When Mark returned to the clearing, Preston gave him a quick look with raised eyebrows.  “Any luck?”

“Heard several.  Couldn’t see a damn thing.”  Mark snuck a quick peek at Geoff.  Was he hiding anything?

“Too bad,” Preston said.  “Well, it was a long shot.  Let’s be off.” With that, the group departed for the pre-breakfast hike back to Piedron de Los Angeles, Angel Rock.  Geoff led by the light of the halogen flashlight reclaimed from Mark, navigating the forest trails using his GPS system, enjoying his unaccustomed role as leader.  “Another 25 meters,” Geoff called out when everyone else could see the hulking rock straight ahead.  According to Preston, Millie had selected Geoff as her third husband because he accepted her passion for bird listing, and because he was too stupid to steal anything from her.  As Preston put it, Geoff was as dumb as a bag of hammers.

The Waylands dressed, as always, in matching outfits gleaned from the best catalogs.  Today, they sported khaki shirts and pants made of some miracle fabric that dried in seconds, genuine Wellington boots ordered from London, Tilley hats that kept the sun away, shading their faces so the features were hard to detect ― a definite improvement in Millicent’s case ― and vests for carrying everything.  At the airport, Millie had insisted on demonstrating all thirty-nine pockets in the vest, including five supposedly secret ones.

Geoff, in addition to the new, expensive binoculars both Waylands wore, carried enough photo equipment to supply a small shop: a 35-mm camera with a huge lens, a video camera, a palmtop computer for keeping bird records, a small recorder for other notes and an antique compass, just in case the GPS system failed.

In the company of the Waylands, Mark felt second-class, attired in plain old jeans, a T-shirt, windbreaker and his lucky hat. 

As birding companions, the Waylands were acceptable, but they left a lot to be desired as conversationalists.  Millie, a dedicated lister, traveled all over the world adding species to her life list.  Her conversational accomplishments consisted entirely of naming all the places she’d visited in her search and all the birds she’d failed to see while there.  The list of unseen birds was shorter than the list of ones she had seen, but her recitals always gave the impression of profound disappointment.  As Millie was a long-time acquaintance of Mark’s mother, politeness required him to listen to these boring narrations.

Geoff, Millie’s latest and in Mark’s estimation least interesting husband, had originally just tagged along, but later became a lister himself.  His list could not compare to Millie’s 6000-odd species, but had reached a very respectable 3500 or so.  Geoff had given Millie the trip to Sierra de las Minas as a birthday present, using Millie’s money of course.  Millicent had failed to see the Horned Guan, “dipped on it” in birder slang, despite several previous attempts.  Preston had planned to cancel the trip due to lack of interest, but Geoff offered to pay extra, and Preston happily obliged them, calling on Mark at the last minute for support.  “Please, Owl, I can’t take an entire week of them by myself.”

The Horned Guan had lived up to its reputation, eluding the party at several places they’d checked earlier.  They’d been forced to make do with “collateral species,” to use Geoff’s term, such as the Resplendent Quetzal they hoped to see this morning.  A chance to use his new GPS gizmo to find his way back to Angel Rock in the dark helped assuage Geoff’s disappointment somewhat.  Juan Carlos something-or-other, the native guide, could find the place blindfolded, of course.  Millie had no such anodyne to relieve the sting of missing the bird yet again.

The birders reached the monolith just before dawn, in time to watch the sun rise over the mountains to the east.  As the sky brightened, the group turned around to watch the rays strike the tops of the tallest trees.  As the sun warmed the air, some birds, mostly Violet-green Swallows, left the shelter of the trees to feed.  Mark noticed a flock of Band-tailed Pigeons in the distance — nothing to get excited about.  The party settled down for a wait, the Waylands flanking Mark on a small ledge, Preston and Juan Carlos standing, keeping lookout for the Quetzal.  Geoff produced a silver cheese slicer from one of his vest pockets and inquired, “Fromage anyone?”  Without waiting for a response, he carved thin slivers from the large hunk of queso blanco they’d brought for breakfast, passing the pieces to Mark and Millie.

Mark looked out at the forest that stretched before them in all directions, an endless green sea of leaves, with granite islands poking through the treetops.  Directly below, he could just make out the angel part of Angel Rock where it had fallen about fifty years ago, its features already softened by prolific jungle vines.  The view induced a mild feeling of vertigo, so Mark looked out at the horizon again.

He felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

For a moment, Mark stared at the characters on the tiny screen as though the message might change.  He kept re-reading, “Mark, Sorry to inform you that your father died from heart attack last night.  Please call home.  Return ASAP.  Mary Lynn.”  After several seconds, Mark looked up at the forest again.  The wind created ripples in the verdant surface, which crashed like waves against a stony shore.  Mark imagined he could hear the sound they made far below him.  In spite of the long climb to reach the spot, and a need to overcome his dislike of high places, he was glad he’d come.  A strange thought occurred to him: Would his father have liked the spot?  Probably.  Now, he’d never know.  Mark felt a sense of loss, of course, but also a curious sense of relief — he knew the news would come someday — and irritation that it found him in such a magic place.

Rising from his position on the rock, Mark felt a twinge in his hip.  He’d spent too many of his forty-six years sitting, and the strain on his body was starting to catch up with him.  Moving carefully in his cumbersome rubber boots, he teetered along the ridge and climbed up to where Preston stood on the summit.  There he waited, tall and angular in a wide brim hat and big glasses, casting a long shadow in the early morning sunlight, until Preston finished scanning the horizon.  When Preston lowered his binoculars, Mark said, “I’ve got―”

He stopped suddenly and tilted his head slightly, listening, then with a broad smile pointed toward a spot in the forest.  The bad news could wait.

