We were at the Western Treatment Plant and the weather had clouded over. Best to head for home was the vote from both EE and Mr An Onymous. As we were at the southern end of the plant we decided (well I had the steering wheel) to take the longer, not so well used, track around the Austin Road extention.
This track circuits the far eastern side of the plant and has a long treeline running next to the fence, and can be on occassions worthwhile. Most times however its just a drive between the treeline and the open paddocks. Which is why many don’t make that trip and the track is mostly used by the farm folk and whatever livestock is in the area.
I missed the Black-shouldered Kite sitting on the old gate rail, but decided to stop just in case it was in the area.
We’d only just got out of said IamGrey and were looking about when an ominous black shape headed toward us across the field, pursued by an equally intent Black-shouldered Kite. Camera up, frames released, and then it was obvious we had found a Black Falcon with a Kite in hot pursuit. This is pretty unusual as normally the Falcon would have no qualms about relieving the little Kite of any prey it might have caught. Perhaps the pair had a nest in one of the nearby trees and they were in no mood for the Falcon to give them grief.
Black Falcons are not resident at the WTP, they tend to come in over the summer and we might only have one or two sightings each season. The Falcon is much faster than the Kite and more like its Peregrine and Hobby cousins than to the Browns.
It swept across the paddock with the Kite stooping on it several times, no contact, but enough to move the bigger bird on. It turned behind the treeline and was gone. The Kite returned to rest on the old gate post.
When admiring a painting Don’t examine the paint When meeting an artist Don’t ask to look at the brush
Deng Ming-Tao 365 Tao Meditations
“Oh, you must have a good camera?,” is a question that often comes up when someone looks at a selection of our bird pictures. No one on an operating table ask the surgeon what brand of scalpel they are using.
The apocryphal story is told of a conversation at a photographic exhibtion in New York of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s work. A visitor, a Texan oil millionare, asked HCB, “Well, what camera do you use?” HCB replied, “A Leica.” The visitor turned to his son, who was standing nearby, and said, “Well son, we gotta get you one of them Leekas so you can take great photos too,” and walked off.
The essence of a great meal is not to be found by asking the Chef, what kind of Knife or Saucepan they use, but rather in appreciating the artist’s genius for assembling all the right elements for an outstanding meal.
Often we might look at a photograph, examine the tech specs of ISO, Time, Aperture, Lens and Camera type, and miss the beauty that the photo expresses.
The same comes from watching birds at work. It’s easy to be caught away by the physics, or biology, the math, or any one of a number of scientific outlooks. So willing to define the birds actions that we fail to comprehend the whole.
Just to watch this Egret as it moved slowly from spot to spot along the pond, made taking the photo seem like a secondary action. The real beauty was in enjoying the sheer elegance of this creature and its ability to apply just the right science to delicately land barely rippling the water.
It was like being at one with the bird and and its skills.
I had written him a quick text, which I had for want of better sent it to his mobile as always, suggesting as the weather looked to improving a trip might be exciting, So I sent it to him just “On Spec” marked as follows: “Mr An Onymous, fancy a trip to WTP tomorrow early” And an answer came directed, just as I expected. Sent from his smartphone, “I’ll be there by sun up”
Apologies to the Good Banjo
“So,” as Banjo also wrote, “We went”
A quick stop for coffee from Gerry at the Highway Lounge and off to the Treatment Plant we journeyed. Hardly a “Vision Splendid” of bird life extended, but better than sitting in a “dingy little office”.
The weather was performing as expected and we dropped EE of at the first pond to pursue some Cape Barrren Geese, the first we’d seen in the T -Section area for quite awhile.
Mr An Onymous and I went up to the next pond and as we were trying to figure out our first move, a White-necked Heron stepped out of the pond-side reed bed and began to hunt.
And as the Banjo continued, “For a Photographer’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk seldom know,” We stood as patiently as the Heron and watched it watching the water. And it didn’t take too long for the glacial moves of the Heron to suddenly become full of life and action as it pursed its prey.
Then it leaned forward and needing just a little extra reach extended its wings and jumped. Another of Prof. Will’s Growling Grass Frogs had met its end.
Sometimes I think I should leave the “Training Wheels” on and wear a big digital “L Plate”
Aplogies for somehow posting this early. It was only in production and I must have missed the Save button and hit the Post button. Slap on wrist. Before I could figure what I’d done, the digital world had gone into overdrive and posted to everybody. I figured most would go, “Oh, its not’s Saturday Night’ and ignore it, but the few mail and notes I got suggested some really do click on and read the blog. A grateful thanks both to those who ignored it, and those who thought I’d been on the “silly beans”—again. Tis true, I’ve been trying to solve the ongoing issue of Anonymous comments and down the page here, you’ll find WordPress’s solution to the problem. Hope it helps.
Sometimes, just seeing one Nankeen Night Heron is a bonus. But to have a flock winging overhead does bring a new style of goosebumps.
At one of the entrance roads into the Werribee Mansion precint, there are a number of large Cyprus Pines. These would have no doubt been planted way back when the Chirnside family was estabishing the mansion area and its gardens. The big pines are wonderously deep and shady, and over the years, (about 9 that I know of) Nankeen Night Herons have roosted in the pines, and more specifically one pine during daylight. It’s always a bit of fun to walk in past the tree and see how many unusual ‘bumps’ are lurking among the branches. And knowing that you’ll never spot as many as EE. Often, its possible to see rather large white splashes on the ground or to spot a few rich orange/tan feathers laying about.
As we walked past, a number of the birds had moved into some nearby trees, and for some reason, decided to all take to the air. I think we counted 15 but I could only get some in the frame.
