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Been awhile since I posted, but what with this and that and a few days birding, here and there, well, it just all got by me.

After the last week or so of near perfect weather in Melbourne, with light winds and plenty of warm sunshine in the 20s C, its been more than a body can do to keep up with the places to find birds.  But, all good things they same come to an end.
Today was scheduled to be rain in the morning, rain at lunchtime, rain in the evening, rain.  So no one seemed particularly excited when I suggested a trip to Eynesbury to look for Flame Robins. (would have gone to Woodlands Historic Park, but the Backpaddock has been locked out to mere mortals, as the great Fox hunt proceeds, at glacial speed. 40 hectares, one fox, it a bit of a needle in a haystack, and I suppose quite a setback to the Eastern Barred Bandicoot Programme.  Not that the Flame Robins know, and so their winter visit to the park goes on, and the best we mere photographers can do is press our nose up against the cold chain fence, and ‘wonder where they are!”   Oh.

So Eynesbury is an option.  EE suggested she had her sock drawer to sort out, and Mr An Onymous, suggested I watch the weather, but in the end he too was inclined to make the journey. Cool.

Can’t say I was too impressed when early in the morning, I was awakened by the patter of rain on the roof.  Oh, it’ll pass quickly, doona back over head, and when I next awoke, I heard the patter of rain on the roof,  Oh, it will be the last of the showers, back under the doona.  When I next awoke, the rain was, well, pretty consistent. Hmmm, then the ‘Rooster” call from the iPad and it was time to prepare for the imminent arrival of the Blackmobile with its cargo.  So I put the Dryazabone as the first to go  in.  Never know do you!   Then the cameras and some dry gear for them.

Right on cue, Mr A arrived, and we set off, nice and early. and the rain, well, it had stopped, and some claimed to be able to see ‘blue’ sky on the horizon. Like, yeah!

To round out the story we found some robins, drank some tea, didn’t get wet, and by lunchtime as we were wending our way back to the car, the blue sky took over and the sun streamed through the forest.  Lovely. So we turned aside, for just one more look see, and to our delight found some Diamond Firetails. First for Mr A, so that was good.

Then it all happened. Standing in the sunshine, we were assailed by the frantic Skwarks, and Chatter of a Brown Falcon,  looking up we saw  her belting across the sky, and in pursuit of a band (about 4) Whistling Kites.  Then it was obvious the Kites were after a Wedgetailed Eagle.  That was pretty evident when the sky directly above us went dark as the huge bird juggled for position in a thermal to rid itself of the pursers. But Kites are pretty much a match for a low level Eagle and managed a few good strikes among them.  So much so that at one stage, they kind of got tangled up in the exit from the dive and had to avoid one another.

Every body wants to get into the act, (Jimmy Durante), and the Brown Falcon, full of the chase, was in as well.  However the Eagle, simply found the thermal, and no Falcon can gain the uplift power of those huge wings and soon she was completely outclassed and had to drift back exhausted.   The Kites on the other hand, not only masters of the thermal,  but full of energy to gain extra height by hard work got well above the Eagle and then took turns at attacking it from behind and above.

The Eagle drifted higher and the Kites soon had to work harder to keep up with it.  What amazed us the most was the size of the Eagle compared to the size of the Kites.  Tend to see the Whistlers as big raptors, but really they are pint sized alongside the Master of the air.

With the sunny day well established it was time for a late lunch and a pie shop I know on the way home.

Enjoy.

 

Given the really super weather of yesterday, we decided to make an early morning run to the Western Treatment Plant and look for some Brolga that had been sighted.   So we went.  Early enough for the cold to be, well, bitter.   All rugged up we arrived down at the T Section area, and immediately found a number of waders that had not made the trip to Siberia.  Top among them was a Curlew Sandpiper in breeding plumage.  Even some of the Red-necked Stints that couldn’t get their passports stamped in time were showing the ‘red neck’ for which they are named.

At that early hour of the morning with the sun running almost horizontal across the waters, the mists can be a problem if you are facing toward the sun.  But, there in the distance and the end of the road, surely, yes, its two Brolga.   Not much photographic to be achieved from an overexposed, blurry shot, so we took the round trip on the roads on the bund and ended up with the ‘sun over your left shoulder dear’, as my Mother used to say.

