An encounter with a Broad-winged Hawk on a rainy Vincentian road.

I could hear water trickling—soft, steady, tucked beneath the green.

Two quick shots through thorns was all the Carib Grackle gave me.

A quiet morning walk along Friendship Road in Bequia with empty beaches, wildflowers, hidden cottages, and two surprise bird sightings—including a lifer Mangrove Cuckoo.

A slow walk up the hillside for a simple breakfast.

A vivid flash of turquoise stopped us mid-step on the way to Monkey Hill—an Grenadine Ameiva lizard, basking in the Bequia sun.

I went looking for birds and came back with starfruit, mangoes, golden apples, and the usual question—“Wait… you’re related to them too?”

**Day Five · Thursday 8 May 2025 · Mesopotamia, Saint Vincent** The claws wrap tight around the rusted iron rod, yellow toes gripping the crumbling top of what looked like the remains of an old concrete fence post. Its feathers are damp, clumped in places from the soft rain still falling. The bird doesn’t flinch. It watches, one eye turned toward me—sharp, steady. We were on the Richland Park–Montreal Road, heading up to Montreal Gardens in Charlotte Parish. Somewhere northwest of Mesopotamia, west of Biabou, southwest of Greiggs. Bhavna was in the back seat, Paul at the wheel. I can’t remember if she saw it first or if I did. Either way, the moment we noticed it, Paul offered to stop. He knew how much I loved photographing birds. Maybe he wanted to help me feel better about not seeing the Saint Vincent Amazon on the Cumberland Nature Trail. I don’t know. I welcomed the opportunity. I knew immediately it was some kind of raptor. Even from a distance, you could see it in the posture—upright, composed, completely still. Paul pulled over, but the angle was wrong—too far, too oblique. So he eased the car forward into a farm entrance, tyres on wet grass. He said he’d handle it if the owner came out. I got out slowly, camera already in hand. Bhavna and Paul stayed in the car. The bird stayed where it was. I walked forward, careful not to rush. Broad-winged Hawk (Buteo platypterus) · Thursday 8 May 2025 FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 3200 · 1/250 sec XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR · 600 mm · f/22 The post was old, covered in moss, two rusted bits of rebar jutting from the top. The hawk—though I didn’t know its name yet—seemed unbothered. It just watched. I could hear Bhavna’s voice from the car, low and amused, and the faint hum of the engine behind me. The air smelled like wet earth and cattle and rain. I managed six shots. Each time I edged closer, the hawk shifted—sometimes just the head, once the wings. Then, just like that, it lifted off, wings wide and low, curving upward and landing further into the farm, out of range. A single beat. No sound. Just gone. Later that afternoon, back on the veranda, I uploaded the photo to iNaturalist. Paul had already gone home. That’s when the ID came through—Broad-winged Hawk, Buteo platypterus. Not a bird I expected to see. Not one I knew well. I spent the next half hour reading up on it. I learned they’re not always easy to spot in St. Vincent. The Broad-winged Hawk prefers forested slopes and edges, often sticking to the highlands, though some venture into farmland if there’s enough cover. They feed mostly on lizards, frogs, and large insects, sometimes even small birds or rodents if the chance arises. This one was probably watching for movement in the grass—waiting, not idling. They’re solitary most of the year, secretive, rarely calling unless it’s breeding season. It felt like luck that the hawk let me near. ### Like this: Like Loading... Birds Travel Wildlife BirdingBirding LiferBirds of the CaribbeanBroad-winged HawkButeo platypterusCharlotte ParishIsland BirdsLesser AntillesRichland ParkRichmond Park–Montreal RoadSaint VincentSaint Vincent and the GrenadinesTropical BirdsWindward Islands

The branch was dry and bare, the thorns long and spaced just unevenly enough to look accidental. One of them curved sharply upward, catching the soft light from the open lawn. The Carib Grackle was perched low on the cross-branch, body angled, head tilted, eyes set forward. Most of its form was in shadow—black on black—but its pale bill caught a faint glint of colour, and the eye shone with that sharpness these birds always carry. The larger vertical branch sliced the frame in half, quiet but unavoidable. It wasn’t in the way, exactly. Just part of where the bird had landed. I’d been sitting on the veranda, tracing the southern lawn with my lens, panning slowly along the bougainvillea. The grackle came in quickly—landed, settled, then shifted once. I moved too. Stepped lightly, leaned forward, watched for that clean sight line that never really came. I fired off two frames before it flew—no warning, no stretch of wings—just gone, slipping behind the wall into the neighbour’s garden. It wasn’t my first time seeing this bird. I’d seen another earlier in the week, walking across the short grass just next door. The mower had passed through recently, and the bird seemed to know that meant easier pickings. A quick dart forward, a peck, then pause. Efficient. Later, on the Saturday we arrived in Port Elizabeth, I spotted a pair—male and female—moving through the scrub between houses near the dock. Always in motion. Never quite still long enough for a proper photograph. This one, though—this brief moment on the thorned vine—was the clearest I’ve managed. It wasn’t ideal. The branch divides the frame. The light isn’t quite what I wanted. But still. It’s the best I have of the Carib Grackle so far. And sometimes you just have to hold onto what you get. ### Like this: Like Loading... Birds Wildlife Backyard BirdingBirdingBirding LiferBirds of the CaribbeanCarib GrackleDorsetshire HillIsland BirdsLesser AntillesLifer BirdQuiscalus lugubrisSaint VincentTropical BirdsWindward Islands