Woops. Through a bizarre temporal shift, I managed to send the
next report after this one. I say bizarre, as at the time of writing this, I
hadn't started the next report. Spooky. Read on if you dare.
Arrived back in Cairns from Torres Strait with the list on
563, with only minutes to spare before my flight to Weipa was due to take off.
On checking in my baggage I was informed that the Weipa flight had closed.
Rather than wait another, I forced the issue and the guy reluctantly checked in
my baggage saying it might not get on the flight. Turns out the plane was
actually running late and I could have bought breakfast, read the paper and
gone for a Tosca and still made the flight.
Back in Weipa, I thought I may as well check for Spotted
Whistling-Duck even though I had dipped ten days earlier, and
had ticked one off on Boigu Island since. Sure enough, there was a
flock of eighteen of these new Australians loafing on the concrete banks of the
Sewerage Farm. On a small cleared area nearby a pair of Sarus
Cranes- another relative newcomer to the Australian list- were
strutting their stuff giving me a good look at the fine differences that
separate them from Brolga.
The road into Iron Range is only about a hundred km long but
it took me about three bone jarring hours to drive it. The only damage from the
corrugations being to my glove compartment, which rattled loose, as
did the lid on a ten litre bottle of water- the entire contents of which
spilled out yet nothing surrounding the bottle got wet. Weird.
Driving into the rainforest , I started to see heaps of birds,
including Palm Cockatoo, Graceful Honeyeater, and
White-faced Robin. As it got dark I set up camp accompanied by
the song of the Yellow-legged Flycatcher. "Plenty of time to see the bird
tomorrow", I thought. Didn't get a sniff for the rest of the time I was
there.
The Iron Range area is Australia's largest area of lowland
rainforest and the bird and mammal life reflects what a sensationally productive
habitat this is. On my first full day, without walking more than half an
hour from my rainforest campsite I managed to see stacks of birds,
including: Tropical Scrubwren, Palm Cockatoo, Brown
Cuckoo-dove, Shining Starling, Eclectus Parrot, Fig Parrot,
Varied Triller (at last- would have thought I'd have nailed this
species weeks before), Superb Fruit-Dove, Magnificent
Riflebird, Frilled Monarch, Fairy Gerygone, Tawny-breasted Honeyeater,
Azure Kingfisher, Spotted Catbird, White-faced Robin, Grey
Whistler, White-eared Monarch and Lovely
Fairy-wren.
Spotlighting that night produced Large-tailed Nightjar,
White Goshawk, Nankeen Night Heron, Papuan Frogmouth (much
larger and paler than birds further south), and I heard but was unable to
locate, Rufous Owl and Marbled Frogmouth. The mammal tally was pretty high as
well, with Spectacled and Bare-backed Fruit-Bat, Diademed Horseshoe Bat as
well as several unidentified micro bats, Cape York Melomys, Red-legged
Pademelon, Agile Wallaby and best of all, both Spotted and Grey Cuscus.
The next day I added Trumpet Manucode which
was giving a series of interesting blurting and farting noises, but this call
was nothing to the call of the Yellow-billed Kingfisher. At
first I thought it must have been a Chestnut-breasted Cuckoo as it was
giving a trill similar to a Fantailed Cuckoo's. But the trill kept
going as if the caller was unable to stop, continuing on manically as if
its head would explode. Eventually I found the culprit, a Kingfisher
sitting unobtrusively in a tree, its big dark eye staring innocently as if
to say, "it wasn't me." Truly a stunning bird, and definitely the cutest
Kingfisher I've ever clapped eyes on.
I had been given a site for Fawn-breasted Bowerbirds out near
Chilli Beach from Steve Murphy who is in Iron Range studying Palm Cockatoos and
sure enough, as I got out of the car, there was a male Fawn-breasted
Bowerbird calling its raspy lungs out in the top of a tree. At Chilli
Beach itself I finally caught up with Collared Kingfisher which
surprisingly, was quite a distance from any mangroves, making me at
first to think it was a Sacred Kingfisher. Feeding around the Kingfisher was a
mixed flock of waders including both Sand-Plovers, Terek Sandpiper
and Pacific Golden Plover.
That night I was keen to get out spotlighting, and just
after dark I was clearing away my evening meal when three shotgun blasts rung
out in the dark, very close to my campsite. Never is the vulnerability of
travelling in the Outback alone brought home more viscerally as when someone
starts shooting off firearms around you. Trying to be rational about the
situation I figured that it was either a) pig shooters ridding the National Park
of these all too present vermin, or b) some local people who I was told as part
of the lease deal for the National Park were allowed to hunt traditional foods.
Either scenario meant it was dangerous for me to go wandering about the
rainforest in the dark, but what kept playing on my mind was option c) which was
that the lone gunman who had held hostage a German mother and daughter in
Litchfield National Park, had somehow made his way two and half thousand
kilometres to my campsite and was looking for a new victim.
Rather than be a sitting target I decided to check out what
was happening. The only other people in the forest were a couple I'd seen
camping about a kilometre up the road. I thought I should check to see if they
knew anything about the shots. When I pulled up at their campsite, their looks
of terror melted somewhat when they realised I wasn't a deranged shooter but a
twitcher. Fools- at least there's a chance you can get away from a gunman.
Luckily it turns out they were birders from the Whitsundays and we ended up
talking about all the great birds we'd been seeing. After about an hour
with no further shots being heard, I decided to take my leave and try and get in
some spotlighting.
On making my way back to camp I noticed a glint in the
foliage by the entrance track to my campsite. Thinking I had seen eyeshine of
some animal, I got out with the spotlight, but instead the glint turned out to
be a knife wedged into the trunk of a tree. It looked exactly like the
knife I had just been using to prepare my dinner. Why had someone plunged my
knife into the tree? Was it some kind of warning? Had I disturbed somebody and
they had wedged it there for easy access on their return visit? I got back to my
camp to find my knife, and also my lantern missing. Now I was more than a little
disturbed.
Thoughts of spotlighting now right out of my head, I spent the next hour
furtively scanning my rainforest surrounds for any interloper. Eventually with a
sense of fatalism I retired to my tent, thinking if anyone had malicious intent
there was little I could do about it. In my tent was the missing lantern- in my
agitated state I had forgotten I had stored it there along with some other
valuables before I had gone off to the other camp. With the aid of the lantern
I searched the campsite and found my missing knife. On closer inspection of the
other knife I could see rust on the blade- it had probably been stuck in that
tree for months, if not years. Suffice to say no birds were spotlighted that
night and my total remained on 582.
