Ben Blewitt of Cassowary Tours and Mark Jagusch picked me up at 7.45 am and Sue McNeill at the Poinsettia Motel for a trip to Iron Range. Through canefields, up the Kuranda Range into the hard hungry country beyond Mareeba. Blue ranges, scraggly scrub, streaky clouds.
We passed Mt Molloy, stopped briefly at Rifle Creek. Scarlet honeyeaters, rainbow and ruby–breasted lorikeets fed on white eucalypt flowers. Then onto Mt Carbine and the dam beyond.
Little friarbirds attacked blossoms, a bunch of wandering whistling ducks sailed placidly in a waterhole. Red bodied dragonflies, others of greyish blue darted about. A couple of black swans waved their necks; a small flotilla of coots ruffled the water when we disturbed them.
While the others had their cups of tea I diligently searched for exciting birds such as the seldom seen spangled drongos, with bloodshot eyes (not me, the drongos), and the excitingly mundane grey fantail. Chestnut breasted manikins restlessly moved through low scrub, resting briefly in the shade. Black–faced, white–bellied cuckoo–shrikes looped from tree to tree. Grey–crowned babblers yahooed. We all saw a great bowerbird, new one for Sue. Had good looks at a bower over beside a fence, shaded by green bushes. We stopped at the Lakefield Roadhouse for something or other.
Leaving the excellent bitumen road that now goes through to Cooktown, we turned left for the road to Laura. A short stop by the Laura River provided us with little woodswallows, circling and pirouetting high in the sky. Another stop a short while later, shaded by figs and melaleucas and something that resembled white clover. Saw an Australian hobby zipping through, and a magnificent wedge–tailed eagle sailing just over the treetops.
I heard an oriole calling, that single harsh “ker–chuck” call. I instantly said “Olive–backed oriole!” Almost as soon someone said, “Look at that Yellow oriole!” I pursed my lips and went very quiet. Striated Pardalotes, yellow honeyeaters and white–throated honeyeaters flitted through the trees.
After the Laura River we entered stringybark woodlands then open plains full of paperbarks. Large magnetic termite mounds became frequent, sharp edged. There were other blunt mounds coloured brick red, grey, white, depending on the soil. A lot of the eucalypts had rusty red soil covering half way up the trunks. These were made by the tree–piping termites that eventually eat the heart out of the tree. Other trees had black covered tracks snaking up trunks and long branches. Do they belong to the black termite mounds, nestled in the forks of trees? We came upon a common bronze–wing standing by the road and black–backed butcherbirds became frequent.
The next stop was close to Artemis Station boundary to look for golden–shouldered parrots. Ben told us to spread out and walk through the long dry grass, amongst the melaleucas and casuarinas toward a dam, hopefully flushing some parrots, which had not been seen by anyone for about six weeks.
Sue, Mark and I were sidetracked by black–backed butcherbirds, little friarbirds, a few helmeted, and another friarbird with softer notes. We had trouble getting clear views, but after much tracking and patience we identified Silver–crowned friarbirds. Ben, coming back from the dam, mentioned that two brolgas were there. I saw them stalking away through the trees. I think Sue saw them also. Going back we suddenly heard Sue shouting something. I looked up and saw Ben walking quickly across to her. I heard Sue saying, “Grey–crowned babblers,” another newy for her.
We walked to a well–known dam where the golden–shouldered parrots come to drink. Red–winged parrots dashed through the trees, red and green flashes of iridescent colour. Forest kingfishers gazed wonderingly at us. Blue–winged kookaburras sounded like cranes, I can easily make that mistake if I am not concentrating.
Ben and Sue wandered off. Mark and I were by the dam when we were startled by a very loud “Whoosh” as something hurtled by. Startled we looked around, seeing nothing. Was it a peregrine falcon in a dive?
A pair of pale–headed rosellas noodled as the evening lengthened. We did not get any golden–shouldered parrots.
Somewhere this day, Ben spied a kingfisher on overhead wires. It turned out to be a red–back kingfisher. Another new bird for Sue. Ben spies birds frequently; I think it must be better than looking. I shall have to try it sometime.