They were both pretty co-operative, and eventually with a consenting nod, they took to the air to look else where in the Plant.

By this time, the weather man’s dire predictions were beginning to come to fruition and the light was, well, falling past average fast.

We moved up the road and found on Lake Borrie, first one flock, and then a second, of Great Crested Grebe.   I’ve only ever seen them in ones and twos, but here were flocks of 15-20 all with their heads tucked back, chests out and bobbing up and down in the water.   Very impressive.  Also among them was an Australasian Grebe.  So in a small area we had all three Grebes.  Hoary-headed, Australasian and Great Crested.  I’ve been told the Australasian Grebe are not found in the WTP, so this one either didn’t know the rules or had come by to visit with the relies.

We paused for the obligatory ‘cuppa’ and a Swamp Harrier rewarded us by working along the bund on the far side.  I was able to watch the patient, and very precise way it works along the reed beds, quickly backing up to check on anything that is out of the ordinary, and could be used for lunch.

A little further on and we came across a drama that was about to unfold.  A Swamp Harrier was being harassed by a Little Raven.  Now usually this is pretty easy to score,  Raven makes a few passes, Harrier ducks and weaves, and in the end both return to normal services as soon as possible.
What made this much more dangerous was the Harrier was obviously in a bad mood and in no frame of mind to be harassed.  As soon as the Raven had made its first sweep by, the Harrier dodged and then turned claws out and wings working  to cut off the escape of the Raven.  Now the purser became the pursued, and the Harrier was more than a match for the twisting turning Raven.  Its not the first time I’ve seen this, as I watched a Harrier grasp the wing of a hapless raven some time back and bring it down.  Eventually damaging its wing and then despatching  it on the ground.   There also on the blog is the story of the Harrier taking on a Brown Falcon encounter.

See here. The amazing story of the Harrier and the Falcon.

The Raven took to running to the reed beds – Bad Move.  This the Harrier’s best working area, so it made a direct and sustained attack on the raven at pretty much ground level.  But the Raven did have the ability to turn tighter and faster, and with what can only be called bird luck it made it to the roadway, and the Harrier figured the event was a thing of the past.    The Raven also decided that once was enough for the day, and took off across the paddock on the other side of the road.  Phew!

One of the newer pursuits we’ve been involved with is the Werribee Wagtails group’s Bird Surveys at a number of sites.  One of those is Mt Rothwell Bio-Diversity Centre.
This area is set aside, privately funded, as a nature reserve.  Details can be found in the website here.

Mt Rothwell Site

Astute readers will recall a blog back in December 2013, when said blogger became separated from the counting group and was “lost” for over an hour or more. Now depending on who tells, the story, I was not “lost”, nor “Misplaced.”, simply a long long long way behind the leader.  Nuf said.

This time, under pain of something dreadful, and probably unpleasant, I was allowed to join, but had to ensure that:

A. I did not have a camera. And
B. Would stay on the Tracks, no wandering off.

So, as the Banjo says,  We went.
Pleasing day, great company and plenty of birds to see.
We stopped for lunch at the worksite kitchen area and one of the local inhabitants, an Eastern Quoll came out to see what has going on in “his patch”.  These delightful little creatures once roamed the grasslands of Victoria and were so plentiful that the government placed a bounty on them at one time.  Sadly there is only a handful of them left, and by 1970 or so they were considered ‘extinct’ in Victoria.

This one and its mate amused us over the lunch break by their antics and their almost complete lack of fear. Wandering around under the tables and through the forest of feet.   One even accepted some offered food, but in the end just spat it out.  No accounting for taste.

We then took an afternoon walk to the top of the hill and watched enthralled as Little Eagles, Whistling Kites, Spotted Harriers and Brown Falcons entertained us as they swept over the plains below.

It was also possible to see down into an old movie set of “Glenrowan” used for the Mick Jagger movie, “Ned Kelly”.   The old set is in pretty bad repair, infact no repair at all.  It probably speaks more to the skills of the set builders than most else.   So it was interesting to wander among the buildings and see what they had recreated of the past.

