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The South West of Western Australia provides one of
Australia's greatest birding challenges- the three furtive stalkers: Western
Whipbird; Noisy Scrub-bird; and Western Bristlebird. Fifteen years ago I, with
Peter Lansley made the long haul across the Nullabor to go for them and we
got two out of three- dipping on the Whipbird but seeing the Bristlebird fairly
easily and the Scrub-bird with a lot of effort. This year I was hoping for all
three in as short a time as possible.
First up, the Whipbird. After driving eleven hours
from the border I opted to stop at Esperance
for the night, not repeating the mistake of fifteen years ago when Peter and I
had made the decision to press on to Albany. That plan came to a disastrous
halt when fourteen hours into the drive we hit a kangaroo writing off the car
(not to mention the roo)and almost derailing our birding plans. Proving this old
dog does occasionally learn from his mistakes, ( I still keep eating at Fried
Chicken outlets however) the drive to the
Albany area was done at a far more leisurely pace the next day with not a
kangaroo in sight. Plenty of dead ones on the side of the road though. Will they
never learn?
First stop was Ravensthorpe where fifteen years ago
we had seen Blue-breasted Fairy-wren on the outskirts of town. Amazingly,
despite some optimistic land development, I managed to easily find
Blue-breasted Fairy-wren in the same area. A nice entree, now
for the main course.
Located the Western Whipbird with
the aid of Peter Wilkins who is a ranger at Fitzgerald River National Park.
Peter was recovering from a big night at the local Cricket Club
but after watching me pitifully try for them for a couple of hours he
took pity and out we went into the scrub in search of this most elusive
bird. The trouble with Whipbirds is that unlike the other two skulkers they
tend to only call every half hour or so. One session of calling followed by
agonosing silence. And when they do call they can be totally ventriloquil. The
slightest turn of the head as they call can project the sound into an entirely
different direction.
The key is to waste no time in getting to a calling
bird. While they are calling they will allow close approach provided you are not
blundering and floundering about the bush like Simon Crean looking for a policy.
(I've got a job writing jokes for a show next year- I'm trying to get crap ones
like this out of my system now.) After a couple of failed attempts we eventually
did get onto a male Western Whipbird calling just below
the crown of a mallee. And then a bit later we got another crippling view
of possibly the same bird. All the books describe and illustrate this
species as rather drab, but I thought it looked pretty smart- as equally
handsome as an Eastern, though I may be biased as I had waited fifteen years for
another crack at this bird.
Now for the Scrub-bird. I opted to try at Cheyne's
Beach in Waychinicup National Park. Along the way I finally caught up
with, would you believe, White-winged Triller. Back in January
at Chiltern I had heard a Triller and not bothered chasing it up, saying, "Ah,
there'll be plenty of those this year. Well,
after eleven months, and six hundred and twenty-seven species later I finally
nailed the sucker.
The Noisy Scrub-bird that had been showing
off by the side of the road at Cheyne's Beach wasn't to be found but there was
one calling it's head off in the thick scrub by the beach. Like all Scrub-birds,
this one proved a difficult bugger to see. After lying in the undergrowth for
twenty minutes, with the bird, mere metres away, splitting my ears
with its piercing song, I finally got a view as he came in to check me out, his
ancient snout poking out of the foliage within touching distance. My
best ever view of Noisy Scrub-bird.
The last of the trio was the one I had
expected to be the easiest. Wrong. I arrived at Two People's Bay, the
marvellous reserve that had been created specifically to save the last remaining
population of Noisy Scrub-bird (before some were translocated to places like
Waychinicup). The bird, thought to be extinct since the 1890s was rediscovered
in 1961 at a site that was gazetted for a township.
It took a concerted campaign by conservationists,
(among them, strangely enough, well known bird shooter, Prince Phillip), to get
the area saved. Now there's a real Prince for you. Phil was a man's man. He knew
how to get things done. Not like the current crop of namby pamby wannabe Princes
who couldn't organise their way out of a paper bag. Well, Prince Harry could
probably organise a rave party, but apart from that, they're useless.
The delicious irony is that ten years later, the
Prince visited Two Peoples to see the bird he had saved, but he dipped.
But having got the Scrub-bird at Waychinicup I
could focus all my attention on the Bristlebird. As soon as I pulled up at the
simply gorgeous Little Beach, I could hear one singing and
briefly glimpsed it fly down into the heath. All I needed was a better view
and I would have all three skulkers on the same day. No chance. The bird
remained hidden for the next three hours. It was only right on dusk that a
bird that had been calling all day finally appeared atop a bush.
Western Bristlebird- on my list! Bird number 630.
With three of the hardest birds to see in Australia
safely tucked away, the rest should be a doddle. Oh if only it were that easy my
friends. If only it were that easy.
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