That evening we arrived at Musgrave, and after a huge steak, we battled for showers with good–humoured road workers. I was washing at a tub and this huge bloke came out of the toilets and tried to get by me to the showers. If I stayed where I was I would have ended up with cracked ribs. He smiled as he advanced and wished me a pleasant evening.
I was up to the roaring of trucks. Bush stone curlews wailed on the airstrip. The heavens twinkled with diamonds, the temperature was nippy. When Sue and Mark came out the horizon was pink with the mauve–blue night retreating, pale yellows as the sun burst over the horizon. Flocks of galahs excitedly caroomed, torresian crows, black ghosts, flew by quietly “cawing”. We looked for bustards, no success, although I think Sue saw one, by her description. We passed a tree flowering with rose–pink and grey galahs.
We walked, with Ben, through the camping ground at the side of the roadhouse. We saw a myopic rufous (nankeen), night heron deep in a shadowy green tree. Saw wandering whistle ducks and heard a bronze cuckoo, maybe a little. In a deep pool we found a freshwater crocodile, laying quietly on the surface, we looked away and it had disappeared. This was the only one we saw on the trip.
We left Musgrave for a very long days birding. We entered a tall forest of tall stringybarks, bloodwoods, and ironwoods. Ben suggested we start looking at the trees overhanging the Lilyvale Road for a red goshawks nest.
Before long we found the nest, a raptor sitting quietly on it. Another raptor flew in carrying a small tree, I jest, it was only a small branch. Twice more small branches were brought in. They relaxed, one preening beside the nest, the other on it. We had perfect views after we moved into the forest to get the sun behind us. One flew, upturned wings showing two white panels. They were a pair of black–breasted buzzards, black in front, rich rufous on the nape and back, could have been a slight crest.
Travelling along further, we came to a gate. Getting out we were welcomed by yellow–tinted honeyeaters. This appears to be an isolated group. We searched for another red goshawks nest by the road, with no success. I met Glen Holmes, after the holiday, and he said the nest had been moved back from the road.
Breaking out of the tall forest we entered open plains studded with paperbarks and crouching termite mounds. The grasses were seeding, it looked like good finch country. A pair of black–throated finches appeared in a nearby paperbark, unobtrusively uttering soft descending “peuws”. They flew across the road. Sue saw finches in a clumpy tree chattering madly. Some flew on to the ground, they were the Cape York race, white cheeks, of the masked finch. Finches were everywhere, small flocks chittering in the grass, or dashing to the next low bush. Double–barred finches, looking like small owls, flitted about. A family of red–backed fairy wrens passed, the male a brilliant scarlet, more than red I think, especially when the sun hits. Was this the area where we also got a golden–headed cisticola perched on a flat, rounded termite mound? Tawny grassbirds “Tchiched” contact calls.
We disturbed a Gould’s, or northern sand monitor on the side of the road. It was not worried, plodding along, the tail swaying from side to side, tongue flicking. It was a dusty fawn with faint spots, bands on tail. It wandered off the road, up a bank and posed for anyone who wanted a photo.
Further on we walked a very attractive track. Mallee–sized paperbarks, clumpy banksias, grass trees, with their wiry skirts and spears. Amongst the grass were blue lobelias, as Ben called them, tiny yellow daisies and other minute white flowers. In some places, there were large areas of blue, yellow, dotted whites. It was entrancing. There were Jacky Winters skittering from tree to tree, white glints on their tails, their calls a pure, distinct, whistle. White–throated gerygones sighed their descending scales.
We came to Low Lake, a swamp, covered in white, pink waterlilies, scattered clumps of rushes. We were a bit put out that there was a busload of people spoiling the view. The Grey Brigade was on the march! There were pairs of green pygmy geese sailing, jacanas, with their red combs, racing over the lily pads, a hobby doing aerial acrobatics, a pair of whistling kites, circling. An occasional great egret. We also saw a very early, or late dollarbird.
