The “back road” to Les Stes-Maries, by way of Pioch Badet, is just about the most exciting way I know to spend a Camargue morning. The marsh-scapes are stunning, the air bright and warm, and the birding often nothing short of spectacular–even on a day as windy as today was, again.

The roadside puddles and ditches were filled with the usual pink haze of Greater Flamingos, and the telephone wires glittered with European Bee-eaters.

Not all “good” birds are as flashy, of course; it’s hard not to love Zitting Cisticolas, brown and stumpy as they are.

Equally brown and  equally enchanting were the many Crested Larks on the salicornia flats, a welcome lifer for one of our party.

The “best” bird of the day in terms of global rarity was probably the elegantly snouty Slender-billed Gull, half a dozen of which were loafing on the pools at the Digue de la Mer among the Little Terns.

This is one beautiful gull, a scarce species I’ve seen in only a few places in southern and eastern Europe; it’s high on the “wish list” of every birder new  to the Camargue, so we were very happy to find this small assembly and another, single bird out on the road to Méjanes.

The allure of the Stes-Maries goes beyond its birding to include the very strange fortified church at the spiritual and geographic center of town. We stopped in to ponder the relationship between religion and superstition, then ate lunch before making the short drive back to Arles. We have another day in the Camargue coming up on Saturday, but I’ll be surprised if it can match the good birds and great birding that this one produced!

This infamous mistral continues to blow, making wildflowers dance a colorful tarantella on the slopes of Les Alpilles and keeping all but the largest and bravest birds out of sight. This morning we drove some traditionally roller-rich roads on the way to Les Baux in hopes of finding a protected pocket, but apart from Western Jackdaws and the occasional Common Swift, birds were scant; even hearing them was a challenge over the wind. With nothing to slow us down, we arrived in the village of Les Baux mid-morning, where we were grateful for the protection of rock walls and houses as we strolled the ancient streets.

If we’d thought the wind was strong in the hills, it was absolutely, perhaps dangerously, ferocious atop the ruined castle, where everything but the stones themselves had gone projectile. No swifts, no martins, no surprises—just blasts of wind that threatened us with the same vertical path taken six centuries ago by the ill-fated prisoners of Raymond de Turenne.

We ate our traditional andouillettes inside at the Porte-Mages, then relinquished what was by then a hotly contested parking space and returned to Arles. After a short break at the hotel, we set off on the five-minute walk to the Alyscamps, always a delightful refuge, and doubly so today thanks to the protection of its walls and trees.

This early Christian necropolis may not be as dramatically exotic as the Etruscan cemeteries of Lazio and Tuscany, but its long rows of sarcophagi and the scattered ruins of medieval churches and chapels give it an evocative charm that has been recognized for centuries. Sometimes there are birds, and we heard (heard!) Blackcap and Great Tit on our walk, while Common Magpies hopped along the allée in hopes of a handout.

My favorite vertebrates on this visit weren’t feathered at all, though. Two European Squirrels, bright red and boldly tufted, played among the sarcophaguses.

Believe it or not, these were the first wild mammals of our tour, unless you count the squashed hedgehogs so common on the roads this time of year. It’s a nice start.

At least the mosquitoes won’t be too bad.

That was the most positive of my thoughts as we arrived this morning at the Petite Camargue in a rushing gale. The reeds and the waters were in constant and chaotic motion, and there was no way, I thought, that we were going to see anything but the Yellow-legged Gulls and Common Swifts being blasted through the air above our heads.

I wasn’t entirely wrong: our “heard only” list was longer than hoped, with even such normally findable birds as Great and European Reed Warblers and Blackcap refusing to show themselves. But persistence and good luck eventually gave us nice looks at some of the species we’d really been hoping to see, among them all five of the “French fancies”: Common Cuckoo, Eurasian Hoopoe, European Bee-eater, European Roller, and Common Kingfisher all showed, with multiple individuals of all but the last.

Most of the herons were presumably huddled in shelter, but ultimately we tallied nearly all the regular long-legs, including a beautiful male Little Bittern that kindly battled the wind to rise up from the phragmites to greet us. That species, along with a couple of Mediterranean Gulls and a singing Corn Bunting, were new for Diane, giving  us the first lifers of the tour.

Another “little” bird was probably the best of the morning. As we quaked and wavered alongside the road, I saw a Little Grebe dip quickly beneath the waters of the ditch, leaving nothing but a ripple for the others to see. In best dabchick style, it never surfaced (well, it probably did resurface at some point); so I started paying attention in hopes that I’d find another.

