Mellow Yellow

As I may well have said before, there is one outstanding advantage in having your own “backyard” birding patch; you get to know your local avifauna. The regulars are there or, if they suddenly cease to be there – and it’s not the migratory season- then you soon notice. You may never know the why this or that particular species has suddenly stopped being among the more common residents or at least frequent visitors but you become aware of the situation and mull over the possibilities. Fay and I continue to mull over the sudden exit of our Yellow-faced Honeyeaters Lichenostomus chrysops; the demise of the Speckled Warblers Chthonicola sagittata and White-throated Scrubwrens Sericornis frontalis could be feasibly accounted for because of the decade-long drought which decimated the understorey, thus depriving these skulkers of adequate cover.

Nevertheless, overall, a backyard patch allows you to become intimately familiar with your local birds.

Occasionally the set routines are pleasantly disturbed by the unexpected arrival of an avian stranger, or at least an infrequent caller.

The other day, while walking through the wooded northwest quadrant of our property, an area set aside as sacrosanct to the wildlife and not to be interfered with by us throughout our sojourn at Allen Road, we suddenly heard the distinctive call of Yellow-tailed Black-Cockatoo Calyptorhynchus funereus. It took a little craning of necks, bending of backs to see around or over various shrubs and trees but we soon spotted movement further down [west] Allen Road. Fay counted four flying across the road. A moment later and we heard the plaintive cry of a juvenile cockatoo wanting to be fed.

By the time we had returned to the house, a long list of chores awaited our attention, the Yellow-tails sounded as if they had swung around and were closer to our own property; then on our property, somewhere in the wooded southwest quadrant and another calling from directly west [in Rudolf’s former place]. Fay spotted the two from the southwest; I saw one alight in a tree just on the other side of the western fence.

We stopped our various tasks and looked closer. One Yellow-tailed flew across to the tall, but sadly dead, tree on the edge of the track leading to the front gate. From this lookout post it called incessantly and before long five other Yellow-tails flew across the property, collected the lone pleader and all six disappeared further east along Allen Road.

Yellow-tailed Black-Cockatoos are more an uncommon than a rare occurrence along Allen Road but they come infrequently enough to cause at least a mild stir in the bosom of any local birders.

ROOTLING ALONG

Matters rootle along at a steady pace down Allen Road. There is always the odd excitement, such as a Pacific Baza Aviceda subcristata suddenly sweeping into view from over the tin shed. Its presence had, of course, long since been advertised by the raucous din of the Noisy Miners Manorina melanocephala. However, in general, avian life follows a fairly set routine. One day can be very much like another.

Not that Fay and I are complaining. It’s the bread-and-butter birds of your local patch that set the overall ambience.

We may object to the Torresian Crows Corvus orru which continually steals our chicken and duck eggs but where would the local ecology be without their presence? As scavengers they are second to none among the birds.

The Apostlebirds Struthidea cinerea may be the bullies of the Verandah Feeder, often harassing the attractive Australian King-Parrots Alisterus scapularis from off the terracotta plant saucer itself but their communal co-operation remains a spectacle par excellence. The vocal gymnastics of the Australian Magpies Cracticus tibicen continues to bring auditory pleasure to our ears, just as does the amazing sight of two male magpies sharing a feeding spot together.

Other “regulars” present themselves each and every day. A pair of Grey Butcherbirds Cracticus torquatus has successfully trained Fay and I to provide them with slivers of cheese when they alight on the verandah rail. The Grey-crowned Babblers Pomatostomus temporalis have learnt how to extract discarded sunflower seeds from between the cracks in the verandah decking. The more aggressive of the Rainbow Lorikeets Trichoglossus haematodus appears to have either taken anger-management consultation, moved out of the immediate area or perhaps has even passed on to wherever it is deceased birds go.

