Pico, March 2026
It takes a sharp eye and real merit to, in the middle of a family lunch, still manage to pick out a rarity like that.
He says it was luck. It’s true that you need luck from time to time, but this kind of luck takes work and, when it comes, you’d better be there to seize it. Congratulations, Pedro!
The last one had show up in March 2021, in São Jorge. Still in the middle of the pandemic, travelling was complicated. I was in Pico in April that year for a few days and, even managed to spend a day in São Jorge looking for it but, with no success, as expected. More than a month had already passed since the last sighting. Still, it was worth the trip to that island, which is extraordinarily beautiful.
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| Swallow-tailed Kite (Elanoides fortificatus) |
Back to Pedro’s Swallow-tailed Kite or simply the Kite, contrary to my expectations, it kept being seen every day, with more or less difficulty. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday… The messages kept popping up online.
For me, the breaking point was on Wednesday, when Carlos Pereira, who had gone to Pico specifically to see the bird, sent me a phone video of it flying just a few metres away, making diving passes. As if that wasn’t enough, he even phoned me to describe what he was seeing. “Just so you get an idea of the behaviour.” The human cruelty knows no bounds.
Truth be told, I had already seen the elanoides in Brazil, back in 2015 but It hadn't been a five star observation. The idea of seeing it again, closer, and in Portugal hadn’t left my mind since Sunday. Before the call even ended, I had already booked a flight for the weekend of March 7. “You got me this time!”, I told him. The die was cast. There was no turning back.
On these short trips, and in trips in general, there are many variables, and almost no margin for error. I tend to think of it as climbing a long staircase, one step at a time: first there has to appear, then it has to depart, then to land, and so on. Getting to Pico isn’t easy. The runway is short, poorly aligned, and the weather is unstable. Pedro Silva, optimist as ever, told me not to worry because I'm the whole winter only four flights had been cancelled. Hopefully that statistic would hold for me too.
Despite the downpour hitting the island, the plane landed on the first attempt and right on time, whick was a good omen. The predictions from the passengers behind me didn’t come true: “So, do we land in Pico or divert to Faial? Yeah… it's not looking good…” Just the kind of talk to calm your nerves on a flight.
Within half an hour I was in the car, and even had time for a coffee. I set the GPS and got going. There were 45 minutes to reach the destination: a remote corner of the island called Calheta de Nesquim, near the eastern tip. It may sound like a long drive, but Pico is the second-largest island in the Azores, and distances are stretched by the lack of motorways. At least, you get to enjoy nature which, on that island, is even more beautiful than usual. The problem that Saturday was that you couldn’t see any of it, thanks to the rain and fog.
On the way, I contacted Olof, a Swede who was also there looking for the Kite. When I arrived, I found him at the harbour in Calheta. I already knew him from Corvo, and the reunion was warm, within Nordic standards. It’s always good to see a familiar face in a stressful moment. Despite the conditions, he wasn’t giving up, as the excellent birder he is. He told me he had until 2 p.m. to search and intended to make the most of it. I even asked if he hadn’t seen that Saturday was a bad day for it, to which he replied he hadn’t checked the weather at all. To each their own strategy, I thought.
We agreed to split up to cover more ground. I spent the next few hours exploring the areas where the bird had been seen, trying to understand the terrain and plan an approach for the next day. It quickly became clear that this would not be easy. It was a stretch of about four kilometres, along a narrow road, part paved, part gravel. The first section, through the village, was urban and offered little visibility; the second, rural, wasn’t much better. There were a few clearings, but the only spots with decent panoramic views were the harbour and the site of the last sighting, at the end of the gravel track. This was a job for seven or eight people and not for one or two. But one or two was all we had.
Around lunchtime, Pedro Silva showed up, smiling as always. For about an hour, the three of us drove back and forth in the area. It felt like rush hour, Calheta de Nesquim style.
The rain didn’t stop, and the bird didn’t appear, just as expected. Birds of prey have better things to do than flying in the rain.
Pedro eventually had to leave. Having a three-month-old baby doesn’t leave much time for this kind of thing. Shortly before 2 p.m., Olof also had to accept his fate and leave the island without the Kite.
I did a few more rounds but, with no bird and the rain relentless, the effort felt futile. Just after 3 p.m., I decided to head back to the accommodation - Abrigos Baleeiros.
That was the highlight of the day. The place was pure luxury. Brand new, and they even gave me one of the rooms at the top. The view was breathtaking: the sea stretching endlessly below. I felt literally like the “king of the hill.”
I settled in and tried to relax. Even with the bad weather, it was impossible not to keep glancing at that panoramic view. I turned the armchair towards the window and sat there, thinking about life.
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| Swallow-tailed Kite (Elanoides fortificatus) |
I remember telling myself that Sunday would be “the day.” With decent weather, no rain, and some wind, conditions looked promising. The Kite would be hungry after the downpour and would have to feed sooner or later. But theories, everyone has its own, and birds do whatever they want. They rarely follow the script we write for them.