We walked a short distance, disturbing a wandering whistle duck who was trying to attract our attention away from his family. Leaden flycatchers called weakly. I thought their accent very weak and tinny compared to the ones around Cairns, but I thought the plumage was brighter. I was shouted down, an azure kingfisher posed for us. Mark and Sue practised photography, Ben helping, as all good guides should.
Around a bend paperbarks were flowering. Small honeyeaters buzzed about. Eventually one stayed still enough for me, the others already had good looks, they were Rufous–banded honeyeaters. None of the lagoons we came upon had much in the way of waterfowl. I guess there was too much water lying around out west or up on the Gulf.
Coming back to the car Sue heard a fan–tailed cuckoo. We weren’t sure, I don’t know why. We began looking for it. Sue found it hiding behind a Casuarina. We saw it had a yellow eye–ring. A white–throated gerygone called. Almost immediately Ben caught it. A great little bird, bright yellow front, white throat, another newy for Sue.
On one of the side tracks we came upon a splendid frill–necked lizard. It shot up a tree beside our vehicle and clung to the tree trunk at about eye level. It wasn’t particularly put out. It’s eyes swivelled continuously trying to watch everyone with their cameras. Finally it couldn’t stand the suspense and disappeared further up the trunk.
We called into Lotus Lodge and met Garry and Sue, the owners. They showed us how high the flood came. All the chalets and the main building were built off the ground and yet the water still flowed over the high veranda and more than half way up the chalets. They were saying that there’s still bits of furniture and other odds and ends out in the lagoon. We saw their juvenile black–necked stork, which they had raised, standing like a dark woolly toy. Over from it a large wild boar snuffled at the lagoon’s edge. We met two black–backed butcherbirds, which came and sat on the veranda railing. Had a look at Garry’s menu, mouth watering, the recipes looked scrumptious.
Had lunch at a wide creek, no freshwater crocodiles. Pleasant in the shade, hot and still in the sun. A midday hush. Only a few yellow orioles, graceful honeyeaters and large–billed gerygones were seen or heard. A whistling kite flapped off.
We saw an emu, only one for the trip, cross the road and skedaddle through the trees. Suddenly the trees stopped. Ahead by grassy plains with battalions of termite mound of all shapes, sizes and colours, a few scattered stunted trees. This was the Nifold Plain, disappearing over the horizon. Sue photographed a group of termite mounds resembling a city of pale buttermilk pastels, dark clouds behind. At one spot Ben stopped and pointed out an exquisite diamond dove. It was well marked, the red eye against the dark grey, was to me breathtaking. A brown falcon was seen, the rufous morph, as Mark pointed out. As we neared the Star–finch waterhole Livingstonia palms appeared and the bulbous trunked corypha palms. The waterhole itself was lined with huge paperbarks and some acacias. It was that full just before sunset. Bar–shoulderd doves quietly padded the water’s edge.
Walking to the other end of the waterhole where there were stunted melaleucas, a lot dead, their branches stark against the sky. Standing, still listening to rufous–banded honeyeaters and doves Ben said that Star–finches were coming in. Suddenly one appeared right in front of me. I saw its shape outlined, but before I could focus on it, it had gone. We went to the edge of the grass fields. In bushes I had glimpses of red face and white spots. Double–barred finches nervously moved about.
It was late evening when we got back to the vehicle. While Ben got our meal ready we watched the sun sinking. Termite mounds loomed darkly, against a grey horizon. Inky clouds enveloped the sky. Crickets chirped and mosquitos hummed. We sat in easy chairs, had a few beers and a great meal.
Going back to Musgrave we spotlighted. Slowly driving, the beams of the spotlights outlining sudden termite mounds appearing out of nowhere. Sue got the most termite mounds. A white shape, flying, caught our attention. It was a Barn owl with a mouse. It flew over and behind us. Further on, another Barn owl perched on a distant mound. Then Ben’s light picked up eye–shine in a gully beside the track, there was more eye–shine to the right. Ben was thinking nightjars. We got out and walked cautiously toward whatever it was. What it turned out to be was spiders. Do spiders have a sense of humour? Another Barn owl was seen before we entered the treeline.
