visitors

Return of the pigeon

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A few weeks after I had discovered the solitary White-headed Pigeon sipping — or pecking at — water on top of my tank, I heard the odd tapping again.

It took a few moments for the sound to penetrate my early morning daze and register as unusual.

I only had to look past the kettle, and there it was; the white-headed pigeon, sitting in a pot plant on my verandah. The hasty photo was taken through the screen wire as well as the window glass, so my apologies for the hazy shot.

The pot contained only stems of parsley; the leaves are eaten by the bush rat who picks through my verandah garbage bins each night.

This very welcome rainforest pigeon then flew to the top of the BBQ bench and posed briefly before taking off.  Getting a return visit was surprising, I thought. And why was the bird alone?

Then yesterday, I saw the pigeon again, on top of the solar panel frames on the power shed roof. Again, it was alone.

 It flew off too soon for a photo, but three visits has to mean it lives nearby, surely.

Such ‘an elegant fowl,’ as the Pussycat said to the Owl! I hope it comes again.

Suspicious sublet

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My ‘guest accommodation’ is an ex-workshop tacked on to a shed. It is of corrugated iron, but lined, and comfortable; far enough from my cabin for privacy, close enough for convenience, and with pleasant orchard views and surrounds.

When I returned after my two months away this winter, I suspected a possum had moved into the roof of this section. Telltale tufts of insulation wool were sticking out from between the roof and the window awning, and a few floated about on the grass.

I checked inside and all seemed fine.

But as spring advanced, I noticed that the climbing roses were being allowed to put forth new leaves and even buds – at least from the height at which the wallabies can’t reach. I assumed the rose-loving possum must have moved on — or had been digested by the python.

Something had changed inside, too: over each bed the ceiling lining had clearly been under stress. The double bed had a huge stain that went right through the mattress, and the top rug on the double decker bunks was bedecked with what looked like bits of nesting material.

Possums do mighty pees, so I could blame it for the stain, but the rest…? And what about the roses? Did I have a ‘live-and-let-live’ possum at last?

When I finally had a visitor willing to climb ladders and prise away roofing trims to investigate, the nest was there; in fact there were two, and full of scats large and small. They were not of possum origin, but quoll. In a way they were related to possums, as quolls eat them.

I had known a quoll was back, or visiting nightly, from fresh scats in the shed and on the verandah. A parmesan cheese wrapper got the once-over on the verandah the other night. I had assumed it was living in the shed, in the horizontal pile of old doors where my earlier quoll tenant had raised many young ones.

Clearly, this year’s quoll wanted better accommodation, with views. So until I can be sure whether it is a ‘she’, with offspring, no more can be done. If that’s the case, until the end of summer when the kids have come of age, I’ll have to turn away visitors or tell them to bring a tent. The beds have been stripped, moved, and plastic laid.

I need one of those signs they have in caravan parks and camping areas: ‘All visitors must call at office before proceeding further’. 

But at least I might get some roses this summer.

My latest resident

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I have more to tell about my trip to Western Australia, but in between I have to keep you up-to-date with the ongoing news on the mountain. On the second day of Spring, the Diamond Python arrived. 

The day was warm and sunny; I was hanging out washing. Out of the corner of one eye, this is what I saw.

Now I know better than to panic about a non-venomous python — at least, not when it’s out on the open lawn, rather than in my shower, or trying to come inside.

So you could say I was pretty relaxed about watching it from only a slight distance. I do marvel at the way it seems to follow itself in one long and powerful undulation.

I also wanted to see where it was heading with such uphill purpose, past the vegetable garden, past the Nashi tree.

I should have known. Of course it was heading for the shed. As I watched it ooze effortlessly up the stems of the massive jasmine vine, it seemed to know exactly where it was going. 

Did this mean it had previously resided in the woody twists and weaves of vine that so thickly covers this old tin wall before? 

Or was it aiming for one of the many gaps beneath the unlined roof? Had it lived inside the shed — and how often had I missed its bright patterning draped across the dim rafters while I pottered about below?

Yes, I know it means I won’t have bush rats in there — but what about baby quolls?

And what about me? I’m nervous enough already going in to that overcrowded and shadowy place, always with one eye on the dark recesses beside my feet. If I have to keep the other eye on the dark spaces above my head, or in between — finding anything will be very difficult!

