WE ARE REDRESSING

To all our dedicated readers and followers,

Following on from the relative success of our effort 'journalising' our trip to Scotia, it has been decided that we shall continue to update this blog with entries detailing our regular forays into the wild. The aim is the same: using my writing and [mostly] Jeremy's pictures, we will endeavour to illustrate and document the trips we take to find and observe Australia's wildlife. To all those following us, thanks for your support and joining the ride. Already it's been a fantastic year and we still have plenty to look forward to.

Cheers,
R & J

Day 24- 11/11/10 Home

The morning light caught us beautifully on the shores of Lake Broadwater. The previous night’s wind had died down to a tepid breeze which ruffled through the wings of hundreds of newly-metamorphosed dragonflies sitting on the short-cropped grass by the lakeside like fleets of biplanes. Again, the birding disappointed: apart from the regulatory Black and Wood Ducks, Moorhens and Swamphens, the only notable thing was the flock of Black Swans, including one which managed to dump an immense load of excrement on Jeremy’s tent while flying overhead.

We decamped and drifted into Dalby, and from there into Toowoomba and familiar territory. Desperate to end on some sort of high, we turned off at Gatton into the University of Queensland campus to check out the lakes, where a Brown Honeyeater (Lichmera indistincta) greeted us: we were well and truly home. Our last detour took us across the highway and onto Lake Clarendon dam, where at last we hit on something we could call decent: a Black Falcon (Falco subniger), one of Australia’s rarer raptors. We also watched an Australian Hobby hunting Tree Martins (Hirundo nigricans) over the dam wall, making the swift plunges into the wheeling flock that is the falcons’ signature, while in the marshes beneath the dam wall we saw, amongst others, a Plumed Whistling-duck (Dendrocygna eytoni), Magpie Geese (Anseranas semipalmata) and four Cotton Pygmy-geese (Nettapus coromandelianus), while the reeds bore us Tawny Grassbird (Megalurus timoriensis) and Golden-headed Cisticola (Cisticola exilis), and a Red-bellied Black Snake (Pseudechis porphyriacus) swam across the marsh. That last sojourn was also notable for our encounter with Superb and Red-backed Fairy-wrens (Malurus superbus & M. melanocephalus), which brought our fairy-wren count for the trip to five, and meant that we had seen every species of fairy-wren in Australia, apart from the two western and two far northern species.

We had the fitting end to the trip that we wanted, an excursion that brought us innumerable memorable experiences and on a personal level, taught me a thing or five about myself. Many men have made lighter work of harder circumstances, but I had pushed several personal boundaries and am nothing short of grateful for the privilege of the past three-and-a-half weeks.


Sunset and storm cloud over White Cliffs entrance to Paroo-Darling
***
Post-script

We had logged 25 species of reptiles, the vast majority new for both of us. We saw 15 species of mammals, including introduced species and four of the six threatened species introduced to Scotia. Between us we had seen 185 species of birds, 61 of which were new to either one or both of us.

Big misses- The Dirty (Baker’s) Dozen:

These are new species which we stood a chance of seeing but, for various reasons, contrived to miss:

~ Australian Shelduck (Tadorna tadornoides): A dry-country specialist, we probably could not have found the outback any more propitious for waterbirds. We managed to pull off finding a Freckled Duck, but somehow missed this one. Would have been new for both of us.

~ Letter-winged Kite (Elanus scriptus) and Grey Falcon (Falco hypoleucos): One can never really expect to see these, the two rarest raptors in Australia, anywhere with certainty without going into Australia’s very core, north of Lake Eyre. This was Jeremy’s second big stab at finding them; his failure means he has now traversed in excess of 30,000km of road in ‘suitable’ territory without seeing one. We failed, but not for a lack of trying. Would have been new for both of us.

~ Brolga (Grus rubicundus): We mostly weren’t in the right area for them, but Paroo-Darling has Brolgas and once into Queensland, anywhere well-watered would have been fair game. They are much more common further north, which is the only consolation for me, and I count them as a big miss. Would have been new for me.

~ Inland Dotterel (Charadrius australis): Not common anywhere, but a bad miss, given we traversed vast swathes of suitable habitat, especially the claypan and gibber regions out of Paroo-Darling. The biggest constraint was that you can’t actually expect this bird near to water, so in all probability we’d driven past several without ever having realised it. Would have been new for both of us.

