A night time of fireflies at Adels Grove - Outback Queensland

You know that feeling when people think you're bonkers and you're completely sure you're sane?

We recently experienced that up at Adels Grove near Boodjamulla National Park (formerly Lawn Hill). It's about a hundred and something kilometres from the Gulf of Carpentaria nearish where the western side of Cape York dips into the gulf. It's a long, long way from home in the south where we have proper winters and dry heat summers. It's hot, HOT, HOT, at this time of year and HUMID. UGH, UGH, UGH. Nothing dries out. Not us, not clothing, not anything. You take off your damply sweaty clothing at night and put it back on, still damply sweaty in the morning. (Limited space prohibits many changes, which wouldn't have made much difference anyhow as they'd have felt damp too.)

We were camped in the 'grove' - the quiet spot for people mostly in tents and without generators. The trees are thick, rotten (one fell less than a metre from a nearby camp with a massive whumpfh) and with a very, very dense canopy. There's a constant dropping of what we could only guess was poo from billions of small tree dwelling creatures overhead, so we covered our mugs at all times, shook clothing out constantly, and I brushed my hair not at all. It was kind of like itty bitty soft pellets like those tasty chocolate sprinkles you decorate cakes with. yup. really.

We tend to sit in the dark after dinner, watching ... nothing in particular ... just soaking up the ambience, keeping an eye out for bats, listening for night birds. That kind of thing. Most people don't. They use lanterns, torches, made big fires (in 32C heat! - crazy) which means they don't see special things that their night eyes have adapted to see. 

Like fireflies!

The first night we were at Adels Grove, I had no idea what I was seeing, but a wee light seemed to float up from behind the table, over the stove, and waft up into a tree.

A cautious question; "Um, Trav, did you see that?" Thankfully he had. But what was it? Lights don't usually float gracefully upwards and settle in a tree. It wasn't a one off though, it kept happening in different locations around the campsite. Next morning I made a point of asking at reception, but the blank looks and cautious, but calm backing away made it clear what they thought. "Batty old woman, probably had too much to drink, gotta keep an eye out for that kind of person."

We watched night after night. If I believed in fairies, that's what they'd look like at night! I was mesmerised. I'd wake during the night, and with the fly of the tent off (trying to make use of any stray breeze to cool down just a morsel, please!) and fly-mesh covering the roof, I could see them flashing and pulsing, in groups, singly, sometimes clustered, at other times apparently wafting on a not-really-there breeze between branches.

As I said, the people at reception seemed to think I was living in fantasy land, and no other campers we spoke to had seen anything, but a ranger I cornered at Boodjamulla had seen one recently, so took my questions seriously. She didn't know much about them, but knew they existed in Australia. Gotta love park rangers! ... Except she asked hopefully if I'd caught one - no, no, no and no ... for all I knew it could have been a land form of the irukandji jellyfish which would leave me paralysed, in agony for ever, or possibly dead. 

Anyhow, now I'm home with reasonable internet and data, I can say with confidence that they were fireflies, and it seems we were there at just the right time to see them in abundance. 

There's a bit more about them here: 

http://malcolmtattersall.com.au/wp/2013/12/fireflies/

This is not a firefly. My guess is it's a locust. They were thick everywhere and hopped/flew, getting pelted noisily against the car covering it with sticky, smelly, brightly coloured bug gunge. When we camped at Mt Moffatt, the birds (pied butcherbirds?) had a wonderful time picking them out from behind the numberplate, under the car, and up in the mudguards. They feasted.

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Emus

I'll see if I can quietly sneak over here without anyone noticing, check out what's on the table and snaffle that sandwich. Tippy toe, tippy toe ... shhhhh.

Oops, they've noticed me, I'll pretend I'm just strolling past, scuffing my feet in the dirt. Nope I wasn't looking at your food. No, not me. True dinks. Cross my heart and hope to die. Must have been someone else.

Look! Behind you! There! That's the emu you're looking for!


Hrmph, they didn't fall for it.

Oh I give up pretending. I'll stretch myself to my full height and stare them down. Intimidation and threats always work!

 What's this? Foiled?

Did they read the signs saying not to feed me?? Damn.

If at first you don't succeed .....

... Emu entertainment on site 34, Mambray Creek, Mount Remarkable National Park.



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Springtime birdsong

By five am
birds stir in their slumber,
restless with the merest hint of pre dawn light.

Begin to cough away the threads of sleep;
remember their designated song and hesitantly give voice in a desultory way.