Then it was time to travel home. And as we proceeded along, it was obvious that the boys had their really big toys out, and were resurfacing the road.   “Expect Delays”.   Ok, that can’t be too bad, but after all we were the only car on this road, and they were really big toys taking up lots of space, it was going to be a longer than Expected Delay.   A kind bloke with a “STOP” sign in his hand wandered over and said, “Its going to be at least 15 minutes, mate.  Do you know the way on the backroad over there.” Pointing his sign at the small road off to the right.

“Yes”, said I. Not because I knew the road, nor its destination, but rather because it was a new place to explore, and figured that any road not marked, “No Through Road” must go somewhere.   So, as the Banjo says,  We went.

First we turned right, then left, then right and right again then left, a bit of a bend to the left, and then right, and right again.  After travelling for about 3 kms, we were about 500 meters straight line  from where we started!. Great road. Then we came over a rise, and there was a great big dip in the road, and a sign post marked for the depth of the water. 9 Metres it topped at.  Wow. Note to self. Remind me not to come this way in the wet.

And just when we thought it couldn’t  get any better two Brown Falcons exploded from the side of the road and sat in a nearby tree.  Super.

All in all a great road, and well worth re-exploring methinks.

 

 

We took a quick trip to see what was happening, and with the promise of a Routley’s Pie on the way home we didn’t mess around getting going.

The Traffic on the Bridge was about the same as last time. Think the same bus went by about 5 times.  Still, the birds are not in the least bothered, and apart from one “Oh, what are they?” question, the majority of the commuters simply commuted.

The two have grown to about full size now, and they are just as hyper-active as ever.  Dad had come in to relieve Mum who went off for preening and hunting.  By the time we got settled, he’d fed them and was all out of food.   Not that they believed that for a minute, and continued to pester him from one side of the nest to the other and back again.  Its pretty amazing to see how those big rubber flippers can hold on to the sides of the nest and move them the chicks about with relative ease, not graceful, one has to admit, but purposeful.

His tactic to avoid the snapping little beaks is to push his head under his wings and mantle.  Once they can no longer see his beak, they settle somewhat.   But, they know he’s there somewhere and with little else to occupy them, they soon begin to search him out.  All the tickling and poking under his feathers eventually wins out, and he has to endure another round of little snaky waving heads pushing him for a meal.   Then he’d tuck under once again.  It was really interesting to see that he put his head under his mantle, and then the two wings closed like automatic doors over his head and neck. No sign of him now, and not doubt they wouldn’t have been able to part his drawn in wings.

But little heads, and beaks can get under the outside feathers and after a little shaking and pushing,  “Oh, there he is!!!” and much more jostling and waving.  No doubt he was counting the seconds until Mum came back, and no doubt she was counting the seconds to see how long she could stay away.
We waited about an hour, but she didn’t make an appearance, so we travelled back up the highway to Routley’s Pie Shop on Melbourne Road, in North Geelong. What a great selection, so perhaps we’ll take a couple home as well.   Ohhh, Lamb Tandoori sounds nice, and I challenged myself with the Beef, Tomato and Chilli.  Yep, that’s got chilli in it.   Topped off with a fine Cappuccino, (it was, still, after all, morning) and we were ready for the trip home.

When I coined “Birds as Poetry” I had some pretty specific ideas of the images, and the stories I’d be working to share.   As it turns out the birds took over and the excursions, “little day trips”, became the norm.

On Friday, I had cause to reflect on the original intention.  We were standing in the open on the side of the main road up to the peak at the You Yangs, (Flinders Peak), and a large black form took up all the sky overhead. After much pointing from EE, I managed to get the world back in perspective and there just over the trees above us was a Wedge-tailed Eagle, completely engrossed in its work. It was searching for an air current in the early morning light, and no doubt it knew where the current would be rising, it simply circled to find the updraft.

Which from our vantage point gave us plenty of time to take some pictures and then to simply put the cameras down and become engrossed in its mastery of the air.  It dawned on me then that the grace, skill, shape, texture, and activity of the bird was why we go out.  It’s that magic of the feathers against the air, the lift of the wings, the turn of the tail, the flexing of the wing angles, that are so magnificent and awe-inspiring that despite how many times we see it, and how many times we can do the math to explain it, the sheer raw ability of the bird to control all those elements with such seemingly ease, just brings us to a jaw-dropping halt as we enjoy vicariously the wonder of flight.

and that in a nutshell of a load of inadequate words is the delight I wanted to share with “Bird as Poetry”.

