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At the start of the year I said my main aim was to
break the previous twitching record- 633 birds in a year. Arriving in
Perth with the total on 630 I figured the record would fall some time
in the next few days somewhere on the road between Perth and the Pilbara.
Well that was the plan. I hadn't counted on going
on a wild goose chase, literally. Well I
hoped that the Canada Goose that had turned up in New South Wales was a
wild goose that had flown in from New Zealand (where it is introduced)
and not a local aviary escapee. And so I forked out the last of my frequent
flyer points to arrive at Sydney Airport on the afternoon of November 6th.
Within minutes of leaving the terminal I had seen Common
Koel a bird that incredibly, I had missed earlier in the year.
Heard them plenty of times, but never managed to see one. Bird number 631. And
of course having seen one, in the next hour I saw seven more.
The instructions on the Goose were to go to the
Shoalhaven Heads Caravan Park and look for it hanging out amongst all the swans.
Simple. Except on arriving, there were no swans. I spent the whole day
checking every vantage point on the entire estuary and didn't see a single swan,
let alone a goose. It was not until very late in the day when I set up the scope
one last time on a hill overlooking the estuary that I finally saw the
Canada Goose, right out in the middle all by its
lonesome. The fact that it was out so far out, feeding by itself, convinced
me it was a wild bird. If an escapee, surely it would have been lining up with
the Silver Gulls for the free feed of chips that families were dispensing on the
foreshore.
After a night at the Pub putting faces to some
Birding-Aus names, (who would have thought it- birdwatchers socialising like
real humans- only in Sydney) I was back in Perth with only two birds to go for
the record. Out to Joondalup on Perth's Northern outskirts to try for Little
Bittern. As soon as I turned up I could hear a Little Bittern calling.
It continued to call every twenty minutes for the
rest of the afternoon without showing itself, unlike the big black Tiger Snake
which made its presence only too obvious. Come dusk, the bird started calling
more frequently but do you reckon it would come out? I narrowed down the patch
of reeds it was calling from but the spotlight revealed nothing. There was
nothing for it but to go into the reedbed. I donned the gum boots and in I went.
The bird was calling so close, but out in the deeper water. So it was in over
the top of my gumboots. Still couldn't see it. Out further and the stinky black
water was now up to my crotch, not exactly a pleasant sensation. Still
nothing.
Time for a new strategy. I got out the
tape. I actually am usually reticent to use them, as they do disrupt the bird's
normal routine, and I always feel a bit guilty, but after that two
inch leech attached itself to my leg I would have now quite happily burnt the
entire bloody reed bed down in order to see the little mongrel. And so for the
next hour a bizarre stand off ensued between me and the Bittern. I could see the
top of the reed it was perched on swaying in the moonlight but not the bird
itself even though it was only two metres from me. And so eventually I left unsatisfied, bleeding from the leech bite and
with soiled pants. You win this round Little Bittern.
I'd have to try and equal the record with another
bird. Perhaps Rock Parrot. The further North I moved, the fewer
locations were left to see this bird. Frank O'Connor had mentioned he had
seen it once flying to the island just offshore at Lancelin. As soon as I
arrived two Rock Parrots flew over from the mainland to the island, but they
were so high up and into the sun I couldn't rule out Elegant Parrot. So I had to
wait for a better view.
Lancelin must be the world capital for Kite Surfing
and as all these cool, fit, beautiful people flew through the air acrobatically,
their surfboards attached to parasails, I stood geek-like in the wind,
binoculars at the ready for a parrot that never showed. There is another
island just offshore to the South of Lancelin and as the sun started
to make its way to its Indian Ocean bed, I thought I might as well try and
scope it in the hope a Parrot might be out there. And as soon as I focused
the scope I had a single Rock Parrot sitting there looking very
sheepish.
Bird 633. Looks like Lesser Noddy was to be the
record bird. But after enquiries in Geraldton things were looking pretty grim.
There are plenty of dive boats going out to the Abrolhos Islands where they
breed, but the schedules were wrong and I would have to wait days to get
out there.
And so the next day I found myself bouncing around
a light plane heading out to the Abrolhos. As the first of the islands appeared,
a thin strip in the midst of aquiline lagoons, I began to think
this was not such a good idea. I had instructed the pilot not to fly directly
over the island so as to not disturb the birds but how to get close enough to
get an adequate view? So as we circled the island I was half leaning out of the
aircraft trying to get a decent view. Too high and the birds were too far away,
too low and they rushed past too quickly to fix the binoculars on them.
Eventually I was satisfied with the views I was getting, particularly when a
small group of Common Noddy were spotted in the nearby lagoon. Compared to them,
the Lesser Noddy were tiny, and very, very dark- almost
like a Sooty Tern, with a clearly contrasting white skull cap, much smaller in
extent than on White-capped.
634 birds in the one year and it was only November
twelfth. When I arrived at Geraldton airstrip there were no brass bands or
dancing girls to greet the conquering hero. Can't understand it- I'll have to
speak to my agent. So there you go, a completely irrelevant and pointless record
broken. And its not over yet...
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