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At the start of the year I boldly and somewhat
mischievously announced that I was not only going to break the Australian
birdwatching record, but that I would actually see seven hundred birds for the
year. I got the derisive reaction I'd hoped for amongst the birdwatching
community. Nobody thought it could be done. I always thought it was definitely
achievable - just not by me. But I thought I would give it a go anyway.
And now, almost twelve months later, I find
myself once again at Kingfisher Park with only three birds to get to reach that
seemingly unobtainable total. First up, Bush-hen, a bird I have never seen in
Australia. During the Dry Season they are so quiet and rarely seen up here
that some birders believe they actually migrate out of the area. Come the Wet
however and they become very obvious with their loud braying and screaming
calls.
This, however, is not a normal Wet Season. There
has been so little rain that the leaves on Kingfisher Park's rainforest trees
hang limply withered on the branch. There has not been enough rain to bring on
the Bush-hen's usual antics and though about, they remain difficult to see,
staying well ensconced in the thick creekside vegetation.
Carol from Kingfisher Park told me that my best
chance would be to wander down to the river after five as they can sometimes be
seen flying across at this time. This I do, and as I cross the bridge something
flies off to my right. It turns out to be a Black Bittern, a bird I would
normally be delighted to see, but feel somehow let down on this occasion. Then
to my left I hear a rustle and I catch sight of a Bush-hen,
right on cue, fly across the river into the thick tangle of grasses of the river
bank. A brief view, but a sufficient one, and bird number 698 is on the
list. Over the next few days I tried for a better view and never got onto the
birds once, which only emphasized how lucky I was on this occasion.
Now for its cousin, another Julatten specialty.
These days, Red-necked Rails are being seen quite easily at Cairns (where I
missed them) and at Cassowary House where one individual has lost its usual
furtive habits and boldly runs out in full view in the pursuit of cheese from
the bird feeders. But for many decades Julatten was the place to see it. The
pool by the orchard became part of Australian birdwatching folklore as nearly
every birder in Australia who had this on their list had first seen it come
in here at dusk.
I'd seen it here four years ago, not at the pool,
but just outside the office where it casually came in to the bird feeders. The
gardens were too dry to lure it in, and if I wanted to see it I had to emulate
birder's of previous generations and sit in the fading afternoon light down by
the pool.
Which I did, but the Rail never showed. By the time
it was almost too dark to see, I was resigned to having to wait at least another
day. I began to disappointedly meander back through the orchard, and as I
did, there in the dim, a Red-necked Rail walked past only a
metre or two from me. Any further away and I would have entirely missed it in
the gloom. I was reminded of those Warner Brother's cartoons where the sheepdog
and the wolf would clock on every shift. It walked so nonchalantly by me that I
fully expected it to nod in my direction with a "Mornin' Sam".
Bird Number 699- only one to go: the Blue-faced
Parrot-finch. Over the past fifteen years, I'd made the pilgrimage to Julatten
to ascend Mt. Lewis to look for this bird on five separate occasions with no
luck whatsoever. Others had been seeing them recently up at the famous clearing,
but only one or two and they had been rather difficult to get onto.
And so early on the morning of Christmas Eve I made
my way up the mountain and parked at the concrete causeway where Red-browed
Finches were feeding in the roadside grasses, but there were no Parrot-finches
amongst them. Walking on to the clearing there were more Red-broweds feeding.
Still no Parrot-finches. After a while I noticed something bigger fly down into
the grasses. Surely this must be it. After what seemed an eternity, the bird
popped its head up, green body, blue face and red rump- Blue-faced
parrot-finch!
Rather than dance with elation or pump the air in
triumph, I felt almost anti-climactic. Maybe it was because although Blue-faced
Parrot is adorned with some amazingly bright colours, it is essentially a bit of
a fat, stupid looking thing. But I think maybe my reaction was more one of
relief- suddenly the pressure was off. Now I know how Cathy Freeman felt at the
Sydney Olympics, the weight of a nations' expectations finally off the
shoulders. That and the fact that I had a hundred thousand fans looking
over my shoulder cheering me on- kind of surprised they didn't flush the
birds.
And so I came down from the mountain, the
satisfaction of my achievement slowly sinking in. In the grand scheme of things,
(even in the petty scheme of things), seeing 700 species in a year in Australia
don't mean much, but still, on consideration, it felt bloody good to get
it.
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