Around 4:30 p.m., the rain seemed to ease. I waited about ten more minutes and it seemed there was a real break in the bad weather. Maybe the bird would take the opportunity and come out for a bit. So, I headed out again. Another hour of back-and-forth searching, with no luck. Then the rain returned. That was it. Saturday clearly wasn’t the day. I called it off and went back to the headquarters.
And so came Sunday, D-day or the all-or-nothing day.
Breakfast was one of the best I’d had in a while, and I made the most of it. The day had every chance of being long. I even took some Pico bananas for the road. You’re always learning: half an hour earlier I didn’t even know Pico had bananas. As it turns out, they would play a role in this story.
Around 9 a.m., I got to work, looking for the proverbial needle, or rather the Kite, in a vast haystack. Pedro Silva was there until mid-morning. Olivier Coucelos, whom I had met in 2021, also showed up until around noon. The Kite, however, seemed nowhere to be found.
From then on, I was alone. Just me, the island, and the most coveted bird of recent times.
The situation wasn’t great, but I stuck to the plan: don’t give up until light disappears. I had a pair of eyes, a pair of binoculars, a camera, and a Clio. It could be worse.
There was always the chance that someone local might raise the alarm. By then, everyone in Calheta de Nesquim knew about the Kite, and many had already seen it. In fact, some previous sightings had come from local tips.
The strategy was simple: drive back and forth, stopping at the best viewpoints. That’s what I did, relentlessly.
At around 1:20 p.m., while stopped somewhere along the road, I got a call from Sofia, the owner of Abrigos Baleeiros. She was out in the village looking for the bird. An unexpected but very welcome help.
-Have you seen it yet?
-Unfortunately, no.
-I’m looking at a bird on a wire near the ‘Faia’ restaurant. Not sure if it’s the one, but it’s a raptor. -I’m on my way!
Better safe than sorry. I jumped in the car and drove as fast as I could, Colin McRae style, towards the spot. Barely managed to keep the car on the road. Those two or three minutes felt like hours.
I arrived, got out and, of course, the bird was not not showing. “It dropped behind that wall,” she said.
We waited five minutes. Then out it came… A Common Buzzard, not the Kite. Oh well. The effort was appreciated and the adrenaline too. I wasn’t alone after all. Sofia and her daughter were also contributing for the cause.
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| Light sky alternating with dark ground |
I thanked her and went back to the search, still with no luck. Around 2 p.m., I decided to take a break. I had no proper lunch, as it was risky to leave the area at that hour, where most sightings had been reported but, I had some biscuits and the now-famous bananas. I drove to the end of the track, to the panoramic spot, and stopped.
I ate some biscuits and a banana, and decided to call Sandra. She wasn’t there in person to bring good luck, but maybe a call would help.
“It’s not looking easy…” “You’ll see, it’ll show up!”, she said.
I hung up and reached for the second, and last, banana. I had just finished it and put away the peel when, suddenly, like a lightning bolt, without warning, the Kite appeared.
It came low over the bushes on my right. My reaction was instinctive and, thankfully, not paralysis. Luckily, I had the camera in hand. Without thinking, I started shooting as if there were no tomorrow.
The Kite passed in front of me and then, on the left, began circling at mid-height, no more than ten metres up. With the background alternating between white sky and the dark ground, I adjusted settings on the fly, zooming in and out, trying to keep it in frame.
Little by little, it drifted away, until it disappeared behind the vegetation, about fifty metres away.
I thought it was time to grab the Clio, go closer to the bird and get a few more thousand shots, and observing it for half an hour more.
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| Swallow-tailed Kite (Elanoides fortificatus) |
Overconfidence is a dangerous thing.
When I got there, less than a minute later, only the usual finches were around. The bird had vanished like a ghost. I searched up and down, back and forth. Saw nothing at all. Eventually, I had to accept it was over.
Then, I checked the photos. There it was. No doubt about it. Between sharp and blurred shots, I had taken around 150 photos, all between 14:05 and 14:06. In my mind the event had lasted longer but l, the numbers don’t lie. They do say time is relative. I’ll admit I went back over the photos a dozen times before it truly sank in that I had actually seen the Elanoides and accomplished the goal of the raid. I had made it and, of course, having the evidence is always better.
The only regret was not having anyone there with me to share the joy. There were no screams, no embraces. Just silence.
Right after, I started to send out the alert. To Sandra, who brought me good luck, to my friends from Pico, and of course to Carlos Pereira, an honorary Pico resident. I have to highlight Nuno Gonçalves’ reaction. He asked if I felt relieved. When I told him I didn’t even know what to say, he replied that I didn’t need to, because he knew the feeling very well.
Later that day, when I posted the news in the Azores birding WhatsApp group, Olof’s reaction was also quite funny. Besides congratulating me, he asked, half in disbelief, whether I had really seen the bird for just a minute.
There are minutes that are worth months, and this was one of them.
Naturally, that night’s dinner had the taste of triumph.
Naturally, that night’s dinner had the taste of triumph.
Epilogue: Despite the many efforts, the Swallow-tailed Kite has not been seen again in Calheta de Nesquim.
