Some places are worth revisiting. Over the years, my travels to Europe in pursuit of butterflies have taken me to more and more new locations, as I have tried to connect with new species that I have not previously seen. Even so, I have tended to return to certain places more than once (and sometimes on numerous occasions), drawn back usually by the exceptional nature of the habitat quality or previous experiences of particularly rich butterfly populations. Examples of such places spring readily to mind, including Rimplas in the Maritime Alps of France, the Queyras Regional Natural Park, the Picos de Europa in Northern Spain, and the Mani Peninsula, Greece.
A few weeks ago, my wife and I set off on what was our third trip to Costa Rica. We first travelled here back in mid-December 2018, at the start of the dry season, choosing a remote hotel on the north-west coast as our base, not far from the Nicaraguan border. It was our first journey out of Europe – we had no idea what to expect, or exactly where and when to go (we had considered Cuba, Sri Lanka, and even Malaysia as possible destinations for a “once in a lifetime” vacation), but we rapidly fell in love with the exotic nature of this Central American country and its rich wildlife, butterflies included, of course! A return visit at the end of November in 2019 for just one week was equally fabulous, and during this second visit we hired a car for two days and headed out into the richness of the inland rainforest habitat.
For this year’s 2022 trip, we flew out of Gatwick on 16th November on what is undeniably a rather tedious eleven-and-a-half-hour flight to Liberia Airport, situated to the North West of San Jose, in the Guanacaste province. We were to be staying for a fortnight at the same hotel as during our previous two holidays, surrounded by “jungle”, or more accurately, “dry tropical forest”. You might wonder why we didn’t try out somewhere different, instead of returning to the same place. A few photographs might help to explain…
We arrived as the sun was setting on Wednesday evening and were up early Thursday a.m. keen for an early breakfast and morning walk. We rapidly fell into our old routine – a big buffet breakfast followed by a three hour hike around the local forest, cameras in hand – and followed this pattern religiously for the first four days. A series of tracks and paths lead through an area of over 100 acres, rising from sea-level to around 100 metres in altitude. Flower rich, sunny clearings co-exist alongside shadier areas of dense tropical forest, muddy patches, and dappled shade, and the wildlife is superb. Three species of Monkey make their home here, along with Anteaters, Iguanas, and a wealth of exotic birds and other beasts. Many butterflies, familiar species from our previous trips, began to appear on the wing, but as the season was running later, and we were a bit earlier than previously (still at the end of the rainy season), the numbers of many species were noticeably higher. Mud and mosquitos were also more plentiful!
One of the first species to make our reacquaintance was the quintessentially tropical Malachite. This stunning green monster of a butterfly was about in good numbers, usually hugging the edges of rides and often landing quite high up. Occasional individuals would come down lower, and sometimes even land at ground level, but these were usually tattered and torn examples. Once or twice however, a beautifully fresh specimen would pose nicely:
At the other end of the size spectrum were two very common butterflies: the tiny Elf was about by the dozens, and Barred Yellows by the hundreds. Both species fly low to the ground, the Elf favouring ride edges and ditches, while the Barred Yellows will fly in any open habitat with short vegetation and are fond of mud-puddling.
Staying with the small stuff, other familiar species included Ceraunus Blue (just a handful seen all fortnight), Hermodora Metalmark (half a dozen seen) and Carolina Satyr (very common), the latter appearing quite "hairstreak-like" in flight.
The charismatic and noisy "cracker" butterflies were out in force this year, with both Glaucous and Guatamalan Crackers seen in numbers on a daily basis.
Butterfly photography out here in the tropics is made all the more difficult by the heat (= hyperactive butterflies) and the almost constant breeze (= settled butterflies swaying about incessantly). I was also having to contend with a new bridge camera for many of my shots, as my faithful Lumix fz150 had finally given up the ghost after 10 years of loyal service. Zooming in from a distance on a swaying perched butterfly is never a recipe for a good photograph, but on many occasions, it was the only option to try and capture images. The "Patch" group of butterflies were of particular interest this year. During our first 2018 visit we only found one species (Black Patch). 2019 produced a single sighting of a rather worn Bordered Patch. But this year there were many more about and we got to know them much better. It was particularly notable just how variable the Bordered Patch is in terms of colour and markings. Here are three examples taken in the same location:
One of the first "new" species we found was another member of this group. I only managed a rather poor shot of this, for the reasons stated above (my excuse anyway!), but it was rather a lovely insect - the Guatamalan Patch.
Other medium-sized species frequently encountered included the Tropical Buckeye (most of which were showing signs of wear and going over), the lovely White Peacock, and, probably Costa Rica's most widespread butterfly, the Banded Peacock. The latter can turn up in just about every conceivable habitat and location out here.
Theona Checkerspots were common as always along ride edges and in clearings, Pale-banded Crescents less numerous but seen most days, and (one of my favourite Pierids) Boisduval's Yellow was about in small numbers, usually mud-puddling, or at least close to damp patches.
And to wrap up part one of this report, an unusual beach sighting - a very fresh Marius Hairstreak catching some early morning rays on a rock, just a couple of metres from the incoming waves.
In part two there are a few surprises in store as we climb up to the higher part of the local habitat and witness a number of new species hill-topping...
Just the tonic on a cold December day.
