I'm loving the brilliant Big Bird-yellow galaxies of Silver Wattle in Morton NP.
Lyrics from John Williamson's gorgeous 80s number Cootamundra Wattle spring to mind...'Hey, it's July and the winter sun is shining and the Cootamundra wattle is my friend, for all at once my childhood never left me and wattle blossoms bring it back again.'
LJ, August 2 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
THE TRUTH ABOUT LYREBIRDS (PART ONE)
The Superb Lyrebird would have to be THE most hypnotic Australian bird. It has it all: a memorable, complex and voluble call, interesting feeding habits (endless scratching in the soil for invertebrates), a mesmerising courtship display, speed when provoked, unique plumage etc. We're blessed to have them in the bush surrounding our township. As it's now their breeding season, the males are very vocal.
Last Saturday, mid-afternoon, I had the pleasure of watching a male complete part of his courtship hullaballoo, in rugged terrain, at Echo Point. There was much wing-flapping and noise-making. Unfortunately, I didn't get to witness the celebrated tail-over-the-head culmination of the courtship extravaganza, where the bird's feathers are spread into a lyre-like arrangement.
This particular male mimicked (perfectly) the calls of 10 other birds - Pilotbird, Crimson Rosella, Sulpher-crested Cockatoo, Eastern Whipbird, Bassian Thrush (or European Blackbird; their calls are similar), Noisy Friarbird, White-browed Scrubwren, Golden Whistler, Satin Bowerbird and Laughing Kookaburra - on several occasions. The mimicry was interspersed with a thread of its own classic song and various peculiar noises, adding up to a bizarre, chopped-up soundscape that musicians DJ Shadow or Trent Reznor would be proud of emulating. Interestingly, when the male was desperately trying to seize the attention of a foraging female close-by to him, he ended his mimicry, replacing it with a five-note sequence (the fifth note less clear than the previous four) of otherworldly, almost mechanical, clipped buzzes, looped over about five minutes. Once the female wandered off, utterly underwhelmed, the male fell back into his original repertoire of song and mimicry. I've never heard a male do this before.
Female lyrebirds can also use mimicry in their assembled vocal routines, but they do it far less frequently. Males tend to be the major songsters. Ornithologists believe males put so much effort into their calls so as to (a) attract a mate and (b) establish territories. Hardly revelatory stuff. I wonder whether it's really that straightforward. Perhaps the male enjoys what he does and this outpouring of noise cum music, this grand Hallelujah to the day, is a bi-product of sheer joie-de-vivre. Think a breaching humpback.
I've had several close encounters with Superb Lyrebirds out at Fitzroy Falls over the last few years. In June 2010, I listened to a male imitating twelve bird species that frequented his local area; I've not found a lyrebird to mimic more species than this. It would be interesting to note whether males have a limit to the number of species they can mimic. I will follow this up asap.
Stay tuned.
LJ, August 1 2011.
Last Saturday, mid-afternoon, I had the pleasure of watching a male complete part of his courtship hullaballoo, in rugged terrain, at Echo Point. There was much wing-flapping and noise-making. Unfortunately, I didn't get to witness the celebrated tail-over-the-head culmination of the courtship extravaganza, where the bird's feathers are spread into a lyre-like arrangement.
This particular male mimicked (perfectly) the calls of 10 other birds - Pilotbird, Crimson Rosella, Sulpher-crested Cockatoo, Eastern Whipbird, Bassian Thrush (or European Blackbird; their calls are similar), Noisy Friarbird, White-browed Scrubwren, Golden Whistler, Satin Bowerbird and Laughing Kookaburra - on several occasions. The mimicry was interspersed with a thread of its own classic song and various peculiar noises, adding up to a bizarre, chopped-up soundscape that musicians DJ Shadow or Trent Reznor would be proud of emulating. Interestingly, when the male was desperately trying to seize the attention of a foraging female close-by to him, he ended his mimicry, replacing it with a five-note sequence (the fifth note less clear than the previous four) of otherworldly, almost mechanical, clipped buzzes, looped over about five minutes. Once the female wandered off, utterly underwhelmed, the male fell back into his original repertoire of song and mimicry. I've never heard a male do this before.
Female lyrebirds can also use mimicry in their assembled vocal routines, but they do it far less frequently. Males tend to be the major songsters. Ornithologists believe males put so much effort into their calls so as to (a) attract a mate and (b) establish territories. Hardly revelatory stuff. I wonder whether it's really that straightforward. Perhaps the male enjoys what he does and this outpouring of noise cum music, this grand Hallelujah to the day, is a bi-product of sheer joie-de-vivre. Think a breaching humpback.
I've had several close encounters with Superb Lyrebirds out at Fitzroy Falls over the last few years. In June 2010, I listened to a male imitating twelve bird species that frequented his local area; I've not found a lyrebird to mimic more species than this. It would be interesting to note whether males have a limit to the number of species they can mimic. I will follow this up asap.
Stay tuned.