~ Australian Bustard (Ardeotis australis): For me, the biggest miss. We can give NSW a pass seeing as they are uncommon through that state, but once we hit Queensland, and particularly the Mitchell/buffel grass plains out of Cunnamulla, we were thoroughly banking on seeing at least one. That we didn’t is inexplicable and a hanging ‘what-if’ in my head to this day. Would have been new for me.

~ Regent Parrot (Polytelis anthopeplus): Scotia sanctuary did its best to jazz up our hopes of seeing these before our arrival, their media stating their case as an important harbour for this state-listed species. In the event, we never had a sniff, and were subsequently told that the most recent sightings of this species had an air of dubiousness. We would have been better served going south past Mildura for these. Would have been new for both of us.

~ Red-browed Pardalote (Pardalotus rubricatus): Another on Scotia’s list whose presence was likely dubious, we weren’t to expect them there, but once on the road, we had several stabs at decent habitat for this dry-country specialist and came away with nil. Would have been new for me.

~ Western Gerygone (Gerygone fusca): This one sort of snuck by under the radar; they weren’t at Scotia but were certainly to be expected elsewhere. I hadn’t been looking out for them, though, and by the time I realised we had missed them, we were already leaving their prime area. Would have been new for me.

~ Painted Honeyeater (Grantiella picta): Like the Spanish Inquisition, no one ever expects a Painted Honeyeater, though with the outback so green and all the mistletoes in flower, we probably would not have had a better chance to snag this, one of Australia’s true grail birds. Would have been new for both of us.

~ Hall’s Babbler (Pomatostomus halli): We had no reason to expect these highly localised birds anywhere, except perhaps at Currawinya NP where they have been recorded. In the event, we didn’t stay long enough to try earnestly for them, and once we left, our best chance of seeing this, the last of the babblers, to complete the full list in one trip, was gone. Would have been new for both of us.

~ Red-lored Whistler (Pachycephala rufogularis): This one was definitely at Scotia, indeed the sanctuary provided key protection for one of two disparate populations of this, the rarest of the Australian whistlers. We didn’t get one, partly because we were inexperienced and probably couldn’t differentiate its call from that of the Gilbert’s Whistler, and partly because no one ever gets six straight flushes in one night. Would have been new for both of us.

~ White-backed Swallow (Cheramoeca leucosterna): Next to the Australian Bustard, probably the most inexplicable miss of the trip. It’s one thing to hope for uncommon species and miss them anyway, and another to drive through thousands of kilometres of suitable habitat for a fairly common species and miss it entirely. All the effort for no return [and I have been looking for this species for some time now, even before the commencement of this trip] makes this one of my true ‘bogey’ species. Would have been new for me.

Day 23- 10/11/10 Downhill...

After the obligatory early start, we hit the road heading northeast towards St George, the first big town since Broken Hill. The plan was to stop at a couple of national parks along the way, most notably Thrushton NP, a welcome-looking large green patch on the map. In the event, it was a challenge just getting to Thrushton: situated far up rural roads away from the main highway, we had to pass through private property blocks and almost a dozen cattle gates before we finally reached the park, which was itself rather a disappointment. The park itself was two large patches of scrubby sclerophyll, sitting diagonal to one another and abutted by pasture lands. Though the websites we consulted stated that camping was allowed, we could find no way into either of these patches; there were no trails leading into them, just roads around their periphery. We did try and bird, but it was late morning and activity had already begun to wind down; what we did see was not new. The most notable species present were Rufous Songlark, Crested Bellbird, Red-capped Robin, Plum-headed Finch (Neochmia modesta) and Brown Treecreeper (Climacteris picumnus). We were on the look out for Painted Honeyeater (Grantiella picta), especially since the mistletoes on which it specialises were in flower, but came up empty-handed.

With nothing going our way, we fairly flew to St George, arrived in time for lunch, and from there to Dalby to spend the night at Lake Broadwater. Maybe we had been on the road too long, but pressing issues too complex and irrelevant to recount here also meant that by this point, our enthusiasm had abruptly faded. Having travelled so far so fast, we effectively decided to cut our trip short and arrive at Brisbane a couple of days early. The trip was reaching its end, our chance for seeing some of the more iconic dry-country birds –quail-thrushes, grasswrens, grey falcon, orange chat etc– long gone. The fauna was becoming steadily familiar: gone were the Little Crows and Little Ravens, back came the Torresian Crows. Budgerigars, Mulga Parrots and Cockatiels vanished, replaced by Rainbow Lorikeets and Laughing Kookaburras. Yellow-faced Miners were no more; we were firmly back in Noisy Miner territory. Nevertheless, one or two last-ditch ticks still trickled in: I saw my first Red-winged Parrots (Aprosmictus erythropterus) just out of Moonie, and two new reptiles turned up on the road out of St George: Black-headed Monitor (Varanus tristis) and Burns’ Dragon (Amphibolurus burnsi).