For perhaps 5 minutes the bird worked its way from air current to air current along the ridges. First turning wide out, and then running close along the cliff sides.  Then up, and around and another run. A Brown Goshawk, came out to challenge, but the speed, control and lift of the eagle made it a non starter, it went off to pursue its own activities  and the black flying barn-door simply drew its wings and moved on.  Neither of us recalls seeing it wing flap once to control the position. It simply wafted through the ups and downs of the air-currents.

In the end, it lifted vertically to a great height and  headed of across the You Yangs plains.  It huge head twisting right and left as it searched below.

We both breathed again, laughed at our good fortune and contemplated both, the elegance, and the command of the air, and how much better our day would have been had we decided instead to visit a shopping centre and listen to dreadful music, loud mobile phone conversations, be pushed and jostled by fellow shoppers, be assailed by the wails of small children who couldn’t get their way, and breath stale air-conditioned air.  Nope,  Eagles just don’t cut it 🙂

Enjoy our time.

Was pondering the weather map, and thinking  about the following days, when ‘ding’ went the email, and a request for a run down to the Western Treatment Plant.  Ok I responded.  Just thinking about it, when ‘ding’ went the email, and an another request for info about our next trip down to the WTP.

See I don’t believe in co-incidences, alignment of the spheres or tea leaf readings but it seemed like we were going down with a full car.

So I phoned to book.  When I suggested I’d have 3 passengers, the “What, in your little car!!” made me think a bit. But I responded it would be ok, they could breath alternatively.

Richard, of the Woodlands lists was going to meet us down there, and Mr An Onymous (not so much any more it seems), would travel with us.

Come the morning, and the ‘Clear Blue” skies promised were more your murky grey. But we went. (Apologies once again to the Banjo)

We had hardly picked up Richard and entered the T Section than we bumped into Ian, and company.  So much talk about various varieties of birds in the area.  Then another car turned up.  Ray, had come down for the morning as well.  Ray’s “So, you’re Mr An Onymous” filled the air with laughter as we realised the secret was out.  So we all stood around and do what you do in a “Blokes Shed”. Talk.

Meanwhile EE was sitting in the car.  “What is this a Blokes Shed?”  she asked.  “I could have stayed at home!”.  So we decided it was time to move on.

Over on the Spit Road, we were ambling along, plenty to look at when I noted a dark shape on a post on the side of the road. That big, it must be a Sea-eagle. But I kept quite, and surprisingly 6 eyes looking out were so busy they hadn’t seen it. Finally EE had to say, “What is that big shape on the other side of the road”.  We edged closer.  Then we edged even closer. Now we really had some good shots. But of course the urge to get out of the car for a better photo won over and the car doors opened.  Well at least I got some nice shots of it flying away.

We also were amused for awhile by a juvenile Black-shouldered Kite in its beautiful young ginger colours.   And then just as we were leaving, I heard a familiar call and moved the car back down the road.  Everyone of course was unsure, but there. On the tree by the side of the road, an Australian Hobby.  Moving the car to get a better shot we waited while a van came down the road.  “It will fly,” was the consensus, but no.  It sat still, and I put the car in a better place for a good series of pictures. Super.

By the end of the morning we’d scored 8 different raptors and seen, thanks to Richard, some Blue-billed Ducks, and a large number of Stints, various Sandpipers, a number of Greenshanks and a few waders that we just couldn’t figure out.
Ian and company added Pectoral, and Broadbilled to their list, and we all got a good view of at least two Double-banded Plovers.(a first time for me!).

By the time we were ready to go the clouds were gathering up and some sunlight began to shine through. But we’d had a good day, and the Blokes Shed again proved to be a great conversation place.

“What about going to Point Cook Park in the morning” said the ebullient email.

Quick check of diary, (euphemism in there somewhere).   And it was set.

The weather was a bit average, and we didn’t get around to see the American Plover that has been reported, but we did have a nice sit on the beach, and watch the gulls at play.   Few bush birds to be seen, and to enliven the moment a curious Crested Pigeon powered in to sit on a branch only metres from where I was standing.