We stopped at a causeway, still no freshwater crocodiles, were they all swept away by the floods? We spotlighted a very bewildered juvenile Nankeen night heron. It crashed around in some branches but managed to remain upright.
Sue was in front, spotlighting trees with great abandon. Then she got a lovely Boobook owl right beside us, staring at us through its spectacles, the white lines surrounding the dark eyes. Next was a red–eyed Papuan frogmouth, followed quickly by a Tawny frogmouth. There then followed six more Boobook owls. One on the road refused to move, daring us to run over him, only flying when we were almost on it. I’ve never seen as many in a night. We got to Musgrave about 9.30 pm. Battled bravely once more with brawny road workers.
Rose early listening to babbling road workers and revving engines. We headed for Coen where we stopped for petrol. It was full of 4WDs with gabbling, gossiping Grey Brigades. I shouldn’t sling off, as I suddenly realised I was one of them. There was a great roaring and a gang of motorcyclists thundered into town. They had been up the Cape and were returning to Cairns. They strutted round in leather gear, turned out ok once you got talking to them. They had their own cooks and mechanics looking after them.
Leaving the bedlam of Coen we saw Pied currawongs flying off, this may be near the end of their range. We reached Archer River where we had great burgers. While waiting we watched a huge orchard swallowtail gyrating round an orange–red ixoria. It seemed to be larger than the male yellow–bellied sunbird that was feeding on the same bush. Also the Chocolate argus again. Sue had seen it somewhere the day before and looked it up in “Butterflies of Australia”. A few red–banded jezebels were also seen.
We came to the Wenlock River. Here Mark and Sue bravely waded the swift flowing stream, the water rising above or below their knees, taking photos as Ben drove across. I lounged in the back as a true member of the Grey Brigade should.
At the Pascoe River soon after, we stopped for some birding. Fern–leaved grevilleas with orange clusters were flowering profusely. We noticed some honeyeaters, which turned out to be white–streaked honeyeaters, the feathers under the chin give the streaked effect. We also had good looks at silver–crowned friarbirds.
The next stop was Mt Tozer, a rough–hewn peak looming over attractive heath country. Banksias, an acacia with minute yellow flowers, a Jacksonia with small pinkish white flowers. Another, small plant, oval leaves with tiny pale–white blossoms, and dwarfed leptospermums or ti–trees. No sound, only the sighing wind, and a very occasional bird call. A kestrel hovered over a far distant ridge.
Beyond Mt Tozer we began to look for pitcher plants. At one spot Ben pointed to a group of reddish sundews on some boggy ground. We stopped by a small creek. Some plants with elongated leaves were beside the road. Looking hard we made out the pitchers, quite large. I looked down one, seeing some fluid, stuck my finger in. When I pulled it out it was much smaller and thinner. No it wasn’t! Photos were taken.
The road in was very rough, but due to Ben’s great driving we had no trouble. Suddenly we were in the rainforest. We noticed that Cyclone Monica had done considerable damage, the rainforest was opened up a great deal. Stopping, for a moment in late afternoon shadows, we noticed a large bird land on a tree trunk close by. A magnificent riflebird, young male/female. It tore at some bark, flew to another tree and disappeared into the foliage. Another quick movement and a white–faced robin appeared, like a small clown on the side of a tree trunk. It was getting dark so we had to move on. We got into Portland Roads at around 7 pm. Had a great meal, salmon I believe, and went to bed. I got entangled in the mosquito net, nearly choked me at one stage. It tried to get rid of one of my legs, but I found it after a while.
The house was a fresh, breezy place, full of open shutters and doors. We all had a room to ourselves with, of course, mosquito nets. A large comfortable living room with easy chairs to relax in, also had the cooking area incorporated into one section of it. There was electricity and gas, a composting toilet and a shower. The garden was full of frangipanis, poincianas, and the feather pompoms of callistemons. Across the road were coconut palms, the beach, and anchored trawlers. Wonderful.
