UKARUMPA, PNG — Be sure to check out I and the Bird #24, which Carel illustrated with a variety of imaginative caricatures. Fun fun!

UKARUMPA, PNG — Only much later did I think to take the hawks’ perspective on the whole affair.

The sky was blue, and the sun was bright, warming their feathers. The air was calm and mild, a perfect morning to soar. If the second bird even observed the passerine trailing behind, hollering unfamiliar words, it must have been with some amusement.

Whether they saw the biped below them I do not know.

He was standing still, head back, jaw probably slack. In a moment, they had passed over him and gone. If they had seen him, they probably forgot him just as quickly.

But he — or I, as the savvy among you have guessed — did not forget about them.

Just moments before, I’d checked the backpack I wore, wondering if I carried my binoculars. They weren’t in their usual spot. Mildly puzzled, I decided I must have left them in my room. Well, I’d get them another time.

Then I saw two hawks, and a small bird trailing behind. I stared as they sailed overhead, but without binoculars, they just looked brown. Nothing I saw could tell me what they were.

Two hours later, I found the binocs. Inexplicably, they resided in another pocket of my eight-zippered bag.

There all the time.

While the hawks soared away.

All I could do was groan.

UKARUMPA, PNG — Walking home this morning, I was nearly impaled by swiftlets. It was a small flock, hunting low over the road and lawns. Sometimes they flew straight for me, approaching so closely that I flinched.

But I guess they knew what they were doing. After all, they — not I — are the ones who can echolocate their way through total darkness.

I noticed their pale bellies again, and again, I wondered about them. I’ve corresponded with a man who’s studied swiftlets for decades, and he assures me New Guinea’s four similar species cannot be identified in the field. He even suggested that Uniform and Mountain swiftlets could be an altitudinal cline instead of separate species.

My thoughts kept returning to a conversation from the day before. I’d been in the sauna with Alan, a brilliant linguist who works with the Kovai people on Umboi Island. I think Alan can speak about seven languages — maybe more.

Anyway, he is working on a Kovai dictionary, and the people have given him names of many different birds. But all the dictionary says is “bird, kind of” — over and over again.

So if I can make it to Umboi, Alan wants to send me into the rainforest with a couple of Kovai men, to see if we can put some Latin names beside all those Kovai words.

Reaching Umboi, though, isn’t quite as easy as driving across town. I hope I can go, but we’ll just have to wait and see.

UKARUMPA, PNG — I was aware of the Most Beautiful Birds Meme that’s been spreading across the bird-blogging community, but unfortunately it took me two weeks to realize that Duncan had tagged me.

The blogosphere (OK, I don’t like the word either, but what else can you say?) already brims with diverse responses, but I’ll try to bring a unique twist.

Here are the rules: Post a list of the 10 birds you consider most beautiful; you may limit the list to the ABA area (continental United States and Canada) or use a geographic area of your choice. Mark birds you have seen with an asterisk. Tag 3 bloggers to keep it going.

I’ve selected 10 birds that live in Papua New Guinea, and yes, that was a challenge. For the birds I’ve seen, you can click the asterisk to search this blog for posts about them.

1. Brahminy Kite* (Haliastur indus). A white-and-chestnut raptor in a deep blue sky — that, my friends, is a beautiful sight.
2. White Tern* (Gygis alba). If heaven has birds, there will surely be White Terns. And maybe there, their rasping voices will be replaced with angels’ songs.
3. Nicobar Pigeon (Caloenas nicobarica). Pigeons are diverse and spectacular in the South Pacific. It seems a shame to skip the fruit doves, but my favorite (so far) lives in Vanuatu. And the crowned-pigeons — amazing! But the Nicobar Pigeon’s iridescent blues and greens, elongated neck feathers, comely shape, and pure white tail win it this spot.
4. Duchess Lorikeet (Charmosyna margarethae). Rainbow Lorikeet would have been an easy cliche (however sincere), but this lorikeet is a striking combination of red, green, yellow, and black. It lives in the mountains of the Solomon Islands, including the island of Bougainville, which is currently part of PNG.
5. Common Paradise-Kingfisher (Tanysiptera galatea). Bright colors and long, spatulate tail streamers — I wish for a paradise-kingfisher!
6. Superb Pitta (Pitta superba). Is it true that beauty is enhanced by inaccessibility? This pitta is black with brilliant patches of red and blue. It’s endemic to Manus Island, and my chances of seeing it are almost nil, even if I do visit the island later this year.
7. Crested Berrypecker (Paramythia montium). The sleek elegance of a waxwing combined with glowing blue, yellow, white, and black — or at least that’s how I imagine this bird.
8. Red-collared Myzomela (Myzomela rosenbergii). It was tempting to pick the Mountain Myzomela because I’ve actually seen that species, but I can’t ignore this ebony and crimson cousin.
9. Long-tailed Shrike* (Lanius schach). The tasteful gray, black, white, and cinnamon patterns of this shrike have stopped me in my tracks more than once.
10. Blue Bird-of-paradise (Paradisaea rudolphi). Just one bird-of-paradise? I’ve always preferred blue to pink, and this bird looks more like a regent than a vaudeville performer. King Bird-of-paradise was a close second, but there’s just something about those electric-blue plumes….

I photographed this pair of White Terns on Wuvulu Island last July.

UKARUMPA, PNG — Shortly before 7 a.m., the fog had cleared enough that I could see pretty well. I decided to spend a few minutes on the back deck before heading for work. I could see my breath condensing in the cool, humid air, but I was comfortable enough in a T-shirt and jeans.

It was the lorikeets who’d awakened me, actually, screeching in the schoolyard’s clump of flowering gum trees.

They were still there; I could hear both Rainbow and Pygmy lorikeets. I caught occasional glimpses of the brightly colored larger birds, but the only pygmies I saw were those that left the tree in pairs, looking more like oversized insects than tiny birds.

Only once did the screeching subside, and that was when a goshawk cruised through the sky. Even then, the lorikeets couldn’t control themselves altogether, and occasional squawks broke the silence.

I see goshawks with some regularity, but I haven’t yet been able to identify one. This morning was no exception; all I saw of the bird was its silhouette, and of course its inimitable Accipiter flight.

Ornate Melidectes were much more active than the creeping, sluggish lorikeets, and I saw plenty of them chasing each other through the trees. Two came to hunt in our banana patch. They landed on the tips of the huge leaves and peered underneath, looking for arthropods I suppose.

They really are extravagant in every respect — from their wild and incongruous markings to their loud, varied vocalizations and their frantic, aggressive behavior.

Walking to the office, I saw the flock of Rock Pigeons flush out of the empty market, and their flight drew my attention to a small dove’s silhouette on a powerline. A loud, familiar call answered my question — it was a Peaceful Dove. A second bird joined it briefly; then, both flew away.

A short time later, it began to rain, as it has done every day since Saturday.