On the river

Nothing beats flying in a small plane. Somehow, it feels like you're in a living thing; it dances under you like a restive horse, bowing and coquetting with each gust of wind. We rode a little Caravan on our journey south to the Karanambu airstrip, and the storms around Georgetown meant there were plenty of towering clouds to admire as we climbed from rain into sun.

As Han Solo said about the Millennium Falcon in Star Wars, "She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts." The Caravan may be small, but it's comfortable, and got us here.

An afternoon and evening along the Rupununi River gave us some fine scenery to enjoy -- as well as plenty of new birds and a staggering number of Black Caiman. This endangered alligator species is making a good comeback in Guyana.

I have always loved the play of darkened vegetation against a sunset sky.

Mahaica River

Today we arose before dawn and journeyed southeastward on a narrow two-lane highway hugging Guyana's coastline. Our destination was the Mahaica River, one of the country's smaller drainages. Narrow and placid, it flows through scattered small farms, lined with rice fields and edged with the tangled scrubby vegetation that Guyana's national bird, the bizarre, primitive Hoatzin, favors. Unfortunately, the rain was steady and unrelenting through much of the morning.

Our boatman, Narish, is a farmer along the Mahaica. He loves the Hoatzins, and works to convince his neighbors to maintain some habitat for them.

This Limpkin truly was limping; it only appeared to have one working leg. The injury didn't seem to be hindering it much, as it was still pulling earthworms from this wet field with surprising frequency.

An afternoon visit to Georgetown's botanical gardens brought views of a tree full of courting Great Egrets. Those spectacular plumes almost led to the species' demise in the early part of the last century, when it became fashionable to decorate women's hats with feathers. Whole colonies were destroyed for the millinery trade.

Georgetown

Georgetown, Guyana is a bustling metropolis, and our hotel sits at a busy intersection along one of the main roads through town. All day -- and much of the night -- the traffic hurtles past, a constant stream of taxis, minibuses and the occasional horse-drawn cart. And yet, despite all the hustle and commotion, a host of birds uses the shallow channelized river that runs between the lanes of the highway, and the narrow strips of grass that edge the road. There are two baby Striated Herons, their plumage still studded with wispy down feathers, huddled on a branch right across from my balcony. At least four Snail Kites are visiting the canal, flying off with snails clutched in their sharp beaks, then returning for another mouthful. Pairs of Orange-winged Parrots are shrieking overhead, and nearly every television antenna sports a Great Kiskadee or two. We've counted 20 species from the hotel; we daren't venture further under orders from our local guide.

Looking east along Croal Street. There are no buildings higher than ten stories here because of a thick clay layer that makes it difficult to drive footings deep enough to support anything taller.

A young Snail Kite waits its turn at the canal.

This Gray-lined Hawk was hunting in the backyards across the street.

Miami

Another day, another airport. This time, it's Miami International, waiting for my flight to Georgetown, Guyana. It's interesting how even in these obviously manmade spaces, the experts use nature (or at least a facsimile thereof) to help keep people calm. Too bad a lot of it here was plastic. But at least the space was nice. And the stromboli and beer were excellent!

Ice

Yesterday's storm has blown itself out, and today dawned crisp and blue. All day, the icicles grew longer and longer, like sharpened teeth in a grinning mouth, ready to gobble something up. I'm putting this picture up to remind myself of the cold in July, when we're all complaining about the heat.

Alias Smith, no Jones

I was in the shower when the text came this morning, saying that the Smith's Longspur had been seen again at Stone Harbor Point. Mike hammered on the door, imploring me to hurry. I did take a few minutes to dry my hair  (it was well below freezing, after all) and then we raced across the back bays. By the time we arrived, the troops had already marshaled, and we could see distant birders swiveling and pirouetting as the bird moved around them. A few minutes quick march, and we joined them on the frozen, gale-blasted beach, training our binoculars and scopes on the prize -- a rather nondescript little brown job shuffling along through the sand and snow. I feel a little sorry for it; this certainly isn't anything like the balmy lower Mississippi River valley where it normally overwinters!

Cold

Every summer for the past 17 years, I've made a pilgrimage to the far, far north -- beyond the Arctic Circle to the very edge of the continent. Even in June, the pack ice often hugs the shore there, stretching to the horizon, unbroken except for a few narrow leads. These days, the Delaware Bay is looking more than a little like Barrow! This was the view today near dusk -- and yes, that ice did extend out as far as I could see.