About as exciting as it gets
For those who’ve been commenting Anonymously
The past few weeks, it seems that WordPress has been making commenting and logging on with a valid name even tougher than usual.
So after a few commenters had written either on the blog or emailed me, I decided to take it up with WP staff. Long story, very short. We are going to change the log in requirments for comment. It won’t hurt, and some are already doing it that way anyway.
So. When you comment you’ll now get a dropdown box with three options to log in. For the truly dedicated WordPress there is an icon and you can click that to log in. Or you could, if you have a Facebook account click and use your FB log in. I don’t recommend that, as I’m not a fan of Facebook, and who knows what happens to your data and how they track you— Insert Paranoia Music here. Or you could take the third option, personal preferred method. Click on the little Envelope icon and you’ll be asked for a name you want to use and a valid email. (I think the email is used by their clever Askimet spam rejecting software, so if you cheat, like I do sometimes and enter and obscure but not valid address, it might reject. Just sayin’ Here’s what it should look like.
So just to be sure. You need to log in, use an email, to be able to post a comment. Anonymous, is not available. Mr Anonymous will be happy.
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
The trees and gardens around the nearby beach park date to the time of the first settlers in the area. They had obtained rights to farm huge areas of the Port Philip Bay area and began to build a life-style to rival their English heritage.
Part of that incluced the planting of a range of pine trees, some must be over 100 years or more. The close spacing of the pines as wind-breaks has resulted in some fine nesting locations for a range of raptors. Over the years we’ve had: Black-shouldered, Whistling and Black Kites in the area. For several seasons a pair of Spotted Harrier were in residence and they used the surrounding open paddocks that are covered in thick bracken as resting spots out of sight of the world. Australian Hobbys have also chosen a few spots. And at present a pair of Collared Sparrowhawk have recently completed their clutch.
The Queen of the Area is a Brown Falcon, Cassia of Cinnamon, and her handsome light morph beau, Alistair.
But all this brings heavy pressure on the birds as each wants the best opportunities for their young to be fed. So it’s not unusual to see swooping, name calling and direct attacks occuring from time to time. And its not all one-sided. Depending on the development of each clutch depends on who is the aggressor.
However the other day an added complexity to the mix. The Sparrowhawks have successfully fledged two young birds. They are a month or more ahead of the Falcons, and so have reign of the treeline at present. And being young birds with highly developed flying skills and a little bit of juvenile team work, they decided that the lone perched Cassia, of Cinnamon would be a bit of a game.
She has claimed the tallest of the Umbrella Pines as her lookout, over the paddocks for food, out further for the returning Alistair and a direct line of site to the precious nest location.
The two young Sparrowhawks took umbrage she should be in their area and settled into a name of game calling out in the open, from a nearby old tree. Then in a series of planned attacks they launched at her. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but the action did get pretty hot.
Enjoy
Cassia, of Cinnamon readies for a close passHigh Speed RunLots of front on dashes.Both birds would want to avoid a contact if possible. But, you never can tell with Sparrowhawks.Name calling from a nearby tree.Ready for the next pass
Well if nothing else, the ground is getting a fair old drenching. Keeping your Downwardly Mobile scribe inside too.
But the wet weather has certainly played its magic across the Crake and Rail communities.
We have been over the past few weeks monitoring a pair of Willie Wagtails that have set up a nest in a tree in the foyer area of a local Uni gym.
Sunday morning on the way home, we picked up a sandwich and some coffee and headed for said gym carpark. The weather was overcast, but not threatening, so we were going to use one of the picnic tables on the gym lawn for lunch.
Normally, I’d stop, EE would walk across the lawn and I’d park IamGrey and head back. But the lawn was little minature lakes, so it seemed best to stop at the ‘drier’ carpark.
Oh, she said, look a Coot has it two little young ones out in the grass. And sure enough, and who dear reader would argue with that observation. Click, click, click from that side of the vehicle.
I looked out and saw, just in front of the bonnet, another Coot, and thought, Oh, its a bit seperate from the family, until it cocked its head, and lo, it was a Buff-banded Rail.
Now its nigh on impossible to get a photographer to change from photographing one subject to taking interest in something more interesting. And with fear that I’d frighten the Rail, I backed the car ever slowly about 10m. Then, of course EE spied it and the door of the IamGrey slowly began to open. My camera was securely in the back, so I slipped along the edge to retrieve it, knowing full well that the bird will have taken the hint and fled. But this one was a calm as they come. Sunday morning at the gym, no other people around, it felt pretty comfortable.
It foraged quite near us, then scampered back into the reeds, to emege again down near the table where we’d adjourned to have lunch and contemplate our fortunate state at seeing it so well.
It strolled about the path, then into the grass and about 10 minutes later slipped away, to come out again and let us ‘creep’ quietly up on it. Cool as.
In the end, time ran out, but the Rail was still going.
Was hoping to post these on Flickr, but for some reason, my Flickr account has been hijacked to another user id. So all I get to see is their pictures and contacts. So until I feel comfortable with Flickr again, most of the next couple of weeks shall be here on the blog. Hopefully won’t bore you with too many stories and same pics. Couple of interesting developments in the field at present.
I’ve had several email me and say that the Flickr photos are getting up, but I can’t see or comment on any at all. They tell me my Flickr Stream needs a complete rebuild and may take “Some hours depending on the size of the photos, and links.” I’ll get over it. 🙂
A Buff-banded Rail at the GymI think this is the only time it actually looked in our directionTasty morsels for the pickingsAbout to scamper into its little Railie hideawayHigh stepping through the wet grassThe grasses gave it plenty of opportunity A very relaxed bird
Birds as Poetry —— Just because I WANDER doesn't mean I'm LOST 