While we were sitting on the beach, enjoying the view, the conversation and the Orange Pekeo, I scanned the horizon in the binoculars hoping to see a sea bird or two.

Ohh ahhh me hearties, says I, “A sail on the horizon, Mr Hornblower”, I cried. And lo, we looked and indeed it was a sail, several infact, and all seemingly attached to the shimmering hull of the ship on the horizon.   “Pirates?”  The heat haze gave the moment a most otherworldly dream feel.

Seems the be sails attached to hull were likely to be the “Enterprise”, a local boat given to cruises, training and school excursions and the like.  Certainly made for an interesting sight from the usual birds.

 

I’m not a bird counter or a bird accountant.   I don’t have a list of ‘must see’ birds, and don’t travel half way round the world to see that last   blue-headed rock eater.   So mostly I get a bit surprised when a bird turns up the would qualify as as ‘lifer’ for me.   But as I was to discover, what was interesting to me was a matter of life and death for a Silver Gull.

We had taken Mr An Onymous down  to the Treatment Plant for an evening drive, in the relative cool, and also to see if we could locate the Brolga in that lovely afternoon light.
Part of birding is of course enjoying a repast, and so we were parked at the Bird Hide track, snacking on our various gourmet delights, in my case a cuppa of Early Grey.

The beach was awash with high tide and the Silver Gulls in their hundreds had settling in to squabble over the few roosting spots on the bushes, small bits of sand and mud bar, and enjoy the cool breeze too.  What happened next was as much a surprise for the gulls as it was for us.

Every gull on the beach took to the air, with a high pitched squeak.  Not the usual gull calls, but a really high pitched call of excessive agitation.  I figured a Sea-eagle or a Harrier had made a run over the bushes, but couldn’t see any sign of the big birds. Then the massive flock of gull, literally ‘cleaved in two’ in the most biblical way.  One group heading along the coast to the south, the other rushing toward the salt bushes on the land. Then I spotted a small gull sized bird going at a speed that anywhere else would have me call Falcon, or Hobby.  But it was not that shape. It latched on to the path of a single gull, and relentlessly pursued it.  I gained an new admiration for the aerial exploits of the gull.  It cried in what can only be described as ‘sheer terror’.  The twisting spinning gull was able in the end to shake off its purser.  All this happened of course in the time it takes to put down a hot cuppa, and pick up the camera. By the time I’d found the shutter button, the brown blob was rocketing out to sea.

The answer I concluded to the questions, What was that, did you see that, did it catch the gull, where did it go, what was it, can you see it now,  (you get the idea), was  Jaeger. Now I can of course confidently say the word, but having never seen one, nor seen anything that puts pure fear into Silver Gulls, I was only at best, guessing.

The gulls settled down, we settled down, and began to talk of other things.

Then the same high pitched call from the gulls, and they were all up in an instant. This time the D7100 was by myside and I soon got on to the brown shape bulleting through the gulls. They split. But, the Jaeger was not to be denied, and as they split it singled out a lone gull which it then proceeded to herd away from the two flocks until it was on its own. Then it pursed it about 500-700 metres inland.  The gull was completely outclassed for speed and any attempt to turn only had the Jaeger on that side like a sheep dog, blocking its escape.  With plenty of room to manoeuvre, and the gull now totally isolated, the Jaeger took time to grab some height and then stoop on the gull.  By sheer good luck the desperate gull avoided the first stoop, then the Jaeger climbed again. With nowhere to go the gull went into a spiral, but the speed from above was relentless.   The Jaeger missed the second time, (just by the width of a feather I suspect), and now had to go round in a wide turn to the right to regain both speed and height.
The gull took all of its remaining strength and sprinted back toward the main flock. With  its nemesis in hot pursuit.  The gull’s speed proved adequate, and the flock rose again as the brown bullet sped through. Missing that meal it turned to the southern flock that was just making its way back along the beach.  Again the high pitched squeal, and the Yeager headed out to sea again.

We waited.

But, it must have moved on.

They are a branch of the Skua family. They nest in the Arctic, up like, Finland, and then patrol the seas.  A long way to come for a Gull dinner methinks.

My guess is this is an Arctic Jaeger.  Mr An Onymous tells me Jaeger is the German for “Hunter”. And the brand of a first rate beer.  Although he didn’t offer me a glass.

