Cuba 2016 Photo Gallery

Photo by Tim Gallagher

We met our driver last night, a young Cuban named Yuri, who owns a black ’55 Willys 4-wheel-drive wagon—a popular vehicle in the United States in the 1940s and ’50s, and a direct linear ancestor of Jeep Wagoneers and Cherokees. Vintage cars are common in Cuba, and often used as taxis. Some are in immaculate condition with fresh paint and gleaming chrome; others are complete beaters with crumpled fenders, belching black smoke as they cruise down the byways. Our Willys is somewhere in between.

Photo by Tim Gallagher

Yuri raced through these small towns and villages, tooting his loud, high-pitched horn constantly as he slalomed through a moving maze of horse-drawn taxi carts, bicycles, pedestrians, and livestock.

 
Photo by Tim Gallagher

Carlos Pena (at left)—a Cuban biologist who took part in Ivory-billed Woodpecker expeditions in the 1980s and early 1990s—met with us at our casa particular (the Cuban version of a B&B) in Holguin to discuss our search. Although he wouldn’t be taking part in it with us, he was a great help to us in making our preparations. We all sat together in an open patio, looking at Google Earth maps of the places we would be exploring.

Photo by Tim Gallagher

Before we left Farallones, we met Rafael—a spry 91-year-old with close-cropped white hair and an easy smile. He has lived in Carpentero Real (Ivory-billed Woodpecker) country for his entire life, and he told us of his many encounters with them over the years. It was obvious he knows what he’s talking about. He was in his early teens when he first saw them, he said—large, elegant, black-and-white birds, sometimes moving in family groups. He mimicked their calls perfectly—enk, enk, enk—and told us with a laugh that they reminded him of the sounds of a young goat. They were so numerous he never had any trouble finding them, he said, and he could not have imagined that they would ever vanish from the face of the Earth. It was difficult to pin him down on the exact time when he stopped seeing them here. Heavy logging had taken place in the area for years. He seemed eager to talk but wanted to tell us about other things—his life, his dreams. He spoke of his wife, who passed away three years earlier, and of his philosophy: “I love everybody,” he said. “Every nationality, every color. Everyone is my family.” As we stood to leave, Rafael hugged us both tightly and wished us well on our journey.