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One of my most long held dreams- apart from that
one where I am transformed into a cartoon and get to hang around with the Scooby
Doo gang- has been to go to Cape York. This is the biggest blank on my birding
map. Pity I was feeling so unwell. The swollen gland in my throat had hardened
into a little golfball, making me wince every time I swivelled my head in awe at
yet another vast vista of tropical woodland unfolding before me.
Cape York is about the size of Victoria, and only a
fraction has been cleared. The first place I stopped, almost at random was alive
with birds: Grey-crowned Babbler, Yellow Honeyeater, White-throated
Gerygone, Red-tailed Black-Cockatoo and many, many others. And
then it hit me- the woodland here was little different in structure to
the remnant woodlands down South. This is how it probably would have
been pretty much all the way down the inland side of the Great
Dividing Range, all the way down to where I
live in North Fitzroy- an entire continent length woodland. And to think in
the last twelve months in Victoria, we had to fight, for literally almost every last
tree in the Box-Ironbark.
Next stop was Windmill Creek- the
famed Golden-shouldered Parrot site. As
soon as I pulled up I was somewhat dismayed as a mob of fifty of the
stinkiest cattle I have ever known were mooching about the dam that the parrots
reputedly come into drink. Despite the stink there were still heaps of birds,
one of the first being a lifer for me, Black-backed
Butcherbird, bird number 531. And then amongst others I added
Silver-crowned Friarbird and Banded Honeyeater
both of which I had expected to get not here, but in the Top End.
And then came the parrots. One of Australia's
rarest and most beautiful birds, since first clapping eyes on a photo of this
bird as a ten year old, I have always wanted to see one. I expected to find them
on the ground, instead in amongst the trees was a group of six to
eight Golden-shouldered Parrots calling to each other. They had
a mix of calls which at times reminded me of both Mulga Parrot and Swift Parrot.
But do you reckon I could find a male? I got plenty of great views of
females and young males, but none of the spectacular adult males- some may say I
may as well have not seen them but The Big Twitch does not discriminate: a drab
female counts every bit as much as a spectacularly plumaged show-pony
male.
I would have hung around longer but by now the
lump under my jaw was throbbing with every pulse of blood. I decided to
head straight on to Weipa arriving Weipa
just before dark- enough time to check the sewerage ponds on the way in. No
Whistling-duck, but I did add Radjah Shelduck.
I decided to take it easy the next day or so, and
my body responded miraculously, with both the swelling and the pain disappearing
within 48 hours. I think my body was trying to tell me something. I
did bird around Weipa and without
ever really getting out of the car managed
seventy-five species, highlights being: Yellow Oriole, Yellow-spotted
Honeyeater, Osprey, Great Bowerbird, Pied Heron, Green
Pygmy-Goose, Lesser Frigatebird and Lemon-bellied Flycatcher.
But no Spotted Whistling-Duck. The
only contact I had for Weipa was away and I couldn't be sure the birds were
still around, so I had decided to take the risk and drive up there to see if
they were. Bad move. But it was still an enjoyable place to recuperate and
prepare for the big Torres Strait
trip.
Because of the Ansett collapse, there are no
longer connecting flights from Weipa to Horn Island, so I had to fly to Cairns
from Weipa in order to get to Horn Island. En route I added Pied
Imperial Pigeon in Cairns. They used to be known as Torres Strait
Pigeon- how appropriate considering my destination.
I thought I had booked on the afternoon flight- I'd
even told Mike Carter I would be seeing him on that flight. Just as I was about
to head out for the night to sample Cairns' non-birding delights, I checked my
ticket and discovered for some insane reason I had booked myself on the 7AM
flight. I was unable to get in touch with Mike and, thinking I was running late
when I didn't board, he apparently tried to get them to delay the flight.
When I did arrive at Horn Island in the morning, it
was
ablaze with an out of control burn-off that would
flare up each afternoon in the breeze, Bill Watson, the first of the passengers
to arrive was at the dock. He'd arrived a few days earlier and took me to the best birding spot within walking
distance which gave me Shining Flycatcher and
Red-headed Honeyeater, taking my total to 543.
By three o'clock everyone had arrived, and there
lay the yacht, the Jodi Anne II waiting to take us aboard our ten day Torres
Strait odyssey.
Dools, August 21
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