Leafy visitor

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I’d just cut back the woody stems of the verandah vines — the ornamental grape and the wisteria. A scattering of brown tendrils and dry curling leaves had landed on the verandah and I began to sweep them off.

Only, one decided it didn’t want to be swept and began lurching away.

It was so delicate I’d have broken it with one unwitting blow, had I not seen it for what it was — a small leaf insect, one of the Phasmid family, like the stick insects.

I do have the CSIRO field guide to these extraordinary insects, but I can’t find this one.

Flared and flattened, curled and bent, blotched and pitted — what amazing camouflage! Not much use on this drawer I was airing, so I carefully let it cling to a stick and transferred it to the brown stems and remnant leaves from whence I expect it had come. The delicacy of its feet, especially the questing front ones! 

Nature truly is awesome.

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For the second time in a few weeks, I have found evidence that a quoll is back on the block. 

I’ve been bemoaning the disappearance of the quoll who lived and bred in my shed for years, mainly for her own sake, but also because possums stay away when she’s in residence.

Quolls eat possums.

I’m no expert on droppings or scats — there are whole books on the subject, none of which I have —but I think, after years of nightly gifts left by the quoll on my verandah, that I can say with some confidence that this dropping was dropped by a quoll.

The reluctant exit twist at the end, the hairiness, the connected bulges — all say ‘quoll’. Sometime an offering is more curved, crescent-shaped, or the colour is lighter and the texture more furry; naturally it all depends on what she had for dinner.

But it gives me hope. ‘Shed to let’: check us out, move back in, Mrs Quoll — please?

Wallaroo couple

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The longhairs of the macropods around here are the Wallaroos. I have always had one small family or a couple here, and they prefer the rocky edges, usually only coming close to drink at the dam. But lately the couple have been grazing near the fence line.

The female is pale grey and stocky, with a rather doglike face — an amiable mongrel sort of dog.
Her male partner is the real standout — bigger and beefier, with long dark shaggy ‘hair’. He also has the doglike face, and perhaps the very long fur helps this impression. Much more wary than his wife, he stopped mid-munch at the sight of me.
Drawing himself erect to show his broad chest and powerful shoulders, he soon took off into the treeline to hide from me. I don’t know if he had told her to follow or sent a warning, but she stayed put and kept eating. Was she smarter or just stubborn?

Wallaby charmers

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The dainty Red-necked Wallabies are my most common marsupial here, and I daily see small groups grazing along the yard fence line, not far from my verandah. When I appear, they usually look up to see what I’m doing, then it’s heads back down to resume eating.

As you can see, the amount of red they have on their grey fur varies quite a lot. Here’s a young male (above, left) and a female with a joey in her pouch.
Often the Red-necked Wallaby mothers that I see here seem far too small to be mothers. By the time the joey is old enough to stay out of the pouch it is nearly as big as its mum. This one (left) wasn’t venturing out today but it was leaning out and doing a bit of practice grazing.

The male kept interrupting his grazing to deal with something itchy — fleas, ticks, leeches? — twisting round to reach the spots with his mouth as well as his neat front paws. I doubt he could reach his tail, but he was very flexible — and determined — so who knows?

High-stepping visitor

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A streak of white down on the little dam alerted me to something different happening there. It was some sort of bird.

I crept closer, staying below the fenceline, as the bird had frozen, clearly on the alert, its round eye bright with tension.

A solitary waterbird, with the typical long legs and neck and pointed beak, its pose held and twinned in the reflections below.
heron-1But what was it? More important than identifying it now however, was to get a photograph, in case it flew off before I could see more details.

I edged away and back up to the house for the camera. As I returned towards the fence, the bird did take off but only across the dam, where it stood, totally uncamouflaged, amongst the tussocks for a while.

Meanwhile I took up a post at the gate and froze like a statue myself, to reassure it.
heron-2My bird book tells me it was a White-necked Heron.

I wanted to ask it so much: where had it flown from? Was it on a Grand Tour, and where would it meet up with other such herons? Did it always fly solo? Why did its neck look like a twisted white rope? And did it realise how beautiful were the subtle mauves and tealy hues on its ‘grey’ feathers?

