An Orange-crowned Warbler feeds in a Turk's cap thicket (David J. Ringer/Audubon)

Grand Isle: the only inhabited barrier island in Louisiana. A narrow wisp of sand marking the gulf-most extent of an old and withered Mississippi River Delta lobe. The setting for some of Kate Chopin's most memorable scenes, the site of many horrors during BP's oil disaster, and a stage for all the life in between. And today, the hub of the Grand Isle Christmas Bird Count.

See more photos, a video postcard, and David J. Ringer's account of the day after the jump.

Piping Plover © Erik Johnson

A light west breeze stirs thick, salty air. At barely eight o’clock, the day’s heat has begun to build already. Swallows flicker over the beach in scores, heading into the wind, and down by the listless sea, in ones and threes, mill Willets and Piping Plovers newly arrived from far away in the continent’s interior, and Sanderlings from farther still, high in the Arctic, where some had been down-covered chicks only weeks before.

A young Brown Pelican balances on boom still strung around the island where it was hatched and grew up. Melanie Driscoll/Audubon

As thousands of young Brown Pelicans and other birds leave their nests and seek a new place in the world, they face an uncertain future. Over 650 miles of coastline are still oiled, and oil is likely to remain in some places for years, if past spills are any indication.

Jacob Watson, Jr., volunteers with Audubon in Louisiana as a wildlife transport facilitator and beach steward. David J. Ringer/Audubon

"My reason for being here is just to give help in any way that I possibly can," Jacob Watson said. "It's a good feeling to know that you're helping a cause for the animals that suffered so great with this manmade catastrophe."

A Sanderling, its breast feathers matted with oil, loses its grip on life. (Timmy Vincent/Audubon)

Late last week, one Sanderling's story ended on a beach in western Louisiana. Timmy Vincent found it, dying, its breast matted with oil. It had probably suffered for days, slowly getting weaker, until it could no longer move. Timmy picked it up and called ahead for help, but the tiny life flickered out before it could be rescued.

An immature Brown Pelican partly coated with oil. (Kim Hubbard/Audubon Magazine)

As oil moves ashore in Louisiana, its effects on birds are becoming more visible to us humans. Yet this remains a slow-motion disaster, and while some birds are discovered coated heavily with oil, many others (like the immature Brown Pelican in this image) are lightly oiled, mobile, but compromised and likely dying.

An oil-stained Sanderling on Grand Isle, La. (Kim Hubbard/Audubon)

I saw it on a Dunlin first -- or, was it a Sanderling? -- and then a Least Tern. Oil. Staining bellies that should gleam white, blotching them orange, as if these tiny, vibrant bits of life had slowly started to rust.

Reddish Egret (David J. Ringer/Audubon)

I've been birding the Gulf Coast for nine years, since I was a college freshman in Texas. My first introduction was magical, an experience I've never forgotten, and in the years since, this spectacular mosaic of ecosystems and the birds that thrive in it have come to hold a very special place in my heart. The same heart that now hurts so much.

If I take a few quiet moments to reflect at the end of a hectic day, I begin to think of all the people who want to do something -- anything -- to help the birds, ecosystems and communities affected by the ongoing oil spill. And I realize, Audubon works because people care.

Melanie Driscoll (by David J. Ringer/Audubon)

Audubon's director of bird conservation in Louisiana, Melanie Driscoll, met yesterday with staff from U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries, the Louisiana State Animal Response Team and Tri-State Bird Rescue and Research to discuss rescue and care efforts for birds that come into contact with oil.

Here's what she had to say after the meeting.