DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — My thoughts are far from chilly, wet Texas tonight. Come away with me. Hear the voices of New Guinea birds.

I recorded these birds in the hill forest just above Madang town, Papua New Guinea, in June 2005. The quality isn’t like National Geographic, but then neither is my equipment.

• White-bellied Cuckoo-shrikes (Coracina papuensis) are widespread in the lowlands. See my picture here.
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• Variable Pitohuis (Pitohui kirhocephalus) are one of the few birds known to be poisonous. The birds I saw near Madang looked similar to Mehd Halaouate’s Variable Pitohui photo in the BirdForum database (also on the page are brief comments on the bird’s toxicity). I have to confess, I’m about 99% certain that this recording is the pitohui, but unfortunately, I didn’t label the file back when I recorded it. If I’m wrong, somebody please correct me.
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• Helmeted Friarbirds (Philemon buceroides) are abundant in PNG’s lowlands, and their raucous cries are one of the most commonly heard bird sounds. A Papua New Guinean in Western Province told me that when the birds begin to call in earnest toward evening, the people know it’s time to leave their gardens and start walking home. Like Carolina Wrens, Red-eyed Vireos, and many other songbirds, Helmeted Friarbirds sing several different versions of their song, as you can hear below.
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UKARUMPA, PNG — I spent some more time with “Birds of the Aiyura Valley” tonight, flipping back and forth between it and “Birds of New Guinea.” There are entire orders I haven’t seen up here, including the doves and the cuckoos. (On second thought, a small flock of Rock Pigeons hangs around the market tables and basketball court, but they hardly count.)

Brian keeps talking about the forest on the ridge, almost promising me that he’ll arrange a trip up there some day. He saw four species of bird-of-paradise in that forest several years ago, but he hasn’t been back up since. He’s more interested in orchids than he is in birds, but maybe I can be a good influence on the man.

The two of us were together yesterday for a day trip into Madang Province.

I saw golden-plovers in the grass as the 206 touched down at the Madang airport. From the brief look I had as we whooshed past, they seemed to be acquiring breeding colors. It is about time for that I suppose; “Birds of New Guinea” says they’ll all be far to the north in another month.

A Helmeted Friarbird popped up in a tree and called. Black Kites were about the only other living species I saw through the rest of the day, though Brian and I did have a nice look at a Dollarbird flying overhead and calling. My hoped-for hornbill did not materialize.

I specify “living species” because we also saw some dead ones. Brian pointed out a dessicated King Bird-of-paradise that hung by its feet from the rearview mirror of the truck in which we rode. Its plumage had faded to the color of a red velvet cake, and its two wiry tail feathers were gone.

And then, on our return to the airport, I had a brief glimpse of a Varied Honeyeater before we left the lowlands. As we flew over Astrolabe Bay, two large waterbirds flew below the plane, but they were much too far away to see.

MADANG LODGE, PNG — I got up a bit after six and walked out to the waterfront to see what I could see. It was still fairly dark, and low clouds on the horizon told me there wouldn’t be a sunrise to speak of. Flying foxes streamed overhead from the west, heading into town to roost after a night spent feeding in the mountains.

Some of the bats flew out to sea and swooped low over the water before returning to the land. I couldn’t figure out what they were doing. Can they drink saltwater?

As the light increased, I could see Willie-wagtails flitting around in the coconuts, chattering and singing.

I kept an eye on the trees. Yesterday, I caught glimpses of the yellowish-brown honeyeaters that I had seen in Madang town when we were here before. I determined that today was the day to solve that mystery.

It was almost too easy. Before too long, a bird flew in to a nearby coconut palm. It wasn’t a Willie-wagtail. It came out into the open, and I watched it as it foraged methodically in the tree, occasionally bursting into loud, musical song. The bird had a sharp, slightly decurved bill and a floppy, ragged tail. It was streaked below with traces of yellow-green in its wings and tail.

A few large sphinx moths rested on the coconut fronds. The Willie-wagtails and honeyeaters did not attempt to tackle them, but a Sacred Kingfisher did. Several kingfishers were present, and evidently their long, stout bills enable them to go after a juicy breakfast of moth.

I kept scanning the water too, and the sharp coral near the shore. I am still amazed by the lifeless waters along the coast — no gulls, no terns, no frigatebirds or tropicbirds, no herons. Surely there is ample food for all these and more.

But there was a heron! It glided across the water and landed on the reef. The bird was evenly gray, though its bill was orange-tipped, and its greenish-yellow legs brightened to yellow on the toes. It hunted actively among the jagged coral, snapping up what appeared to be small crabs. After a few moments, it flew on down the coast.

Flying foxes began calming down as the morning wore on, and Black Kites started to fly. Then I saw something different flying, coming straight overhead. It flew like an accipiter, and as it went over I saw its gray head and reddish underparts. It kept going and landed quite a distance away. A few minutes later, I saw it headed back my way. This time, it appeared to be clutching a small reptile in its talons. I haven’t been doing so well with raptors here, so I hoped I’d be able to identify it later.

A flock of munias kicked up onto a fence across the cove. “Hooded,” I thought dismissively. Of course, given that I know virtually nothing about distribution and habitat preferences, the thought was very foolish. Thankfully, I lifted my glasses anyway. “Whoa, they’re different!” The birds had frosty crowns and light brown breasts, separated from their pale bellies by a thin dark line. I noticed a few birds on the far end of the group that looked quite different. Their underparts were solid black.

