Not often you see a dude rounding a hedgerow, coming down the trail at a lilting half-run, tripod hanging off one hand, but that's exactly what I saw last Tuesday. It was Josh Fecteau on the chase. He had news I hadn't heard. Wilson's Phalarope. In the marsh. From the dike.

Minutes earlier, I'd considered turning left off the Laird Norton boardwalk. A quick check of the marsh could be interesting, but time was tight so I went right. After 3 hours counting birds for Audubon's summer census, I was due in the docent room. I hiked up the beach trail instead of down, destined for our "compilation" meetup.

But phalarope? I did a 180 as Josh came abreast and met his pace for a bit. A potential lifer for Josh and state bird for me kept us rushing, though I gradually shortened my stride (I try not to run for birds) and he slowed a little, too. We had an anticipatory chat on our downhill march, then encountered another of the census team. She'd been hunting for me to deliver the alert: It was still there 5 minutes ago.

As we approached the small crowd of relaxed observers — the rest of the survey crew plus a couple of first responders — we fell silent, widening our eyes, craning our necks, pivoting our heads, and consulting our internal field guides. Full target-bird detection mode.

The final stretch of a rare bird chase is full of worry and hope, and a gaggle of birders just milling about sends a mixed message. It might be "We twitched and we're just being social" or "We dipped but pray it comes back" or a little of both.

In this case, a courteous someone up ahead called out "It's here" and we knew we were okay.

Wilson's phalarope was the clear highlight of the York County Audubon "Laudholm census" this time around. It was also a new species for the Wells Reserve bird list, which now numbers 279.