At nightfall we drove the partly-tarred road leading off the highway to Lake Broadwater, picking up a species of legless skink: Eastern Robust Slider (Lerista punctatovittata) (above), and a Robust Velvet Gecko (Oedura robusta), both new to me. As a coupe de grace, our herping effort for the night was curtailed by a sudden gale which picked up half an hour after nightfall, which also made our camping setup rather effortful. I lay in my tent trying to fall asleep, as the wind howled outside. It was an anticlimactic and rather mediocre end to what had so until now been a fine trip.

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.

Day 21- 8/11/10 Sayonara to Scotia

We had deigned to leave on the 7th, but ended up prolonging our stay by a day in order to increase our overlap time with Jesse. Come the 8th, though and we had to leave; we had to get the four-wheeler back to Brisbane by the 14th, and hence were operating on a deadline. The plan was to take that whole week to get back to Brisbane, stopping by places of interest along the way. We had, in the past couple of days, been mulling over different routes that would maximise our time in novel territory. In the end, we elected to drive up north back along the Silver City Highway, retracing our steps as far as Wilcannia before heading north into Paroo-Darling NP, then onward into far southwest Queensland and heading due east all the way back to the coast (map above). The good thing about this was that the pressure that had been on us the way down was now off; we could now afford to take things slowly and check things out along the way.


A key part of our initial plan was to pass through the Nearie Lakes, a series of ephemeral claypans directly across the Silver City Highway from Scotia. In the end, we opted out, partly because the road in looked private, and partly because we couldn’t trust the integrity of the dirt roads, especially in that area, which was prone to flooding. In the end, we made a beeline for Broken Hill and had our first McDonalds’ meal in three weeks; more for the WiFi than anything else, really. About 45km out from Broken Hill, we passed a large flooded expanse adjacent to a truck stop (above). We had passed this exact spot on the way down and I had been keen to check it out; with more time now we pulled over and were greeted by a melange of waterbirds: Pink-eared Ducks (Malacorhynchus membranaceus), Black-winged Stilts (Himantopus himantopus), Grey Teals (Anas gracilis), Black Swans (Cygnus atratus) and Red-kneed Dotterels (Erythrogonys cinctus) (left) were present in number, along with the obligatory Pacific Black Ducks (Anas superciliosa) and Dusky Moorhens (Gallinula tenebrosa). I also managed to get my first Black-tailed Native-hens (Tribonyx ventralis), and most spectacular of all, 23 Freckled Ducks (Stictonetta naevosa) (below), another one of those unpredictable outback specials and a real grail bird. To see them at all would have been a real treat; the fact they were there in such numbers made this one of the most dramatic and unforgettable birding experiences ever.


Our journey to Wilcannia added another raptor, a Spotted Harrier (Circus assimilis), while another random stop along the road en route to White Cliffs and Paroo-Darling NP yielded both Brown and Rufous Songlarks (Cincloramphus mathewsi), both new for Jeremy, as well as Double-barred Finch (Taeniopygia bichenovii) and Diamond Firetail (Stagonopleura guttata). We had originally made this stop to photograph some blooming Sturt’s Desert Pea (Swainsona formosa), an iconic Australian outback flower (below); while we had been on Scotia for the blooming event, we had been just too late for the desert pea.


It was dusk by the time we passed through White Cliffs and entered Paroo-Darling NP. The park itself is a large block of floodplain scrub, dotted with lakes and pebbly claypans. Uninitiated as we were, though, we had no idea as to its infrastructure, and before we knew it, had driven through the entire park; we would probably have been better served informing ourselves beforehand. The park sits in the middle of some very interesting habitat, and it is perhaps a slight regret of mine that we ended up going through most of it at night; we certainly deserved better than one glimpse of an Australian Owlet-nightjar (Aegotheles cristatus). Proving that when nature turns against you, it really means to, we ended up having to set up camp amongst a plague of locusts and one of the worst clouds of mosquitoes I had ever experienced. Attracted by our lights, the insects swarmed and assailed us: in addition to myriad mosquito bites, I had a locust fly into my mouth, giving me a few cuts as it kicked frantically. In danger of being driven mad by these tormentors, we set up camp, pulled whatever gear we could remember to grab [I forgot my dinner, but it was far from the most pressing concern at the time], slammed into our tents and shut up for the night, staying awake only long enough to kill every last mosquito that had made its way in.

