expose fertile farmland. New Holland, the 

 town that once flourished on the dry lake 

 bed, is now gone — Mattamuskeet Lodge 

 is all that remains. From its observation 

 tower, once the smokestack for the 



pumping station, I can see huge bass 

 swimming in the canal far below. 



As I drive back along the refuge's 

 entrance road, I stop to snap pictures of 

 long-legged wading birds stalking through 



American avocets take flight. 



the marsh. My camera's zoom lens is no 

 match for a good pair of binoculars, but I 

 catch clear glimpses of ducks, turtles 

 sunning on a log, some long-necked white 

 birds like cranes or egrets, and a mysteri- 

 ous dark bird with a sharp bill. 



Back at the Wings Over Water 

 headquarters at Roanoke Island Festival 

 Park, birders check a series of boards to 

 see which birds have been spotted. Keith 

 Watson, natural resource management 

 specialist for the National Park Service's 

 Cape Hatteras Group, keeps the master list 

 up-to-date through cellular phone contact 

 with group leaders. 



A father and son from Oak Hill, Va., 

 say they want to see the Eurasian wigeon, 

 clay-colored sparrow and black-backed 

 gull. 



"What's an oldsquaw?" I ask, 

 intrigued by the picturesque name. "It's a 

 duck," says the father. 



But some of the birds listed are more 

 unusual than their names suggest. "We've 

 only seen the rough-legged hawk on a few 

 occasions," says Watson. "Maybe once a 

 year or so. When they're here, you 

 certainly get a lot of people going to look 

 at them." The rufous hummingbird, which 

 birders have also spotted this weekend, is a 

 western species that doesn't breed in the 

 east. "But the hummingbirds winter each 

 year in Buxton," Watson says. 



I ask him about my mystery bird in 

 the Mattamuskeet marshes, and he invites 

 me to look it up in one of the many bird 

 encyclopedias offered for sale. Nothing 

 looks quite right. Finally I settle on a 

 brown wading bird with white flecks on 

 its neck and an unsteady, bobbing gait 



"A limpkin?" Watson, a soft-spoken 

 man, is unusually excited. "You'd better 

 be absolutely positive about that." 



I experience a moment of mingled 

 euphoria and panic as he tells me that a 

 limpkin sighting will send people stamped- 

 ing to their cars. Apparendy birders will 

 drive for hours at the chance of glimpsing a 



Continued 



COASTWATCH 1 1 



