Kismet at Kumul

My first image of the Kumul Lodge grounds, shot with flash.

Sometimes you take a photograph and think it's nothing special, only to discover later that you captured something surprising in it. On my trip last September to Papua New Guinea I had a bit of photographic serendipity one evening, though it would be weeks before I'd realize it.

Our group was staying at Kumul Lodge near Mt.Hagen, a very rustic destination famous among birders for its amazing feeding station which attracts tiger parrots, ribbon-tailed astrapias, and brown sicklebills, among other species. I plan to devote a blog post or two to the Kumul Lodge feeding station once I have a bit more time for writing. Just before dinner one evening, I thought to take a photo of the lodge's grounds and buildings. Standing near the main building I snapped a few images with my Canon G-11, switching settings between photos in an attempt to capture the mood of the scene in the fading daylight.

The first shot (top of this post) was taken on Auto, with the flash engaged. It washed out the beautiful cloudy sky and lit up the buildings.

My second shot of the grounds, without flash.

My second image was more moody, capturing the sky and silhouetted trees, and giving just a hint of the buildings. But something else in the center of the image caught my eye... it looked like a detached part of the tree.

A closer look—probably a mountain swiftlet.

A closer look revealed a bird swooping across the dusk-filled sky, captured kismetically in the image I shot. I'm guessing it's probably a mountain swiftlet because this species was ubiquitous at Kumul and elsewhere.

Kismet is a word of Turkish derivation meaning "destiny." I love thinking that my life and this swiftlet's life crossed for a millisecond, connected by a camera's lens, in the only moment it could have possibly happened, on the far side of the world.

Encountering the Warrior

Warrior, of the Huli people in Papua New Guinea.

On an afternoon trip from Ambua Lodge to a nearby roost site of a sooty owl, our birding group got its first encounter with a member of the local Huli people. The roost site was in a cavity in a tall eucalyptus-like tree in the middle of some hand-planted crop fields.

I wish I had photos of our initial moments with the man I came to know simply as Warrior. He was a Huli wigman who appeared in the middle of the road as we were trying to execute a too-tight turn in our combi-bus. He initially waved and smiled, and beckoned us to drive after him down the road. He was running barefoot down the road in front of us, feathered headdress waving with his movement, a bundle of leaves covering his backside.

That's Warrior on the right, walking in front of our bus.

As our bus started to follow him, he suddenly whirled, notched and arrow and aimed it at us through the windshield. I must admit that I jumped and dodged behind the seat back in front of me. A palpable surge of momentary fear had gone through our group. And just as quickly, the man smiled and laughed, turning to resume his trot down the road.

Fewer than 100 yards later, a washed out bridge prevented our further progress, so we dismounted and continued on foot. The wigman immediately came up to me to show me his bow and arrows. I was fascinated, and he could tell. Our conversation went like this:

"I sell you all 75 kina!" he said.
"No thanks. Please tell me your name!"
"Warrior!"
"Is that really your name?"
"Yes, I warrior. What name bilong you?"
"My name is Bill."
"Beel! My fren!"

Warrior tried once or twice more to sell me his arrows, but each time I politely declined and asked him another question. Despite our language difficulty—he did not speak much English and I could only discern certain phrases in Pidgen, the language most common in Papua New Guinea, a mash-up of English, German, and various local tongues—we learned a lot about each other. The land where we were going to find the sooty owl was owned by him and his clan. He did some farming, but mostly hunting and guiding people. I asked him is this was how he dressed every day, and he confirmed it. Looking closely at his headdress, I could see cassowary feathers, two sulphur-crested cockatoo feathers, fresh plant stems and leaves, and a carefully folded and pinned-in-place label from a food product. A long tan reed was centered beneath the tip of his nose, inserted through a hole in his septum. Elaborate patterns were painted on his face in red, yellow, and black.


We'd be instructed to ask for permission to take photographs of the people we would encounter—this is only common courtesy after all. But we'd also been asked/advised not to pay money for this privilege, since PNG is trying to maintain a spirit of friendly hospitality for visiting tourists. The concern being that if every photo-taking tourist is made to pay to take photographs, the local culture and customs could devolve into mercenary commerce, opening the door to more of the problems caused by so-called "rascals" who commit crimes against tourists and travelers.

