Back in 2023 when I broadcast my glee at seeing for the first time a member of the Heliornithidae family – one that is considered a “nemesis family” by some – I had no idea that I’d eventually grind my way up from one to two of three. But life throws different options and opportunities at you, especially if you are willing to navigate any number of flotillas of irate hippopotami.
Uganda’s Lake Mburo may not be as expansive as some of the other bodies of water in the landlocked African state, but it must be tough living in the shadow of the world’s largest tropical lake anyway. Getting there is straightforward (especially when driven by a capable guide), avoiding the baboons sneaking up to grab your snacks takes a little more spatial awareness. As we waited on the boat ramp, scores of White-rumped Swift careened overhead while Lesser Striped Swallows filled their (relatively) large mouths with piles of flying insects to deposit in the waiting maws of eager young. An Olive-bellied Sunbird slid along the branches of a sprawling shrub at the water’s edge, deftly piercing the bases of flowers that clutched their petals tightly while a Pied Kingfisher purposefully darted from its perch, leaving the entire bough shivering – only to stop a few metres away, hovering thoughtfully.
White-rumped Swift
Lesser Striped Swallow
At this point there was not a single thought of any finfoot in any of my many minds. Of the three, there is only a single one on the continent, and from what I understood, it may as well be a single bird – such was the difficulty in seeing one. Luca, my colleague here at 10,000 Birds, mentioned that the African Finfoot was one of his favourite birds – which ultimately was never more than a fleeting sighting of “a splash of water as an orange foot disappeared into vegetation overhanging the water and our bird guide exclaiming “finfoot!”.” This was after living in South Africa, as I understand. I was merely preoccupied with not banging my head when I got onto the boat, thereafter shifting focus to keeping an eye on the hippos that were keeping eyes on us.
It didn’t take much time, however, to round the first bend slowly motoring past a Little Egret and Striated Heron who seemed to be begrudgingly sharing the same fishing area to then find ourselves drifting into a secluded, dead-end channel with what seemed to be an ever-increasing number of hippos. We eventually cut the engine and drifted near to a Malachite Kingfisher followed by a resting Nile Crocodile that we peered at through the reeds. Then the whispers of the finfoot variety began to circulate.
Was there one that was here some years ago? Showed well then and people got great photos? Please, show me the back-of-camera pictures on your cell phone. Oh nice, too big to fit in the frame, bravo then.
Apparently, there was indeed at least one African Finfoot on the other side of the channel. I was happy it was a small channel, else the bird surely would’ve been further away. Straining our eyes as we scoured the heavily forested bank, every leaf that twisted in an eddy of the wind made our muscles twitch. The shadows were deep, dark crevasses in the vista, and could potentially hide an elephant. But eventually came the words “there she is” – and there she was indeed: an African Finfoot in all her glory. Gliding silently along the edge of the water, thrusting her stout, orange-red bill forward to then have her body follow. The boat captain indicated to us that she was the much less flashy of the pair, we should see the male. I disagreed, and revelled in her undeniable beauty.
Our first glimpse of an African Finfoot, maybe that hippo in the foreground is a birder?
Our first glimpses involved trying to look around the hippos that were mock charging us. Eventually, the hippos lost interest and instead decided to remain in position but still glare at us as we ogled the bird.
It was fascinating to me how much like a Sungrebe this bird was. In addition to the similar markings of the female bird we were looking at, she glided across the surface of the water just as inconspicuously as her Neotropical cousin.
African Finfoot
This African Fish-Eagle tried to distract us from our quest, but we were steadfast and not easily pulled from our purpose. (Grossly untrue statement, we get distracted by everything)
We were told that these are birds most often found in pairs – and as we waited patiently this fact was properly proven when a male African Finfoot emerged from the dark web of roots and branches. Despite what I was told, I still felt that the female was the flashier of the two. The greys and blacks of the male did make his bill look almost neon, though.
African Finfoot
I tried to make the best of the opportunities at the time; the bird was distant and rightfully so, as we did not want to risk a close approach that may result in the birds shooting for cover. It was much more rewarding to observe them from across the channel as they traversed the boundary line between open water and hanging vegetation. At one point there was a hippo in the way! No problem for a finfoot, it simply walked over the round, hulking top end of the beast and it was back in the water before I could switch from binoculars to camera.
Eventually, we let the finfoots be, and we moved on. Positively on a high from seeing one of the most difficult birds on the continent, I reclined in my seat and enjoyed the plethora of African Fish-Eagles of all ages that perched on almost every tall tree. There was even one that sat on a large enough piece of driftwood in the middle of the lake. Waterbucks and vervet monkeys lined the shore; everywhere we looked there were more hippos.
While exploring another nook in the shoreline, the captain curiously sent us directly into the vegetation. Were we going to moor ourselves here, was there another picnic? I wasn’t sure – but my hunch was that it could possibly be bird-related. And it was. Arguably an even tougher bird to find than the African Finfoot? Depends on the fortunes one has been dealt, of course. Nevertheless, we found ourselves staring at a White-backed Night Heron that was comfortably tucked away in a maze of twisted branches and twigs.
White-backed Night Heron, its white back invisible to us – and to most people in fact – as it is an inconspicuous feature of the bird, after which it has been named.
And if that wasn’t enough, as we raced back to the dock to escape the rapidly gathering storm clouds that loomed over the treeline, a minuscule movement near the lakeshore caught the eye of our captain. If our boat could have screeched to a halt, we would have. Another African Finfoot, this one caught clambering out of the water. We drifted closer, it climbed a bit higher. We pressed our eyes into our eyepieces and gazed at its intricate barring and delicate silvery spots. Not forgetting to mention those scarlet feet! The setting sun at our backs shone a spotlight on this reclusive creature which continued unbothered, as it should be, preening and stretching. Surely it was preparing for a long night of weathering the coming storm; we needed to do the same. And so, we departed – a fitting finale to a fantastic outing.
African Finfoot
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