Birds

Gritty Griselda

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As the day dawns cloudy over Griselda’s Hill, I am happy to tackle this shortest walk here. Not being a national park, it does not have as much useful information re the length of the walk and what it involves.

A flock of Little Corellas gathers near my camp as I leave.

I don’t know anything about Griselda but her Hill is steep and rocky, and gets steeper and rockier as I climb.

Yet plants grow on most of the harsh hillside. Here masses of Silver Mulla Mulla bloom, in greater profusion than anywhere else I have seen it.

I almost reach the top, to the level where the Rock Grasstrees (Xanthorrhoea  quadrangulata) begin.

I turn to take in the view, seeing two of the observatories in this world class Dark Sky place. They were one of my reasons for coming here, but the long weekend and school holidays mucked up my schedule.

But as I refocus on my close view, with great surprise I notice a wallaby sitting right near me. 

I say hello. We look at each other for some minutes.

I praise her beautiful striped tail and ask if it ends in a point or not.

She doesn’t reply, but instead hops up higher to show me the thick end.

I later ask at the shop for any info on the animals here, but staff seem to be all backpackers, as at Wilpena.

This is, however, a Yellow-footed Rock Wallaby. I just didn’t know about that spectacular tail.

What a special meeting…

She makes me reconsider where I am. The height is now considerable, and I am not one for heights. I start to feel that pull to falling… this is beyond my comfort height.

While I am inclined to keep going, as I am so close, do I need to?

No.

I love the rocks here, but I know the trip back down will be an issue, even with my stick to help me balance.

Each step has to be weighed up, as to whether the stones to be placed under stick or foot are loose … which many are … which part of my bifocal glasses will give me the right depth perception, and how do I see what’s growing around me if I must watch my feet so closely??

Griselda, this is not really a walking track… and it is certainly not for someone whose agile mountain goat days are clearly over. 

I turn back and gingerly make my way down, stopping often to take photos.

Harsh it may be, but plenty of plants have adapted to growing here.

This pretty lilac-flowering shrub is Limestone Fuchsia Bush (Eremophila freelingi).

There were lots of these: Tomato Bush, (Solanum quadriloculatum) from the same family as our domestic tomatoes and potatoes.

But I only saw one of this, which seems to have blue borage-like flowers, not purple as all the solanums do here. A mystery?

Now and then among the rocks is a shrub of surprising delicacy, the pale yellow of what I think are Elegant Wattles (Acacia victoriae).

I kept hearing and seeing Willie Wagtail birds, but they are mostly too fast for me to snap a photo.

A great deal of chattering drew me to what i think I also saw at Acraman campground in Flinders; the sociable White-browed Babbler. And they do babble…

I do reach the bottom of Griselda’s Hill, grateful not to have slipped on any loose rocks. It is only then that I notice the sign there which says ’Griselda’s Hill Climbing Track’.

Lack of info: sorry, Griselda, you never said it was a walking track…

En route I spot this shrub, which  has to be Leathery Senna (Senna artemisioides subsp. coriacea), a first for me.

And I am still wondering about Griselda; a gritty girl indeed if she climbed that hill often…

Arkaroola — another world

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With such a moon my last night at Alpana, I knew there’d not be much to see from Arkaroola’s three observatories.

Getting to Arkaroola from Blinman means 152 km of dirt road. I’d say that it had been brushed up for the long weekend as it was in good condition, if unpleasantly corrugated at times, such as after Wearing Gorge.

I was deliberately driving slowly, but quite a few convoys of 4WDs flew towards and past me, their following dust clouds betraying their approach.

The road to the Vulkathunha-Gammon Ranges National Park often goes through properties, and the first flock of sheep I saw looked absolutely incongruous.  They were unfamiliar, black-faced, and I had to look twice to see if they were sheep or goats. 

What do they eat?

The soil became red again, with distant views of the Flinders I was leaving behind.

I stopped in the middle of the road for this emu and her stripey chick.

About 50 km from Arkaroola, I also stopped to check on a car, pulled over, with luggage being removed. 