Rainbow Lorikeet

Some time later, a full throated cacophony wakens me fully -
seamlessly evolves into a more harmonious chorus
rising and falling as more and more birds join in, like a well rehearsed springtime orchestra.

Little corella

The full throated warbling of a lone magpie is my favourite this week - he’ll hop to the back door later in the morning and treat me to a private serenade.

Magpie

A Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more. No less.

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Aussie birds

Wedge-tailed Eagle - no prizes for guessing the shape of its tail! Commonly called a Wedgie, it's a striking bird in both senses of the word. In the air, they're elegant and graceful; their 2 metre wingspan catches any updrafts or breezes and they appear to glide without effort high in the thermals. However on the ground, when feeding on road-kill and carrion, they're often killed by rapidly approaching cars or road-trains as their heavy bodies are unable to move quickly enough to escape a vehicle bearing down on them. They hop awkwardly, lumbering and slowly flapping their large, apparently heavy wings.

We have friends who (before they began travelling) planned to move all carcasses off outback roads to help protect these magnificent birds, but their good deed went unfulfilled as there were too many bodies to shift in any one day. They'd never have gone further than a few kilometres before stopping, donning protective gloves and dragging heavy, distinctly odorous carcases off the road.

Males weigh around 3 kilos, and females around 4 kilos - the wing-span can be up to 2.5 metres helping them soar up to 2 km and stay air-born for up to 90 mins. Wedgies mate for life, but will rarely produce young during drought. I love their delicate feathery pantaloons which are at odds with their hard sharp claws and strong beak.

The Emu is more commonly referred to in picnic areas as "that bloody bird that tried to pinch my lunch".  In picnic areas where they scavenge for food, they can become aggressive, demanding and distinctly intimidating at a robust 2+ metres (6'6") high.

In the bush, however, they're shy, timid, fast and possibly stupid as they seem to try to run alongside a vehicle moving at around 70kph (40+mph), sometimes veering off-course in front of said vehicle to be splattered messily on the roadside. There, they become a feast for birds of prey, dingoes, some lizards, insects and assorted other creatures that clean up carcasses.

The males generally incubate their large eggs, and are the primary carers for the chicks. As they become teenagers they have that distinct gawky, gangly appearance and seem to trip over themselves and each other as their curiosity gets the better of caution. Domestically, emus are farmed for their eggs, their leathery skin and their oils.

I've just had a look at some information on the web about emus. They're described as "very docile, curious, playful and friendly". Where do these people get their information? Don't believe it. In the bush, they are a wild bird and should be treated a such.

Emus can be curious, but you're the intruder into their territory and they shouldn't be approached as if they're a domestic pet. They aren't. They're powerful, have sharp claws, very strong legs for kicking and a strong beak.

Coming face to face with an emu at a picnic is not always a charming, fun experience. They're big and ugly. OK, that's possibly an unfair value statement about beauty, but finding yourself unexpectedly close up, you'd never use the word friendly. When you've got that head and beak coming at your lunch from over your shoulder, you tend to have a lot of respect for the power available to them. They can be very focused on a free feed and don't always take kindly to a refusal to share your lunch. They'll protect themselves their interests and their young, just the same as we will when threatened.

Delicate emu feathers with a found gold ear-ring on the largest, heaviest red-gum sleeper picnic table I've ever seen. Farina Station & historic town SA.

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Nesting

I wonder if the owner of this nest thought it was strong and secure. The bird has woven in baling twine, very solid fencing wire and different coloured lengths of boating rope. There are twigs with gumnuts adding a rather whimsical tone, and it was well and solidly worked into the fork of the tree.










Unfortunately the tree needed to be lopped. My friend was pleased that the tree surgeon rescued it from the mulcher and it's been added to her artistic displays.

A Drabbly Twittery thing

This thing titled Twitter, was tempting in two thousand and ten, but I turned away;
no tolerance for tawdry tittle-tattle.
Seemed to be for tools and temptresses, trumpeting their tantalising treats to toadying troops with trite remarks and toxic tirades - transformed tranquillity to a need for tranquilisers and therapy.

Time passed.
No longer trivialised.
A twinge of envy for the aficionado’s ability to tweet trillingly, tapping out taut messages like a timpani.

Will I be able to traverse the tricky, twittery trail without falling into a trap?
Training wheels attached!
Now to transform this trajectory into tentative, tweety things.

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A Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more, no less.

Of course I couldn't resist sharing some birds 

depicting different styles of Tweeting!