No, oddities and rarities are all very well but the non-appearance of our everyday species would be of real concern. We still vividly recall the shock of learning that the humble Tree Sparrow Passer montanus population in the United Kingdom has plummeted; we’ve heard rumours that a similar fate is befalling the even humbler House Sparrow Passer domesticus. Worse yet, consider the Passenger Pigeon Ectopistes migratorius; in its millions one day, extinct the next.

Yet, in spite of all the above, the unexpected appearance of the Red-winged Parrot Aprosmictus erythropterus, quietly perched in a small Wren Garden sapling, next to our angophora tree, was more than mildly exciting. It was only the 17th sighting of this bird on our property since its first appearance back at the end of August 2008.

Its timing was awkward. Fay and I were sitting on the east verandah, sipping coffee, when we suddenly spotted the obvious flash of red wing partly hidden behind foliage. It didn’t need past experience to warn us that Red-wings tend to be skittish, will fly at the least provocation. Fortunately both binoculars and cameras were to hand. I carefully picked up one of the latter, switched on and slowly dropped to my knees on the verandah decking. The southside balustrades would act as partial cover.

On reaching the southeast corner of the verandah I eased myself up, for all the world trying to look a mere extension of the corner post. I fired in the first shot. The Red-wing twitched the photograph was rubbish. I tried a second shot, no mean feat when you’re trying to be a wooden post keeping movement to a minimum. The Red-wing shifted uneasily; the photograph was only marginally better.

I got in a third shot; the bird was distinctly jittery by now.

The second shot, a “D”.

The third shot for which I award myself a “C”, more for the effort than the photographic niceties.

I backed off. It didn’t need a PhD to reason that my next shot could be my last shot and for a long moment I hesitated. Did I need another shot that would surely drive the bird away? Would it be more ethical to abandon photography to allow the bird space?

I needed another shot but a Pied Currawong Strepera graculina suddenly alighting atop the same sapling settled the issue; the Red-wing flew off to the east and I was left with three rather poor shots, ranging from a barely passable “C” to a disappointing “D-minus“.

The pair of Magpie-larks Grallina cyanoleuca reminded me of what really matters along Allen Road.

EARLY RISERS

Our residence in Allen Road has a history dating back to April 2001 when we initially inspected the vacant block [the tin shed was empty at the time]. The house, from a Toowoomba “house yard,” was moved in situ the following year; weekends were fully occupied in renovating, first the exterior, later the interior. In March 2005 Fay left her position with QML [after more than 20 years with the company] to take up employment with a small research company attached to PCA in Kingaroy. I sought, and was granted, a teaching transfer into the region at the end of 2005. The renovations to the house and improvements to the property in general continued, still continue to this day.

The Backyard List starts from that first cursory inspection back on 13 April 2001. In those early days, when we still lived in Redcliffe and merely visited on every second or third weekend –and that, after all, was the original purpose of the property, a place to which we could escape when the inclination came- we recorded the birds for the sheer pleasure of learning which species we had as permanent residents, as seasonal migrants or as accidental occurrences. Those early data entries are basic presence/absence records.

They evolved to include numbers present, behaviours noted, etc. No doubt one day Fay and I will collate the growing mass of data, design a few pertinent graphs to highlight the major trends and perhaps even offer the resulting mass for publication. Bird Journal makes the earlier processes much simpler these days.

Sunrise over Queensland. Taken from: www.mii.org/Rec/GoldMiningVignettes/GoldVign.html

In more recent times, while the steady accumulation of data for its own sake continues, Fay and I have come to recording the early morning avian risers. Not the songs themselves [we don’t have the equipment to venture along that path] but the actual species involved in our local Dawn Chorus.

If you asked the average Australian, birder or non-birder, to venture a guess as to which species would be “Top of the Dawn Chorus Pops,” I’d be more than mildly surprised if the over-whelming response was anything other than Laughing Kookaburra Dacelo novaeguineae. Many of the Indigenous peoples of Australia share the same Dreamtime tale of how the Spirits, having discovered the wonder of sunrise, asked Kookaburra if he would herald its arrival each morning so that all the creatures could enjoy this phenomenon.

