Last Friday morning the planets aligned for us to the extent that both
Bratz had no lectures to attend until late in the day and, as we hadn't been on
a birdwalk together for a while, we headed to Shepherds Lookout.
Pulled into the lovely little burnout carpark off Stockdill Drive and
disturbed a rather grubby White Ibis that had been pecking away at a
takeaway pizza box. We counted fourteen Double-barred Finches arranged
up-and-down on the top strands of a netting-wire fence. They reminded us of
notes on a music sheet. See, we remembered that Mozart is said to have
composed one of his gigs, or part thereof, by listening to a Common
Blackbird.
Continued along and found a mixed feeding flock comprising Brown and
Buff-rumped Thornbills, Grey Fantails, a Willie Wagtail, a White-throated
Gerygone, eight Superb Blue Fairy-wrens and at least three Southern Whitefaces.
Good, because the girls hadn't recorded the latter before. Five White-eared
Honeyeaters joined the smorgasbord and, within seconds, all the smaller fry left
the tree.
A male Flame Robin glowed in the sun like a red hot ember as it
perched on the branch of a burnt tree. We saw a total of seven White-throated
Treecreepers. At one point we saw three White-throated Treecreepers working
in unison up the same tree trunk.
We went to a certain little spot that we know affords good views of the
Peregrine Falcons' eyrie on the big red cliff above the river. Set up our
spotting scope and watched a peregrine pair sunning outside their pothole. Then,
a mature-age gentleman bushwalker came puffing up and we invited him to
view the peregrines.
He took a peek and announced, "They hain't peregrines, there's no
peregrines in Orstralia, you gotta go overseas to see peregrines, these 'ere
ones is commin grey 'awks." I began to correct him but he cut me off.
"Listen, Tex, [perhaps he envied my Akubra hat] hif Oi was you Oi'd go 'ome
hand read a good bird buuk." With that he trundled off into the bush, perhaps
enroute to his abode be it under bark or beneath a cow pat.
"Narky old tart!" Samantha said as he receded from earshot, although she
tended to pronounce he t in tart as if it was the letter f.
We spied a raptor soaring and I called it as a Little Eagle but the Bratz
upped the ante on Whistling Kite. I had Stephen Debus's field
guide, The Birds of Prey of Australia, in my pack. Out it came and
we compared underwing patterns as the bird continued to soar conveniently.
But, lo and behold, the young curmudgeons were right. Then, a second
Whistling Kite hove into view. "What's this one, Pop? Another Little Eagle?" I
treated them with the ignore they deserved.
In a Cypress Pine tree we saw some twenty European Goldfinches gleaning
through the upper foliage. In the lower branches a number of Red-browed Finches
were hard at work. "A charm of goldfinches is a wonderfully appropriate
collective noun," I said. "Yes, but how about a fantasy of firetails," Linda
enjoined, not to be outdone.
Back at the carpark the breeze was a bit keen so we sat in the ute
and enjoyed thermos tea and Tim-Tams. Suddenly, a Silver Gull (yes, a
seagull near Shepherds Lookout) landed on the bonnet and stared at us through
the windshield. Samantha reached across and gave the air horn a good poke. Poor
old Jonathan Livingstone shot skywards and darned near went into orbit as the
delinquent Bratz giggled delightedly. What to do? Cuff their ears or
proffer another Tim-Tam? Anyhow, I chose the latter. I've only mentioned the
highlights of our walk but, during two hours, we recorded 30 species and had
lots of fun.
John Layton