It can be a rare thing to enjoy an authentic encounter with someone native to a country you are visiting. Sometimes a place and its people are so inured to tourists that they have little interest in answering the same handful of questions from yet another busload of visitors ("Do you really live here? What do you eat? Did you make that yourself?"). Or, and this is becoming much less common in our modern world, you visit a place where few outsiders go and the people are very shy and reticent. Either way, it can be difficult to get an authentic feel for the people and place.

Waiting for the owl.

I suspect that Warrior could easily rev-up his guiding "act" for a bunch of oblivious tourists. He shot several bamboo "arrows" for us—at a cloud, at a distant tree. He did not shoot any of the more finely made arrows he held in his hand. As we walked along, talking, he seemed to enjoy getting to know me as much as I did him.

We crossed through a farmyard and over a series of creeks, then through planted fields, trying our best to avoid stepping on the vines of the plants growing from the ground. Once at the roost site, one of the local men went forward and used a 30-foot long pole to scratch the side of the tree. This was meant to get the owl to peek outside, which it did. But the owl was startled enough from his daytime slumber that it flew off to a nearby copse of trees.

The roost tree, with the cavity (on the upper left fork)

I had been videotaping the tree scratching, but when the owl peeked out I went for my binoculars and completely missed getting any shots or footage.

After-owl group photo with the local family and our guides.

Our group posed for some photos with the local family and our guides at the owl roost.

The farmer, including Warrior, are paid a fee each time a group of bird watchers visits. This is an excellent example of grassroots ecotourism. The local villagers know that by protecting the owl and its roost tree, they can earn money from visiting groups. We discussed ways to show the owl without spooking it from its roost, and the local folks assured us that the owl usually peeks out for a minute or so and then goes back down inside the cavity to sleep.

Walking through the cultivated fields.

On our way back to the road it began to rain quite heavily. Within minutes we were all soaked through and getting chilled. At the road, we parted company with Warrior and his family. I did buy an arrow from him and he told me about how he made it. He made a slit along one side of the arrow shaft. Into this shaft he inserted some small seeds. He told me that when this arrow goes into his enemy, those seeds will make it hurt more. Knowing how intense the fighting can be among rival clans in PNG, I did not doubt Warrior's sincerity or intent.

The arrow's construction was ingenious. It was designed to come apart mid-shaft. And it was beautifully carved and decorated with paint. The balance was perfect and though I will never shoot it from a bow, I am sure it would fly straight and true.

Before we left Warrior and his family I asked if I could take his photograph.

"Yes, Beel, you my friend! Take photo!"

Warrior posed for me to take his photo.

I did and we shook hands and turned to go our separate ways returning to our separate and very different worlds. I'm not sure Warrior will remember me, but each time I look at the red arrow, I surely remember him.

That's me with my arrow, wearing one of the traditional hats worn in PNG. This one is woven in the colors of the national flag.

Birding in Papua New Guinea: Ribbon-tailed Astrapia

Let's go back to Papua New Guinea for a post or two, shall we? In the afternoon of our first full day afield, the weather waffled between cool/cloudy and sunny/warming. We birded along the Highlands Highway as well as along some forest trails. While we saw quite a few new species, and more individuals of species we'd already added to the list, the most notable encounter was a foraging immature male ribbon-tailed astrapia—our third bird-of-paradise of the day.

Young male ribbon-tailed astrapia.

This young male foraged on the fruits of a tree alongside the road, at about eye level. Though the light was weak, I managed to get a few images with my digiscoping rig. Adult females show a dark brown body, and long dark tail feathers. Adult males have long white tail streamers and a glossy all-black body.


You can see in my video below that this bird is starting to show some white in the tail feathers.

After enjoying the astrapia show, we headed back to Ambua Wilderness Lodge, where the sun finally came out in earnest. We relaxed on the front lawn, enjoying the view and chatting about what we'd seen and what we were hoping to see in the days ahead.

