WHITE CRANES DOT THE GREEN RICE FIELDS, a serene sight in the golden early-morning sunshine, inspiring memories of Amorsolo rural scenes.

But we had only seconds to take in the passing scenery, because we had gotten lost twice on the way to the Candaba Swamp Wildlife Reserve, and WWF’s Lory Tan, who organized the safari through an e-mail invitation, had warned that the migratory birds, which make these Central Luzon wetlands a regular “port of call” during their winter migration, would be flying off once the sun rose.

Luckily, once we reached the reserve, a small earth island created by dikes surrounded by grassland and water, there were still quite a number of nesting birds, soaring over the grass and trees. And though the air was unexpectedly chilly, we soon warmed up to sights of birds of all sizes darting in and out of the greenery. I took particular delight in the smaller species swarming about in haphazard formations, as well as in the yellow-billed, brown-feathered cranes I spotted through my binoculars, seemingly standing guard near their nests.

As we made our way through the narrow dike, my husband suddenly stopped and stooped, picking up a white feather. I remembered the white cranes we had spotted earlier, and proudly affixed the feather to my red bucket cap.

How I wished I had taken more seriously our budding hobby of bird-watching, developed soon after we moved into our Tagaytay weekend home and saw and heard woodpeckers, crows and starlings among the trees. Or, barring that, that we had brought with us a guide to Asian migratory species, so I could at least attach names to the birds we saw that morning.

Environmental groups, including the WWF, consider the Candaba Swamp, which borders towns in Pampanga and Bulacan, one of the country’s most important “wetlands areas.” This year, said Candaba town mayor Jerry Pelayo, the Swamp set a record high of more than 17,000 birds comprising 49 species, as tracked by the Asian Waterbird Census for 2008.

The bird count was a joint effort of the Protected Areas and Wildlife Bureau of the Department of Environment and Natural Resources, the Wild Bird Club of the Philippines, the Kaakbay Community Development Initiatives and the Candaba municipal government, with the participation of Ambassador Robert Brinks of the Netherlands.

Just the week before our visit, Candaba had hosted the first “Ibon-Ebon (Bird-Egg) Festival,” held not just to mark the feast of the town’s patron saint, San Nicolas de Tolentino, but also to promote Candaba’s most famous products: ducks and duck eggs, as well as the town’s eco-tourism program.

“Before you leave the town,” reminded Mayor Pelayo, whom we encountered at the gate of the reserve, “make sure you buy some fried itik (native ducks) and duck eggs, especially balut.” When we inquired if the swamp lands really do get flooded during the rainy season, the mayor assured us that almost the entire area goes underwater, save for the reserve, which stands on high ground and is protected by a system of dikes. “Join us for a rainy-season tour next time,” he urged.

Though duck-raising, rice cultivation and the growing of watermelon and cantaloupes provide much of the town’s income, it’s Candaba’s “visitors” who take center-stage at this time of year. Already, rare migrant species have been seen and photographed, such as the Great Cormorant, the white-shouldered Starling, and the Eurasian Spoonbill, reportedly the first such sighting in the country.

Unfortunately, though I may have spotted such rare birds through my binoculars that morning, I had no way of identifying them. But there are other rewards to spending an early morning in the Candaba Swamp: the sight of flocks of birds of different species and color; the still air punctuated by bird call and wind rustling the rushes; and the sweet scent of grass with a musty edge, thanks to the duck farms nearby.

In all, a morning well spent, and well worth getting up with the 3 a.m. alarm.