Late last year we’d been monitoring a pair of Hobbys and had high hopes that they would be nesting in a tree line. Hobbys don’t build from scratch, being environmentally conscious, they tend to reuse old Magpie or Raven nests.
With food being constantly brought in and lots of Hobby cackling and the female taking up residence in the tree it seemed like the spot was ideal. Both made wide ranging fast flights across the open surrounding paddock that offered good views for photos
Then. They simply disappeared. Perhaps it was the wet cold weather, or the nesting of three other raptors close by in area. A Collared Sparrowhawk, Brown Falcon and Black-shouldered Kite. We did spend sometime checking the surrounding areas, to no avail.
A couple of weeks ago we were travelling onto the area from a different access road to normal. EE cried, “Hobbys”, and pulled IamGrey off the road and looking back we saw two young Hobbys sitting enjoying the early morning light.
Just as we were getting ready to move on, the young both started calling and peering down along the roadway, and a third and fourth bird flew past in full cry. It all happened so fast but it seems it was an adult followed by another young one. The first two took to wing and joined in the chase. After a couple of laps of the tree the adult moved on leaving one of the young to land and again sit in the sunshine.
There is no way of telling for sure, but as it’s in same area as the first pair we pondered if they had moved further down range to a better nesting spot.
Which ever way it was good to know that a pair had a successful season.
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be the blade that was broken The crownless again shall be king.
J.R.R. Tolkien
I have used, “Just because I wander, doesn’t mean I’m lost” as catchline for birdsaspoetry blog for quite a number of years. I realise it is a bit of a corruption of J. J. J. Tolkien’s work of, “The Riddle of Strider”.
And while this is not a book review, nor a poetry examination, the meaning of the original intent of the riddle is quite clear. Yet there are so many ways part of the quote can be taken and applied. In our rambles looking for suitable birds, it might often seem we are wandering about aimlessly. Such is the nature of the way birds appear to work to the casual observer.
Several weeks ago we had a number of days of intense heavy rainstorms. Most mornings I walk early before breakfast, along a section of the nearby Davis Creek. This is an old watercourse and in the past times, before housing estates were established on either side of the bank, it would have been for most of the year a series of ephemeral water holes, most of which would be dry by mid-summer.
These days, the housing estates stormwater drains (is that a verb or a noun?) into the Creek. With the housing stretching for kilometres up the creek, after several days of rain, the creek overflows its normal watercourse and spreads out over the lowlying river flats. Melbourne Water, have constructed quite a number of wetlands along the creek that help control the quality of the water. The thick reed beds capture and hold silt and debris that comes down the creek, the water leaving the wetlands is well filtered. But as a storm water entry point is about every 500m or so there is lot of debris that enters the waterway.
A footbridge, in my area, was constructed to give access to housing estates on both side of the creek. As I walked across with the water running through the grasses on the lowlands I was struck by the pattern that an Australasian Swamphen had made in its journey about in the flood affected grasses. At first glance it might appear random. But no doubt the bird had a purpose in mind.
One of the most fascinating of bird events happens, like clockwork, every year around Australia’s beaches and inlets. The migration of waders or shore-birds. Port Philip Bay becomes a haven for them over our summer as they fatten up for the long haul to Siberia. 9,000-10,000 kilometres. One way!
The western side of Port Philip Bay is also home to the Western Treatment Plant, and for over a 100 years the plant has been discharging nutriment rich water into the bay. The long shallow mudflats and sandbars make it easy for feeding as the water in some places at a Spring tide may recede over 200metres. It is not usual to see the entire mudflats shimmering with little grey feathers soaking up as much as they can eat.
Sharptailed Sandpipers are the largest group, also Red-necked Stints and Curlew Sandpipers. The Curlews are in decline as the flyway feeding grounds have been claimed for other uses by humans and the birds find it hard to locate sufficient food sources.
It was once said among the birding population I knew, “If there is a wader on the shore and you call, Sharp-tailed Sandpiper, you have a 78% chance of being right as about 78% of the waders are Sharpies.
A tiny Red-necked Stint arrives in October/November after its flight in from Siberia, it may weigh as much as 20gm—a small handful of jelly beans. By end of season and ready to return they may be around—40gm Still not a big handful of jelly beans.
Their flight north is well known and a majority leave from the Broome area, zip over to the Philipines, a major stop over at the Paranaguá Estuary Complex, then to China, over the mountains and on to Siberia.