Magpie - sharing joyous harmonies

Pelican - can be awkward, but is quirkily attractive

Brahminy Kite - a loner, focused, soaring free

Little Corellas - flocking gibberish -
can't hear a single voice over the collective noise

Kookaburra - premeditated

Rainbow Lorikeet - focused on sweetness

Chookies! - produce something wholesome every day 

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Morning glory at Cooloothin

Kookaburra perches, alert, on the lone buffalo horn.*

Keen, silent, watchful.
Swoops suddenly.
Beak clacks as he wheels back to his morning haunt to whack and gulp a tasty morsel, recently living, already changing form to become his source of energy.

Whip birds crack.

The morning birdsong fills the air, rises to a crescendo that for a while becomes deafening.

In the distance, sunlight begins to creep.
Pauses momentarily.
Jumps.
Zig-zags tree to tree.
Illuminates trunk upon trunk; advancing in fits and starts.
Pauses again, then leaps across the nearby creek, gathers momentum and continues its inexorable advance.

Welcome Warmth!

Is this my best angle?

Or this?

Sunlight catching the trees through louvered windows

The sun seems to leap across the creek in the mornings.

*I can't believe I forgot to take a photo of the kookaburra on breakfast watch.

a Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more. No less.

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An infestation of cockatoos

My fitful sleep was in tatters, shredded by the most unholy cacophony, fit to wake the dead. Almost impossible to describe but something akin to a mechanical contraption desperately in need of oil, with metal parts rasping cruelly against each other. Shrill, discordant, unpleasant, intrusive.

Startled fully awake, I lay trying to comprehend, to make sense of this weird, unfamiliar HORRIBLE noise. 

Not coming from a close-by road, but overhead. Perplexed and fully attentive now, I was aware of it travelling from farmland some distance off. Louder and louder. Dreadful ... what on earth? Birds? There must be hundreds, but what are they? Not anything usual for these parts. Eventually they passed overhead and wheeled off into the distance - come morning I forgot their very existence.

Until

North side of the house

Snowy white feathers, cute as a button close up, entertaining, amusing, inquisitive, swinging from strands of bark and twiglets barely able to hold their weight...

but not so delightful in these numbers

West side of the house

quarrelsome

noisy

voracious feeders

(in what is left of the lopped tree)

South side of the house

ravenous

East side of the house

Many farmers and graziers despise cockatoos due to their extremely destructive nature. Even in suburbia they've been known to strip timber from houses, shred insulation boxes and create havoc.

So when they were frightened off by a passing truck I was rather pleased

Debris from their visit

I wonder if their appearance in such large numbers has anything to do with the locust plague earlier in the year followed by the floods? Perhaps they've found their way south foraging for food? It's easy to forget that the repercussions from natural disasters affect birds and animals too and this could be just one of many events playing out across the country.

Ah ha! Technically speaking this is a Little Corella or Cacatua sanguinea (I wonder if that's from sanguine, meaning cheerful or hopeful or for the ruddy complexion?)


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If birds could swear - a random post

There was a tree in our back yard. It had grown from a twiggy shoot when we moved here quite a few  years ago, to this majestic stunner with an enormous canopy.

The Rainbow Lorikeets love it, and perch way,way up and plot their next foray into the apple tree to take a single peck at the juiciest apples. (Another post about our trees and Rainbow Lorikeets here)

Unfortunately the tree had one massive limb leaning over, caressing the house. It was splitting. Winter is coming, and there'll be raging storms. The thought of having the limb or whole tree get up close and personal is unsettling.

We called an arborist who confirmed that the tree would need to be lopped.

The trees were in bud, small, insignificant cream flowers way up in the canopy

The birds are extremely unhappy, I think they're plotting revenge. All afternoon, the lorikeets were cursing constantly, abusing shrilly and wildly, watching us mulching, telling their cronies that we're bad people. I didn't need to understand 'bird' to get the gist of the meaning!

The possums have lost their highway to the roof of the house *thumbs nose at possums - no more galumphing across the roof at night.

Sometimes being pragmatic is the safe option, trees are important, but so is our home.

The biggest logs are nearly 40 cm in diameter.

The strong  smell of eucalyptus oil is almost overwhelming, I can fully relate to koalas getting dozy with it. Last night, standing outside watching the first stars appear, the smell of eucalyptus was heady.  Indoors, the fire was crackling cheerfully with some of the dryer branches. A glass of home brew - Super stout - in hand; in all, a satisfying day. I'm kind of glad The Challenge is over, so I can enjoy a slower pace and find a new direction.