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Hi all,
Spent a few hours at ANBG last Thursday. Not a great number of birds but
very enjoyable.
Rounded a corner in the Tasmanian Section and glimpsed a bundle of grey
feathers plunging into a small pool. It turned out to be a Grey Currawong. After
a quick dip it flew to a tree and spent ten minutes oiling and preening. Then it
flew to the sunny side of the tree and fluffed out its feathers, preened some
more and basked in the sunshine.
At Section 20 we were stopped in our tracks by the remarkable, exquisite
flowers of the Pincushion Hakea Hakea laurina from south-west Western
Australia. A pair of New Holland Honeyeaters arrived and were soon joined by
three of their Yellow-faced cousins. The latter were quickly shown the gate by
the feisty former. While we were there (about 10 minutes) another three
Yellow-faced Honeyeaters arrived but the newcomers were soon dispatched by
the New Hollands.
Then Samantha poked an inquisitive finger into one of the pincushion
flowers (which she insisted on calling echidna flowers) and quickly retreated
batting away angry honey bees. Naughty, intrepid young thing, could have got a
man stung! As a teenager, I was more restrained. I would have sneaked back after
dark, snipped off all the echidna flowers and sold them to the local florist for
a couple of quid. Only joking, folks ... I think.
In the Sydney Sandstone Section of the gardens, we stood high above a deep,
narrow little creek that whispers down through the area. Fifteen metres
across the crick, we spied a furry little face peeking out from a narrow tree
cavity. We focussed our binos and concluded that Furry Face was probably a Sugar
Glider. Also, we noted lots of horizontal cuts and scars (~ 20 to 25 cm long)
on nearby eucalypt trees, and thought they may be the work of feeding
gliders. Any comments from those who know about ANBG gliders?
We paused to watch about 2000 (probably a bit of an exaggeration, more like
about 20) Striated Thornbills concentrating their foraging in the branches
a small dead tree about four metres away. They were accompanied by a few Brown
Thornbills. Being thornbills, they flickered about with the unpredictability of
drivers on a Parkes Way roundabout during a black frost. Nonetheless, their
proximity, and the absence of foliage, afforded excellent views and easy
identification. Ah, if thornbills were always so cooperative.
A male Golden Whistler joined the party and I told Sam that a loud repot
like a gunshot, or the crack of a stockwhip, would often make them burst into
song. Having neither firearm or whip at hand, Sam clapped loudly but the
whistler looked at her disdainfully and remained mute. "Another tall-tale theory
bites the dust, Poppa Audubon," she remarked. Needs a good smack.
Finally, a plug for the cafe, Hudsons in the Gardens. Being my shout,
Samantha splashed out and ordered chicken-white-wine-sauce pies. Oh, man! And
woman! Pure ambrosia. Do try!
John Layton.
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