Ambua Lodge view.

Our first full day of birding in Papua New Guinea was coming to an end. And what an incredible experience it had been.

Next PNG post: seeking the sooty owl.

More Birds and More King of Saxony!

Scanning the forest for signs of bird life.

After birding along the Highlands Highway on that morning of King of Saxony magic, we drove down the dusty road to some land owned by the clan of our guide, Benson. He had cut some forest trails that ambled along to good vantage points for some other avian specialties.

Driving the Highlands Highway in our combi bus. Note the Obama sticker on the windshield!

We saw birds with truly weird names: yellow-browed melidectes, Belford's melidectes, rufescent imperial pigeon, Papuan mountain pigeon, Papuan lorikeet, canary flycatcher, rufous-naped whistler, regent whistler, Whistler's mother, blue-capped ifrita, crested berrypecker, lesser melampitta, mountain firetail, red-collared myzomela (some confusion over its pronunciation: myZOMela or MYzoMELa) and three small, active birds (the names of which sound like a game of "One of These Things is NOT Like the Others") friendly fantail, Willie wagtail, and dimorphic fantail. And, I must confess we didn't actually see Whistler's mother.

Mountain firetail.

Perhaps my favorite bird name of the day was certainly descriptive of the species, but even more, it sounded like the name of a sexy villainess in a James Bond movie from the 1970s: smoky honeyeater.

All of these birds were very nice. Some offered themselves generously for observation. Many did not. What did stand out, however, was another session with a wonderfully cooperative (or oblivious) King of Saxony bird-of-paradise. This one was singing and waving his ostentatious plumes from just inside the forest canopy. Here's a little clip of the late morning antics of yet another King Sexy bird-of-paradise. I apologize for all the camera sound in the background. It was a narrow trail with a small viewing window to the bird, so we were all clustered together trying to capture our images.

This day was only partly over, and we'd already had an embarrassment of feathered riches. We did not know it then, but the day had one final bird-of-paradise sighting in store for us.

King of Saxony Bird-of-Paradise!

Male King of Saxony bird-of-paradise displaying.

We left things hanging earlier this week when I described getting my first look at a King of Saxony bird-of-paradise. I would have been back with the goods sooner but my trusty Mac laptop needed a brain transplant in the interim. But we're back now! And one of us has a new brain!

=-=-=

Somehow the gods were smiling on us that morning—perhaps to make up for the long journey we'd had the day before and the cold, rainy, late-afternoon arrival at our first bit of decent bird habitat. Now, standing along the Highlands Highway, with a singing male King of Saxony bird-of-paradise in front of us, we might not have imagined things could get any better. And then the sun came up behind us, illuminating the scene in a wash of golden color, burning off just enough of the morning mist so we could get sparklingly clear looks at this amazing beast before us.

He waved his head plumes back and forth, uttering the occasional song. We stood gob-smacked for a spell, and then came to life as we realized we had a chance to capture images of this aparition.


Imagine a large black, yellow, and white roundish bird with giant, spidery, iridescent feathers coming (seemingly) out of its ears. I struggled to find words to describe the head plumes. They were like pheasant tail feathers in length, but their bright metallic blue spots made them look like something from a Lady Gaga video.


One of our group asked "What King of Saxony was this bird named for?" I did not hear the answer ( it turns out it was Albert King of Saxony, whose full name was Frederick Augustus Albert Anton Ferdinand Joseph Karl Maria Baptist Nepomuk Wilhelm Xaver Georg Fidelis—a name as long as the head plumes of the bird that bears his moniker.) I guess we're lucky they did not pick one of his other names for this magnificent species. Nepomuk bird-of-paradise does not really cut it.

I thought of something different to myself, and apparently spoke this out loud: "They should just call it the King Sexy bird-of-paradise!" On this point we all concurred.

Here is the video I shot via my digiscoping rig. I apologize in advance for the background sounds of me struggling to pull another camera out of my waist pack. The King Sexy had me all shook up.

