Day 22- 9/11/10 The border and beyond

We awoke to total calm; other than birdsong and the humming of a few insects there was silence, not a hint of humanity audible. It was the sort of Zen-like peace the suburbanite can only experience intermittently. Pulling open our tents, we surveyed the scene: flat scrubland, interwoven amongst gibber patches. A few metres up the road, a small creek, shaded by river gums, soaked into the surrounding grass, explanation as to the provenance of those devilish mosquito swarms from the previous night. Clutching my dinner/breakfast in one hand and my binoculars in the other, I followed Jeremy down to the creek, where we made a quick survey of the available birdlife. On the road, two Royal Spoonbills (Platalea regia) and a Yellow-faced Spoonbill (P. flavipes) vied for feeding spots with a White-necked Heron (Ardea pacifica). An unusual call from the brush led us to a minor commotion, and another new bird: a family of Chirruping Wedgebills (Psophodes cristatus) had flown in; a notable sighting, given that we were on the boundary of their range. Heartened by the new tick, we packed up camp. Jeremy was never one to go backwards; we would have to drive on and chance our luck outside the park.

As it turned out, we got to do what I had originally hoped, which was a chance to check out a claypan lake. Dry for most of the time, these ephemeral lakes, some fresh, some saline, only fill if adequate water entered the river system upon which they were dependant, in this case the Darling River. When flooded, these lakes attract large numbers of waterbirds, including some real desert specials like Banded Stilts. Along the way, we were seeing flocks of Australian Pelican (Pelecanus conspicillatus), cormorants and Straw-necked Ibis (Threskiornis spinicollis) overhead, a sure sign the recent high rain periods were having their effect. Seeing one of the last ones on the map (Lake Tombo), we decided to stop; we would not quite have been able to live with ourselves if we hadn’t. As it turned out, the stop was a fruitful one: Jeremy’s first Banded Lapwings (Vanellus tricolor) made an appearance, while we also managed to get good views of a large flock of Australian Pratincoles (Stiltia isabella) (right), and a few Whiskered Terns (Chlidonias hybridus) wheeled overhead. We didn’t, however, see the expected large rafts of birds, which was a little disappointing, but there were plenty of wet soaks here and there further along the way, all of which harboured something of interest. Investigations of a few of these yielded more native-hens, along with large numbers of Pink-eared Ducks and other such drier-country specialists. One soak yielded good numbers of Hoary-headed Grebes (Poliocephalus poliocephalus), not a new one but a first good look.

We were by now headed north towards the Queensland-NSW border. This stretch of road, leading up to the town of Wanaaring, was totally dirt, and we could see [and duly bore] the effects of drivers trying to negotiate this path in the wet. Councils in regions like these close such roads during rainy periods to prevent drivers tearing up the surface; inevitably a few dense individuals flout these closures and end up making life difficult for all concerned. One rut, almost a foot deep, went on for almost twenty miles, and we were doing all we could to avoid busting an axle or being sent skidding off the path. We were in prime wild country, but it was a relief to get off that particular track and onto paved road again at Wanaaring. By mid-morning, we had passed through Wanaaring and were firmly on course for Hungerford, the first town in Queensland along this path. Outside Wanaaring, the road became dirt again, but this was much flatter and wider, in effect a four-lane highway. Herds of brumbies and wild goats were the main ‘wildlife’ around, but there were still interesting birds: a second Black-breasted Buzzard for the trip [a much better view this time] (left), and a flock of Bourke’s Parrots (Neopsephotus bourkii), new for me. We were at first tentative as to what these were –the sighting was very brief- but the manner in which these small, long-tailed pink-brown birds flitted through the trees left me in no doubt.

An hour later, we arrived at the Queensland-NSW border and the small town of Hungerford. The road atlas said there would be gas available, but where was the station? As it turned out, the hub of this literal one-street town was the local pub, a rustic wooden building with a real ‘old-timey’ feel, and which also served as the local gas station, snack bar and hotel. Hungerford was also famous as the gateway to Currawinya NP, one of the main target stops on our route. Once we filled up, we headed straight for the park and its two large claypan lakes, one fresh, the other saline. The portents were good: five minutes up the track to the lakes, and we stirred up a Squatter Pigeon (Geophaps scripta), new for both of us, and apparently at the very south-western limit of its range. We managed to get to the first lake without incident [the lake itself was a disappointment, uncomfortably hot with no notable birds], but as we went further, the road became steadily more sodden [the pub keeper said they had had over 30mm of rain the previous night], until with just 5km to go, the puddles became insurmountable and we had to turn back. Thwarted, we decided there was to be little point lingering around, and decided to forge ahead.

It was headed out of Currawinya when one of the more curious birding incidents of my life occurred. Jeremy had earlier recounted the bushman’s story that if one were to lay down in a conspicuous position and stick one’s legs in the air, emus would come in to investigate due to their curiosity. We were passing several emu families, so it was decided I would have to give it a go. As I lay in the middle of the road contemplating the foolishness of my own existence, Jeremy backed up several metres and, I imagine, pissing himself laughing. Just as I was cramping up in my thighs and about to give up, a father emu and six chicks came out of the bushes and proceeded to approach, then stand over me while looking me over. If there ever was a position one had to be in to feel a little unnerved and powerless, it would be lying stock-still in a road while a very tall, powerful bird [with three very large clawed toes!] and its brethren stood not six feet away eyeing one over while making deep grunting noises.


A blast from the horn and an approach from Jeremy put an end to the experiment, and we continued on our way, stopping for lunch at a nearby campground by the river where I finally picked up one of my bogey birds: Diamond Dove (Geopelia cuneata). Any notion that we were hanging around was put firmly to rest by the appearance of a thunderhead over the horizon: the area was going to see even more rain, and we had no yearning to be caught in any of it. Racing the storm, we made out of the park and for Cunnamulla, which represented the beginning of our eastward progression.


After dinner at the local pub, the decision was made to herp drive towards St George and camp somewhere along the roadside. A brief shower along a stretch of the highway brought out a lot of frogs; we were soon swerving around myriad Holy Cross toads (Notaden bennetti) (above) and Green Treefrogs (Litoria caerulea). We encountered what we thought was a Spotted Marsh Frog (Limnodynastes tasmaniensis), but didn’t keep hold of it long enough to make a positive ID. However, we did manage to find two snakes, a Mud Adder (Denisonia devisi) (right), and more tragically, a Curl Snake (Suta suta) that had been hit by a car but was very much alive; we had to finish it off. Driving further along, the numbers of animals dried up, and we set up camp on a secluded junction just off the highway.