And, of course, within certain caveats, they are all right. On average, over the space of a year, the Laughing Kookaburra is almost invariable the earliest precursor of dawn. Almost always… but not quite always.

It is, on occasions, bettered by other species. The Masked lapwing Vanellus miles springs immediately to mind. The Australian Wood Duck Chenonetta jubata is another serious contender for the title of Early Bird Champion. The humble Australian Magpie Cracticus tibicen and Torresian Crow Corvus orru have been known to call before old kookaburra stirred from his slumbers. Even the diminutive Willie Wagtail Rhipidura leucophrys was once heard well before the official setting for sunrise, albeit from across the other side of Allen Road where neighbours were holding an all-night party. The Pied Currawong Strepera graculina was among the first early risers recorded to have ousted the Laughing Kookaburra from it near unassailable throne.
On at least two occasions in January this year alone the Common Bronzewing Phaps chalcoptera has pipped them all to the post. The Eastern Koel Eudynamys orientalis, a summer migrant, has been recorded as the earliest caller on at least one occasion in the past couple of years.

Yet, in spite of all these excepti0ns to the case, as already stated, in general, at least along Allen Road, the Laughing Kookaburra can often call several times prior to any other bird acknowledging the advent of dawn.

Losses & Gains

Now that was a long weekend!

We all have our own slings and shots that cause us to tarry along life’s highway. Among mine over the past few weeks has been school. More precisely, testing, marking and collating a mountain of data on which to base report cards. The days when a teacher could simply write “Could do better” or “Working well” have gone. I’m not complaining, merely informing.

But I’m back.




It would be gratifying to report that while I was buried beneath an avalanche of test papers the birds merely got on with whatever it is birds do when their human observers are occupied elsewhere. And it might be that that s exactly what they were doing but…

The Yellow-faced Honeyeater Lichenostomus chrysops which seemed to be making a welcomed comeback only weeks ago has again disappeared. Admittedly our observations have been limited to brief weekend windows but at one point back there we could here this bird when simply lying in bed.

It rival, the Blue-faced Honeyeater Entomyzon cyanotis, while still flitting between north and south feeders, is greatly reduced in numbers.

The Sulphur-crested Cockatoos Cacatua galerita had been on the decline for some time but now only occasionally fly by overhead. Perhaps even more alarming is the apparent disappearance of our Galahs Eolophus roseicapillus. They had, at one time, made regular appearances at poultry-feeding time; there would be anything up to 30 specimens competing with the Silver-grey Dorkings for the scattered mixed grain.

We noted a pair flying through overhead yesterday.

It’s puzzling, it’s concerning but hopefully it is no more than an avian reaction to the bitterly cold winter snap we are currently experiencing in the South Burnett region. It bottomed out at 5.5 Celsius the other day and it can get even colder in August!

On the other hand, we seem to have acquired a friendly male Australian Magpie Cracticus tibicen. It has been coming around for some time now. We first noticed him on one of the occasions when the local Grey Butcherbirds Cracticus torquatus arrived on the verandah rail for its usual feed of cheese. We tend to toss small fragments into the air to enjoy the aerobatics of the butcherbirds as they take the morsel in mid air. On the odd occasion the butcherbirds miss the proffered titbit which lands on the verandah decking. It was on one of these instances that we first noted the magpie. It suddenly swooped in, gathered up the piece of cheese and flew off into the nearby angophora.

Nowadays it will readily take split dog biscuit crumbs and indeed can often be seen in the 40x25m dog compound pecking at unguarded old bones in search of some overlooked fragment of meat. We have observed the magpies actually carry off an entire segment of wizened bone.

Yesterday, Fay had it taking cheese out of her hand!

Glorious Morning at Allen Road

I remain a humble Pom at heart [aside: for those overseas readers who may be unfamiliar with the term, Pom is an endearing term often used by Australians when referring to those of us who arrived in this country from England]. I find it difficult to resist a wry smile when I listen to the natives, particularly those enamoured of Queensland [the Sunshine State], wax lyrically that this is “God’s own.” More often than not these sentiments are expressed when the ambient temperature is searing in the high thirties to mid-forties, with humidity at 100% or better. No wonder God chose the Middle East rather than Outback Australia as the earthbound home of His only begotton son!

