GREENE CO., MO — Thanks for your well wishes in response to my Gulf Coast target list last weekend. Unfortunately, they weren’t enough to bring success in the venture.

It’s not really fair to complain about a trip that included Long-billed Curlews, Marbled Godwits, avocets, Snowy Plovers, and Roseate Spoonbills, but the fact is, Saturday just wasn’t one of those lucky days. I stared into cattails until I started hallucinating, but we couldn’t even find a Sora, let alone a Virginia Rail. And anis remain a jinx bird for another year.

Thousands of Snow Geese fed in the fields at Anahuac, and we picked out a few Greater White-fronteds too. The tide was way out at Bolivar Flats, so shorebirds were dispersed over vast expanses of sand. The saltmarsh, which should have been crawling with Seaside and sharp-tailed sparrows, was very quiet. Ah well.

The two most interesting sightings, for me, were the Neotropic Cormorants in breeding plumage and three Horned Grebes in flight over the Gulf.

I don’t recall ever seeing a grebe (of any sort) in flight before, but as I scanned the water from Bolivar Flats, I picked up three birds moving low over the water, flashing white secondaries. They didn’t seem right for loons or ducks. They finally landed, and I was able (barely) to get them in the scope. They bobbed in and out of sight on the waves, but as far as I could tell, they showed the black-and-white faces of Horned Grebes. Cool!

So, all of my target birds will have to wait for another day.

I have seen 386 bird species in Texas. Depending on your frame of reference, this may sound pretty good, until I tell you that the current Texas big year record is 522 species. Yeah, 522 species in one year.

Now, if you know me at all, you probably realize that accumulating a huge state list is not of particular interest to me. I am more interested in habitats, biomes, and ecoregions than in arbitrary political borders, but the fact remains that arbitrary political borders do sometimes slice up the world into convenient little chunks. So, it makes sense to look for gaps in my life list, identify species that I should be able to find in my current little chunk of the world, and concentrate on finding those species.

So I’ve made a list of birds I’d like to find in Texas between now and the time I leave the country again in late winter:

• Greater Scaup
• King Rail
• Virginia Rail
• Groove-billed Ani
• Sprague’s Pipit
• Smith’s Longspur
• Chestnut-collared Longspur

You’ve already seen most of those names. I didn’t include species that occur in distant corners of the state (for example, Steller’s Jay and Spotted Owl), because I doubt I’ll be able to travel that far in the next couple of months.

So that was my list as of last week, and of course, the very first new bird I got was one I’d chosen not to put on the list. Sunday, a Long-tailed Duck was reported from Village Creek in Fort Worth. Monday morning, I stopped by on my way up to Missouri, and I found a crowd of other birders already there.

Scanning hundreds of Buffleheads, pintails, and shovelers, I finally found the female Oldsquaw (Can I just say it, please? There, I said it. Oldsquaw.), who was diving frequently and staying under for long periods. Eventually she came up and stayed for awhile, preening and offering nice, if distant looks. Her stubby, “rubber ducky” shape and white face with a dark cap and cheek patch were very striking. Long-tailed Ducks are reported a few times a year across Texas, and I didn’t expect to be in the right place at the right time to see one. But this little gal was sitting pretty. Score!

I didn’t get any pictures because of the distance, but here’s one from another Metroplex birder: female Long-tailed Duck.

So, hurrah for Long-tailed Ducks! I’m a fan. Now, let’s get busy on those other species. Anybody want to join my team? A-pipiting we’ll go!

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — By the time I found my second Sora, I was feeling pretty good. I watched the bird as it walked gingerly along submerged cattail leaves, picking at the duckweed on the surface of the pool. Marsh Wrens and yellowthroats flitted higher in the cattails, offering brief views and snatches of song in the case of the wrens.

By the time I’d seen four Soras and heard a fifth, I was pretty amazed. But I still couldn’t imagine what was to come.

By the time I left Village Creek yesterday afternoon, I had seen 16 Soras and heard two others! Sixteen! They seemed to appear nearly everywhere I looked, sometimes in loose family (?) groups of three to four birds.

I keep dreaming of cool, crisp fall weather, but Dallas is still hot, sticky, and stale. It’s a disappointment I feel every autumn that I spend in Texas. In college, my poem called “Protesto” began with the line, “It’s November, for crying out loud.”

But regardless of the weather, there are subtle signs that it’s autumn. The high number of Soras I observed is likely due to a push of migrants moving through. Coots are starting to return in good numbers — I saw at least a couple hundred yesterday. More Northern Shovelers have joined the flocks of Blue-winged Teal, and the males are starting to get their bright colors back. Yesterday, I had one drake pintail too.

Summer residents like Painted Buntings have either disappeared or become so inconspicuous as not to be noticeable. I haven’t seen one in several weeks. Other breeders — and post-breeding wanderers — are still around. Scissor-tailed Flycatchers and Barn Swallows are still here, of course.

Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks remain numerous and conspicuous at Village Creek. Yesterday, one juvenile White Ibis joined about 20 of its White-faced cousins in the grassy edges of the pools. (OK, yes, there could have been a Glossy tossed in there too, but if there was, I sure couldn’t tell. Fall is not the time to be trifling with the dark ibises.)

Shorebirds are still moving through. Most of the water at Village Creek is too deep for shorebirds, but in small patches of habitat I found several species:

• Solitary Sandpiper - 1
• Least Sandpiper - 30-50
• Long-billed Dowitcher (I think. I guess. I’m confident! Err, yes.)
• Wilson’s Snipe - 1 (Gorgeous, orangey plumage. Wow.)
• Killdeer - ubiquitous
• Stilt Sandpiper - 1 (Much easier to identify than sometimes believed.)
• Lesser Yellowlegs - 2 (Killdeer-sized — a handy comparison if Killdeer are present.)
• American Avocet - 8 (Best shorebird ever! Gorgeous.)

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — Before my unsuccessful twitch yesterday, I birded Cedar Ridge Preserve and Village Creek Drying Beds. White-eyed Vireos were plentiful and vocal at Cedar Ridge. Residents included cardinals, Blue Jays, chickadees, and Carolina and Bewick’s wrens. Other migrants were one Great Crested Flycatcher and one Nashville Warbler — a brightly plumaged male even showing hints of an orange crown.

I found the drying beds — a favorite spot when I lived in Arlington two years ago — unlocked and full of birders. Fort Worth Audubon was on a field trip. Water was very high in all the units, so there was practically no shorebird habitat. Egrets littered the fringes of the pools, and a Red-shouldered Hawk flew over, showing off gorgeous plumage.

Black-bellied Whistling Ducks were conspicuous. A pair (or more?) of adults kept flying around and squealing, and a group of about 10 juveniles huddled close together, which made me suspect that a pair had bred here or nearby. I also saw a pair of Mallards, several dozen Blue-winged Teal (some of the earliest migrants), and a single Northern Shoveler. Pied-billed Grebes were also plentiful, and I’d imagine that they breed here too.

As I walked in the general direction of a photographer from the FWAS group, I heard a warbler song. “Yellow?” I wondered. A moment later, the man hailed me and said he was trying to photograph a pair of “Common Yellow Warblers.”

“I heard one singing,” I said.

“That was my phone,” he said.

Oh, how embarrassing. He was trying to lure the birds out into the open for a picture. He kept talking, and I soon realized that the birds he was actually after were Common Yellowthroats, not Yellow Warblers. Perhaps one reason that they hadn’t responded to the cell phone.

After he left, I did get a look at a young male yellowthroat, but I couldn’t find the Sora that the group had seen just before I arrived. And later, I did find a real Yellow Warbler too.

A Swainson’s Hawk joined a kettle of Black Vultures overhead.

Before I left Arlington, I checked out the unit of River Legacy Park on north Cooper, and I found water in the wetland that was dry two years ago. There were Red-shouldered Hawks and Turkey Vultures in the area, but no water birds that I could see. Nearby, however, I found a flooded patch of woodland with several migrants: Wilson’s Warbler, Nashville Warbler, Yellow Warbler, and White-eyed Vireo.

At Tawakoni, I didn’t do much other than look for the Sabine’s Gull and jaeger that had been seen earlier in the day. As I have already related, I was not successful. I did, however, see several Ospreys, one of which plunged into the lake and came up with a fish. There was a distant flock of several dozen American White Pelicans — what a combination of ungainliness and grace!

Of course, I had to make a pilgrimage to the giant spider web that’s been making news and attracting thousands of visitors to the park. The glory days of the phenomenon are over, but it’s still a weird and eerie sight, calling to mind images from the Wizard of Oz or countless other stories. For photos and information about the “happening,” to borrow a term from the arts, see the link above.

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — Wonders abound in the odd intersections between time and space. There are spectacles and mysteries, traces of the past, and hints of the myriad future. When we bird, we place ourselves into those intersections deliberately, hoping to delve just a little deeper into the universe.

A Golden-cheeked Warbler recently arrived on a hilltop in Texas. He is singing now, staking out a territory for the mate he hopes to win. He flits to the top of a juniper tree, tilts back his head, and releases a brief, complex melody.

Below him, birders named Mike and David emit stifled exclamations. Farther away, down in the riverbed, huge three-toed hollows are a trace of the dinosaurs that once roamed this land. There were no Golden-cheeked Warblers then.

And what when another era has passed, and again, there are no Golden-cheeked Warblers? Warblers do not leave their footprints in stone, and their songs fade quickly in turbulent air.

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — The slowest gas pump in Texas — and possibly all of the South — is located at a Conoco station near Jacksboro. The sunshine was bright, and the car had been warm enough. But as I stood in the wind, listening to the gas pump squeak and thump, I was very cold.

