We’re barely 500 meters from the ranger station in Uruá in the Amazon; every step on the dry leaves of my boots is unavoidably audible. And yet, our senses are on edge, our ears pricked. Then I hear it too—a deep, haunting whistle. Pause. Repeated. We all freeze as if on cue.
It’s the Alta Floresta Antpitta (Hylopezus whittakeri).
The bird is invisible, as always, but the sound is unmistakable—melancholic, precise, and close.
Antpittas are notoriously shy, and the Alta Floresta Antpitta is no exception. It lives deep in the forest understory and rarely shows itself. But here, in a patch of dense terra firme forest somewhere low above the ground, it sings—deep, deliberate notes that rise like mist from the forest floor.
The Alta Floresta Antpitta is endemic to the southern Amazon, with its distribution concentrated in northern Mato Grosso and neighboring parts of Pará. The Amazon Rainforest is one of its safest habitats, particularly around Uruá, where the terrain is relatively flat and the forest structure, although no longer primary forest (part of it was actually cleared for an airfield when the Amazon Rainforest was declared), has largely regenerated after a good 50 years. This region is home to a complex understory rich in leaf litter, fallen logs, and dense root systems—precisely the microhabitat preferred by this ground-dwelling species.
The Alta Floresta Antpitta belongs to the Grallariidae family, a group of birds adapted to a terrestrial lifestyle. It rarely flies, instead hopping across the forest floor in search of insects and other invertebrates. Its cryptic coloring—dark olive-brown above, with a pale, slightly mottled underside—blends perfectly into the shadowy, leaf-littered surroundings. It’s difficult to see. Hearing is often the only way to detect its presence.
Once the exact location is determined, things move quickly. This time, I don’t even take one-shot AF shots, but switch directly to manual focus. After our guide showed us the antpitta with the pointer, it sits freely and is perfectly visible. But I use the magnification function of the Canon R5 again. It simply makes all the difference in achieving a truly precise focus, even in this relatively open but dark habitat. I shoot at 1/60 sec. and am glad I have the monopod with me. I don’t have to adjust for movement. It sits or stands on a horizontal branch and simply sings.
The area near Uruá Station offers ideal conditions for both the species and those wishing to study it. A network of small trails winds through various forest types, from secondary forest overgrown with vines to tall primary forest with enormous buttress roots. The bird prefers the latter—quiet, undisturbed zones with dense foliage and little foot traffic.
Early morning or late afternoon, especially after light rain, increases the likelihood of encountering a singing specimen. Males sing more frequently during the breeding season and use their song to mark their territory or attract a mate. The song—a clear, whistled whistling—is striking not for its colorful display or appearance, but for the paradox it presents: invisible yet present, shy yet vocal, common in appearance but rare in distribution. Hearing their song near Uruá is like a whisper from the hidden Amazon.
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