This past Sunday however, we did experience a truly glorious morning. The temperature only grudgingly crawled above 15 Celsius; there was a crispness to the air that invigorated not only the lungs but the entire spirit. A slight mist came up from nearby watercourses setting an eerie tone to the immediate surroundings.

Admittedly the early part of the morning was not the best for birding, vision was limited to perhaps ten metres all around. On the other hand, where visual impressions were perhaps curtailed, aural perceptions seemed correspondingly enhanced.

In those pre-dawn hours before first light filtered through we could hear the distinctive call of the Southern Boobook Ninox novaeseelandiae [an owl of the Strigiformes], accompanied by the deep boom of the Tawny Frogmouth Podargus strigoides [a nightjar of the Caprimulgiformes]. Oddly enough the next call we heard, at 0555 hours [70 minutes prior to official sunrise that day] was the rather plaintive call of the Australian Wood [Maned] Duck Chenonetta jubata, followed a few minutes later by the somewhat harsh alarm call of the Masked Lapwing Vanellus miles.

The Laughing Kookaburra Dacelo novaeguineae, often the earliest herald of the dawn, was late that morning; its initial call coming only 42 minutes before sunrise rather than its more customary 50+ minutes prior to daybreak. Almost invariably it was followed by the truly melodic song of the Australian Magpie Cracticus tibicen.

By 0546 hours, still nineteen minutes before sunrise, the Yellow-faced Honeyeater Lichenostomus chrysops announced its presence. This honeyeater has featured almost regularly over the past week as part of the “Dawn Chorus”. To gauge the significance of this bird please note my earlier blog, Reflections on Some Honeyeaters.

At 0554 hours the White-winged Choughs Corcorax melanorhamphos announced their arrival at the southern feeder, followed two minutes later by the raucous Apostlebirds Struthidea cinerea and finally, at 0557 hours [eight minutes before the time set for sunrise] a solitary Australian King-Parrot Alisterus scapularis added its sultry tones to the mounting cacophony around us.

That amounted to eighteen species from the first call of the Boobook to daybreak – and all mostly tallied while Fay and I lay in bed enjoying the first cup of tea for the day. Almost all. The earliest birds were down to me and my diabetic insomnia.

With daylight abroad came the Magpie-lark Grallina cyanoleuca and the endearing Willie Wagtail Rhipidura leucophrys. The Common Bronzewing Phaps chalcoptera, Variegated Fairy-wren Malurus lamberti and Little Lorikeet Glossopsitta pusilla added to the morning’s total. Sometime during the mid-morning, with temperatures still well below 20C, the White-browed Scrubwren Sericornis frontalis [see Missing in Action] and Striped Honeyeater Plectorhyncha lanceolata began flexing their vocal muscles.

From somewhere far off to the east Fay, whose hearing is far superior to mine, heard a Fan-tailed Cuckoo Cacomantis flabelliformis, a rarity at this time of the year; a little later the Eastern Whipbird Psophodes olivaceus was heard and finally, as we strolled around the dam we spotted a single White-faced Heron Egretta novaehollandiae perched high in a tall gum overlooking the water. It was around 10.30am, the temperature a little above 15C and a long list of chores awaited our attention but it had been a glorious morning for birds with a final tally of 36 species before we laid aside binoculars and notebook.

Try that while sweltering under a blazing sun with the mercury already in the mid to high 20s by mid-morning!

Marbled Moments

Marbled Frogmouth. Image via ozanimals.com

Nocturnal species along Allen Road are literally few and far between so you can imagine our excitement when last week [26 March] we heard the distinctive call of a previously unrecorded night bird. It was the seventh night-time bird on our Backyard List.