The Silver Gull has been singled out and separated from the main flock. The Jaeger’s turn of speed meant it was in total control.

In a stoop, you can see the two angles of flight are going to intersect.

Strike and miss, now it had to make a wide turn to gain height and  speed.  The gull, seeing its only chance heads for shelter.

In pursuit, but not gaining the advantage.

 

 

Slowed down as it didn’t want to waste energy on a fruitless pursuit.

 

 

 

Sizing the flock of another strike.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was amazed at the high-pitched emergency call of the gulls as they scattered from its attack.

 

The Melbourne chapter of the BirdLife Photography Group had an outing at Newport Lakes and The Jawbones Reserve.

With a little overcast weather, but still plenty of heat around the humidity was pretty high.  Newport Lakes started out in early days as a quarry for bluestone, and then was used as the local rubbish tip for many years.  Due to some heavy duty lobbying in the mid 1970s the area was slowly reclaimed as an environmental area, and much work was done to restore the area and the lakes gave the water birds a new opportunity.

So we walked around the lake.  My Flickr friend Eleanor turned up, so it was great to put a face to a name, and have the chance to have a chat about our various images.    Down the track we walked and then sitting  in the quiet of a small clump of scrub was a Rufous Night Heron (formerly Nankeen Night Heron).  Try as we might it had managed to find the only spot on the waterway that was completely inaccessible for a good line of sight shot.   Clever bird.  Agitated by all the attention it finally decided that tree top height was safer.

We then set out across the large rocks that divide the lake and off in the distance an Australasian Darter and some Cormorants were visible in the old trees out in the water.   Swamp-hens that seem completely people adapted pushed past on the rocks, hurrying to the other side.   And a Little Pied Cormorant took advantage of the only pole near the rocks to preen and to pose in the sunshine.  It probably felt confident by the couple of metres of water between it and the curious photographers.

Further round a much better sighting of the Darter, and then it was time for morning tea, a bird count, and on to the Jawbones for lunch.
Dark ominous clouds threatened rain, but we sat under the shade of some sheoaks and watched the water birds while we ate lunch and chatted.  Then back to the cameras and bird spotting.  Find of the day was probably four Great-crested Grebes.  They took great delight in paddling to the opposite bank anytime someone came within good photo distance.   Quite a number of numbered swans with their collars showing, and a particularly big male whose collar seemed much to small for him when he fluffed out his neck feathers and performed for the local lads.  No one seemed to challenge him.

I was pleased to enter the data on the Myswan database when I got home and see that some of the swans led quite a mobile life up and down the bay, whereas others were much more the stay at homes.

In the end the heat, the humidity and other pressing duties made;  us bid farewell, to The Jawbones. “Gateway to the South”, (apologies to Peter Sellers, Denis Norden and Frank Muir: “Balham”.

Cunningly hidden away from direct line of sight on the creek bank this Rufous Night Heron was settling in for a well deserved sleep

No, I don’t do autographs.

Purple Swan-hen webbed foot dashing past.

You need to speak to my agent.  Little Pied Cormorant at rest.

Now you know why they are also called “Snake Birds”.

Armed for a day out along the Jawbones track.  Part of the photo group set out.

Practicing for its part in the up coming version of Swan Lake.

I’m available, and every other male is not welcome.  W26 shows his stuff.  The Collar is only tight as his neck feathers are extended in the show of strength.

Quite the get about is our unattached W26.

There have been several reports on Birdline of a Powerful Owl down along the Willamstown foreshore trees, actually on the Willi Limp- Latte strip to be precise.  When my mate Richard, he of Woodlands Historic Park bird lists, popped up a report, it was time to go investigate.

Now we had a bit of family business in the area today, and I dropped a line to Mr An Onymous to see if he’d like to be added to the list of intrepid Owl seekers, together with the promise of coffee afterward and in a shake, he was ready to go.

The  Powerful Owl is a pretty big bird, and I know a couple of things about them.  A) they are quite dangerous to possums, gulls and humans, not necessarily in that order.  B) they tend to sit high up in trees with a good canopy cover during daylight hours with the remains of last nights hunting foray clinging to the perch, and C), they have serious hardware attached to end of their legs, which enables them to hold on to said perch, and to grasp whatever has been on the menu.