Birding Papua New Guinea Day 2, Part 1

Our birding gang awoke to a chilly, misty morning to start our first full day at Ambua Wilderness Lodge. Being so near the equator, one might suspect that the temperatures would be quite warm, but this was the highlands. At this elevation of 7,000 feet the weather here stays moderately cool all year long. We ate breakfast in the main lodge building in the darkness, our gear piled up near the front door.

The patio lights had attracted some spectacular moths overnight. While we awaited our transportation, we took some photos of these insects, and tried our best to see some birds in the pre-dawn light.


Still no bus, so I decided to run back to the cabin to drop something off. Just as I approached my door, I saw Mark Cocker standing farther down the path, looking up into the trees. "I've got a bird-of-paradise here, Bill!"

He may as well have said "I've finally found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Bill!"

I raced down the slippery steps to where he stood and followed his pointed finger into the dark, mist-enshrouded trees. Just then a black bird with a ridiculously long tail fluttered from one tree to another. "I think that's an astrapia," Mark said calmly, "Probably a Princess Stephanie's."

I was gasping at the spectacle, trying not to scream out loud or soil my boxers. Oh. My. GAWD!

Mark Cocker, astrapia conjuror and birding smock wearer.

Princess Stephanie's astrapia! My first-ever BOP! And I had Mark to thank for it!

It's here that I need to explain why there is no stunning photo of this bird. Due to the weight limitations for our airplane flights, I elected to take only three cameras with me on this trip: my digiscoping rig (a Leica scope, adapter, and camera), my new Canon G11 point and shoot, and my Canon Vixia video camera. I also knew from prior experience that it can be very hard to get keeper bird photos with a big rig/DSLR camera in the light-poor tropical jungle (read my posts on birding in The Philippines and Guyana for more on that).

Luckily, my scope and digiscoping camera were all back up at the main lodge. So I ran like the wind. Up and back. And here's what I got to show for it.





I also got one still (digiscoped) image of the astrapia's silhouette.


The whole gang came down when they heard about the bird. We did not get good looks at it—the light was horrible and the birds (there were two) were not particularly cooperative. Sensing this was a fool's errand, our guide Benson, who works out of Ambua Lodge, pulled us away from our astrapia stake-out, saying "We'll see many more of them where we're going!"

Our group watching for the astrapia's reappearance.

It was hard to leave a known site of a bird-of-paradise, but we needed to do so—the day was coming on. So we piled into the bus and headed out to the only major roadway through the area, the Highlands Highway.

Spreading out along the Highlands Highway.

The Highlands Highway is a wide gravel road running from the coastal city of Lae through the highlands, connecting the primary towns and cities of PNG to the ports of the coast. During our trip we used the highway many times. At places it was as rough as any road I've ever seen. In other spots there would be pavement and smooth sailing.


This morning, we stepped out of the bus onto the highway, and into the still-cool morning. A few jammed trucks or buses passed us over the next hour or so, but mostly we had the roadway to ourselves.

At the first stop, just as the sun began to make itself known, we formed a loose skirmish line of optics, tripods, and cameras facing the sunlit forest along one side of the road.

The sunlight came streaming through the forest and mist.

It was then that Benson called out what would become my favorite bird of the trip—and it was right at the start of the first day!

It was a displaying male King of Saxony bird-of-paradise! In full sun. Waving his long, opulent head feathers to and fro, oblivious to the gasps and exclamations of our group. Focus wheels were turned so speedily that smoke rose from our fingers. Our eyes strained to catch every glint of iridescence on the shimmering plumes. Our ears tuned to the male's long, sputtery, squeaky song—which was nowhere near as beautiful as his appearance.

Male King of Saxony bird-of-paradise.

This was heaven on a stick! My heart raced and sang a song of victory for I had, at long last, experienced a truly magnificent/incredible/sweetly awesome/mind-blowing bird-of-paradise. Sorry Princess Stephanie, but the King of Saxony rules!

A couple of my British travel companions agreed that this bird was "a crippler!"

In my next post, we'll go closer and grab the video camera!