Diabetes and insomnia go hand in glove. I was wide awake and up in the small hours of the morning, “catching up” on entering my handwritten Backyard List sightings into Bird Journal. The call came from the northwest quadrant and sounded close. My initial reaction had been of a Southern Boobook Ninox novaeseelandiae with a sore throat. It wasn’t of course.

Under normal circumstances, if being up and about regularly at around 0300 hours can be described as normal for someone in a diurnal occupation, I would allow Fay to sleep through to breakfast at a more reasonable 0500. On the other hand I have a vivid imagination and could foresee a few uncomfortable moments if I later revealed the presence of a new Backyard List species, indeed a mega addition, and had allowed her to sleep through the experience.

An early morning cuppa and the BOCA discs set to the nightbirds overcame any displeasures Fay may have felt at being stirred [not shaken] before the time set on her alarm clock.

The discs simply confirmed that the identification was incontrovertible. We were listening to a Marbled Frogmouth Podargus ocellatus!

It was the first nocturnal addition to our list since the Powerful Owl Ninox strenua back in October 2008 and that bird had also initially called from the northwest quadrant. And yes, I had been up and about, only on that occasion I was ensconced on the north verandah – October nights can be rather warm and the yellow light bulb helps keep the bugs away.

The Powerful Owl had been the first new nocturnal entry in more than six years. Our Eastern Barn Owl Tyto javanica first appeared on the scene back in August 2002 and has become an irregular feature of the witching hours ever since.

Remarkably enough, the first four nocturnal species were all recorded in our first year at Allen Road [2001]. Top of the List was the Australian Owlet-nightjar Aegotheles cristatus and the only entrant that we saw before ever hearing it. Our immediate neighbour [sharing the eastern fence-line] had a large, old tree remnant with a number of suitable hollows along its entire length. We spotted the owlet-nightjar depart from one of the upper hollows a few hours into dusk and thereafter heard it on a regular basis. Sadly, when Fred sold up, the new owners, with two small children in tow, proved to be rather paranoid regarding snakes and wizened trees too close to the house. The old hollowed stump was felled. The Australian Owlet-nightjar disappeared in September 2003.

September 2001 was a comparatively bumper time for nocturnal additions. The Southern Boobook was first heard on the 1st of that month. It has become among the more regular night-callers along Allen Road.

The vision of our first Tawny Frogmouth Podargus strigoides will remain eternally etched in our memories. We’d been hearing the call for some time previously. Back in those days there was no house, only a shed, a campervan and a campfire. A few feet from the campfire is a tall gum with a horizontal branch protruding out perhaps a metre and a half from the base. We’d just eaten and were enjoying the first sip of a rather pleasant shiraz when we were suddenly distracted by a quick movement. There had been no sound, no whoosh of wings, no sighing of bent branches, or rustle of disturbed leaves. The frogmouth simply alighted as silently as a ghost on the aforementioned horizontal branch. It remained perched there for what seemed a age but in reality was probably no more than a few minutes. It seemed as curious of us as we were excited at seeing it. My camera was still in the nearby campervan but neither of us dared move a muscle; we were transfixed.

At the end of December 2001, and again I was out on the north verandah tapping away at the keyboard, we heard the unmistakable booming of the White-throated Nightjar Eurostopodus mystacalis coming from somewhere over the western boundary. We last heard it in April last year [2010].

We prefer to disregard the record of Papuan Frogmouth Podargus papuensis listed on DERM’s Wildlife Species List for the South Burnett region. It is hundreds, nay in access of thousands, of kilometres out of its accepted range and was, anyway, last sighted in 1908.

MISSING IN ACTION

Most backyard birders tend to concentrate on the species they see and/or hear; it adds to their tally. Fay and I are among that league. Certainly we are always pleased to add a new species to the list but also enjoy the continual return of old favourites.

There are however those species that seem to be dotted around the immediate vicinity of Allen Road but have yet to be recorded anywhere along the street; those missing in action.