No luck until it was time to get back into the car. I was last in line, and just as I approached the vehicle the reeds parted to reveal a dark bump: a Little Grebe all folded up on a tiny tussock of mud and phragmites shreds. Rather than shout out to the others and disturb the bird, I ran up and brought the group back–and found myself utterly unable to relocate the nest. It took me half a dozen tries before I could finally replicate the original angle at just the right moment to see through the reeds.

Exciting enough: I’d never seen a nest before, and the incubating bird gave the best looks many of the group had ever had at this common but shy species. And then things got better. Another Little Grebe popped under on the other side of the road as I turned the car around–followed by two little stripies.

Highlight of the tour so far? Without a doubt. But we’re only one day in!

The 2010 WINGS tour of Southern France began officially tonight with an introductory meeting here in Arles. I’ve spent the past two days, after arriving from Italy early Friday morning, checking on last-minute things: is the road to Méjanes still there? Can I find an alternative to the first stretch of the track to La Caume? Are there any gaps in the reeds at the Petite Camargue? Will the Scamandre visitor center ever fit into this tour schedule again?

Yes, yes, yes, and quand les poules auront des dents, sadly.

In  between, of course, I’ve managed to see some birds. And how. I’m not generally what you’d think of as a lucky birder, but somehow, for some reason, the past 72 hours have been as good as any I’ve passed anywhere in Europe any time.

Rarities? No, not really. But I’ve had amazing good fortune with many of the specialties of the area, and at this point, I doubt very much that the tour proper will add a thing to what I’ve managed to see on my preparation days.

Note the verb: What I’ve managed to see. So many birds of the Camargue are so often just tantalizing voices, but this time, somehow, they’ve emerged from the reedbeds and thickets to give me some of my best views ever of several species.

I’ve had spectacular looks at two Great Bitterns and a single Little Bittern, along with no less than nine other ciconiiform species (Eurasian Spoonbill is making me wait, but it shouldn’t be long, to judge by recent years’ experience). Today at the Marais du Vigueirat, a Water Rail actually flushed from the reeds.

Warblers have been remarkably forthcoming, too. Blackcap and Sardinian Warbler are usually pretty easy to see, and Great Reed and European Reed Warblers are just a matter of patience; but to actually see multiple Cetti’s Warblers each day–and actual three-dimensional birds at that, not just foxy red blurs through the foliage–is a head-shaker. Melodious Warbler isn’t usually such a challenge, but prolonged scope views of a singing bird at the Grenouillet yesterday have me hoping for a repeat performance with my group.

One warbler species above all is still leaving me gasping for breath. Before Friday, I’d seen a grand total of two Spectacled Warblers in my life. But that day I had outstanding long looks at two singing males in the salicornia. And  the next day was even better. A feathered flurry in a tamarisk north of les Stes-Maries turned out to be a mob of Sardinian, Cetti’s–and Spectacled Warblers, beautiful pink and rust and gray-headed creatures giving their loud rattlesnake trill. And why all the fuss?

I still can’t believe it. An adult Great Spotted Cuckoo–wonderful name for a wonderful bird!–was hunkered down in the tree, emerging to feed along the fence once the passerines lost interest. I followed the bird up and down the wire for more than half an hour, watching it catch big black caterpillar after big black caterpillar (and renewing my vow never to sleep under a chenille bedspread as long as I live). This was a life bird for me, one I’ve been searching for ever since my first visit to the Mediterranean, and one I’d pretty much given up on ever seeing. In fact, I’d been lamenting my failure loud and long at the Maremma the week before, and the day before I’d had a long conversation with a French birder about how hard the bird can be to find.

But here it was. And here, a kilometer farther down the road, was another! No wonder the local Common Magpies looked so nervous.

I’ve been walking on air ever since. And it doesn’t hurt that every time I go outside I run into European Rollers, European Bee-eaters, and European Green Woodpeckers. Or that the Slender-billed Gull flock on the Digue contained 28 birds. Or that Tawny Pipits seem to be having their best spring in recorded history. Or that a Common Kingfisher flew right past my head as I stood watching (watching!) two Common Nightingales along a muddy ditch. Or that I’ve actually seen more than 50% of the Golden Orioles I’ve heard these past two days.

If this keeps up, my clients are going to be ruined for life: they just might think it’s always like this!