‘A puncture,’ the bloke said. It was a rental car, so who knows what state the spare would be in if he could swap it? I took his details to pass on to Arkaroola, where they were booked in. 

Too many kilometres later, I realised I should have checked that they had enough drinking water, in case they were there for some hours.

I saw them later at Arkaroola, where the tyre he had managed to change had been fixed.

Arkaroola Village is a strange place, sitting as it does in the midst of the most rugged and harsh ranges you could imagine. It could well be on the moon, it is so different from anywhere else I’ve been.

It is part of the Arkaroola Wilderness Sanctuary, but doesn’t feel like that.

It is an odd cross between a resort, with lots of accommodation and a huge licensed dining area, and a mining town (copper), with much leftover machinery from various times, and with mechanical services on hand.

It has phone reception… and fuel, at $2.45 a litre for diesel. This will be by far the most expensive yet, but as I said before, out here fuel supply is sporadic and essential, so it comes first, at whatever cost.

And of course, my timing is impeccable, and the observatories are not open, due to the full moon.

The toilets are out of order; the smell is unpleasant as workmen dig and try to fix them, but there are emus wandering through the camp and I have great views of Griselda’s Hill, which I vow to walk tomorrow.

Station-ary break

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To escape the tourist crowds on a long weekend I had chosen to hole up at Alpana Station, outside Blinman.

No reception, but a free rein on camp sites beside the dry bed of Butler’s Creek, lined with majestic old River Red Gums.

I chose to set up beside this gorgeous one, multi-trunked, with long sinuous arms snaking sideways. Their silvery markings shone like the finest silk stockings…

I had no plans to do much except rest, read, play house with the camper, cook on an open fire and catch up on posts. These I would research and then send off in reception-rich Blinman when I left on the Monday morning before I set off for Arkaroola.

I decided to walk up to the prominent Rocky Nob above the home paddocks, including Bill’s Paddock where I was camped.

The Nob had one tree on top, bravely hoisting the flag.

As the track rose, it offered views over the Flinders Ranges back to Wilpena Pound.

It also gave me some surprises, like this stunning Mallee Ringneck parrot feeding along on the ground. 

I wonder what it is eating?

Alpana’s Sally Henery told me that the main green ground cover I have been seeing everywhere is Ward’s Weed, introduced around 1915. A successful invader certainly, but It is extremely useful, she says, as even when it dies the sheep find it palatable.

But the ground here is full of tiny things whose names I don’t know. 

There were only a few patches of this fluffy plant (left) and similarly (right) of these tiny spots, like fish scales… a lichen or ?

As at Bimblebox in Queensland’s Desert Uplands, I felt I should be crawling along so as not to miss anything. Dryland secrets.

I saw quite a few of these straggly trees, which at times did resemble olive trees. I think they are Bullock Bush (Alectryon oleifolius) and they are grazed from below to the height of whatever creature is eating them. Emus? Amazingly, they are a remnant plant from over 10,000 years ago.

But I wandered on these rocky hills for a time, unsuccessfully seeking trail markers.

I felt I could get lost in the gullies, once the Nob or the Homestead was out of sight, and decided to return to the last found marker, and thus to the camp.

As this would mean coffee, and I was on a lazy break after all, I didn’t mind.

I’d earned my stripes bushwalking elsewhere.

As the sun prepared to set for the night, and I lit the fire for cooking… and for the sheer pleasure of watching it… I sighed with the relief of these few undemanding, peaceful days in such a setting.

Thanks for sharing your place, Alpana Station.

Around Aroona

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The shadow of Heysen looms large here; this is the view of the Range he chose to paint as the Three Sisters, and to this point he would apparently come for a sunset beer. It is much greener today than it must usually be, but the green veil is not grass.

There is a walk that roughly follows the trail between Hayward’s shepherds’ huts, using both the dry Aroona and Yuluna creeks. The views to the range over the ever-present pines are stunning.

Zooming in, I can see large holes that might be caves and I wonder who or what has used them.

