WEST CENTRAL and SOUTHWEST MISSOURI — Our young, intrepid Birder 86 hasn’t even been home 24 hours when he gets an offer he can’t refuse….

12:02 a.m. — Birder 13 arrives at the home of Birder 86. 86 bids his family goodnight, and they go in to bed. 86 and 13 zoom off into the night.

01:42 a.m. — A small town, fast asleep, in western Missouri. 86 and 13 spot the first bird of the day in the deserted Wal-Mart parking lot: It’s a Killdeer.

01:45 a.m. — While still casing the deserted Wal-Mart parking lot, 86 hears the second bird of the day: Common Nighthawk.

02:01 a.m. — 13 and 86 sight the Chief’s silhouetted figure through a first-floor hotel window. A toothbrush protrudes from his mouth, and he appears to be repacking his suitcase. He finally exits the hotel (a few minutes late for the rendezvous, notes 86), and the squad drives over to Wal-Mart so that the Chief can pick up Killdeer and nighthawk. Check. Check.

04:08 a.m. — A Barred Owl’s throaty hoots penetrate the silent marsh. The birders have ticked Northern Mockingbird and startled a few herons but have not heard a single rail or bittern. 86 begins to believe that they all should have stayed in bed.

05:42 a.m. — Light gradually dissipates the black night, and songbirds erupt in a chorus of song. Tree Swallow, check. Wood Thrush, check. Swainson’s Thrush, Acadian Flycatcher, pewee, indigo. Check, check, check, check.

06:21 a.m. — Sunrise on the prairie. Henslow’s Sparrows hiccup, Dickcissels chortle, Sedge Wrens sputter. Check, check, check. Distant, haunting whistles of a Greater Prairie-Chicken. Check. A Harris’s Sparrow hops up in the brush. Check. Good bird, awfully late, the birders exclaim. Grasshopper Sparrow, flat head, high trill. Check. Bell’s Vireo, talking to himself in the bush. Check.

7:42 a.m. — A Palm Warbler is sighted in a patch of willows, which also teems with catbirds, Warbling Vireos, Yellow Warblers, and a blackpoll or two.

8:10 a.m. — The birders’ hopes for shorebirds have dried up — literally. But they do find several Black-crowned Night-Herons roosting in thick shrubs. With the herons is a suspicious-looking white duck with tan patches. 86 at first mistakes it for a Cattle Egret and is duly embarrassed.

8:28 a.m. — Four Snow Geese. Check.

9:00 a.m. — As the Chief speeds down the highway, 86 makes a tally and discovers that, despite some defeats, the squad has already ticked over 100 species. The Chief radios 13 to report the news.

9:17 a.m. — Two Clay-colored Sparrows are discovered in the yard of an empty house. One of the birds flies up into a large oak tree and sings with a voice like a chain smoker.

10:10 a.m. — The Chief spots a Common Loon just below a dam. The bird is a youngster in drab plumage. 86 watches it take off; it runs across the water for many yards before it achieves liftoff. An Osprey flies by. Check. Check.

11:23 a.m. — The birders have wasted over an hour in a fruitless search for Upland Sandpipers. The dirty fugitives do not show — it’s the old hide in the grass trick. The squad pulls out of the neighborhood in disgust, picking up a small flock of Bobolinks on the way.

12:25 p.m. — A Barn Owl’s pallid figure haunts the dark recesses of a nest box. A ghastly youngster appears near the hole — white, scrawny, bony. The squad retreats.

12:53 p.m. — 86 sees a small bird fly into a tree. It hops out into the open: Painted Bunting. 86 and the Chief both see him, and they hear a second one sing. Check. They proceed quickly to the pickup point to meet 13.

1:24 p.m. — Rock Pigeon alone atop a billboard. Check.

1:26 p.m. — 13 points out a nest in a tree just off a busy expressway. It’s a Swainson’s Hawk, he says. He watched them build it. A plain brown head is barely visible above the rim. Check. 86 privately disapproves — the head could have belonged to just about anything, even a muskrat.

1:36 p.m. — Another nest, this one over a quiet, dead-end residential street. The creamy yellow crown of a night-heron is just visible. Check. 86 approves.

1:47 p.m. — Eurasian Collared-Dove on a wire in a train yard. Check.

1:59 p.m. — The Chief and 13 drop off 86 at his house. 13 will peel off soon too, leaving the Chief to continue alone. He is still missing Great Egret and a Downy Woodpecker.

2:33 p.m. — 86 is on his way to the doctor. He needs a few upgrades for his upcoming out-of-country assignment.

Naysayers call them insane. They prefer to think of it as dedication. Tireless, fearless dedication.

Stay tuned for scenes from the next Get Bird.

EAST TEXAS — I think the last bird I saw in Texas was a starling.

The graduation ceremony was kind of a blur. A Red-tailed Hawk flew among the huge old pine trees while the speaker was talking, and mockingbirds and jays harassed it. It eventually settled on a horizontal limb near the top of a pine, silhouetted big and powerful against the sky.

At our farewell party, I heard a flock of Cedar Waxwings in the distance.

My sister and I didn’t leave until 6 p.m. I drove until somewhere north of Daingerfield and then gave her the wheel. I was deeply sad, and I was physically exhausted. As my eyes grew heavy, I looked out at the vibrant green world speeding past. Doves balanced their bulk on wires. Swallows whirled over the road. Dark shapes perched in dead trees by the water. A blackish bird hopped up on a highway sign.

I didn’t wake up till Oklahoma.