Cupping his hands around his ears, Mark turned to face the direction of the sound.  “There he is again.  500 meters.”

“Give me a mark to aim at.”  Preston demanded.  “How can you estimate distances against the backdrop of trees anyway?”

“Above the tall tree over there, the one with all the bromeliads on the empty branches.”  Mark pointed again.

Preston heard movement behind him and glanced over his shoulder. 

“Got something?”  Geoff asked, too loud as usual.  Millie shushed him quickly with a wave of her hand. 

“There!  I heard him again,” Mark said.  “Definitely closer.  Want to try the tape?”

Without a word, Preston fiddled with the knobs of a tape recorder.  The sound of the challenge call of a Resplendent Quetzal filled the air around them.  He turned off the tape and everyone listened again.  The other bird answered with a call that meant he was preparing to make a display flight.

“He’s right below us, no more than 100 meters.  Let’s record his call,” Mark suggested

“Good work Owl,” Preston whispered.  “Even I can hear him now.”  He pulled the expensive microphone from its holster and aimed it at the location of the call.  “Recording,” he warned.  The group listened silently, watching for any sign of the bird. 

Mark picked up the low introductory notes of the song and raised his hand as a signal.  The bird, as if in answer, called again.  Preston quickly rewound the tape and played back the bird’s own call.

The Quetzal rose defiantly from his hidden perch in the trees, prepared to drive off the intruder.  Who is this interloper in my domain?  Why does he sound so familiar?

Millie saw the bird first and hissed, “There he is, Geoff.  Get him.” Geoff raised his camera and shot about 10 frames.  The Quetzal flew closer, his long tail feathers trailing behind, iridescent blue-green ribbons contrasting with the duller color of the leaves.  Lifting himself upright in the air, puffing out his brilliant red breast, the angry male shrieked a challenge, daring his rival to appear.  He repeated the challenge three times before sinking back exhausted, disappearing beneath the surface of the leafy sea.

“Good work, Owl,” Preston said again.  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Yes, nicely done, Mark,” Millie agreed.

“The National Bird of Guatemala,” Geoff said aloud as he typed notes into the palmtop computer.  Pointing the GPS unit at the sky, he recorded the exact location of the sighting.

Only after all the activity subsided did Mark return to his original errand.  “Bad news, Preston.  I need to head back to Houston.”

“What!” Geoff objected.  “We don’t have either Guan yet and there’s tons left on the secondary list.”

Ignoring him, Mark showed Preston the message on the cell phone.  “My God, Owl.  You should have said something.  This is awful.  I saw him not two weeks ago.”

“I didn’t think a few minutes would make any difference.”

“No.  Good point.  It’ll take us hours just to get to San Augustine, not to mention Guatemala City.”  Preston turned to Millicent.  At times like this, Geoff didn’t count.  “You knew Simon Talbot, didn’t you Millie?  It seems he has died.”

“Oh, Mark, I’m so sorry.  He was a nice man, not at all like they said about him.” That was Millie, Mark thought, tactful as always.  He mumbled some thanks.  Meanwhile Preston engaged Juan Carlos in an extended discussion in Spanish.

Preston turned back to Mark.  “Juan Carlos can take you back.”

Mark spoke softly to Preston.  “Uh, Preston, not that I doubt Juan Carlos, but I’d feel a lot more comfortable if…well, if I had someone with whom I could communicate better.”

Preston pursed his lips briefly, then resumed negotiations with Juan Carlos.  After some lengthy discussion, he turned back to the group.  Mark moved closer to Juan Carlos and pressed a few bills into his palm, just in case Juan Carlos feared losing his customary tip.

Preston explained to the Waylands, “I asked Juan Carlos to take over here while Mark and I return to town and find Mark a ride to the airport.  He doesn’t speak the language well enough to handle it by himself.  Juan Carlos knows this area even better than I do.  He can probably find the Guans for you.  OK?” 

“Sure, Preston.  We understand.  No problem,” Millie said.

Juan Carlos strode forward, eager to take over leadership of the group.  “I find you Guan, you bet.”

“I may not be able to make it back before dark,” Preston warned.

“Wait!”  Geoff said, extracting a phone from one of the inner pockets of his vest.  “Let’s try out the new satellite phone.  You should be able to call down to San Augustine and have the truck leave for the lodge immediately.”  He gave the phone to Preston and launched into a training session.  Preston translated for Juan Carlos, who nodded enthusiastically and took the phone from Preston.  “Si, Señor.”

Preston translated, “He says that with the telefono milagro, the miracle telephone, he can make all the arrangements.  He’s calling down to the village and arranging for the transportation.”

Mark meanwhile spoke into his own telefono milagro.  He clicked the cover shut and sought out Preston.  “I tried calling home.  Got transferred to the voice mail.  I told them I was starting back and didn’t know how long it would take.”

Geoff wanted to examine Mark’s phone.  “That’s a new model, isn’t it?”

“It’s a test unit,” Mark explained.

“Can I look at it?” 

Mark shrugged and handed the phone over.

“Wow!  It’s so small,” Geoff gushed.  “They’ve really gotten better.  When will it be on the market?”  He punched several buttons.  “Trying to call my own phone,” he explained.  “Damn!  It’s busy.”  Mark looked over to Juan Carlos, still engaged in the complex negotiation, which explained the busy signal.

 “Don’t know when it’ll be on the market, Geoff.”  Mark extracted the phone from Geoff’s grip.  “It still has a few bugs.  Dad thinks…thought it’d be years before they got the system to work right.”

Preston said something else to Juan Carlos in Spanish.  Juan Carlos nodded, “Por supuesto,” meaning “of course,” before resuming his conversation with someone in San Augustine. 

Preston explained, “We’ll take the moto.  That’ll get us there sooner.  Ready, Owl?”

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