My new place has families of Eastern Water Dragons (Intellagama lesueurii lesueurii).
They mainly sunbake, even in the middle of the road, or perch on raised plantings in the garden.
Liking water, they do swim; I have seen one here jump into a bucket half-full of water– incidentally scaring the daylights out of me!
Often mistaken for a Frill-necked Lizard, they are beautifully patterned, with the most elegant long toes and fingers. Their heads are always up, questing, curious?
Last week a visiting friend, Jane, seemed to have special appeal as the largest Dragon, the male I assume, came up onto the verandah where we were sitting. He was almost under our chairs, pointing his spade-shaped head this way and that.
They are mainly insectivorous, but like all sorts of delicacies as they mature, so maybe he thought we had cake — we didn’t, just coffee.
While unafraid, these Dragons are wary, so I wasn’t game to get up to fetch my camera. But Jane had her phone camera, so took these great pictures.
I am very grateful to have them as my resident wildlife.
For years I have driven past the Port Macquarie paddocks (opposite the golf course) where a herd of camels live, and wondered each time about their ability to cope with this most non-desert/green/high rainfall region.
Finally I stopped and took a closer look.
These camels are used for tourist rides, rather ludicrously called ‘Safaris’, on Lighthouse Beach.
They look out of place, as you can see, but they appear contented. They retain all the facial features useful to keep sand out of their eyes and mouth and nose, but here there is no need.
I learn that Australian camels, now a feral pest in northern parts, are Dromedaries, most suited to the Middle East … and Australia; 94 per cent of the world’s camels are such one-humped Dromedaries.
The humps hold fat, not water, as I’d always believed.
Most of this herd of about eleven camels were leisurely chewing their cuds, yet managing to look quite aristocratic as they did so.
There is something about the elevated angle at which they hold their heads that commands respect.
I noted that many stood with their back legs splayed. Unlike with horses, this did not appear to signal urination.
And then I noticed that most had a piercing, a camel nose peg, I learnt it is called, mainly made of timber. They did not all seem to have one, and it seems such pegs are mainly used to control bull camels, or to link camels in a ’string’.
I investigated, and yes, it is painful to have done, in that sensitive nose or mouth area, and should be done by a vet.
Here I confess I do not even have my ears pierced.
I am impressed by these strange and noble creatures, with their googly eyes and mobile cleft lips, their spinal ridges of fur and their surprisingly wavy tails.
I hope they have no memory of endless desert sands… or that the 20 minute ‘Safaris’ on Lighthouse Beach fulfil some small part of the genetic yearning they must have.
I have decided to investigate each of the fire trails that penetrate the bush and heath after the civilisation of Lighthouse Beach has been left behind.
The first is Immediately after the last ‘estate’.
So close to houses and yet still wild enough to house some surprises for me, like this fallen forked branch fully decked in what might be orchids? Healthy greenery at any rate…
There are enough older trees with hollows for other plants… and hopefully creatures…to use as homes.
Some trees are very large, like this impressive one, which I think is an Angophora. It is so grand that I am grateful it has survived; too twisty for saw logs?
There is a variety of palms to be seen from the fire trail, adding to the patterns of foliage as if by design.
There are lots of paperbarks, including those surrounding a very full and rather scummy swamp.
A few wildflowers are out but what surprised me was above my eye level: a red-flowering mistletoe in a tree. Its slender bells were more noticeable when fallen onto the now sandy ground below.
Also eye-catching was a small sawn-off stump (ti-tree?) emulating a flower.
Almost at the beach, I was halted by this shell-studded plastic rope, its bright tresses cascading down the side of a Ned Kelly sculpture, a post. Someone must have picked it up as beach flotsam and grown weary of carrying it, but I appreciated the artistic sense of the arrangement.
I did reach the sea, only to find the beach scored by 4WD tracks, even up on the higher levels where they should not be, where shorebirds might nest.
Worse than Dunbogan Beach.