They mate, raise young and the adults leave around 2 weeks before the young for the return journey.
The young follow on, with no GPS, no Map, No Google Map, no Whereis or any of the other “must have app” applications. They simply follow the parents journey.
I came across some time back a great descripition of the migration of Swallows by a noted 1880s preacher. Sprugeon. There is something quite lyrical and lucid about his explanation. I hope you enjoy it.
But these birds know when to come or go; they tell, by some mysterious means, exactly when to start on their long flight. They were never known to go too soon: they are never known to stay too late. The bulk of them depart at one period, and the rest a few days later. If we are living in the suburbs, we bear a twittering congregation gathering around the gables of the houses; and, in the evening, we miss the swift-winged hawkers who had, during the summer, found their evening meal among the dancing insects. Their shrill, joyous twitterings are hushed, for they have perceived that the heavy dews of autumn, and the long nights of winter, are coming to strew the earth with fading flowers and bailing leaves; and, by-and-by, with frost and snow; and, therefore, they have flown off to fairer lands where other summers await them. They will come back again in due time, true as the calendar. Whether we look for them, or not, they will be punctual to nature’s appointment. As sure as the summer’s sun will be their return. They know, without any special instruction, when to come, and when to go.
Charles Spurgeon
We were at the WTP and the Sandpipers were putting on quite the show of murmuration. Big bold patches of black swept across the sky, constantly changing shape and pattern and each bird familiar with its flight path.
After some minutes the game was over and they flew in and landed in the pondage in front of us. This frame is about 1/10th of the number of birds. How they can fly in such tight formation is beyond thought. You might spot some Red-necked or Curlews in there as well.
Little birds, that with great determination and trust, set out on long journeys into the unkown, guided by instincts we can only guess at. Truly Amazing
Every year thousands of Austalian Shelduck fly into the Western Treatment Plant during November. When I grew up, on the river country, they were called “Mountain Ducks”, so as a littleun, I just assumed they must be, as the horse in the The Man from Snowy River, “mountain bred” But it’s highly like that among the thousands, not one has ever been seen in mountain territory.
They congregate to moult out all their flight feathers and for a few weeks are flightless. And pretty helpless. The foxes can ravage the flocks and its not unusal to see a dozen or more carcasses by the roadside on a trip through the plant.
Once they have gained a new set of flight feathers they then begin to fuel up for the next part of their journey.
We stopped on Twentynine Mile Road to have a look at a great number of them feeding. And for bonus points a pair of Brolga landed and walked through the flocks. With a few wing flaps and some head shaking they seemed to clear a path between the ducks, until in the end, perhaps tired of that game, they took to wing and headed further down the Plant. The ducks just continued sitting, enjoying the sunshine.
Photography, if you’ll pardon the pun, has been the lens through which I’ve explored the world around me.
From the very first photo attempts with Mum’s Box-camera, “Keep the sun over your left shoulder, Dear!”, through a Kodak Star camera as a present, to graduating to a the Magic Carpet of a Super-Balda 120 roll film adjustable camera, the visual journey has always inspired the enthusiasm, imagination and dedication of making remarkable images of everyday things and events.
Those first ‘photos’ of Blackie the cat, asleep, in the sunshine, on the porch, to the blurry shots of a “Red Rattler (train) passing under the footbridge at Hampton railway station, may not have passed on down through the tunnel of time, but each press of the shutter today, still carries the memories of those early moments.
Photos have always been part of my life. The National Geographic Magazine, stacked year by year ready to fill in a rainy day on the couch, later, Life Magazine at the local library on the way home from school, and I’ve mentioned before the special librarian who must have had a fascination in Photo-folio books that let me explore how others saw the world around them.
And on reflection, (another photo pun!) each press of the shutter, like a tiny drop of water shimmering on a leaf, opens up new vistas of exploration. David Malouf said it this way.
… in dreams that blow in from out there bearing the fragrance of islands we have not yet sighted in our waking hours, as in voyaging sometimes the first blossoming branches of our next landfall come bumping against the keel, even in the dark, whole days before the real land rises to meet us. – David Malouf, An Imaginary Life
We don’t get Sooty Oystercatcher on our beach zones as regular visitors. Their Pied cousins while not regular are among some of the usual visitors. So its always pretty exciting to spot a Sooty along the beach. Unfortunatey they are quite human adverse and will fly further down the beach or wade out on low tide to the safety of rocks far to far away for photography. This one chose a halfway point, and I tentatively tippy-toed around the small shallow pools in the low tide sand to get the chance to isolate the bird against the water. Fortunately it stayed.