My Fellow Travelers to PNG

Before we launch into the Papua New Guinea birding trip posts in earnest, I feel it might be helpful to introduce you to the folks on the trip—six Brits, one Canadian, and one American. Above is a shot I took of our group eating lunch in Tabubil. So here, in brief, are my fellow travelers:

The trip's organizer was Tim Appleton, MBE, one of the co-founders of the world's largest birding event The British Birdwatching Fair held annually at the Rutland Water Preserve in England. Tim has more stamps on his passport than the post office has for sale. And he's a jolly good fellow, despite having the initials MBE following his name (bestowed upon him for his good deeds in conservation by the Queen). We were required by the laws of the Commonwealth to refer to Tim as "His Lordship" during the trip.


Author, reformed twitcher, and world-class conversationalist Mark Cocker is perhaps best known for his many popular books on birds and nature, including Crow Country, Birds Britannica, and one of my favorites Birders: Tales of a Tribe. His new project is called Birds and People, which he's currently researching and writing. Mark saw it as his duty to interview nearly everyone we met, usually starting with the question: "Do you know anyone who does not chew betel nut?"


Ray Tipper is a talented bird photographer and a tour leader for Avian Adventures. He lives in Portugal, but lived for many years in Hong Kong. His deep knowledge of Asian bird life—especially shorebirds—makes him a valuable travel companion. Even more endearing is Ray's willingness to laugh at all of my silly jokes.


Matt Merritt is the features editor at Bird Watching magazine in the UK. He is a quiet fellow, and a deep thinker (the smoke in the above photo is actually being generated by Matt's mind). Matt maintains the Polyolbion blog, which is always interesting and readable. He is also a fine poet —you can read some of his work here.


Chris Collins was perhaps the birder on our trip with the most actual experience in the Central Pacific. He has led many extensive pelagic trips for WildWings. Chris came loaded with audio gear and bird song recordings, which netted us quite a few species we might otherwise have missed. He also single-handedly supported local artisans by buying their fine works of art.


Gavin Bieber (secretly Canadian) was the only other North American on the trip, which was great because he and I had no language barrier to overcome. Gavin leads birding tours for WINGS, and though he'd never been to PNG, he'd done so much homework in preparation for this trip that he knew more than any of us about PNG's birdlife.


Barry Trevis leads tours for Ramblers Worldwide Holidays. He's traveled extensively both as a guide and just for the heck of it, and he has the stories to prove it. At one point, when the birding was slow, Barry and I started quoting lines from our favorite movies. His imitations of Bruce Lee were totally hilarious. "Ahh, Mr. Braithwaite! Some tea?"


That's me (Bill of the Birds) with the gang, birding on the mountainside at Nick's Place on New Britain. Photo by Tim Appleton.

And that's the band of birders that participated in the fam trip to Papua New Guinea from September 24 to October 12, 2010.

Birding Papua New Guinea Day 1

Coming in to PNG by air, we could see coral reefs in the blue Pacific.

We flew all night from Singapore to Port Moresby, PNG, with a short stop in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (no we did not see any "kuala" bears). Once at the Port Moresby airport, we cleared customs, changed some money, gathered our bags, and hustled over to the domestic terminal for another flight from Port Moresby to Tari in the Southern Highlands Province. We thought our schedule was very tight and did not want to miss the Tari flight. Once through the domestic terminal security checkpoint, we found out that our flight to Tari was postponed for four hours. We were stuck with no chance of going outside to spend the time birding. It was about 9 am.

Waiting out the flight delay in the domestic flights terminal.

So we made the most of our time, talking about our most-wanted birds, getting to know each other, comparing notes on which malaria drugs we were taking. At the tarmac end of the building, there were some large windows through which we were able to spot a few species, including Pacific swallow, Brahminy kite, whistling kite, black kite, Eurasian tree sparrow, and purple swamphen.

The flight was on a small commuter plane and lasted 1.5 hours. As we landed on the gravel airstrip in Tari our group confused our fellow fliers with shouted bird identifications: "Cattle egret on the left!" "Another swamphen!" "I think I have a harrier! Is it a swamp harrier!"

Landing in Tari. Locals lined the fence in the background.

Lining the fence around the airfield were hundreds and hundreds of local people. It was a Saturday and much of the local population was in Tari for the markets.