But here is just south of the very popular Lighthouse Beach, and it is not long after the October weekend when thousands of extra people visited.
Still, the sea, collaborating with the sky and sun, make such a picture that I can ignore what has been done to the sand.
Lake Eacham on the Atherton Tablelands is a beautiful crater lake, filled only by rainwater. Mostly blue, in parts it is this amazing green. Seen from the walk around the lake, the fact that it is likely from algae does not detract from the surprise or the beauty.
There are so many unknown plants in these forests that I can only marvel. They are always hard to photograph, as so brightly skyward dominated above, with darkly buttressed forest below.
The ‘birds’ nest’ ferns are huge, and different from what I am used to.
This is a fallen one, dead and stiff, like a woven work of art, partly finished.
This one was atypically low-growing. The Queensland I.D. group suggests it’s Basket Fern (Drynaria rigidula) which makes absolute sense.
Amidst all the greenish trunks, I kept seeing occasional ones that were eye-catchingly bright orange-red, and flaky. The boffins suggest Paperbark Satinash (Syzygium papyraceum).
Tree ferns were common near the small clear-running creeks.
The most notable plants for me were the vines, some so old and gnarled (left) as to look older than the trees they used to help them climb to the light. Others (right) had unusually papery bark, pale green and deceptively soft.
For any vine to climb so high, they cannot be too soft, as this one (left) shows, where it has forced the host tree to accommodate its growth. But mostly they seemed more flexible, with a simple hugging help-up needed now and then, (right) twisting around themselves for added strength.
Some had not yet found a host tree and had twisted every which way in the search.
At whatever stage they are, vines, like fungi, fascinate me.
These rainforests offered me far more than blog posts will accommodate, but after this one I will leave them to their tropical wonders and return to Nature in my more southerly climes.
Life is a struggle in the rainforest, and elaborate means are used to reach the light and to survive.
This huge Curtain Fig on the Atherton Tableland is famous, but not unique.
Once the fig had strangled the host tree, it fell over on to another tree, and the vertical roots descended to feed it, forming a curtain.
On another walk, this one showed the process of development of those curtains.
But figs are not orderly in their strangling.
Or gentle. This could look like an embrace but it has a relentlessness about it that seems cruel. Anthropomorphic, I know.
Where do root and trunk differentiate? Incredible colours and shapes kept catching my eye in this fantasy world.
I have no idea what is going on in this miniature strangling scenario, but it seems not of this world. And is it plant or creature or something in between?
In Nature nothing is wasted. Fallen and dead trees are habitat for fabulous fungi, and the damp conditions in these forests encourage them en masse.
Some were solid and strange, unknown to me… unless someone had been sneaking about with a can of whitewash.
Others were like flowers, fringed and delicate fans.
Amidst the profusion of mossy green, orange and white stood out.
Less obvious, but more unusual, were these black ones, looking more like moths which, having briefly alighted on this log, were choosing to stay and transform into the most fanciful shapes.
How beautiful is this cascade of snowy flakes?
Whether weird or wonderful, abundance was the common theme in these tropical forests.
I do love moss and lichen, but fungi have my heart too.
Apart from that crocodile, the strangest creature I saw in Atherton was the Bush Stone-curlew (Burhinus grallarius). A pair of them seemed to live at or around my friend’s Tinaroo Lodge.
One had a brownish tinge to its chest, but I cannot discover if that denotes sex or just a stage of maturity.
They are tall and slightly creepy, with those googly yellow eyes and stiff determined walk. Also called Thick-knee, they can bend their legs backwards, for squatting on the ground.
In fact, the first time I saw them, they were doing just that, so well camouflaged I wasn’t sure I had seen them.
Mostly nocturnal, their night calls are said to be like a woman screaming, being murdered. Many legends attach to that cry, mostly to do with death. I didn’t hear it (have my hearing aids out at night), but I have listened on YouTube and indeed it does sound scary.
