When I got to the campgrounds near Kuantu Temple, shortly after four o'clock, several other bird lovers had arrived before me. The green wading gear we had on made us look like big frogs. Shouldering the bamboo stakes and draping the bird nets over our backs, we crossed the Tamsui River dike, entered the marsh area, and trudged toward the place where flocks of migratory birds had been sighted the day before--where we started setting up nets to catch them.

The silt and sediment that washes down from the upper reaches of the Tamsui collects near Kuantu into slimy black tidal swamplands. The numerous worms and other boneless creatures that slither about in the mire provide tasty feasting for birds, which naturally love to linger there.

The nets are placed perpendicular to the wind to catch the birds as they fly along with it. Of course, sometimes the wind shifts, and then even the clumsiest birds get away.

Each net is sixty or seventy meters long. There are three to five of them, supported by parallel rows of bamboo stakes about fifty meters apart. The nets must not be stretched too tightly between the stakes, or the birds, as though hitting a springboard, will simply bounce off and fly away. Nor can they be too loose, for fear that the larger birds will dangle into the muck and catch cold when they are washed off later--or drown when the tide comes in.

By the time the nets had been set up it was already dark, and as we walked back we began to measure the time. Birds, some of which must maintain a body temperature as high as forty degrees centigrade, are apt to freeze when trapped for too long in the cool night air. So we would have to search the nets every hour in the dark.

Soon enough it was time to put our wading gear back on and set out on the search, lighting our way by flashlight. The night was dark and the wind high, and the mangroves at the mouth of the Tamsui that were lush green during the day had become a mass of dark shadows. My legs and feet felt the chill of the water through my boots, and when I heard, mingled with the sough of the wind, the faint squeaking of birds trapped in the net I felt somewhat uneasy, even though it was not the first time I had gone along.

After some difficulty we arrived at the nets again, where quite a few birds had indeed been caught. Several experienced "old birds" among us, who knew at a glance how the birds were trapped, nimbly unwound them from the nets and placed them in specially made canvas bags.

All newcomers see, however, is a little bird tangled in a snarl of netting. They get flustered even before starting, and the result is the more they try to unsnarl it the more tangled it becomes.

Fortunately, the experienced bird lovers don't wait for you to plead for help but come over quickly as soon as they see that you've bungled it.

By the time the search was over, the waters had already risen to our knees. After the birds had been brought inside and taken out of the bags, the first thing to be done was to tie a band about one of their legs, as if to give them an ID card, and only then to start measuring and recording --the purpose being to avoid the kind of mix-up where bird A's beak length gets recorded as bird B's leg length or the like.

Banding delicate, thin bird legs requires care. A person who accidentally injures a bird, according to unwritten rule, must kneel down in front of its cage. Fortunately, there are special pliers for the job and no one has had to kneel down yet.

The next step, caliper in hand, is to measure the bird's "five dimensions": bill length, head length, wing length, leg length, and tail length. The room became filled with cries of "A001, foot 15; B007, wings 17. . ." Someone who didn't know what was going on could think it was a wholesale meat market.

After being measured for dimensions and weight, the bird is checked to see if it is an adult by flipping its feathers. "This one's an adult." "How do you know?" a newcomer may ask. The old hands don't mind passing on their secrets to tyros. "Gray spotted plovers have dots when they're young but circles when they're older," they say, and "the wear and tear on the tips of its feather shows it's an adult." Looking bird brained, the newcomers keep nodding their heads.

After being measured, the uninjured birds can be set free. The ones that are too frightened will be set free at dawn.

Because the tide had come in everyone rested. It began to recede after midnight, and another search began.

Although the bird banders may get only two or three hours of sleep a night and sometimes, when "business is booming," none at all, they have no regrets. Watching birds through binoculars lets you see many species and observe their behavior, but banding them enables you to get even closer, to hold them in your hand and see them up close.

Even more, most people who help out in banding are concerned about damage to the birds' environment. Without birds, our world would lose some of its variety and color. Civilization is inspired by the revelations of the natural world. If people hadn't seen birds and tried to imitate their flight by inventing airplanes and space shuttles, man would still be earthbound.

The loss of a natural species means the loss of a source of inspiration for mankind.

[Picture Caption]

Five scenes from bird banding work at Kuantu: 1) setting up the nets; 2) returning to camp at sunset to wait for birds to be caught; 3) wading through knee-deep water for the first net check; 4) releasing a bird from a net; 5) determining whether a bird is adult or not from its plumage.

returning to camp at sunset to wait for birds to be.

returning to camp at sunset to wait for birds to be caught;.

wading through knee-deep water for the first net check.

determining whether a bird is adult or not from its plumage.

Five scenes from bird banding work at Kuantu: 1） setting up the nets; 2） returning to camp at sunset to wait for birds to be caught; 3） wading through knee-deep water for the first net check; 4） releasing a bird from a net; 5） determining whether a bird is adult or not from its plumage.