Week 3- 2/11/10 - 8/11/10 3rd week: Herps galore

This week saw us wrap up bird surveys and commence general wildlife surveys- the aim was the same, only this time it was to survey the other vertebrate fauna on the sanctuary. In addition to the charismatic fauna, Scotia hosts a range of small mammals and reptiles [some already previously discussed]. The technique utilised was classic pitfalling: using the same GPS-marked sites used for the bird surveys, an array of buckets and funnels [essentially crab pot-style cages] was set up and everything that was caught in them identified and tallied. Surveys were conducted on a four-day rotation with three sites [sampling each main ecotype] open each time, which meant we were around for at least two-and-a-half rotations; we had planned to leave on either the 7th or 8th. The first day involved some degree of labour: digging in and opening up sites; I was grateful that we didn’t have to dig in anything much harder than wet sand. Jeremy regaled us with stories of having to dig in clay and blacksoil during a previous volunteer stint on another AWC sanctuary in the Kimberley, and suffice to say that sounded like a much less pleasurable experience!

Once we had the traps open we were on our way: skinks and dragons abounded, especially the Ctenotus and Ctenophorus species mentioned earlier. We also got one Common Dwarf Skink (Menetia grayii), as the name suggests, one of the smallest skinks in Australia. The belah woodland site yielded a Marbled Gecko (Oedura marmorata)(right), a fine-looking creature of velvet black with a galaxy of white spots and markings. The only other gecko to show up was a familiar face, the Beaded Gecko (Lucasium damaeum) (below). Mammals were thinner on the ground, but we still turned up some gems: a Bolam’s Mouse (Pseudomys bolami) and a Southern Ningaui (Ningaui yvonnae) showed up in our traps, along with –much less pleasantly– a House Mouse (Mus musculus) which got a firm bite of one of our ecologists. Another trapping group found a Common Dunnart (Sminthopsis murina), which, like the Ningaui, belongs to a much-overlooked group of carnivorous marsupials known colloquially as marsupial ‘mice’. These creatures are mouse by name, but the similarity ends there; benign seed and insect-eaters these are not: the vision of these animals being ‘cute and fluffy’ diminishes significantly once you see one attack and eat a scorpion, centipede or even a snake several times its size.


Despite our efforts, this first haul was actually decidedly mediocre. Our species count was rather low, and our tallies indicated generally lower densities of such animals. One theory was that because we were sampling within the electric fence, the presence of higher numbers of predatory mammals, comprising the numbats, bettongs and bilbies, meant higher levels of predation. This was ostensibly backed up by the other group’s findings, who worked on sites outside of the main fenced area and found increased numbers of animals. We would have to wait until our next round of trapping, conducted outside the fences, to see good numbers. That is, if the weather would cooperate…

What did I say about the weather cooperating? That week saw the sand dry and the temperature steadily climb, to the point that we had our first 30 degree day on the first day of our second trap rotation. The heat was on, the reptiles were bouncing, activity was climbing and we were set to see piles of critters in our buckets; what could go wrong? A huge outback squall, that’s what, that dumped almost 50mm of rain on us in less than three hours and forced us to shut our traps midway through the rotation. By then we were prepping to leave, so were denied the full potential of the trapping effort. C’est la nature.

Eastern Spiny-tailed Gecko (Strophurus williamsi)

Oh well, we at least managed to wring a good first day out of them, in which we managed to get more of the same old, and a couple of other interesting new species. Our belah site yielded a couple of Fence Skinks (Cryptoblepharus carnabyi) [it says something of the flux state this genus is in that I can’t be 100% sure this is the species; a recent study has more than doubled the total number of Cryptoblepharus species in Australia], while our spinifex site, by far the most productive of all the habitats, yielded a Southeastern Morethia (Morethia boulengeri) and a fine specimen of a Desert Skink (Liopholis inornata), an arresting-looking creature known throughout the camp as a “Chubba”. Cute in the face they may be, but they’re nippy buggers that don’t like to be handled, with a good set of jaws and [thankfully blunt] teeth. The bite I got was a nip, however, compared to the one Jeremy copped from an Eastern Hooded Scaly-foot (Pygopus schraderi) (left), a large legless lizard which left his finger bruised and bleeding. Jeremy and I were operating in separate groups by now, and his group also managed to trap a Ringed Brown Snake (Pseudonaja modesta) (below), unbelievably the first snake of the whole trip between us; we would not see another in the few days we had left on the sanctuary, meaning that I had passed an entire three-week excursion in the Australian outback without seeing a single snake.