Right outside my studio accommodation was one of the many bird baths here, and this one especially attracted dozens of Red-browed Finches (Neochmia temporalis).
Tiny, they were constantly changing perches and tiers, popping up and peering at me, then splashing in again.
With their bright red heads and tail markings and sleek olive backs, they are very attractive, a joyful fluttering busyness to watch… if hard to photograph.
The other simpler bird bath nearby was a favourite of Yellow Robins ( Eopsaltria australis, I assumed), with an occasional visit permitted from others such as this Willy Wagtail (Rhipidura leucophrys). After all, who could refuse such a cute show-off as a Willy Wagtail?
But the avian highlight was found at sunset at Hastie’s Swamp, where a two-level bird hide allows the peaceful contemplation of thousands of water birds of many, many species, arriving and preparing to settle for the night.
It was totally their world, into which we were allowed a peek. Loved it…
Firstly this one, abundant to the point of showiness, is Yellow Mahogany (Epicharis parasitica).
And then on the Bumpy Satinash (Syzgium cormiflorum) was this one, spotted on several walks. These only flower every twp to five years so we were lucky. The fruits that would follow are often called ‘White Apple’.
We later saw other trees, on other rainforest walks, where the flowers were more fully open, fluffily fringed like gumnut blossoms.
In the garden of Inge’s Tinaroo home we spotted this weird green-fruited tree and discovered it is a Hairy Fig (Ficus hispida).
The fruits of these three tropical trees are naturally loved by cassowaries.
Growing on the bark makes the fruit accessible to more than high flying birds, or to opportunistic ground foragers once the fruit falls.
This sci-fi apparition is a cycad, I learn. Our Facebook boffins say it is a female Cycas ophiolitica, but out of its usual range.
As it is in Inge’s garden, it was likely planted, and she has pruned the dead leaves, so the crown we see is fresh growth, which developed very fast.
These cycads are descended from the first seed-bearing plants, around 200 million years ago, and although they look like palms or ferns, they are actually related to pines, as cone-bearing.
Tropical Queensland has opened my mind to many flora possibilities that I’d once have dismissed as fanciful.
But there were many simply wonderful plants in those forests, as well as weird ones. Next post…
The Barron River on Queensland’s Atherton Tableland was dammed in 1958 for agriculture. It flows on after the towering dam wall that contains the large Lake Tinaroo.
Lake Tinaroo is edged by rainforest and mountains in some parts, as in Danbulla National Park, giving it many moods, and by domesticated areas in others.
I am staying at my friend Inge’s Tinaroo Haven BnB, a precious few acres of bushland full of wildlife and birdsong.
The Lake is hugely popular for fishing and boating, but its shallow areas’ dead trees marking it as man-made reduce its appeal for me.
As I have just read the evocative ‘Cool Water’ by Myfanwy Jones, set during the construction of this dam, I am especially attuned to the drowned land that lies beneath the surface.
But the dam spillway is another matter. The day I was there it was spilling over from the Lake in an amazing perpetual pattern, roaring with beauty.
The constantly changing chevrons of white lace were mesmerising.
Once they reached the base they created new patterns.
My friend had never seen the spillway like this, but rather a more even overflow curtain. This day I was just lucky.
Just next to historic Roto House and its café is Port Macquarie’s famed Koala Hospital.
Started in 1973, and now with 200 volunteers, this special facility treats rescued and injured koalas, runs a vet clinic and a conservation breeding program, and offers up close and informative experiences for visitors.
The first time I went was near midday and all I could see were furry balls, fast asleep. Koalas do naturally sleep a lot, to save energy.
Next day I was there at opening time (8.30) and it was quite different. Here helper Geraldine is feeding a medicinal paste to CW, hit by a car, and left with only one eye and brain injury. He will never be able to be released into the wild.
CW was more than eager to take his treatment, and Geraldine wiped his mouth when needed, just like a mother would.