Happily, the morning did improve. By 10:30, I’d found the bird I was after: a Red-necked Grebe at Lake Kickapoo.

Apparently only the 20th of its species ever recorded in Texas, the little bird has become a celebrity following its discovery Jan. 28. It’s been seen most often from Lake Kickapoo Camp on the lake’s south shore, which is where I saw the bird Saturday.

Sherry, the daughter of the campground’s proprietors, showed me the cove where the bird was hanging out. Sherry wore brown coveralls and had a country song somewhere in her smile. She was curious about the grebe and excited by the sudden influx of visitors and publicity its discovery had brought.

I watched the grebe fishing actively in the cove; once, I saw it come up with a small fish. Its long, heavy bill gave the bird a distinctive silhouette, even before I had got the scope set up to study other details. I was impressed by the vigor with which the bird dove — no gentle slides into the water for this grebe, no sir. The bird thrust itself forward into each dive, arcing through the air before it pierced the water and disappeared.

After watching the grebe for a few minutes, I wandered over to another vantage point where three other birders were scanning the lake. Shortly after I’d arrived, someone announced, “Western Grebe!” In short order, we all found two Aechmophorus grebes with our scopes. Almost immediately, the other birders concluded that one of the birds was a Clark’s Grebe. My scope was the least capable in the lineup, and while they confidently discussed bill colors and face patterns, I just sort of squinted at two black-and-white shapes far, far away. Oh, I thought I could barely make out a difference in the amount of black on the birds’ faces, but I certainly wasn’t going to make any calls myself, and I was glad no life birds were depending on it.

After that, I spent some more time scoping the Red-necked Grebe and talking with a couple of fisherman, one of whom wanted to see the bird through my scope. “So it’s really that big a deal?” one asked, with amazement but not a hint of scorn.

The campground wasn’t charging birders for our visits, and I wanted to buy something at the snack bar to express appreciation. Unfortunately, I had no cash and they don’t take credit cards, so Sherry just gave me a Sprite. I’d wanted to do a good deed but ended up on the receiving end instead!

Shortly before leaving, I watched the Aechmophorus grebes swim into a cove where they were hidden from view. It appeared that they’d be quite close to shore if I could find a vantage point, so I drove through a nearby residential area, trying to glimpse the water.

Glimpse it I did, and I found the grebes! Just a few feet from shore, two Western and one Clark’s floated as a threesome. Here, conditions were superb for viewing the dingy, greenish bills of the Western Grebes and the bright orange-yellow bill of the Clark’s. I could also see that the Clark’s black cap was entirely above its red eye while the dark color extended down around the eyes of the Westerns. All of these are classic field marks of course, and I was really pleased to see them so well.

So with an excellent start to the day, I set off to explore back roads through Archer, Young, and Throckmorton counties. I hadn’t gotten too far before I saw a large, brown falcon flush a flock of meadowlarks. It was too big and pale to be anything but … Prairie Falcon! I accelerated down the gravel road, attempting to catch up with the bird. When I did, I jumped out of the car to watch the falcon soar in broad circles directly overhead, offering perhaps the best looks I’ve ever had at the species in flight. Wow!

The next major excitement occurred on highway 79 in Throckmorton County when I spotted a flock of Sandhill Cranes off to the right. In a stunt reminiscent of (but not as bad as) the infamous Whooping Crane Incident of 2002, I drove off the road onto the grassy shoulder, attempting to stop the car while simultaneously avoiding getting hit from behind.

When I reached the town of Throckmorton, I spent some time birding the cemetery and a small park. It was slow going for the most part, but I did hear a few White-crowned Sparrows singing near the cemetery. That’s also where I watched a roadrunner slowly working the brush line, passing just a few yards in front of me. The bird pumped its crest and tail when it paused, and I watched in complete amazement as the afternoon revealed iridescent greens and blues in the bird’s brown body feathers and tail. I had always thought of roadrunners in shades of brown, never realizing that they possessed these subtle, gem-like colors!

I saw three Eurasian Collared-Doves and heard a couple more, and I heard a Blue Jay. I went west out of town on US-380 and turned north on 222. Raptors like Rough-legged Hawks and Prairie Falcons had been reported from this area in the past, but it was a bust on Saturday.

I was pleased to find a male Golden-fronted Woodpecker and a female Ladder-backed Woodpecker in extreme northwest Throckmorton County. It had been over a year since I’d seen either species. Several Greater Yellowlegs fed in standing water along the road, and toward sunset (down a road Buicks weren’t really designed to drive) I came upon many hundreds of geese and dabbling ducks at the edge of Millers Creek Reservoir.

The birds were very distant, but I could make out the bright white Snow-type geese and the chinstraps on Canada-type geese. I also just barely detected the orange legs and white-banded tails of Greater White-fronted Geese in flight. I wondered whether the flock contained all five species of geese, but there was no way to tell.

Western and Eastern meadowlarks sang as the sun began its final descent. Ahead of me was a long drive home.