The core niggle is not the rarities, as itemized on the Department of Environment &Resources Management official Wildlife Species List for the South Burnett region. We congratulate those fortunate birders who have recorded such gems as: Black-throated Finch Poephila cincta [according to the List last sighted in 2003]; Painted Honeyeater Grantiella picta [circa 2002]; Sooty Owl Tyto tenebricosa [last sighted in 2007]; Swift Parrot Lathamus discolour [last seen as long ago as 1994]; Coxen’s Fig-Parrot Cyclopsitta diophthalma coxeni, a subspecies of the Double-eyed Fig-Parrot [1966];

Nor would we expect regular sightings of species such as Paradise Parrot Psephotus pulcherrimus, lasted recorded in the South Burnett region at the end of 1915 but now generally presumed to be extinct throughout its former ranges. Nor would we expect the Grey Falcon Falco hypoleucos to suddenly put in an unexpected appearance, given that it was last seen in the region in 1908. And while the ever-elusive Red Goshawk Erythrotriorchis radiateus remains a distinct possibility, we will not be holding our breath in anticipation – they can range over territories in excess of 200km2.

Allen Road has had its moments, or at least it has since Fay and I first began recording the local birds back in April 2001. Indeed, as early as 3 June 2001 we were fortunate enough to have crippling views of Black-chinned Honeyeater Melithreptus gularis; it was still here a week later [11 June] and while it has never been here again since, it was recorded in the general South Burnett region in November of that same year. Ours must have been among the last seen hereabouts.

The near threatened Square-tailed Kite Lophoictinia isura was noted flying over our property in March 2008. The Powerful Owl Ninox strenua, listed by the Department as vulnerable, was heard distinctly calling from a little west of the house in October 2008.

No, it’s not the megaticks that concern, they’re just part and parcel of everyday twitching. Our puzzlement remains with the lesser species, those that we have recorded on a regular basis from only a few kilometres away but which have yet to appear on our Allen Road Backyard List.

Take the finches. Our only Allen Road record is of the Double-barred Finch Taeniopygia bichenovii. Indeed, it has nested in our orchard. However, a mere five kilometres away, along Berlin Road, we have recorded both the Red-browed Finch Neochmia temporalis and Zebra Finch Taeniopygia guttata. The habitats are not that dissimilar. Why have they not taken the step across to Allen Road?

Both the Little Anthochaera chrysoptera and Red A. carunculata Wattlebirds have been recorded in the wider South Burnet region but not along Allen Road.

However, of most concern to Fay and I remains the humble robin, any robin! Our birding friends Colleen and Robert Fingland, who, as the [Torresian] crow flies, live no more than a few kilometres from us on ten hectares, have both the Red-capped Petroica goodenovii and Eastern Yellow Eopsaltria australis Robins on their backyard list. We have recorded the latter along Berlin Road.

The Department’s Wildlife Species List records no fewer than eight robin species for the South Burnett: Eastern Yellow Robin; Hooded Robin Melanodryas cucullata; Jacky Winter Microeca fascinans; Scarlet Robin Petroica boodang; Red-capped Robin; Flame Robin Petroica phoenicea; Rose Robin Petroica rosea and Pale-yellow Robin Tregellasia capito.

No robin has yet been recorded along Allen Road in the time that Fay and I have been monitoring the local species. Why?

We can accept the absence of the Hooded Robin; it is a species associated more with drier habitats and no doubt sighted on the western reaches of the South Burnett. The absence of Jacky Winter is also understandable; in our experience it prefers more open woodland, wider paddocks and country roadsides. The South Burnett must be close to the northern range limits of the Scarlet Robin. The same would appear to hold for the Flame Robin. The Pale-yellow Robin prefers skulking in rainforest habitats

However, what of the Rose Robin? We have enjoyed fantastic view of this species only 40km south at Emu Creek.

But the bottom line, the pain, remains the absence of the Red-capped and the Eastern Yellow Robins. They are dotted all around us but continue to resist putting in an appearance along Allen Road.

Image via Ákos Lumnitzer @ amatteroflight.com