Other gems to show up in the traps included a Broad-banded Sand-swimmer (Eremiascincus richardsonii) (left) and the one Ctenotus skink that I have so far neglected to mention, the large Short-clawed Ctenotus (Ctenotus brachyonyx). We did miss a few things we were hoping for, but Colin, an Honours student doing research at the sanctuary, was doing some pitfalls of his own and brought back a few interesting critters: a pair of Jewelled Geckos (Strophurus elderi), an Eastern Spiny-tailed Gecko (S. williamsi) and perhaps most curious of all, a pair of Smooth Knob-tailed Geckos (Nephrurus levis) (below). On our last evening on the sanctuary, we took one last night walk, tracing the same path we took on our second day. Our good mate Jesse had arrived that evening for his own weeklong volunteer stint and we were glad to have some overlapping time. He soon turned up one more new gecko: a Beaked Gecko (Rhynchoedura ornata), while the Lucasium geckos and burrowing toads (top of article) were more than obliging.


Birding-wise, our diverted focus meant less attention paid to avifauna, but new things, though few and far between, still showed up. This was the week when we finally managed to sight the Splendid Fairy-wren (Malurus splendens), Jeremy’s first ever and my first since 2003. On the evening of setting up our second trap sites, we passed a section of fire scar absolutely chock-full of Budgerigars, and in amongst them were two pairs of Elegant Parrots (Neophema elegans). I was hoping to encounter this species at Scotia, but their appearance was still unexpected and a genuine surprise; props to the station’s ecologist who initially spotted them. With the deep blue of their wings firmly contrasting with their grassy green bodies brought into relief by the burnishing orange sunset, they were a picture against the evening outback sky. We had however split groups by then, so Jeremy missed them. Speaking of birds Jeremy missed…

We took advantage of the interim between trapping sessions to have a second stab at the Malleefowl mound. We were determined this time to not have the bird give us the run-around, though it seems even with our best efforts we underestimated the bird’s wariness and intelligence. We arrived at the now-familiar empty nest, and having lingered awhile without having turned up anything, were about to give up again when we heard the male’s distinctive booming resonating through the scrub, not 30m away. We ambled around the general area fruitlessly, then decided to change tack: we would sit in a concealed spot which would afford us a clear view of the nest from about 20m, and wait for the bird to show up. Fifteen minutes into our wait, and we heard the booming again. I looked over our shoulders and there he was, standing in the spinifex about 10m away, head cocked in our direction. He spotted us, took three steps backwards and melted back into the mallee; the whole sighting could not have been for more than three seconds.

We hurried to the spot where we saw him but knew we didn’t have a prayer; it was well and truly gone. The Malleefowl had been standing over where we had previously trod; the wily old bird had the wherewithal to trace our footsteps and find us. Jeremy was despondent; I had a clear view of the bird, but he, sitting right next to me, had his view thoroughly obscured by the tall spinifex. He still blames my choice of attire for him missing out[I was wearing a white soccer jersey at the time while he was in hunting camouflage]; it certainly didn’t help that stories periodically popped up of people seeing Malleefowl elsewhere in the sanctuary, running across roads or along the fences. In the end, I suppose I pity him, and it is my hope that in some future sojourn he will get another opportunity.

Week 2- 26/10/10 - 2/11/10 (Part 2) Mammals

The most notable thing to appear this second week, however, was a Numbat (Myrmecobius fasciatus) (above) which popped up on Wednesday morning, crossing the track on the outskirts of a belah patch. One of the few diurnal small mammals in Australia, this iconic denizen of the outback is now highly reduced in range and mostly survives in secure areas like Scotia with a high degree of feral animal control. Later in the week, we were taken for a drive around to see some of the other mammals on the sanctuary. Scotia harbours populations of several highly endangered Australian natives, five of which [the Greater Bilby (Macrotis lagotis), Burrowing and Brushtail Bettongs, also respectively known as Boodies (right) and Woylies (Bettongia lesueur & B. penicillata), Bridled Nailtail Wallabies (Onychogalea frenata) and the Greater Stick-nest Rat (Leporillus conditor)] were historically found in the region but had been exterminated, primarily by feral predators and habitat destruction. Other species were not native to the region, but were introduced to maintain insurance populations. This was true for an animal which we were especially privileged to see, the Rufous Hare-wallaby or Mala (Lagorchestes hirsutus).