So, as  the Banjo said, So we went.

The report had the owl in a Plane Tree, near BAE, the ship building company in Williamstown, they build  big things with sharp bits and hot heavy bits either attached to the top or the sides.  The Australian Navy seems to favour that sort of arrangement and has been a constant customer.

When we got there, BAE takes up quite the bit of real-estate on the shoreside of the road.   And there were a number of Plane trees on show.  We, probably read, “I” decided that where we parked  the car would be where we’d start.  While I went to the parking ticket machine, the intrepid group began to seek among the trees.  By the time I got back they’d built up quite a following of locals, BAE employees and the like all peering into the trees with encouraging comments such as “Oh, the owl is back is it!” Nice work team. Even a couple of tourists thought it might be something to add to their agenda.

Much pointing and highlighting previous perches soon was the flavour of the moment.  And I thought. Great.  All I need now is some heavily armed security people to imagine the worst of a group of people outside a military installation armed with cameras, binoculars and a following of locals.

After several fruitless, but fun minutes, the locals assumed, quite correctly, that the “Owl was not back”, and moved on to other things.

There are more Plane Trees down the road, seemed to be the obvious next move.  So while the said intrepid group moved down the road, I went over to talk to the lone Security Guard who had ‘miraculously’ appeared.

Attack being the best form of defence, my opening gambit was, “G,day,  Security folk now lots of stuff about what’s going on in the area, we’re looking for the Powerful Owl, any ideas?”

To my surprise, not only did he know, but had a fair idea where it was, how long it had been there, what trees it had favoured in the past, how many possums it set on to in a week, and the lowering of the seagull population.  Bingo!

He also volunteered that last evening the Powerful Owl had made several passes at the Night Security Guard on his rounds.  So after chatting about OH&S issues for security guards and attacks from Powerful Owls he suggested the , “big tree down by the head office, near the second floor windows.”   EE and Onymous were already heading down that way, and so I thanked him for his insight and a lady going by said, “Oh, you’d be looking for the owl, its down here most days!” And waved me on to the building with the second floor window.  “In the testimony of two witness”, so the texts say, that was good enough for me.

So I ambled down,  EE was looking in the open trees near the building, and I’d lost sight of Mr An.

Not wanting to look up as I passed the building with the second floor windows, I glanced quickly up.   Big brown blob on branch.
Stopping, and looking about to be sure it was ok, I took a longer look. Yep, unmistakable.  The back of a Powerful Owl.  A nod is a as good as a wink for EE, and so I ambled back up to the car to get my camera, and bring the car down for a quick get-away. By the time I’d parked Mr An was knee deep in garden and pointing upward.

The rest is pretty simple. Take pictures, be unhappy about the light, change the exposure, be unhappy about the branches and leaves on the Plane tree getting in the way, and take more pictures.

Ten minutes later and we’d found a good cafe on the other side of the road,  to Schwabs Gallery, and  enjoyed a fine Lamb Pide and/or Smoked Salmon on Rye.  Top coffee and a promise to come back on another expedition and repeat the successful part of the intrepid day out in the wilds of Williamstown’s coffee set.  Note to self.  Must go again to Schwabs Gallery.  Mr An Onymous missed seeing the Vanilla Slice, so might be found cycling down for a solo repeat performance.

Ah, there you are.

Hard of course to see well because of the height, the light, and the branches and leaves.

With a feather from its recent kill hiding its face, and its attempt at sleep, it was pretty hard to get to see the bird closeup

The beautiful markings however showed up well.  Note to technically ept. 70-200 VR 2.8 with a TC20E iii. e.g. 400mm

No, I don’t want to be famous on Flickr.

After a week away, it was good to be able to get back to some familiar territory, and we set out to visit Jimmy, Karen, and Ginger.  Took us awhile to locate one of the adults, but no sign of the other one nor Ginger. But given the shrewdness of these little birds sometimes that is not surprising.

Did find our one hard working pair of Wagtails had their young but a few days from flying.

They are now so active, and the nest is really not enough to contain such rapidly growing and hyperactive littleuns.

A couple more days should see them on the wing. Hope so before the really hot spell of weather sets in again.