The pens are roomy, with cleverly designed and shaded structures; fresh gum leaves are placed in each every day. About eight food tree varieties, like Swamp Mahogany and Tallowwood, are grown on a separate property.
There are pens for the permanent residents and closed-off, more private pens for those being rehabilitated, to be released back into the wild when ready. With free entry, the Hospital relies totally on donations.
Visitors do get to see how cute and furry are our iconic koalas… and they also get told how at risk they are. From habitat clearing, from disease, from dogs and cars – from our ‘progress’ in fact.
Australia holds the world record for the extinction of mammal species. How shameful is that!?
In 2022 the koala was officially listed as endangered.
How shameful is that!?
John Williamson was so ashamed when he visited the Hospital and realised the koalas’ plight that he wrote and recorded the song, ‘Goodbye Blinky BIll’, which included the lines:
‘I don’t think I could stand the shame, knowing that I could Have saved the world from losing something beautiful and good.’
And yet, despite the enormous bushfire loss of native forests, our governments are still approving the removal of large areas of koala habitat, be it for logging or coal or gas or housing.
As for the Moolarben coalmine expansion near Munghorn Gap Nature Reserve north of Mudgee. Or the Vulcan South mine in QLD.
With coal and gas mining spreading in the NSW N-W, the Independent Planning Commission said, ‘If coal mining and koalas are to co-exist, then a robust strategy for koala conservation is essential.’
Indeed, but that cannot mean the sham get-out-of-jail system of offsets.
Well may koalas turn their backs on us, given we are doing that to their desperate declining situation. It is predicted they may be extinct by 2050 at this rate.
Where are our priorities?
Who will dare say NO to the developers?
Or who will explain to our grandchildren… and to the world;… how we let this happen?
The charming Roto House is a gem in Port Macquarie’s armoury of attractions. John Flynn had it built in 1891 of local Red Mahogany (Eucalyptus resinifera). It was restored in the 1980s, with much work needed, especially on the foundations, but also the roof and verandahs.
You can wander through its timber panelled rooms for free; most have historic exhibitions on display. The light fittings are beautiful. ornate yet simple. The whole house gives one a vivid sense of the craftsmanship and solid materials used then.
With its many chimneys, of course most rooms have a fireplace. I am reminded of our 1895 house/police station at Minmi near Newcastle, which had five chimneys, each serving two fireplaces back-to-back. but they had marble fireplace surrounds and mantelpieces and were closed in with a metal face and a small grate.
Roto House has been hugely enlivened by the establishment of a café, Home at Roto. You can eat on the verandahs, at the picnic tables in the peaceful tree-studded grounds, or under the covered café addition. They also run special events, be it poetry or music, often with open microphone, adding culture to the charm of being in a building from a bygone era.
At the risk of sounding like a tourism spruiker, this has become my favourite coffee place; so un-modern and un-citified, where history meets nature.
I have been told there is a track through the bushland below historic Roto House. This being a grey and bleak day, the beach does not appeal for a walk, so I aim to find that track.
I don’t, but through a deliberate gap in a netting fence I do stumble on to a patch of soggy forest.
It seems to have become a repository for the drains of the surrounding houses and for rubbish from trespassers.
It is still interesting bush, with features like this Bird’s Nest fern, the epiphytic Asplenium nidus, very low to the ground.
But it is hard to negotiate the muddy bits. And I know I’m not supposed to be here.
I retrace my steps, try the next ‘No through road’ street and find I am at the edge of the Roto House grounds.
A path skirts the lawn and scattered trees that border the wilder part, which today is alive with birdsong.
The tree trunks and tops are beautiful. The koala hospital is nearby, so I keep hoping to see a wild one in these trees, but no luck.
There are patches of colour along the way, from these fungi and from wattle that is starting to bedeck many roadsides.
There is even a strangler fig, familiar to me from my many walks though Wingham Brush. This one also houses another Bird’s Nest fern.
I am going to poke more closely around Roto House…