Market day in Tari.

And clearly the arrival of a plane was something worth watching. There were equal amounts of curious staring going on between our group and the locals.

A Huli man in traditional garb. Most everyone carries a bilam (woven bag), machete, and umbrella.

We met Benson, our guide from Ambua Lodge, and a driver. At the completion of the 45 minute drive to the lodge, I calculated how long I'd been traveling. Here's what I wrote in my journal notebook:

Finally arriving at Ambua Lodge in the rain. It's 4:11 p.m. local time (+14 hours from Ohio) and, if my calculations are correct, I've been traveling for 37 hours—almost a full work week!—to get here! Also am getting a sinus infection from all the airplane air... SO dang tired!

We slogged our way to our cabins (quite nice thatched roof buildings with all the mod cons and a great view of the misty. rain-soaked valley), fought the urge to collapse into sleep and reassembled at Ambua's central building. Huddling under the roof of an open-sided veranda, we did our first non-airport birding of the trip. Despite the rain we spotted New Guinea (or great) wood swallow, yellow-billed lorikeet, glossy swiftlet, mountain swiftlet, Willie wagtail (seriously!), and yellow-browed melidectes (a type of honeyeater).

Birding in the rain our first afternoon at Ambua Lodge.

After a dinner which was good but I can't remember a thing about, we went out owling with Benson our guide. Though the hour was not late (in the tropics dawn and dusk both come very near to 6 o'clock) we were all very tired. Still, no one wanted to wimp out on the first night and this was our best chance at a bird called a mountain owlet nightjar.

My notes remind me that we heard this species, but we could not call it into view. Mostly I remember the exhilarating sensation of falling as I stood in the darkness straining to hear anything birdlike. It was cold and misting. The sensation of falling was quite real—because I was falling asleep on my feet. Fortunately I caught myself before I fell face-first onto the muddy gravel road.

Half an hour later I fell face-first onto my bed and dropped into a deep sleep. Then, seemingly eight seconds later, the alarm went off.

It was 4:15 a.m. Time to go birding!

One Day of Birding in Singapore

I was recently invited to be part of a birding familiarization trip to Papua New Guinea (PNG) sponsored by The PNG Tourism Board. I had turned down the original invitation (with a great deal of disappointment) because I had a few prior commitments during the three weeks of the fam trip. However, when most of these scheduling conflicts magically evaporated, I crossed my fingers and inquired about space. Glory be! I got back on the trip and began immediate preparations for it.

The only catch was that the participants had to get themselves to Singapore's Changi Airport for the start of the trip. Not only was this logistically hard, it was a tad expensive and a major time eater. (Am I whining now? Please tell me if I start to whine). In order to be at Changi for the 9:30 pm flight on September 23 from Singapore to Port Moresby, PNG (on Air Niugini—note cool spelling), I had to leave Ohio on the afternoon of September 21. It was a long haul, but I made it (thanks in no small part to an entire season of "The Office" which I watched on my iPad, laughing so heartily that I got shushed by a flight attendant).

I arrived in Singapore at 3 am on September 23, slept a few hours, showered, and decided to see about doing some birding since I had a whole day to wait. I'd made previous plans to meet two of the other guys on the trip for a few hours of Singapore birding, but the logistics 'debbils' worked against us and we missed connections. I left my hotel in a taxi, bound for the Jurong Bird Park on the other end of town.

I can hear you asking: Why a bird park? Aren't all the birds in cages at a bird park?

Why yes, many birds ARE in cages in a bird park. But good habitat in places like parks and zoos often also attracts wild birds, and this was my hope. Furthermore, there would be captive examples of birds I hoped to see in PNG, so I could view them as a living field guide of sorts.

Aside: I should mention here that I undertook this trip to PNG without access to a field guide to the birds of PNG. The current PNG field guide has been out of print for so long that used copies are selling on Amazon for many hundreds of dollars. Thus, the bird park was going to have to serve as my preparation for the birds I might see.