There were varied honeyeaters at the blossoms, dusky and yellow–spotted honeyeaters called. Varied trillers trilled, also a Noisy pitta behind the house. Every morning the Marshall’s form of the double–eyed fig parrots came through. Occasionally a Mistletoe bird. Once a female, immature, magnificent riflebird. Sacred kingfishers, perched for hours, yellow orioles gurgled. The house guardians, large billed gerygones were ever present.
Out front, every morning, trawlers came to drop their anchors. They were always surrounded by Lesser and Greater frigate birds swooping and gliding and Brown boobies. A few Crested terns and Silver gulls rested on the rigging. Dolphins gambolled, feeding on small fry tossed over the side. Mark had many happy hours here studying plumage differences between male/female frigate birds of both species, and juveniles.
We left at 7 am, a long birding day ahead of us. Passing the vine scrub and the calls of collared kingfishers and rose–crowned fruit doves, we headed out into open scrubland. Ben heard a loud downward chatter, wasn’t sure that it might be a rufous–breasted cuckoo. The call came from trees to the right of the road. Not getting a sighting we walked through grass towards it. It called again, just in front. Tensely we searched, then relaxed, when on a dead tree we saw two forest kingfishers. The ups and downs of birding.
Further on, still open country, we came to a halt. Sue pointed out her window to the left. We piled out. On a broken dead tree, there was perched, in plain view, a “Palm Cockatoo!” we cried! It was a huge ragged–crested, red faced, silver–beaked, black cockatoo. Marvellous bird. For a moment it eyed us quizzically, then lazily flapped away.
At the first Gordon crossing, I think, we stopped. Ben wandered up the road. After a moment he suggested we should come and look at a small energetic bird, frisking round in some low trees and shrubbery by the track. At first I couldn’t get good views. I got yellowish underparts, greyish with bare eye ring. Eventually made out the bill, short and slightly downcurved. The bird was not acting like a honeyeater but a gerygone. Ben said “Green–backed honeyeater!” A very tricky bird to get so well and as close. We watched it gleaning insects, fluttering, uttering faint whispers of song. A relief to have seen and got it out of the way. We had two more sightings of these honeyeaters in the next day or so.
We entered the cool, green avenue of rainforest. We heard rustling, a movement high on the left. A dark, swishing shape flew on to a tree and began tearing into some rubbish. It was a male magnificent riflebird. As he moved we would get brilliant flashes of green, blue, purple of his throat or gorget, and see his side plumes. He flew low over our heads, his plumes sounding like silk. Sue said more that taffeta, so taffeta it is. He fed on a low hanging branch, his colours changing constantly. We could see the double bars below his blue, green gorget changing all the time. The greens on the head were hardly noticed, or the tail. (The next day we saw another male high up. At one stage when he moved, Ben and I were blinded for a second by a dazzling flash as the light caught its throat. I don’t know whether Sue or Mark got it.)
Who saw it first, I didn’t. Ben probably. He quietly pointed to the right of the road saying “Noisy pitta!” We must have disturbed it. Ben got his scope onto it. There looking calmly at us was this beautiful black–throated, buff–breasted, greenish–backed, chestnut–crowned bird shamelessly flirting its red underpants. It stood still, perched on a log just inside the forest. Sue was beside herself, hard to do. Mark was able to catch up and had great looks. It flicked off, giving another quick look, then was gone. I have a pair of underpants that colour, the difference is I don’t show them.
(Mark had got up this morning with a bad back and wasn’t coming. After breakfast it seemed to ease, and he came, taking things very carefully. We were all glad that he could make it each day.)
A couple of cars sped by, causing something high and unseen to start screeching. We tottered around in the middle of the road, binoculars up, vainly searching the treetops. Ben went further down the road with his scope. After some searching he softly said, “I’ve got a male red–cheeked parrot!” We all looked through the scope. There, in the sunlight, was a short–tailed, vivid green, rosy–red, faced parrot with a blue–violet crown. My best ever view of a male red–cheeked parrot, quite breathtaking.