There is dear reader no connection. that I’m aware of, between the black of the Sooty’s feathers, and Blackie the cat.
We have had good numbers of Hoary-headed Grebes at a number of locations over the past few months. Not that we don’t see them regularly, just the large numbers are quite unusual. Some ponds at the Treatment Plant have had 30-40 birds on occassions.
We were at the T-Section area, and in the pond near where we’d parked IamGrey, it was hard not to notice the 15-20 or so Hoary-headed Grebes all swimming about together.
What turned out to be unusual was they all drifted down to the far end of the pond on a strong breeze, and then with a hop, skip and a jump, they launched themselves into the air and flew the 150m or so to the other end of the pond, drifted back and flew again.
It is most unusal to see any grebe airborne, so this was particularly intruiging. The books tend to say that “they fly at night”, but I suspect that is because no one sees them in daylight, and the conclusion is obvious, “I haven’t seen grebes flying in daylight, so…. They must fly at night”
These ones, obviously hadn’t read that book. And they continued to repeat the performance I’ve also been told, on reasonable authority, that Grebes tend to lose the ability to fly the longer they are in a permanent pond. Some Little Aussie battlers can have several seasons in the same pond, and if the theory is correct, then the wing muscles etc, must atrophy and they are for all intents, flightless.
And the Hoary-headed continued to drift up the pond and then fly back. Presumably they were using the rather strong wind blowing down the pond to help get lift. We began to wonder if they were perhaps getting some training in to re-develop the flight muscles
We stayed in the area for a couple of hours and to our surprise when we checked, just as we were leaving, there were only a couple of Grebes still in the pond. The rest had flown!
And of course we missed that. Often see them sitting in the ponds and doing a wing-stretch and conclude that those wings aren’t all that big for such a small bird. But, stretched out in flight they obviously get enough lift. With those little stuck-on legs dangling out behind. Enjoy
Long time readers will no doubt be having “Dejavu Feelings” or as Yogi Beera once said, “”It’s like déjà vu all over again.”“
As 2024 rolls around, I’ve taken on a new writing mentor. One of their first challenges was: To write something new everday. Or photograph something new every day. As a long time collector of little snippets of quotes and snippets from a range of souces, i guess I felt the time was right to settle to a schedule of both journalling, to see where that might take me, and to have a goal of a new page here on the blog. One of the things Saturday Evening Post was helpful to me over the covid years was an outlet for the difficulty of being locked out of travelling to our normal birding sites. Perhaps it was a bit cathartic, and I do apologise toward the end of the series as all the ‘stream of conciousness’ stuff started to dominate.
So my intention this time round is to stay to the job in hand. An image that has been recently shot, and perhaps a little about the moment. I was asked, the other day, by a health care professional, about a response I’d made to a question, “How did you get involved in photography?” What concerned me in my response, was that the question seemed to seperate a number of related things. My life’s work, my current body of work, my desire to be out in the field, to document and journal the lives of various birds we encounter, the reason I’d rather take a photograph than make watercolours. And a myriad of other things. Seemed that the question was about pigeon-holing the photography, when to be honest it is the raison d’etre.
My next comment was to have them go to the web, enter Birdaspoetry, and when they saw what a body of work contained, then the reason for the question faded away. All my creative life is about words and pictures. (We used to publish a series of articles for a number of magazines under that by-line in another galaxy far, far away.) More discussion is only commentary.
EE and I made a run to the Western Treatment Plant on Friday evening. It was going to be cloudless and the tide was a low, low tide. (Is there a technical term for that? … edit> Called Spring Tides, from the concept of the tide “springing forth.” ain’t Google wonderful!)
The mudflats would extend out in some places 200-300m and we might get some shorebird activity. But of course the real reason was—that late in the evening, golden, raking, light spilling over the subjects, for great colour and impressive shadows to build a feeling of depth.
This is not driving about putting money into the coffers of the OPEC nations. It’s sitting, contemplating and as Ming Thien has said: “If you are waiting for something to happen to get a shot, you must be hyper vigilant at all times until you can no longer stand it or have your concentration broken for you: because the minute you turn away, …what you’ve been waiting for will happen”
Then. The Little Egret wafted across the sand bar and landed in the shallow tidal pool in front of us. YAHADDABETHERE!