EAST TEXAS — The first thing we heard was the Dickcissels — it sounded like hundreds of them. I drove slowly along Hut Horton Road and stopped occasionally so we could study one that was perched on a nearby stalk or segment of fence. Their noise was constant, and occasionally a meadowlark’s clear soprano soared above the chattering. Dih-dih-dih-sih-sih-sih-s’l. Dih-sih-s’l!

For the last time, I had met Spence and Courtney in the Thomas lobby. Michaela had decided to come too. She’d said she didn’t think this was her “cup of bird,” but maybe she figured it was her last chance; I don’t know.

I stopped abruptly. I heard a Painted Bunting. He was on the right side of the road, at the top of a small tree, fully illuminated by the rising sun. And there was another a little farther on. He was even closer. Every detail gleamed brightly, even his red orbital ring. His colors almost shouted hallelujah.

We parked at the church and got out to walk. A loose flock of kingbirds flew purposefully overhead. I’d never seen so many together before, and I told my companions that they were witnessing migration. Two male Rose-breasted Grosbeaks flew over the church and landed in the very top of a tree. I heard another grosbeak squeaking sharply in the dense hedgerow.

At the far end of the cemetery, we saw a third Painted Bunting singing from high in a pine, and when we returned to the car, we saw a fourth on the power line. Four Painted Buntings makes a very good morning, and my young friends appeared pleased.

We saw Savannah Sparrows, Blue Grosbeaks, and kingbirds along the road, but I did not hear any Grasshopper Sparrows or see any raptors. Eventually, I pulled off Hut Horton and back onto 782 for the last time.

Our walk along the iron bridge road was beautiful. The chat put on his usual performance in his tree. Summer Tanagers were plentiful and easy to see. “I never knew there were so many colorful birds,” Spence said.

A pair of White-crowned Sparrows fed along the edges of the road, and their uniforms were crisp and sharp in black, white, and gray. In the water a Great Egret was surrounded by three smaller and more active snowies. We encountered a whole treeful of kingbirds, and I wondered why there were so many today.

We saw an Anhinga soaring, and Spence said it looked like a paper airplane. Strange, I thought, but … yes. Sleek, flat, pointed, broad, effortless….

I saw a Yellow-throated Warbler briefly as it moved among pine needles. Pine warblers sang. An indigo bunting sang. And it was time for goodbye. I’d birded that road for almost four years. Jason and I got spoonbills and Wood Storks there in September my freshman year. It was like a wonderland then. I guess it still is, in a different sort of way. I don’t know how or when it happened, but a little bit of East Texas crept into my blood. But now it’s time to go away.

I hope Spence and Courtney will keep birding after I’m gone. Maybe Michaela will join them. They cannot yet imagine the joy and wonder that lies ahead if they will keep birding. Just keep birding.

ydhttmwfi: The last time

LONGVIEW, TEXAS — All I was told was that Abu, Aduma, and I were to meet at Shroud’s apartment for a home-cooked meal. Bev was making us supper. In fact, it was all a conspiracy to surprise me with a visit from our good friend Baggins — a former LETU student now living in Maine. I was thrilled to see him (though bringing along a few puffins might have been thoughtful).

Everyone took great pleasure in regaling me with the details of the plot. Even the home-cooked meal was a lie; we were going out for Mexican. On our way out the door, I mentioned the House Finches. Shroud grabbed a dining room chair and told Baggins to climb up and look in the flower pot.

This, apparently, was too much for the young birds. They exploded out of the nest and flew all the way across the street into the yard of the neighboring apartment.

Baggins was shocked and embarrassed, and Shroud and I both felt a little guilty — Shroud for providing the chair and I for not urging greater caution. The little birds were strong fliers, however, and their behavior indicated that their sudden fledging wasn’t excessively premature. They were clumsy, but they seemed to have the strength to fly up into the trees, and I concluded that they would probably be fine.

It was a strange end to a strange tale. Oh, and the Mexican dinner was delicious.

EAST TEXAS — As a graduating senior with decent grades, I’m exempt from finals. Spence, on the other hand, had three this morning. But Courtney was free, and the two of us went out to the iron bridge road again. The cool, cloudy weather pattern has continued, and I hoped for more warblers.

I heard a Painted Bunting singing almost as soon as we got inside the gate. I got a couple of quick glimpses of it through the branches, but it flew across the road and deep into the pines before Courtney could see it. We did get a good look at a singing chat, but the road before the bridge was fairly quiet, as it had been yesterday.

When we reached the bridge, we saw Great and Cattle egrets scattered across the lake. I almost ignored a distant white gleam, but I raised my binocs and discovered it was an Osprey. I pointed it out to Courtney, who said she’d seen something that looked like it fly by earlier. The perched Osprey was fairly distant and showed no indications of going anywhere, so we eventually moved on.

We picked up a blackpoll in about the same place I’d first seen them yesterday. We also saw a couple of Tennessees farther down the road. A Yellow-throated Warbler sang from the bare branches at the very top of a tree.

Too soon, we had to turn around so I could get back to campus for an exit interview. On the way back, we flushed two more Painted Buntings, but neither of them would sit up long enough for Courtney to get a good look. She saw one flying down the road, but that’s hardly a satisfying view of a Painted Bunting.

When we crossed the bridge, we saw the Osprey perched in the same place it had been before.

I was back a little past 1, but it didn’t matter: the interview was postponed for the second time. “We could have seen more birds,” Courtney mused. Yes. Yes we could have. Rats.

ydhttmwfi: Another chance