These Northern White Cypress pines grow everywhere, and at the base of most is a Fragrant Saltbush; seems like a beneficial arrangement; birds like the red berries of the saltbush and sit in the tree to eat them, plus the tree would catch some shade and water.

On the flats I see more emus, flighty as usual (that’s a pun; I know they can’t fly). I now know that the very runny splats I saw at Bunyeroo are actually emu scats, as they are here too. Emus poop as they walk, which is why their scats are often on tracks.

I have seen a few of these small trees, and I think they are Eremophilas, Emu bushes, but what sort ?

I miss my experts… and I don’t mean Dr Google. ‘Eremophila’ means ‘desert-loving’, and are usually found where emus are too; apparently emus like to eat the fruit.

The galahs and cockatoos love the woody female fruit of the pines, and although these trees don’t have flowers, when the tips of the male cones at the end of the leaves trees glow golden, ready to release their pollen, you’d think they did.

But boffins, what are these shy little plants, I want to ask?

What is the ground cover that has created these fluffy seed? Eruptions in one isolated patch?

And why are the rocks on only the one slope coloured almost blue with lichen, be they in sun or shade?

Like with the River red gums, I am now addicted to taking photos of this range each time I see it from a different spot… I promise not to share them all.

On my return from the walk I found my overnight neighbours had left, which was a relief. I had thought it admirable that the father had brought three small children camping, aged maybe 4 to 7, but I hadn’t realised he had also brought a motorbike.

This morning he started it up and gave each of the kids in turn a full-on road ride sitting in front of him. Nobody was wearing helmets… 

I winced at the danger to the kids, and the loud roar of the machine (I hate the things), but I held my tongue.

I wondered what their mother would say about this, if she knew. 

And last question: why are there so many bush flies here? It’s impossible to walk without a fly veil or you need a spare hand for constant flyshooing…

Wilpena Pound

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I mistakenly had in my mind that Wilpena Pound was THE Flinders Ranges destination. In reality, it is most atypical, in many ways. The only campground within the Pound is extra expensive, being a fairly posh Discovery Park. It is run with the traditional owners, the Adnyamathanha, and their signage with their relevant stories along the walks was fascinating. 

It is well done, with rammed earth amenities and Visitors Centre, a shop, fuel, restaurant, variety of accommodation, and heaps of shelters and facilities, with hot showers and flushing loos. As you can see, these are well spaced and the area is lush with trees. 

Having got over my astonishment at visitor numbers and facilities at Cradle Lake In Tasmania, it was not such a shock.

There is a large area for powered sites but also plenty of room for solar-powered campers like me… unlike at Dove Lake in Tassie.

You do get a glimpse of the Ranges as you drive into the Pound, but if that was your only destination in the Ikara/Flinders Ranges, you’d be very misled. Once in the Pound itself, you are cocooned.

I’d say there would have been a quite a lot of people visiting only there, having whiizzed up from Hawker, plugging in their caravans, buying souvenirs, doing the gentle walks along the dirt road by the side of the creek, shaded by many River Red Gums and cypress trees, or even getting the shuttle bus for part of the way.

While there were few spots along the creek still holding water, evidence of the piled up logs showed its past power. There was even a small lagoon at one spot.

But I soon left the easy road and went up higher on the Boom and Bust track… not intentionally, as they’d changed the name, but it added an hour and a half to my walk, and more steep parts than my knees wanted. However it was interesting to see the drier country plants flourishing away from the creek.

The ’Pound’ itself is a creek-centred and thus treed gully, naturally enclosed by the ridges, widening out at the Hills Homestead end into the site of its early wheat-growing period.

There are other higher and steeper walks for the experienced or young to choose, but I was trying to be realistic.

At the old Homestead (rebuilt, closed up) I climbed only half of the way up to the Wangarra Lookout, to the first lookout. I was blessing my trusty walking stick, but by this stage my feet hurt, my knees were whingeing, and I was not lifting my feet enough, so I knew I was tired, and thus liable to trip.

I contemplated getting the shuttle bus back but the waiting driver said you had to have paid in advance.