The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure. – Joseph Campbell
There is something quite distinctive about a Magpie’s call to warn of raptors in the area. It would be a fascinating study to plot the soundscape and work out some of the subtle variations. For instance, the main call is short and agitated. Yet depending on the level of danger, there are differences in delivery. A Kite circling somewhere over Argentina, is called by a Maggie out on the paddock here, more as an ‘headsup’ for it family and near neighbours. A Swamp Harrier working its way along the lower fence line a kilometre away might get a variation of the call, indicating a more serious warning. A Falcon working through a close treeline, will be given even more attention, more regularly and a much sharper and shrill call. And so it goes. A raptor resting in a tree, while the family is still fleldging young, is really at risk of evoke the ire of the family, and the entire clan. And many short sharp calls will eventually move the raptor into the open. So when I hear those calls going out, it is often wise to stop and consider where the raptor(s) might be. As my Tai Chi instructor rightly pointed out, ““If you can practice even when distracted, you are well trained.”
It’s not so unusual for birdwatchers, and bird photographers to be a little closely tuned to the changes of bird calls. Those that have followed this blog for a long while will know I regularly quote Jon Young. Jon, is a US native tracker and trainer. His book, “What the Robin Knows” has lead me on a number of discoveries of bird language.
Yet, in spite of all that, sometimes even the obvious escapes. I was alone on the beach area at Point Cook, EE had checked the beach, declared there was no sign of the young Falcons we were looking for and headed back up the paddock toward the new growth pines.
As I turned back off the beach, I heard the familiar “pip, pip pip” piping of Oystercatchers in the air. I looked along the beach in the direction of the call, but could not discern any shapes that matched. Darn Cartaracts! I’ve got to go get them looked at! Then I spotted a largish flock of 20 or more heading my way, and all bunched up, and quite close to the water. A little unusal, but I made some frames as they sped past. Suddenly they were followed by several skenes of assorted Cormorants, all equally in a hurry to be somewhere. Perhaps the fish were in on the low tide? And just as quickly a couple of largish flocks of teal and black duck. These birds were not on a seaside excursion looking at the scenery. They needed to be somewhere else, and looked for all the world like they should have already been there.
“Something has put them up,” I exclaimed to no one in particular, and as there was no one else on the beach near me, it was just as well.
Next a motley collection of Silver Gulls also went by in a straight line. “Something has put them up,” I concluded. The little bay where all this happened is quite shallow at low tide, it’s possible to walk out 150-250 metres and never get your knees wet. There had been, I’d noted earlier some people around the point wading in the water, and thought, perhaps they ventured just that little too far out and the birds objected.
Looking along the beach line, the swimmers and waders had left the area. So I wondered, out loud, to no one in particular, “Perhaps a Kite has put them up or maybe a Falcon?”
And on a start, there was a shape just above the waterline. Heading down the beach toward me. I didn’t worry any more about the cataracts. ”It’s a Sea-eagle”. ”No wonder everybody is on the move!”
It was a juvenile bird and swept down the beachline in no particular hurry. It’s luncheon options had already disappeared way behind me. Came over my head, swung inland made a subtle U turn and landed on the tallest tree on the shore line. It could probably see to Argentina from up there.
Excitedly, I dialed EE to tell her of the good news and the option to come see.
Now, here is another strange thing in this digital age of mass and urgent communication. Any text message, from family, friends, lunch meetings, coffee gatherings, junk mail, spam, sales offers from Rivers or Rockmans, and of course the occassional scam text, are answered and replied to ‘instantly”
An important message, “Hey, I’ve got a Sea-eagle on a tree on the beach, come see” is ignored. Go Figure.
So the Sea-eagle and I settled to our roles. Eagle, to look majestic and stay perched. Me, try and get the best angle. The pictures tell the rest of the story.
(PS) and EE did eventually get the message and turn up, just before the bored Sea-eagle decided that the fishing was better further along the beach.
Enjoy
Pied Oystercatcher in tight formationYou can almost hear it humming as it casually came down the beachlineBig turn toward the shore lineHardly a wing flap Sailing over my headBest viewpoint in the areaTime to GoHeading out
Birds as Poetry —— Just because I WANDER doesn't mean I'm LOST 