UKARUMPA, PNG — My birding adventures seem to have consisted of the 60-second variety for days now: The Ornate Melidectes pecking at a spider cocoon until I got too close; the kingfisher flashing blue across the road, gripping an insect; the sweet, sad songs of Brush Cuckoos as I awoke. Tomorrow morning I will set aside the laptop for a whole week and venture into remote and distant Sandaun Province. I’ll be busy even there, but surely there will be time for birds.

Pacific Swallows, Hirundo tahitica, on our clothesline this morning.

UKARUMPA, PNG –

16-hour work days haven’t given me much time for birding this week, but I can still hear the Grey Shrike-thrushes sing and see Pacific Swallows out the windows. The other afternoon, soft, incessant calls alerted me to the presence of Hooded Mannikins (or Hooded Munias, Lonchura spectabilis) on the road outside, and I snapped a quick shot before a stray dog inadvertently scattered the tiny birds.

UKARUMPA, PNG — I didn’t manage to see very many birds on a brief walkabout this morning, but I did get a few marginal photographs of two of our grassland passerines.

The sexually dimorphic Pied Bushchat (Saxicola caprata) is a member of the huge Old World muscicapid assemblage. This is a male; females are grayer and streaky. The birds frequent open perches in grasslands, reminding me of North American bluebirds. Behind this bird is a sweet potato garden, which feeds a Papua New Guinean family.

I flushed a couple of pipits as I walked. One lingered on the fence and allowed me time for a few pictures, much to my surprise.

No one seems quite sure what to call these little pipits. They are part of a complex of similar pipits that occur across much of the Old World, and species limits within the group remain unclear. The New Guinea birds are variously called Richard’s Pipit (Anthus novaeseelandiae), Australasian Pipit (A. novaeseelandiae), and Australian Pipit (A. australis). An overview of the larger problem is posted here; scroll down to the third post. I believe, however, that this post is inaccurate with regard to the New Guinea situation. We have two pipit species in New Guinea, and the post confuses them. The post indicates that the Alpine Pipit, A. gutturalis, belongs to the “Richard’s” complex, but Alpine Pipits occur at very high elevations and differ significantly from our representative of the “Richard’s” complex (i.e., the bird pictured here).

UKARUMPA, PNG — Yesterday, I found a Long-tailed Shrike who was relatively willing to be photographed and a small flock of Hooded Munias who were not.

Several subspecies of the Long-tailed Shrike breed from Central Asia all the way to New Guinea. I think the New Guinea race (Lanius schach stresmanni) must surely be the most handsome.

The extensively black head, gray nape patch, and rufous back combine to set stresmanni apart from several other forms.

A brisk, incessant call (one that has puzzled me for some time) lured me into a patch of kunai grass along the road. The grass was over my head in places, but I pushed my way through, following the call.

I tried to bring the bird up with a variety of spishing calls, but it remained totally unresponsive. A grass blade quivered here; something rustled there. I saw a flash of wings once but could not focus through the layers of grass. Then a face peered out between the blades, but only for an instant.

Sometimes I tried to follow the call; sometimes I stood still, following the bird’s movements by sound, not by sight. The bird apparently moved at mid-level through the rank grass, never hitching up a stalk to examine its surroundings, never breaking cover in response to my noisy advances.

After a long wait, I saw movement and managed to get binoculars focused on a small brown head, slightly capped — and then it was gone again.

Moving back in the direction it had gone, I heard someone crashing through the grass and turned to see three Papua New Guinean lads. They seemed to know exactly what I was doing and asked if I wanted to catch the bird.

No, I said, just to see it. They replied that it might come up if we waited, and they stood silently behind me until the bird stopped calling. Then they offered to catch a variety of birds and bring them to me. I didn’t think I could explain why this was the last thing I wanted, so I simply said that I would be going away to Moresby soon, which is true.

As for the identity of the skulker, I suspect Tawny Grassbird, but the final verdict will have to await further evidence.

UKARUMPA, PNG — Tonight I went looking for white-eyes. I wore a jacket because it is chilly, and Rainbow Lorikeets were noisy in the trees.

I found the berry-laden ornamentals and sat down on the grass. Gerygones seemed to giggle as they tumbled down the drooping casuarina. Black Kites soared silently, and I could hear the white-eyes far away.

It was no use straining to see them, so I waited.

One bird started calling from a nearby tree. I couldn’t see it until it flitted away, and I glimpsed its yellow breast before it disappeared, all alone into the sky.

None of its friends or relatives came, and soon I headed home for dinner. I will try again tomorrow.

It was a month ago that I first saw the white-eyes. I’d waited there in just that spot, and suddenly the branches sprang to life as the flock arrived at once.

Months of frustration were relieved; at last I could see the tiny, noisy birds. They feasted on the old and squishy fruit, offering me intimate glimpses through scrawny branches. I left them there, eventually, still feasting, and went home to share the story with you — but the internet had died.

It stayed dead for days, and then I left on another trip.

With a dismal six posts since the first of June, I fear I’m beginning to stretch even generous definitions of the word ‘blog’. I find my desires for this blog simply cannot be fulfilled — not as long as I am living without the internet for days and weeks at a time.

Thanks to those who are sticking with me. I’ll try to keep writing what I can, as long as the internet lasts.