BICENTENNIAL PARK, SYDNEY — Chestnut Teal and Black-winged Stilts rested in the shallow pool. A White-faced Heron had dropped in and then disappeared up onto the wooded slope between the water and the road.

Tiny movement low in a shrub caught my eye. The bird moved rapidly — flash of blue — a fairywren! Oh stay still! And there he was, long tail cocked, hooded with black, decorated with patches of deep and brilliant blue. Then he sang, a high, tinkling jumble of notes. Then he was gone, flitting across the water into another shrub.

I left the pond and found a friendly park employee who gave me a ride out to a blind — a “hide” to the Aussies. She left me with a map and a remark that the often-present pelicans were gone. Great. The hide was spacious and looked out over a large marshy pond. Ducks sprinkled the surface of the water. Many were Chestnut Teal; some were much paler.

Then Mega-Camera arrived. He wore tight biking shorts, and his head was shaved. In short, he did not look like the sort of person who would photograph fairywrens. But I guess he was. Click-click-click-click. I bet the shots were gorgeous; his camera certainly was.

Yes, fairywrens were there too. I pulled out my field guide and learned that they were Superb Fairywrens — an aptly grand name for such spectacular little birds. Several pairs foraged actively in the low vegetation just outside the hide, and I even saw a female singing.

When not looking at fairywrens, I studied the ducks. I tried to turn the pale ones into Gray Teals, but I wished someone could help me out. Maybe they were just female Chestnut Teals. Aside from a few coots, no other waterbirds seemed to be in the area, so I left Mega-Camera to his work and went on my way.

I found a flock of European Goldfinches, which were a surprise. Sure enough, they are yet another species introduced into Australia. I got quick looks at a yellowish honeyeater with a white blaze behind its face. It was built like the Yellow-tinted Honeyeaters I’d seen in Port Moresby, and I learned that night its name was White-plumed Honeyeater.

Quick-moving little birds in a yellow-flowering shrub turned out to be Silver-eyes. Their bright white eyerings and gray backs contrasted with yellow heads and wings. I saw some small yellow birds too and should have pulled out my field guide immediately. I kept walking instead and was later unable to decide whether they were Weebills or Yellow Thornbills. Just stop and check the field guide!

I looked up just in time to see a large waterbird fly over. Was that a Darter? Argh! Come back here! But it didn’t.

The road followed the marshy pond, and I finally got good enough looks at some ducks to call them Gray Teal. I saw some side by side with much darker female Chestnut Teal, and I could not doubt their cold, pale faces.

A saltwater channel ran along the other side of the road. I peered through the trees at an old shipwreck sprouting shrubs and hosting a gathering of Silver Gulls. A cormorant on a post caught my eye. It was white-fronted but much larger than the Little Pied Cormorants I’d seen yesterday. Sure enough, the bill was long and gray. Pied Cormorant. Score.

I climbed an observation deck that overlooked a billabong. I’d always wanted to see a billabong — I guess. The west glowed beautiful colors, and I knew I was nearly out of daylight. Pied Currawongs flew back and forth in the treetops. By now I’ve learned their loud call, which at first I thought must belong to a friarbird. A pair of grebes floated between plants in the water below. They wore winter drabs, and I couldn’t decide whether they were Australasian or Hoary-headed grebes.

As daylight faded, I tried to hurry, but I stopped briefly to look at the Red Wattlebirds and Australian Ravens. Then it was back to Olympic Park where I could catch a train back downtown. I hoped.

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