It wasn’t a long visit, and I may never see a White-necked Heron here again, but how special it was that it came — and that I saw.

Sumo echidna

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sumo-echidna-1Echidnas visit my house yard fairly often and I know there are several different individuals — like the blonde and the brunette who shared the yard for a while.

A few years ago I saw an echidna just outside the yard who was much bigger than average. Last week I saw an even larger one. It came under the gate and into the orchard and naturally I ran for the camera.
sumo-echidna-2It seemed more wary than others and kept lifting its head and sniffing. I wasn’t game to go too close for fear of disturbing it so had to use the maximum zoom on my lens.

You can see how massive its legs are!

I wonder how old this echidna is, to be so big, and whether it’s the same one previously seen, now grown to top weight and, I assume, top echidna status.

Who’d argue with a spiny, spiky, long-clawed excavator like this?

Cockatoo carry-on

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blkack-cockatoo-1A bit of wet weather — and all hell broke loose in the forest around me.

My most raucous neighbours swooped in, a whole pack of them, loud and restless.
black-cockatoo-2There were perhaps eight Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoos, swapping trees, snapping twigs, screeching across the clearing at full unmusical volume.

As they barely stayed still for a minute and they like the uppermost branches, they were hard to locate, let alone snap, with the zoomed camera lens.

When they take off they look awkward, stiff-winged flapping like a kid in a superman cape, but they fly unerringly between the dense tree canopy.

I never know why they come and for such short times, nor what they are saying so loudly and incessantly in their rusty voices. But their sudden appearance is always a drama — a grand entrance and exit around a brief but impressive one-act performance.

Bower bird breakfast

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bowerbird-1I see plump female Satin Bower-birds in my yard often, and hear them even more often — a creaking sound rather than music. The greeny-brown females are well camouflaged.

I rarely see their partner, the handsome bluish-purplish-black male, and I have not yet found his courtship bower in the adjacent rainforest gullies, but he must have one.

I don’t leave my pegs out, so can’t even tell if he’s been pinching my blue ones for decorating that bower, as they love blue objects. Until the chicory and borage flower in my vegetable garden, I don’t have any blue blossoms for him either.
bowerbird-2Yet the other morning, there he was in the bottom corner of the yard, below the  30-year-old bay tree, which offers dense cover for them if need be. He and two ladies were poking about in the grass.

I could see his bright blue eye and his green-tinged bill. He seemed shyer than the other two and kept to the shade or behind the small lillipillis planted there, so I couldn’t get a photo of him with the sun shining on his iridescent plumage, as I wanted.

Then on to the scene strolled my Wood Duck couple on their early morning rounds. For about five minutes the two species shared that corner, the male Bower-bird staying in the shade, where I suppose he is better camouflaged, more like in the rainforest.
bowerbird-3Then something outside my senses startled them all. With a single squawk the wood ducks took off  to their safe haven in the middle of the dam. The bower birds all hopped in under the bushy base of the bay tree.

Breakfast was over.

Day tripper possum

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Brushtail possums are my regular and annoying nocturnal visitors: they climb up where the roof slopes low, just above my bedroom, then either along the bracing timber under the extended eaves, or, more noisily, over the roof. Then they investigate the verandah, often knocking things over.

If I appear they always scurry off, back along the route.
day-possum1
But after lunch today I looked up from the computer to see a round furry back and a bedraggled brushy tail – in the bird feeder. A possum visiting in daylight?

I had put a small scoop of birdseed there this morning, for the first time in about three weeks.

I tiptoed to the door and opened it very quietly, but this possum didn’t seem to notice. Was it deaf?  I took some photos and the clicking was ignored.  I spoke to it; no response. I moved further round to its side, to be visible.
day-possum2
It did turn and face me but made no move to run. I wasn’t sure how well it could see in daylight anyway. 

Was this deafness, blindness, illness –  or opportunistic boldness? It seemed unharmed and healthy enough.

And it clearly wanted to feed on, despite the light drizzle and its exposed position – to me and the weather. I left it to it.

A crimson rosella made the mistake of flying over to check out the feeder. Squawks and a scuffle and an aerial about-turn by the rosella.

The day possum regained its footing and continued its lunch.
day-possum3
When it had scoffed the lot, it turned around, jumped onto the oak table, and peed!