LJ, August 1 2011.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
A KILLER AT THE BACK DOOR
A Sydney Funnel-web Spider (I'm pretty sure it was a SFW, as opposed to another species of FW; there are thirty-five described FW species) was lurking at my back door the other night. I think it was a female. I was somewhat surprised to see this Funnel-web, as it was very cold. I've only seen them in Sydney during hot months. Recent rains may well have flushed the spider from its burrow.
Poking the beastie with a long stick (I know, pure childishness) infuriated it (surprise, surprise) and it assumed its classic attack position, with forelegs held high. It struck the end of the stick twice with its fangs. After this, I crushed it with the point of a mop handle (I've got a child and a dog to think of).
It's hard to have an objective stance on SFWs. I think they're super-cool, but they do unnerve me. Maybe it's all that Hamlet-black - or the fact its venom (atraxotoxin) is the most deadly stuff in the animal kingdom.
In his detailed and attractive guidebook Spiderwatch, Bert Brunet says this about SFWs - 'All Funnel-webs should be approached with caution. Some species are now known to be among the most dangerous creatures in existence... the male Sydney Funnel-web is perhaps the deadliest spider in the world.' Brunet goes on to say fifteen people have died from SFW bites between 1936 and 1996 (the latter year was when Spiderwatch was published). Here's what Struan K. Sutherland mentions in his volume Venomous Creatures of Australia (1994), 'Children have died in less than 2 hours after being bitten.'
Here are some random points from both guides: the male's venom is five times more toxic than the female's; excessive sweat, tears and saliva result from a bite: after this, shock, brain damage and coma; they can sometimes live in substantial colonies (over one hundred individuals together); males, when wandering around looking for a mate, are at their most dangerous; they are from a lineage of rainforest spiders; sloping land near water is favoured habitat; the nest has a silk tube entrance; for most of the day, the spider huddles in the lower end of the nest in a purse-like chamber; preferred nesting haunts are under rocks and fallen timber.
I've never forgotten a moment from about twenty years ago (in north-west Sydney), when my father sprayed a SFW with Mortein. The thing, transformed into an albino spider, staggered about like some lost adventurer in the Himalayas, then died. This was comical and grotesque and sad all at once, really. Why didn't Dad just step on it?
I am privileged to have this iconic spider as a neighbour.
I think.
LJ, July 3 2011.
Poking the beastie with a long stick (I know, pure childishness) infuriated it (surprise, surprise) and it assumed its classic attack position, with forelegs held high. It struck the end of the stick twice with its fangs. After this, I crushed it with the point of a mop handle (I've got a child and a dog to think of).
It's hard to have an objective stance on SFWs. I think they're super-cool, but they do unnerve me. Maybe it's all that Hamlet-black - or the fact its venom (atraxotoxin) is the most deadly stuff in the animal kingdom.
In his detailed and attractive guidebook Spiderwatch, Bert Brunet says this about SFWs - 'All Funnel-webs should be approached with caution. Some species are now known to be among the most dangerous creatures in existence... the male Sydney Funnel-web is perhaps the deadliest spider in the world.' Brunet goes on to say fifteen people have died from SFW bites between 1936 and 1996 (the latter year was when Spiderwatch was published). Here's what Struan K. Sutherland mentions in his volume Venomous Creatures of Australia (1994), 'Children have died in less than 2 hours after being bitten.'
Here are some random points from both guides: the male's venom is five times more toxic than the female's; excessive sweat, tears and saliva result from a bite: after this, shock, brain damage and coma; they can sometimes live in substantial colonies (over one hundred individuals together); males, when wandering around looking for a mate, are at their most dangerous; they are from a lineage of rainforest spiders; sloping land near water is favoured habitat; the nest has a silk tube entrance; for most of the day, the spider huddles in the lower end of the nest in a purse-like chamber; preferred nesting haunts are under rocks and fallen timber.
I've never forgotten a moment from about twenty years ago (in north-west Sydney), when my father sprayed a SFW with Mortein. The thing, transformed into an albino spider, staggered about like some lost adventurer in the Himalayas, then died. This was comical and grotesque and sad all at once, really. Why didn't Dad just step on it?
I am privileged to have this iconic spider as a neighbour.
I think.
LJ, July 3 2011.
Monday, June 13, 2011
BUNDANOON HAS FIFTEEN PERCENT OF AUSTRALIA'S BIRDS
A Cattle Egret did it. A lone, lowly Cattle Egret. The egret was spied near feeding horses, on a paddock between Shangri-La Rd and a major dam that hosts grebes and Musk Ducks, at midday today, in icy conditions. This egret has now brought my Bundanoon bird list to one-hundred and twenty species.
That number equals fifteen percent of Australia's bird species, if we solely consider the species found on the mainland and Tasmania (not the vagrant or rare species found sporadically on outlying islands, seas and reefs at the limits of Australia's territory). This percentage is based on numbers from a Birds Australia communications and research guy, who emailed me last November; I've mentioned this person before.
So, impressive stuff for a little town and something to be bloody proud of! This one-hundred and twenty have been unearthed within about five square kilometres.
A while ago, I posted the birds bringing the town's total to one-hundred and ten species. Here are the additional species bringing the new total to one-hundred and twenty...
