the hottest parts of the day, I considered it a very good idea to be on site pre-dawn. Thus splashing out on a private taxi, a grand total of about five euros, so it was, I arrived alongside the River Dez at 6.40 a.m., the sun yet to climb. Habitat looked splendid, dense riverine thickets gradually giving way to open acacia woodland. It was perfect - all my target birds just had to be here, the only question being whether I could find them before the heat and humidity knocked me for six and sent the birds into deep cover. A large red globe shimmered on a heavy horizon, the sun edging its way into another day, temperatures stood at 30 C, sweat dampened my brow. Time to start the birding.
Black Francolin trotting along the road, a good beginning. Night Herons gawping down into the languid waters, Pied Kingfishers on the struts of the river bridge. Waved a goodbye to my taxi driver, headed off into the bushland, Wood Pigeons everywhere, hundreds and hundreds of them, a good dose of Collared Doves too. Started in the more fairly arid acacia woodland, White-cheeked Bulbuls in every tree, Blue-cheeked Bee-eaters hawking and, fussing around an old oxbow, a group of Mesopotamian Crows, members of the Hooded Crow clan, but the greys replaced by an almost white. The sun was now clear of the horizon, perspiration was already beginning to drench my tee-shirt, sticking to the open areas hoping for a Grey Hypocolius, I pushed on. A flock of babblers scuttled across the scrub, 'Oo' exclaimed I, squatting myself down aside the dense shrubbery into which they had vanished. Scolding, then brief views, occasional tails and tawny flanks. I tried to jigsaw together enough to cinch an i.d. - size, jizz and habitat all pointed to Afghan Babbler, but this was also the lands of Iraqi Babbler, number two (after Pleske's Ground Jay) on my Iranian most-wanted list. Alas, it was not to be, up they popped, chattering babblers, then running across to the next cover, most certainly Afghan Babblers. Onward, pigeons and doves flushing in all directions, Common Whitethroat and Olivaceous Warbler in acacias, then two Syke's Warblers too. Another oxbow, another species of top quality - on mud, dried and cracked, two most resplendent White-tailed Plovers, true classy birds. Soon after, came across a Green Toad, a splendid little critter, bold green splodges on a sandy background. Crawling through the leaf litter in pursuit, I was sure a mucky pup by the time I was done, my soggy tee-shirt now a delicate replica of the lands around, plenty of leaf matter adding pattern.
8.00 a.m. now, all three of my main target birds (Iraqi Babbler, Grey Hypocolius and Dead Sea Sparrow) yet to fall., time to tackle the riverine thickets, a dense mat of near impenetrable scrub covering the river banks and adjacent twists of lost truncated river spurs. Following paths of Water Buffalo, the mighty beasts spooking me on one occasion when I came face to face point blank, into a new world I ventured - a mosaic of microhabitats from deep dark tangles to open sunny patches, birds everywhere. Still plenty of Wood Pigeons and White-cheeked Bulbuls, but now it was time of the stars to shine - Dead Sea Sparrows adorning bushsides in good numbers, mostly females, but these most distinctive miniatures of their more familiar cousins. Rufous Bush Robins here and there, Great Tits common and then, in a jizz quite distinct, major league success - a party of Iraqi Babblers, smaller, warmer in colour and devoid of much of the streaking of Afghan Babblers, they also lacked the typical babbler style of running and flying from bush to bush, here more creeping about in the undergrowth. Mopped my brow, sat and admired these birds, rather dark under those bushes, but managed a few photographs nevertheless.
Super, thought I, only Grey Hypocolius to go. Clambering back out from the bushes, I didn't have long to wait. As I emerged into the startling brightness of the acacia zone, over flew a Grey Hypocolius! A few minutes later, there sat four, and not long after, a family party ...they were everywhere! Why hadn't I seen any earlier? Surely now time for a welcome break, the heat and humidity beginning to punish. I found a shady spot overlooking the river, Rufous Bush Robin and Common Nightingale both foraging in cover adjacent. A half hour lazing with the river before me, wonderful. Red-wattled Plovers on shingle opposite, Pied Kingfishers occasionally past, Turtle Doves amongst the steady stream of overhead pigeons and doves. Eventually, I dragged myself up, the sun now exceeding 40 C. In and out of the riverine habitat I wandered, plenty more birds seen - a clear division of habitat, both Afghan and Iraqi Babblers appeared relatively common, the Iraqi Babblers exclusively in dense thickets, the Afghan Babblers all in the hot dry wastes of the acacia bush. By midday, with tallies somewhere in the region of 30 Iraqi Babblers (six family groups), 12 Grey Hypocolius and at least 40 Dead Sea Sparrows, I decided it a good idea to go to see the ziggurat at Choqa Zanbil, a most impressive pyramid I supposed. Only 7km, a good hike I thought.
Two kilometres on, temperatures rising ever more, a Yellow-throated Sparrow and White-breasted Kingfisher added to the list, I got into a right tangle of vegetation, my way becoming a battle against bush and thorn. 'Sod this', thought I, not a scrap of tee-shirt now left dry, 'I really don't need to see a pyramid, impressive or otherwise'. I had to concede, with a heady 45 C not far off, the temperature, or rather the humidity, had finally beaten me, it was time to head back.
Sometimes however, admitting defeat does its rewards - trudging back towards the road, a shadowy ghost of a bird appeared before me, a nightjar, not just any nightjar, but the queen of them all. I was staggered, many a time I have searched in vain for this species, but here it was, not a bird I had even considered seeing here, one superb Egyptian Nightjar, the large pale member of a family. Round she went, deep loping wingbeats, a flight almost in slow motion. Joy, she settled on the ground, right out in plain view. Took some photographs, admired her a while, then up she went again, swooping to the right, settling again. I left her in peace, most content was I. Egyptian Nightjar, truly icing on the cake.
An hour or so later, down I flopped - I was back in the hotel, air conditioning pumping on full, an hour of snooze I had. No respite in the heat, but ventured out again for a while in the late afternoon - more a tour of quaint Shush and its cultural sites. A Grey Hypocolius appeared in shrubbery, Pied Kingfishers lined up on a wall aside my hotel.
Day over, quite memorable to say the least.