Stepping out of the cool taxi into the close, humid air of the bird park, I could hear wild bird calls mixing with the cries of bird park captives. I paid my entry fee and walked into the park. Scores of tourists thronged around the entrance and food court, paying to have their photos taken with captive scarlet macaws. Many of the park visitors turned to look at me. I initially thought it was because I was at least a foot taller than anyone else. Now I realize it may have been due to the fact that I was chewing on a piece of chewing gum—which, apparently, is against the law in Singapore.

Blissfully ignorant of the local mastication laws, I walked into a dark building and added the first two species to my Singapore bird list: snowy owl and great gray owl.
Wait, what?

Yes, these were the first two species I actually saw well enough to identify in Singapore. I also felt really sorry for them, being so far from home.

Finding my way outside the "Owls of the World" exhibit, I began to encounter actual wild birds. Tiny flitting sprites danced through the treetops. I had binoculars but no field guide, so I took notes of the field marks hoping for later access to an identification resource. I recognized a bulbul, two mynas, a ladder-backed, brownish woodpecker, a small dark heron, a night-heron of some kind, a fork-tailed dark swallow, some large white storks, a common sandpiper, a dark-brown teal-like duck, a wood rail of some kind... and then I saw my first HOLY MACKEREL (though my wording may have been slightly different) bird of the trip: a huge lemon-yellow bird with a coral bill and a black mask.

I snapped a photo of the bird with my Canon G11 digital camera. I thought it had to be a kookaburra or kingfisher of some kind. Whatever it was it was HUGE and bright. It felt like the birding portion of the trip had finally begun.

I moved on through the park, seeking out captive representatives of some of the bird species I hoped to see in Papua New Guinea.
The Victoria crowned pigeon was one of the endemic PNG species targeted for our trip. Big as a turkey but a million times more beautiful these birds caused me to stop and stare outside their enclosure. The wonders of evolution...

Next I sought out the birds of paradise. If there is one family of birds that is identified with Papua New Guinea it's the birds of paradise. Most of the 40 species (divided into 12 genera) of BOP are found in PNG. Our trip would be focusing on seeing as many BOPs as possible, so I wanted to drop an eyeball on a few of these creatures to get a sense of their size, shape, and color. The only ones showing well were a gang of lesser birds-of-paradise. I watched a male dance across a feeding tray, trying to impress two rather bored-looking females.

Another male joined in. Like many caged animals, these birds looked slightly ragged and their behavior seemed overly repetitive. I quickly moved away, saying a quiet incantation that I'd get to see the real thing in a few days.

Next came a stupendous creature: a cassowary. Huge and weird are the first two words that leap to mind when viewing a cassowary. The bird park had several captive cassowaries roaming around inside a large, open air enclosure. Everywhere you look on a cassowary, there is something amazing to see from the horn on top of the head, to the bluish skin on the neck, the huge eyes, the neck pouch, the hairlike feathers on the body, and the large and powerful legs with clawed feet.

I stood and admired the cassowary, again, hoping I'd see one in the wild soon.

I wandered back to the park's entrance and stopped in a gift shop to purchase a laminated guide to common city and garden birds of Singapore. Using this handy guide, I ID'd many of my mystery birds from my visual memory and my scribbled notes. Here are some of the species I was able to nail down: yellow-vented bulbul, spotted dove, Pacific swallow, Sunda pygmy woodpecker, white-fronted wood rail, black-naped oriole (my holy mackerel bird!), yellow-billed stork (see top of this page), Javan myna, common myna, Asian glossy starling, yellow-rumped flycatcher, and Eurasian tree sparrow. Plus my old familiars: black-crowned night-heron and cattle egret. There were a bunch of small, olive-drab birds that went unidentified.

And then it was time to head back to the airport hotel to prepare for the flight to Port Moresby, PNG. On my way out of the bird park, a sign caused me to do a double take. Can you see what's wrong with this picture?



Back at the Changi Airport I met up with our entire group—some of whom were old friends—and we settled in to wait for the flight, which would be overnight, with a stop in Malaysia. Sadly it was the middle of the night when we stopped there, otherwise I might have added snowy owl and great gray owl to my Malaysia bird list, too!