He passed me twice on his runs as I was slowly trudging the three kilometres back … mean!

And just as I was reflecting that thankfully I’d seen no feral goats, as if on cue, right behind the sign about them, there they were! But the sign was rejoicing really, as were others I saw praising the Bounceback program, where the deliberate return of native species was making life harder for the invaders. Here it was the Yellow-footed Rock Wallabies, combined with culling programs.

As there was phone reception here, I could hotspot, so I spent a day catching up with this blog … and resting those overstretched ageing body parts. 

I was also trying to identify strange plants; this slender, graceful one was an isolated plant near my campsite, and I think it’s a Weeping Pittosporum (Pittosporum angustifolium).

On my higher walks this narrow-leaved beauty caught my eye; it seems to be the Silver Cassia (Senna artemisioides), which I had spotted in a few other places.

But there were other eye-catching white-flowering ones that I cannot find.

I did buy the liltle ID booklets at Wilpena Pound, and I had searched unsuccessfully for a similar South Australian native plant boffin group as I have in NSW. I need them…!

The staff at Wilpena that I spoke to were not National Park rangers and could not help with plant IDs.

As i drove out, the green paddocks and rolling hills could have been anywhere… like the Hunter Valley before it was disembowelled for coal… except for the occasional emus unhurriedly strolling by. Such strange birds…!

I am heading for Bunyeroo Gorge and a much less posh campground, with no reception and no flushing loos. More my kind of place…

Rainbows in the rain

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Looking like tropical flowers themselves, a small flock of Rainbow Lorikeets descended on my hibiscus in between showers.

The only lorikeet with a blue head, these noisy nectar-feeders are a welcome splash of colour in a grey winter. I wonder about the different degrees of red on their yellow chests, but apparently it is simply variation, denoting neither sex nor maturity.

One pair in particular catch my eye, as they seem to be intent on remaining close and looking after each other, although one is more attentive than the other. Personality?

Then two becomes three and much preening and cleaning and drying out goes on, but the right hand one remains aloof, still.

Time for a nap, as heads tuck under those amazing and beautifully layered feathers, but not for my frosty friend. Or is he on watch duty, so must stay statue stiff, strong and alert?

Whatever his role, he is certainly conscientious.

Or is that just his best side, so he’s keeping the pose?

I used to love my Crimson Rosellas at the Mountain, especially as ‘Rosellas in the mist’. These Lorikeets are as striking, sporting a wider range of bright and extraordinary colours, but they can’t sing like my Rosies…

Bird woods

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The Camden Haven River is fringed with magnificent mangrove forests that bridge the strip between the tidal waterway, with its many oyster beds, and the land.

Some of the mangrove trees are larger than I knew they grew. This one seemed to have a hollow, low down, perhaps where a branch had broken off. Then a swift movement made me grab the phone… no real camera with me.

A bird had flown up and into that hole. It reappeared and sat on top of the entry. Zooming in… a kingfisher?

The park that runs beside the river is full of sculptures, trees that have formed their own shapes, like these two that have grown together to become one and then branched to three to reach the sky.

Some of the figs are mighty, spreading and shady, with swirling, sinuous branches.

Their intricate complications begin at their toes.

In a different sort of Park, Sea Acres at Port Macquarie, I saw a different sort of bird, an owl, Ninox, carved from wood into a seat with embracing wings.

It has the teacher’s spot, facing a wider education space along the walkway, with carved timber entry posts.

But Port Macquarie is identified not by its remnant coastal rainforest, but by its many tall pine trees, planted long ago, dominating the skyline. As I walk under them, I look down, and find their trimmed roots forming different sculptures yet again.

Truly, Nature makes Art everywhere, if we but look…

Tinaroo bird residents

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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…

Local lorikeets

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My verandah railing was obviously the watching point for feeding time by the previous owners, and the pigeons, brush turkeys and lorikeets took a few weeks to realise that I was not going to be doing the same.

Only the lorikeets have kept trying their luck.

