DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — Nearly eleven months ago (how is that possible?) I wrote a post called Backyard birds in PNG. Not only did I see many of those birds daily in the Aiyura Valley, I also became acquainted with their songs and calls. Shortly before I left last October, I turned on the recorder one morning to capture a few of their voices.

• Willie-wagtails (Rhipidura leucophrys) are perhaps the most frequently encountered bird in PNG. They thrive from the hot, sticky lowlands to the cool mountain valleys, and they seem perfectly content to live near people. Here’s a rather faint recording of a song phrase. Their bright, perky songs can be heard at all hours of the day and night.
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• Grey Shrike-thrushes (Colluricincla harmonica) whistle varied, musical phrases. It’s a joy to wake up to this song!
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• Brush Cuckoos (Cacomantis variolosus) puzzled me for months. They start calling before dawn and continue after dusk, but from March to July, I never actually saw a bird, and I had no idea what species this was. Finally, I saw Brush Cuckoos on Pak Island, Manus Province, and the mystery was solved. The birds sound plaintive and frantic to me; I imagine them saying, “Wait for me, Wait for me, WAIT FOR ME!” In this recording, two birds are calling together.
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• Morning chorus. Given what you’ve just learned, you should be able to identify some of the songs in this sample. Others though, you’ll be hearing for the first time. The recording starts out with a different version of the Brush Cuckoo’s call — a descending series of whistles. At about four seconds in, an Ornate Melidectes (Melidectes torquatus) gives three warbling calls. At about the 15 second mark, you can hear a Brown-breasted Gerygone (Gerygone ruficollis) begin soft, stuttering whistles in the background. A Pacific Swallow (Hirundo tahitica) chatters briefly during seconds 21-23. The occasional screeching in the background is from distant Rainbow Lorikeets (Trichoglossus haematodus).
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• Unidentified songster. Yes, we end this post with a plea for assistance. There was one song I never could positively identify, but I did manage to get a marginal recording. In this clip, I’ve snipped out the spaces between the bird’s phrases so that you hear them one right after the other. In actuality, the phrases were separated by gaps of 5-15 seconds. If you know what this bird is or know anyone who might, please let me know!
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SPRINGFIELD, MO. — During eight months in Papua New Guinea, I visited parts of the nation that few other Westerners have ever seen. The problem was that I rarely had time to look for birds, except right around the villages or towns where I was staying. That, of course, is usually not the best way to see the really stellar birds that inhabit the islands.

So I decided, not knowing when or under what circumstances I’d return, that I’d take my final few days in the country and just go birding — really birding — and try to find some of the most spectacular birds in the world.

I emailed Kumul Lodge, asking if they had space for me at the last minute. They did. And so, from October 30 to November 3, I lived high in the mountains of Enga Province, where I birded, ate, slept, and birded again.

This is part one of that story.

PORT MORESBY, PNG — I’m hot and sticky, listening to House Sparrows chirp and cars roar past somewhere beyond the open louvers.

But yesterday, I was in a different world. Cloud-bottoms brushed the treetops, and Crested Berrypeckers foraged in the dense, chilly green. A Brown Sicklebill called in the distance, and he sounded like arcade gunfire. Red-collared Myzomelas sang in the canopy trees, and scrubwrens darted across the road as we pulled away.

Tomorrow, I will be in a different world again: the world inside a metal tube where there are no birds, hurtling through space at speeds our forefathers suspected might be fatal, if they imagined them at all.

UKARUMPA, PNG –

UKARUMPA, PNG — The sun came out between downpours, and a familiar, insistent call pulled me out the door. I sat on the decaying concrete steps while mannikins swept like a small chestnut cloud through the kunai.

I have a only few days left here, whether I can believe it or not. I’ve solved so many mysteries with patience and time, but some of them remain, gnawing at my mind.

That is why I went outside — or at least, that was one of the reasons. The call has become quite familiar, but I never saw the body that produced it, not properly. I knew it was the grassbird though, so I suppose it was no longer a mystery. It was instead an unattained challenge.

The grassbirds called at intervals while the jittery mannikins fretted. Brush Cuckoos sang mournfully, and they are another challenge, but a challenge for another day.

The brisk call sounded close, and again I studied the grasses. Then, there, at the edge of a tangle my eyes caught the slightest stirring. Was it …?

Yes, and for the next few moments, I peered as if through a window into the private world of the grassbird. I watched it slipping through the stalks and blades, long tail often cocked a bit, crown red-brown in sun.

The window closed as suddenly as it had opened, as if the dense green growth had absorbed the bird like water into a sponge.

Whether the bird’s first name is Tawny, or Papuan, or something else again, the people who wear labcoats have not made up their minds.

And if the grassbird knows its name, it didn’t tell me this day. It gave me a glimpse of its world instead, and for that gift I’m grateful.