Andy and Mark picked that moment to arrive and tell me it was time to leave for Ukarumpa. They wondered what I was doing, and Andy wanted to look at the munias through my binocs. “They’re tiny,” was about all he had to say.

I saw several cockatoos as we drove, and once an enormous bird flew over the van. “What was that?” Krista asked. Hornbill! And this one counts.

UKARUMPA, PNG — Back in Ukarumpa this afternoon, I checked out the morning’s sightings in my field guide. Varied Honeyeater and Pacific Reef-Heron were easy IDs, but the raptor unfortunately was not. It was a goshawk, but PNG has several species, and more than one looks like the one I saw. The frosty-headed munias were Chestnut-breasted Munias, and the black-fronted birds were Grand Munias.

I went outside and sat on a fallen tree near the back fence, eating Skittles. The resident flock of Hooded Munias worked the fenceline, calling softly as they are wont. I really haven’t been able to think of a North American species with which to compare them. They feed in grass and weeds like sparrows, but they always stay very close together in flocks. Like marshmallow peeps in a cardboard box, they huddle up in tight rows when they leave the ground and perch on the barbed wire.

A familiar trilled call sent me off the log and up the hill, peering up into the trees above me. Rainbow Bee-eaters! I’d learned their call, but I’d never been able to see them to my satisfaction. Their calls are soft and mellow but have a peculiar far-carrying quality. I had seen them at the tops of very distant trees or seen them flying in small groups far away. But these sounded close.

One flew out in a loop, and I saw them in a snag — three or four, glinting gem-like green and blue in the afternoon sun. What exquisite creatures — and then they were gone, wings flashing cinnamon in flight.

MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — A white speck caught my eye. Something was flying above the trees on the far side of the canyon, and I knew immediately what it had to be: a Sulphur-crested Cockatoo. I saw it land in a tree, and I thought I could just make out its yellow crest. Then it took off again and did not stop flying for as long as I could watch it, flapping, gliding, flashing white from a great distance until finally I let it go.

It was one of those awkward and boring mornings when everything is packed, but it’s not time to go, and there’s nothing much to do. I was more than happy for the time to bird. I hoped that today, on the last day, I’d get amazing views of the lories and little green parrots, but no.

I did see a falcon, though. As it descended, I knew it was a large falcon and not just another Black Kite. It landed on a dead branch in the top of a tree, and I tried to position myself to see it. It was right in front of the rising sun, and the glare was terrible. I walked quickly to the office balcony to try that vantage point. It was even worse. The bird must have been either a young Peregrine Falcon or a Brown Falcon, but the light was so bad I just couldn’t see. What a lousy way to miss a life bird.

Later, looking over the canyon, I saw a dove flying. I followed it until it landed, and though it was distant, I could see its green back, gray head, and what appeared to be a brownish purple breast and pink speckles on its wings. Pink-spotted Fruit-Dove.

And with that, it was goodbye to the lush forest, the heat, the sea, and (I hope) the mosquitoes. Fully-trained, or something, we are bound for Ukarumpa to begin the summer’s work.

MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — Today, our last full day in Madang, was set aside for shopping and relaxation. I went out to my canyon overlook before the Dinah came to take us into town. I kept hearing a loud call consisting of a single repeated note. I looked and looked, trying to locate the bird that was calling, and finally I saw a speck on a limb at a great distance.

I could tell that the bird was a large kingfisher. Its head appeared to be black and white, and its belly was deep chestnut — at least, I thought that was its belly. The bird was so distant I couldn’t quite tell how its body was positioned. It flew a little bit, and I saw blue patches when it did.

But wait, was that the bird that was calling? I heard the call again, and it came from much closer. I kept searching and finally located a second bird on my side of the canyon. Its back was to me, revealing metallic turquoise patches on its wings and back. Then I thought that the birds must be a pair, calling back and forth. I didn’t know what they were, but I wondered if they might be a species of kookaburra. I hoped so.

Sure enough, a consultation with the field guide told me that they were Rufous-bellied Kookaburras, which live in “noisy territorial pairs.”

Down in Madang town, four or five of us decided to walk to Pukpuk Pond. To our disappointment, it did not contain pukpuk (crocodiles); however, one white egret stood out in the middle of the marshy pond. Everyone else kept walking while I stopped to look at the egret. Quickly giving up on the bird (how am I ever going to identify these egrets?), I scanned the lily pads. Small birds moved around, and I realized with a start that they must be jacanas. I got only brief looks and then had to hurry to catch up with my friends.

When we came around the other side of the pond, someone spotted a jacana walking across the lily pads. “Look at that bird.”

“I’d be happy to,” I thought, but instead I handed around the binoculars to the interested parties. They were intrigued by the jacana’s very long toes.

And we moved on. Singing Starlings, Willie-wagtails, Pacific Swallows, and Black Kites are abundant in the city. There’s also a medium-sized, yellowish-brown passerine that seems fairly common, but I’ve never been able to get a good look at one. They fly across roads into thick trees or slip maddeningly through branches, proving generally uncooperative and difficult.

Tonight, I finally managed to get a couple of decent gecko photos. The little lizards are everywhere, but they are skittish and can be difficult to approach.