There were hundreds of lorikeets at my old place, noisily loving the paperbark blossoms. But I rarely saw them still and up so close. 

Their colours are ridiculously bright and beautiful, compensation for their unmusical screeching.

In the recent wet week, pairs have taken to sheltering on the verandah. While there, they take it in turns to preen each other.

I know it was likely fleas they were after, but it seemed affectionate and charming, to be mutually grooming even when their feathers were somewhat bedraggled and damp.

Farewell to Wayfarer

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At low tide, the rescued boat is unable to float, sitting askew on the mudflats.

It is early morning and the sky and its gentle colours and reflections take all the attention for the moment. But up close, this slanted and stranded boat offers its name as ‘Wayfarer’.  I wonder where it had journeyed as a wayfarer, and if it would again.

Its exposed underside tells me it had sat on the muddy bottom of the river for some time.

Its deck is as colourful as the sky, worthy of contributing to the reflections before the mudflats halt them.

Not that my solo heron minds the low tide; all the better for finding breakfast. 

I then learnt that Wayfarer is to be dragged ashore and broken up; she is not salvageable, having sat for about five years on the bottom. Her masts had already been taken down.

She will definitely no longer go a-wayfaring…

River residents

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My recent walk to the river boat ramp offered the surprise of a new resident: a resurrected boat, muddied and somewhat askew, plainly pulled up from a watery depth greater than it was built to inhabit.

From the mangrove edges the more usual resident ducks were heading out through the reflections and ripples, and creating their own silver trails.

As they passed the salvaged boat I thought how much better adapted they were to this   river, to water. It was crippled, useless to do aught but stay afloat: they belonged.

There were actually four of these handsome ducks; I loved the way their reflections paddled with them, double hooked.

I had expected the other inhabitants here to be solo, as was usual. My pelican was indeed the only one on the oyster stacks, but I later realised it had a companion– a shag?

Not sure why I always see solo creatures so often — mirroring me? — but here was my solo seagull, and yes, standing on one leg…

The sole watchful heron picked its delicate way through the exposed mangrove flats as it sought its tucker. And while I have seen more than one seagull or pelican elsewhere, I have not seen multiple herons.

I have taken many photos of Dooragan reflected in the river at all times of day, but to see it reflected in watery mud was new.

As I am moving from here soon, I am relishing all glimpses of the many moods of the river and the mountain…

Creekside birds

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At the Melaleuca Campground in Limeburners Creek NP, the creek is off limits for all but viewing. It runs gently past, channelling a cool breeze from the sea, offering a range of waterbirds and attracting many fisher birds.

These stately black swans were in graceful and constant procession, only occasionally taking flight to display their white wing edges, like glimpses of a lady’s petticoat. They were more brownish-greyish than black, I thought. Their bright red bills banded with white were frequently dipped into the stream to feed, those elegant long necks bending with ease to search the deeper channels.

Often closer to the bank, in the shallower and weedy edges, Dusky Moorhens dabbled, or foraged in the grass, but they were flighty and bustled away if I came too close.

The air was full of melodious calls, I assume from several Pied Butcherbirds. This parent and child carried on a debate for some time on a nearby branch. The young one had yet to develop the crisp black and white colouring of the adult.

The adult later returned alone and sang beautifully, as well as muttering and chuckling; mimicry? I was surprised that its beak did not appear to be moving. Then it appeared close to my table, seeming to expect food as payment for its song. ‘Vegetarian, mate,’ I apologised. ‘No meat scraps here for you’.

The distinctive silhouette of a kingfisher caught my eye before it dived to catch whatever it was watching in the water. I could not see its colour well, but I think it was an Azure  Kingfisher.

And then, when I got home the day after, the same species of bird, rarely seen by me, had stunned itself in my back yard. It could hop, but was not flying, and disappeared into my laundry to hide out. Definitely an Azure Kingfisher. 

I let it be, and when I came down to check a few hours later, it had made its way towards the adjoining forest. Still hopping. I hoped no goanna would find it before it recovered fully. Such a coincidence: two sightings in two days.