Buff-banded Rail
Chestnut-rumped Heathwren
White-bellied Sea-eagle
Spotted Turtle-dove
Flame Robin
European Goldfinch
Hoary-headed Grebe
Barn Owl
White-headed Pigeon
Brush Cuckoo
Cattle Egret
And I'm sure there will be many more birds to come. Rose Robin, Little Bittern, Jacky Winter, White-eared Honeyeater, Origma, Glossy Black-cockatoo, Grey Currawong, Common Bronzewing and Brown Quail are some of the species other Bundy locals and visiting birders have found. They're yet to land on my binoculars!
LJ, June 13 2011.
That number equals fifteen percent of Australia's bird species, if we solely consider the species found on the mainland and Tasmania (not the vagrant or rare species found sporadically on outlying islands, seas and reefs at the limits of Australia's territory). This percentage is based on numbers from a Birds Australia communications and research guy, who emailed me last November; I've mentioned this person before.
So, impressive stuff for a little town and something to be bloody proud of! This one-hundred and twenty have been unearthed within about five square kilometres.
A while ago, I posted the birds bringing the town's total to one-hundred and ten species. Here are the additional species bringing the new total to one-hundred and twenty...
Buff-banded Rail
Chestnut-rumped Heathwren
White-bellied Sea-eagle
Spotted Turtle-dove
Flame Robin
European Goldfinch
Hoary-headed Grebe
Barn Owl
White-headed Pigeon
Brush Cuckoo
Cattle Egret
And I'm sure there will be many more birds to come. Rose Robin, Little Bittern, Jacky Winter, White-eared Honeyeater, Origma, Glossy Black-cockatoo, Grey Currawong, Common Bronzewing and Brown Quail are some of the species other Bundy locals and visiting birders have found. They're yet to land on my binoculars!
LJ, June 13 2011.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
DREAMS OF DINGOES
I was down at Dimmocks Creek early this arvo. I'd never ventured down there before - what a stunning spot. I took a photo of canine paw prints in mud underneath a sandstone overhang. Could they be dingo prints? I doubt it. They probably belong to a local dog; someone may have been walking their pet labradoodlespoodlebadoodlecockadoodledoo (totally forgetting - or not caring - that they're within a national park).
Still, one can dream of primitive dogs, derived from Gray Wolves, brought to Oz some four-thousand years ago, can't they?
LJ, June 11 2011.
Still, one can dream of primitive dogs, derived from Gray Wolves, brought to Oz some four-thousand years ago, can't they?
LJ, June 11 2011.
Friday, June 10, 2011
NEW WOMBAT SIGN
My sincere thanks to councillor, social activist and environmental campaigner Larry Whipper, as well as those peers of his at Wingecarribee Council, who helped back my proposal for a wombat sign on the Exeter side of Bundanoon. The new sign was erected a few days back and positioned well. Hopefully, motorists will slow down a little coming into town and a few wombats will be saved as a consequence.
LJ, June 10 2011.
LJ, June 10 2011.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
MISCELLANY
1. It's winter. May there be snow. In July. Perhaps when the day wants anything but predictability.
2. I approached Fairy Bower Falls from a different access point this morning. The world enveloping this path to the Falls was ringing with water. Each boulder passed seemed an event (I'm such a sucker for boulders, particularly those wearing feathery moss; I'd love to see the birth of one). The terrain seems inviting for Greater, and maybe Yellow-belled, Gliders.
3. Is there much more satisfying than cleaving wood cleanly with a new axe?
4. Woodsmoke from our chimney often blurs into one with open galaxy.
5. There were Brown-headed Honeyeaters down at Gambells Rest today. I love their weird grating/mechanical calls. The call lies somewhere between a woodswallow's and a cicada's. No other bird around here sounds like them.
6. Our imported trees have become skeletons; our natives are grand survival totems.
7. The Origma is still an enigma.
8. I now greet my car (circa 6:30am, when work-bound) whilst holding a kettle filled with warm water and the look of a man who only wants to dance with the dawn.
9. Forget arrows of desire and chariots of fire... bring me my one-hundred and twentieth bird for Bundanoon!
LJ, June 5 2011
2. I approached Fairy Bower Falls from a different access point this morning. The world enveloping this path to the Falls was ringing with water. Each boulder passed seemed an event (I'm such a sucker for boulders, particularly those wearing feathery moss; I'd love to see the birth of one). The terrain seems inviting for Greater, and maybe Yellow-belled, Gliders.
3. Is there much more satisfying than cleaving wood cleanly with a new axe?
4. Woodsmoke from our chimney often blurs into one with open galaxy.
5. There were Brown-headed Honeyeaters down at Gambells Rest today. I love their weird grating/mechanical calls. The call lies somewhere between a woodswallow's and a cicada's. No other bird around here sounds like them.
6. Our imported trees have become skeletons; our natives are grand survival totems.
7. The Origma is still an enigma.
8. I now greet my car (circa 6:30am, when work-bound) whilst holding a kettle filled with warm water and the look of a man who only wants to dance with the dawn.
9. Forget arrows of desire and chariots of fire... bring me my one-hundred and twentieth bird for Bundanoon!
LJ, June 5 2011
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