One of Australia’s rarest native marsupials, the mala is considered extinct in the wild and only exists in captivity as well as tiny reintroduced populations on offshore islands and the Scotia sanctuary. So many of Australia’s native mammals had been driven over the brink by the suite of factors -introduced predators, habitat degradation both anthropogenic and by introduced ungulates, hunting, disease, erratic climate, all exacerbated by eccentric evolutionary traits and behaviours- that combined to make Australia a conservation nightmare; pulled through by a surge in effort and interest, this one barely made it, yet its existence, like that of so many other species, is precariously balanced and, as some might say, ultimately an exercise in pointlessness. A selfish outlook, no doubt, but so much of Australia’s wildlife is under pressure and funding so limited that it has almost become necessary to pick and choose, to place an economic and charisma value upon species and delegate funds and effort accordingly.

Greater Bilby

If such a statement should invoke stirrings of emotion [and rightly it should], then know that the situation is as much to do with apathy amongst the citizenry as it is anything else. Sure, everyone knows about environmental crises such as the Mary River dam and the Launceston pulp mill, but only because in both these and other such situations, people would have been directly affected: the Mary River dam would have drowned properties and forced the relocation of several thousand people, and run-off from the pulp mill would have threatened Launceston’s main harbour, in addition to affecting employment in the area. Certainly, people did become aware of the effect such developments would have had on native habitats and wildlife, and obligingly flew the banner, but it is doubtful that they would have if they weren’t directly affected.

Bridled Nailtail Wallaby

It is increasingly the case that conservation and conservation of species are, in the heads of ignorant people, mutually exclusive. How many of those same people who fought so vociferously against the pulp mill know that at this very moment, less than 40 Orange-bellied Parrots struggle to maintain a foothold in northwest Tasmania? That the same bushfires so gleefully lit by arsonists in Victoria that devastated towns and lives also ravaged huge swathes of sensitive habitat and threatened to decimate wildlife, including the entire remaining population of Southern Corroboree Frogs? That not too far away from Launceston, at the mouth of the Derwent River, the same suite of problems that have people afroth at the mouth continue to threaten the only known wild population of Spotted Handfish? I wager very few do, and not only that, but as I find most damning, people will wilfully impinge upon nature, for no other reason than a belief that it is their right.

In late November I watched a fire, deliberately lit on the boundaries of a farm property, sweep into Mt Chinghee NP, burning hillsides that were among the last known habitat for Eastern Bristlebird in southeast Queensland. Did the land owner know that, if nothing else, his fire was in prime position to leap the fence into adjacent national park land? Probably. Did he care? Stupid question. Would he have cared any more had he known of the existence of a dumpy brown, inconsequential-looking bird? Someone stop me asking stupid questions. But propose to dam the adjoining valley and see what sort of reaction that might elicit. Doubtless the very same man would pump endless energy and money into campaigning to stop the dam, the same way such resources were pumped into stopping the Mary River dam, the Franklin dam and the Launceston pulp mill.

Sanctuaries like Scotia and other conservation efforts: High on requirements, short on cash

It just goes to show that Australia’s biggest environmental miscreants are not located in its upper echelons [which are inevitably its easiest targets], but amongst its general citizenry. The environmental management may be in some ways inadequate, but by developed nations’ standards its infrastructure and grassroots awareness are the envy of much the rest of the world; the main problem is there are still a lot of minds to change out there, a far slower process than just instituting legislative and policing change. Expenditure must also be wrought with more influence, and again with greater priority than it is currently afforded. I would wager that the expenditure made to screen five seasons of Big Brother or bring Oprah over for her frivolous jaunt would keep a station like Scotia running for a couple of months. So the all-important question Australians must ask is: which do they want, a healthy, environmentally balanced country with sufficient protections in place for its wildlife, or Oprah? In a perfect world, you can’t have it both ways.