MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — Today, our last full day in Madang, was set aside for shopping and relaxation. I went out to my canyon overlook before the Dinah came to take us into town. I kept hearing a loud call consisting of a single repeated note. I looked and looked, trying to locate the bird that was calling, and finally I saw a speck on a limb at a great distance.

I could tell that the bird was a large kingfisher. Its head appeared to be black and white, and its belly was deep chestnut — at least, I thought that was its belly. The bird was so distant I couldn’t quite tell how its body was positioned. It flew a little bit, and I saw blue patches when it did.

But wait, was that the bird that was calling? I heard the call again, and it came from much closer. I kept searching and finally located a second bird on my side of the canyon. Its back was to me, revealing metallic turquoise patches on its wings and back. Then I thought that the birds must be a pair, calling back and forth. I didn’t know what they were, but I wondered if they might be a species of kookaburra. I hoped so.

Sure enough, a consultation with the field guide told me that they were Rufous-bellied Kookaburras, which live in “noisy territorial pairs.”

Down in Madang town, four or five of us decided to walk to Pukpuk Pond. To our disappointment, it did not contain pukpuk (crocodiles); however, one white egret stood out in the middle of the marshy pond. Everyone else kept walking while I stopped to look at the egret. Quickly giving up on the bird (how am I ever going to identify these egrets?), I scanned the lily pads. Small birds moved around, and I realized with a start that they must be jacanas. I got only brief looks and then had to hurry to catch up with my friends.

When we came around the other side of the pond, someone spotted a jacana walking across the lily pads. “Look at that bird.”

“I’d be happy to,” I thought, but instead I handed around the binoculars to the interested parties. They were intrigued by the jacana’s very long toes.

Pukpuk Pond and its lily pads. Can you find the jacana?

Here’s a detail of the above pic that shows the Comb-crested Jacana.

And we moved on. Singing Starlings, Willie-wagtails, Pacific Swallows, and Black Kites are abundant in the city. There’s also a medium-sized, yellowish-brown passerine that seems fairly common, but I’ve never been able to get a good look at one. They fly across roads into thick trees or slip maddeningly through branches, proving generally uncooperative and difficult.

Flying foxes in Madang town. Like other bats, they hang by their feet when roosting.

Tonight, I finally managed to get a couple of decent gecko photos. The little lizards are everywhere, but they are skittish and can be difficult to approach.

A chirping gecko clinging to the porch ceiling.

MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — This was our last morning in a village called Aihac, where we have lived among the Amele people since Friday.

I have done almost no birding, except yesterday when I saw a Hooded Butcherbird sitting on a coconut frond, tilting back its head and ruffling its pied plumage as it whistled its loud, musical song.

This morning, I was able to get looks at a blackish bird with metallic calls. Its eye was red; its tail was long and shallowly forked. It hunted actively in the mid-story, once clinging to the side of a tree and bracing itself with its tail. Jouko had lent me his photographic field guide for the weekend, and I quickly determined that the bird was a Spangled Drongo.

While I had the field guide, I also looked up cuckoo-doves, hoping that a photograph might clear up my doubts surrounding Tuesday’s bird. Sure enough, Brown Cuckoo-Doves are quite brown, even the males. The bird I saw was not brown. Furthermore, the descriptions of a Great Cuckoo-Dove call in this book match the call I heard.

MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — Another mystery solved today! I’d occasionally heard a garbled but musical chattering from thick bushes, and I’d gotten only glimpses of the very secretive singers.

But today all was revealed when I got a very good look at a Variable Pitohui. Variable seems quite an accurate name for the species, which apparently encompasses a wide variety of colors and patterns among its races. This particular race sports a medium gray hood, a red-brown back, and an orange-brown belly.

The bird struck me as a “generic” passerine — I mean it was neither small nor large, and its proportions were all even. It didn’t have any crests or frills. Its bill wasn’t short, wasn’t long, wasn’t heavy, and wasn’t slender.

Nonetheless, the bird was attractive, and I was glad that this case was closed. The name pitohui sounds familiar to me. Are they the ones that secrete toxins?

MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — Before I came to a place where parrots lived, I’d always been excited by the idea of the colorful, intelligent, incredibly varied birds. I looked forward to getting to know them, to admiring them, to observing them.

But I don’t have good feelings toward the family right now.

Again this morning before class, I saw the small green psittacids I first observed yesterday. Again, I was unable to observe them in any sort of meaningful detail whatsoever. They are small, they move fast, and they stay hidden when they aren’t moving.

And I had another run-in with the mysterious shriekers that fly over every morning. I actually managed to glimpse them today as they flew over. I couldn’t see any green, or blue, or red, or yellow … no colors except possibly an orangey-red on the face or bill. I didn’t think the lighting was that bad. Where were the field marks?

Looking through the field guide, I have begun suspecting that they are Dusky Lories. The description of noisy flocks that roost at high elevations and then descend to feed seems to fit the behavior pattern I’m observing in these birds. But it’s just a hunch, and right now I don’t have the visual evidence to back it up.

Late afternoon before supper was better. All birding must be completed before supper, of course, because afterward it is dark. Today I got a great look at a White-bellied Cuckoo-Shrike — the best I’ve had. It was so close that I could finally see its black beady eye. Sure enough, the mask extends up to the eye and no further.

I stayed for a few minutes after the dinner bell had rung, looking out over the canyon. Just as I was ready to head for the dining hall, I saw something flying down below. I got on it as quickly as I could. Light grayish head, contrasting with brown back. It landed in the canopy and by some miracle stayed visible between branches. Its head and breast were a pale, rosy gray, and across its lower breast was a thin black horizontal band.

As I hurried away to dinner, I heard it hooting, a deep, resonant hoot.

Its name? Zoe Imperial-Pigeon. What a wonderful name for a lovely bird.

MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — Today was exciting, but it was frustrating too.

It started with a small passerine that I couldn’t ever get a good look at. It stayed in foliage far away and was backlit by the morning sun. I could tell it was something I hadn’t seen before, but that’s where I had to leave things.

Both species of sunbird were active and conspicuous below the office balcony. A female Black Sunbird worked a bush right under where I stood. She hovered frequently and stayed in the open, affording me good looks at her gray hood, yellow belly, and strong bill. Later, a pair of Olive-backed Sunbirds flitted around a different bush, and I saw them flick long, hummingbird-like tongues out of their sickle-shaped bills.

After breakfast and before class, I went outside to “study” my Tok Pisin. Of course, I was soon distracted. I heard unfamiliar calls from some treetops; I didn’t think they were sunbirds. A little bird flew over my head, and I realized the callers were psittacids. Alert, alert! They were small — about the size of a chunky bluebird — with very short tails. I saw a couple flying around. Those in the trees were badly backlit and stayed hidden in the leaves. They seemed mostly green with some red around the face and/or bill. They eventually moved on, and I turned back to face the canyon.

Several swifts were flying over the canyon — the swifts I still haven’t identified. I thought one had a white rump, and as I followed them around in my binocs, I came across a huge, very strange-looking bird. Adrenaline surged.

It took me a moment to realize it was a dove. It was large and spectacular with a long, streaming tail. The head and breast were pearly gray, and the rest of the bird was rusty brown. I noticed small gray patterning on some of the shorter outer tailfeathers. The bird’s flight was unlike anything I’d ever seen — strongly up then steeply down, strongly up then steeply down. What was it doing?

After just a few seconds, it descended into the trees, and then I heard loud, clear, and decidedly dove-like sound. The call, sometimes preceded by a single note, was a repeated series of disyllables, the second syllable stressed.

When I had time to consult my field guide, my fears about the psittacids were confirmed. I simply hadn’t seen enough to go on, and without knowledge of distribution, abundance, and ecology, I was empty handed.

I saw the picture of a Great Cuckoo-Dove and thought, “There it is.” But a closer inspection left me confused. One illustration of the Brown Cuckoo-Dove shows a very pale-headed male. The call I heard seems to match the written description of the Brown Cuckoo-Dove’s call more closely, and Brown Cuckoo-Doves are supposed to be more common than Great Cuckoo-Doves. But the bird I saw was so striking. Oh, what to do?