UKARUMPA, PNG — Last night I went to bed late, tired, and mildly disgusted. Dry season has not been dry this year; all of Friday was soggy and miserable. I’m not getting up early for birding, I thought. It’ll still be raining. And cold.

A large, winged ant had been pestering me, crawling up my leg and backpack. I brushed it away, noticed a few more on the floor, and headed for my room. I laid down to sleep without setting an alarm.

I awoke shortly after seven and got out of bed a few moments later. I glanced out the window — yep, gray and wet — and saw a Sacred Kingfisher silhouetted on a wire. There was another shape too … a bird with a hole in it?

It wasn’t right for the gap between a swallow’s wings, so my sleepy brain kept processing. Must be a white patch … a rump patch … a woodswallow! I hurried across the room for binoculars. I got back, the bird had gone, but in a moment it returned, and another came.

My first glimpse through the glasses jolted me. The bird was huge, very dark, with a long and downcurved bill. This was no small, pale White-breasted Woodswallow, surely!

Ignoring the early-morning pressure on my bladder, I yanked on some clothes, grabbed binocs and a camera, and hurried out onto the porch. The glass and screen hadn’t deceived me. The birds were really and truly black, but in another moment, they were gone.

Great Woodswallows, endemic to New Guinea mountains — yes!

I started to notice bee-eaters swooping low and close. When one landed on the nearby wires, I nearly dropped my binoculars. Then another came, and another, until several Rainbow Bee-eaters were perching on the wires, dashing out to snag insects.

I’ve never had such an excellent look at bee-eaters, and I tried to drink in every detail. I could see their dark red eyes set in black bandit masks. A brilliant turquoise streak gleamed below each mask. Their bills were long with arching culmens and sharply pointed tips.

Sky blue bellies blended into green breasts, which in turn showed flecks of turquoise and mauve. A black throat band bled to dark maroon, like an ink stain. Throats were golden and foreheads streaked with green; crowns were nearly orange. Mantles, green; rumps, electric blue; tail feathers, almost like needles.

In flight, a neat black border framed the birds’ brilliant cinnamon wings, and their jet-black tails contrasted with blue, metallic rumps.

Drops of water clung to their bills, or matted little clumps of feathers. The rain painted a streaky backdrop for living rainbows.

All at once, I understood what was happening. It was the swarm of ants! The ants I’d seen last night were part of a nuptial flight, a flight that continued until this morning. They hung in spider webs all around me, they crawled across flat surfaces, and they flew slowly through the cool morning air.

One flew past my ear, and a bee-eater left its wire, speeding straight toward me, snatching the insect right in front of my face.

The ants had brought the bee-eaters here, and doubtless the woodswallows too. I watched the bee-eaters on the wires, heads moving rapidly and continually; then, they darted out to snatch the big ants from the air, shake them and beat them if needed, and gulp the creatures down.

Woodswallows returned, five in the end, with loud, harsh calls. If one of the ants on the roof dared take to the wing, it died immediately. I saw a bee-eater and a woodswallow dive for the same insect, but the bee-eater got the prize.

The woodswallows made longer flights than bee-eaters, soaring on broad, black wings, tips sharp and upswept. A small white patch at the base of the neck, evidence of the birds’ slight bibs, was visible from a great distance as the birds flew.

Now, the rain has stopped, and all the birds have gone. Countless ants still hang in the cobwebs, but a few of them must have survived. A few of them always do.

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