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.

PORT MORESBY, PNG — Since my first full day in this country, frogmouths have been a jinx bird for me. About two weeks ago, I realized that this day might be my only chance to see the birds before I go home in November, so I emailed Eric Katovai and said I wanted to bird at Pacific Adventist University.

I knew that tour groups tick the Papuan Frogmouth there, and so I was excited when I arrived. Eric had cautioned, however, that the birds had been scarce of late.

Eric left me in the hands of a biology major named Auldreen, and the first thing we did was look for frogmouths. Things looked pretty dismal for awhile, but if you want to know what happened, you’ll need to keep on reading.

Waterbirds are diverse and abundant at PAU; they accounted for nearly half of the morning’s 44 species. Yellow-eyed Australasian Grebes ducked in and out of the water. They are getting their breeding colors now, for spring is less than three weeks away. Ruddy Wandering Whistling-Ducks crowded on the shore and in the ponds near Pacific Black Ducks. Spotted Whistling-Ducks preferred a quieter roost in the trees with night-herons, cormorants, and three Radjah Shelducks, who tried their best to remain incognito.

Auldreen greeted new discoveries — like the shelducks — with excitement and wonder. He expressed a joy in birds that refreshed and delighted me. I thought later that he must be the first kindred birder-spirit that I’ve found since I came to this country.

Grey-headed Munias, endemic to eastern PNG, flocked in the tall grasses, where coucals also lurked. The munias’ heads were gray enough, but the rest of them was very dark, save for the yellow-orange tail. Kookaburras did not appear, but we did see plenty of the colorful figbirds, red skin bunched around their eyes.

We birded for almost four hours, and then I was sorry to see Auldreen go. I walked to the ponds one last time before the taxi came, and there, not much taller than the whistling-ducks, a Pied Heron stood erect and still. White breast plumes splayed across its green-black belly, and its dapper cap bore a little tail, just like Davy Crockett’s.

UKARUMPA, PNG — I see and hear House Sparrows (Passer domesticus) every time I travel through Port Moresby. I’ve seen them around the airport, and in suburban yards of districts like Boroko. Two weeks ago (August 2), I observed adults feeding youngsters in a nest that they’d constructed in the fruit cluster of a small palm.

I thought that Moresby was the only place the species has established itself, but I was wrong.

Ere’ere is a village is on the coast, slightly north of Yule Island and perhaps 60 or 70 miles (as the crow flies) northwest of Moresby. It is home to about 700 people — and to House Sparrows.

Every day last week, I listened to their noisy chirping in the morning hours. The birds were very difficult to see, apparently spending their time high in the crowns of coconut palms. I did get a look at one female as she preened at the base of a frond.

How did House Sparrows get to Ere’ere? Has the Moresby population begun spreading along the coast? Several large, densely populated villages are strung along the coast between the city and Ere’ere, so the scenario is not entirely implausible. Or, could a person have brought them to the village?

If they’ve expanded northwest along the coast, might they be spreading southeast as well?

According to one author, House Sparrows have established themselves in PNG since only 1992. They are not mentioned anywhere in Beehler et al.’s field guide, which was published in 1986.

I found a very interesting account of the first sighting of House Sparrows in PNG — a group of four birds in 1976.

At that time, the observers expressed great concern at the birds’ presence and were relieved that all four disappeared. Apparently, the species was not seen again until about 1986, but three years later, House Sparrows were also observed on Yule Island, which is just south of Ere’ere as I mentioned above.

I am curious about the Yule Island observation and will try to get a copy of the old Papua New Guinea Bird Society journal article that documented it. I do not know whether House Sparrows could or would have crossed the sea from the island to the coast, or vice versa.

Do House Sparrows pose a threat to PNG natives (birds or otherwise)? What factors might influence or limit their expansion? Like Moresby, Ere’ere is located in very dry savanna country. Is that important for the sparrows? Could they survive in villages near wetter, forested regions?

Where else might they already be established along the southern coast? Should we be concerned?

PORT MORESBY, PNG — I just happened to be looking out the window when a small bird flew onto a branch. I’d been hearing House Sparrows for awhile but dug out and raised the binoculars anyway.

I knew right away that the little bird was something I hadn’t seen before.

Squinting through the glass, screen, and security wire, I struggled to make out details: gray head, white throat, red-brown upper breast and white below, and was that a flash of yellow in the wings?

I had a pretty good idea what the little bird was, though I couldn’t remember its name exactly. The view through the window was terrible, but I managed to maneuver for a slightly better look.

The bird was preening in the early morning sun, apparently not in a hurry to begin its day. Yes, I could see some yellow-green in the flight feathers, and maybe a brownish wash across the back.

A quick consultation with Beehler and friends confirmed my hunch: Rufous-banded Honeyeater.

With a final stretch of its right wing — and then its left — the bird disappeared behind razor wire and banana leaves.

Four hours later, I peered through clouds at a humpy, brown land that protruded from the deep blue and turquoise of the sea. Waves’ white teeth edged the reefs, and high-rise buildings clustered together not far from neighborhoods that stretched out over the water.

I’d seen a Purple Swamphen flicking its tail among the egrets as we taxied out — the second in as many days. Yesterday, a big glossy bird with a heavy red bill and shield sprang from the road as we rumbled past. Just a short while before, we’d watched a Darter flap-flap-gliding high over the road, extensively pale below.

PORT MORESBY, PNG — I knew they’d be life birds if only I could find them, but I just couldn’t see the calling birds. Where were they? What were they?

I woke suddenly, but the musical calls didn’t stop. Maybe there was still a chance!

Two small doves sat on the wires close to a power pole. I quickly took in their gray, black-barred bodies, including the barring on their necks and upper breasts. Peaceful Doves! One of the birds leaned forward, neck inflated slightly, and then I realized that the doves were the source of the calls I’d heard even before I awoke.

I lingered outside, wishing I weren’t confined by the fence topped with barbed wire — or more precisely, by the concerns that had helped to put it there. The little doves came and went, landing for a few moments at a time on the wires before disappearing again into thick trees across the street.

Once, a pair flew over, and I could see constrasting dark underwing coverts, though against the bright sky I couldn’t discern the reddish color.

Another time, two birds landed together on the wire, and the male (or so I guessed) approached the female, bowing and flaring his tail to expose the white feather tips. He gave a soft, purring coo that rose and fell in pitch, quite different from the endlessly repeated louder calls.

Why were they silent yesterday but so insistently vocal today?

House Sparrows squirmed around in the trees and shrubs, and I saw a Yellow-tinted Honeyeater or two. Torresian Crows honked in the distance, and I saw one flying high and very far away.