|
Having survived the night unmolested, I was again
up at dawn and out looking for those remaining Cape York specialties. Managed to
see White-streaked Honeyeater in a loose group of other
honeyeaters (Tawny-breasted, Brown-backed and Yellow-spotted) feeding in a
couple of Paperbarks along the rainforest track. No Green-backeds were with
them, however- one of the birds I will still need to get when I head back up
this way in December.
Another bird I thought I'd missed out on was the
Red-cheeked Parrot. Not that they were rare, rather their behaviour makes
observation extremely difficult. They make these manic dashes above the
rainforest canopy giving a frantic cry as if they are petrified that their
rapid, shallow wingbeats will send them crashing into the trees. Several times I
managed to pick out the bird in the gaps of the canopy, but they were
invariably between me and the sun and in three days, frustratingly, I had not
seen more than a silhouette.
Then as I was packing my tent away I heard the
familiar cry getting closer. This time the sound didn't disappear in the
distance and a male Red-cheeked Parrot landed in a fig
tree above me. My distraction while watching the parrot allowed the
very aggressive male Brush Turkey one last opportunity to raid my
rubbish bag. Ever since I had arrived, this bird, with festooned with
the amazing violet collar of the Northern race had been getting at my
foodscraps at every opportunity. I had put everything in a garbage bag- it had
pecked right through it. I put a bag around the bag and hung it in a tree-
it got through that too. I had to resort to putting my now triple lined bag in
the car, a smelly option, but a safe one. Or so I
thought.
For as I was gawping at the Parrot, BT jumped
through the open car door, rip the triple bag to pieces, strewing rubbish
everywhere and leaving his own smelly deposit on the front seat. Curse
the first camper who had encouraged this bird with an enticing
tidbit.
As I've mentioned, the road to Iron Range can
be somewhat bumpy, so imagine my surprise when I came across a bunch of
carnies on the track. One of the trailers carrying a show ride had broken an
axle and the convoy had halted while repairs were made. They must have been
heading to the Lockhart River Settlement, but I reckon there would have been
more carnies than locals. Didn't see a bearded lady or any dwarves, but the
whole scene- an entire carnival with all its rides and stalls on the backs of
trailers in the middle of the tropical woodland was one of the more surreal
moments of The Big Twitch. I kept expecting to see Chips Rafferty (or David
Lynch) to wander past.
After an overnight stop in Coen, I left very early
the next morning headed for Lakefield National Park. I had directions to two
nest sites of Red Goshawk, and when I turned up at the first one, I couldn't
believe my luck as their was the bird- a female Red Goshawk
sitting on the nest. Even though this was somebody else's bird that
took me no skill to find, the sight of this magnificent hunter, so elusive, so
rare, filled me with unbridled joy. They are truly spectacular birds when seen
at close quarters, a fact that can never be adequately conveyed in a bird book.
Adding to the sheer joy of seeing this species was the feeling, for the first
time in the whole year, that I really could get a big total. For if I could get
onto such a difficult bird to see, and with the total nearing six hundred with
three months to go, there was every chance I would not only break the record,
but could even give the seven hundred a fair shake.
Buoyed by these thoughts, I was perhaps
driving a bit over-exuberantly and crashed into an unseen pot hole at speed
with a great jolt. The oil gauge seemed to have suddenly lurched towards low and
a quick check under the car revealed something was leaking. I nursed the car
back to Musgrave where at least some repairs could be made. Once
there, with ominous thoughts of being stranded on my mind, I got under the car
to try and ascertain what was leaking (the oil indicator had by now gone back to
the normal position) and what confronted me was a bit of a worry. A reddish
liquid was dripping heavily from the rear of the undercarriage. Fuel? Brake
fluid? I cupped my hand under the leak and brought it up to my nose. It was
water. Water from the punctured tyre I had stowed underneath the car. Everytime
I had gone through a river crossing, it had filled up with muddy water which was
now, harmlessly leaking out.
With time now running short, I decided to
give Lakefield a miss- the finches I had hoped to see I could see elsewhere,
though I would be seeing different races. Heading directly South, I was able to
stop at the Golden-shouldered Parrot site and this time I did see a magnificent
male sitting right in the open, the sun showing off its stunning bold
colouration to perfection. Of course when I returned with a camera it was
gone.
And so it was that I rolled into Kingfisher Park at
Julatten on dusk, having ticked off Squatter Pigeon along the
way. It was now September 4 and I was on 586 species. The Big 600 not far
away.
|