Next from the lofty treetops came the call of a white–eared monarch, always a fairly hard bird to get around Cairns. Ben played the tape and it wasn’t long before we had one overhead feeding on the outermost foliage. It gave splendid views as it fluttered around the edge of the towering trees. Its black–and–white plumage very showy. It gave its “chuck–chuck” continually.
A gleaming yellow, black and white yellow–breasted boatbill gave great views. The only good view for me of the trip. Fairy gerygones, the males with white moustaches, very black throats, foraged through the forest twittering gently. Grey whistlers, unseen most of the time, whistled sadly. Occasionally a nondescript individual appeared. Little shrikes–thrushes were common, gleaning insects from ground level to mid–storey. Tropical scrub wrens scolded and chattered, ahead of us, along a creek bank showing white tips on darkish wings, yellowish–buffish underparts, red eye if you get a good look. We watched acrobatic long–tailed, black–and–white frill–necked monarchs with blue rings round the eyes, jigging and jagging up tree trunks, hopping along branches, hanging underneath, then flying to the next tree or branch, uttering metallic little calls. White–faced robins, fossicked on the road, quietly appearing and disappearing. Spectacled monarchs excitedly squabbled.
We came to camping spot for lunch. Across from us were fruiting trees. Another male riflebird was seen. Another large black bird a manucode was seen briefly, not a very good view. It had a rounded tail. We heard their loud trumpet calls occasionally over the following days. They didn’t seem to be very common at all. We had great views of tawny–breasted honeyeaters, a dull version of the Macleay honeyeater we see around Cairns. Its voice was an amateurish effort of the Macleay’s. They were often heard and seen over the following three days. Graceful honeyeaters ticked, yellow–spotted honeyeaters loudly proclaimed their presence.
Our next stop was the nesting tree of the Eclectus parrot. Cyclone Monica had caused a lot of damage around the tree and on the track in. If the parrots had been present we would have heard them. The tree was still impressive, towering above the surrounding trees. We noticed a hole with beak marks, up on one of the branches. It looked as if the parrots had left for a short while at least. The metallic starlings also had not returned. It was a silent, despondent tree. It is not a fig tree. The Friths talk about Eclectus parrots nesting in giant swamp mahoganies. I’ll plump for that.
Coming home, late in the evening, we came to a shadowy patch of tall trees and scrub on a corner of the road. We heard the grating sharp squawks of palm cockatoos from the other side of the trees, and a few calls of Eclectus parrots. We walked up and down the road, getting brief movements of shapes. Ben dived into the scrub and silently crashed around. At last he called us in. As we barged in, trying to make as little noise as possible, the birds couldn’t have failed to hear us. We came to an open space and saw an inquisitive head of a palm cockatoo peering at us. Then it flew, a black shape. The Eclectus had stopped calling. Just around the corner a yellow–billed kingfisher trilled us a very good evening.
That night we relaxed to good food, wine, finishing with a port, as all good birders do. The battle with the mosquito net began. I saw a gap and made a dive for it. Before I knew what had happened, the gap had closed and both my arms were locked behind me with the net loosely draped over me. I fell asleep amongst its folds.
Sue and Mark were out early and walked up to the end jetty where they saw a black–naped tern, swooping over the sea. At one stage a shoal of small fish erupted over the water, it was diving on them. Both species of frigate birds sailed on the air currents. I was with them by this time. A pair of eastern reef herons flew into the beach, I thought they were striated herons. Such is life.
Once more past the mangroves into the open scrubland. Again, out on the left on a dead tree, were not one, but two charcoal–grey, blushing, shaggy plumed palm cockatoos. They were bowing and bobbing to each other. At one stage, the one on the right, I thought picked something up. One flew towards us, then a third appeared from nowhere. They didn’t come any closer. They disappeared, sweeping blackly, their huge hooked bills outlined against the sky.
We stopped at the first or second Gordon crossings. Wandering up the road, nothing much happening, so we slowly returned. Ben heard, what he thought, was the start of a Northern scrub robin. I agreed with him. Then Ben had second thoughts, the call seemed to be building up, then hit a crescendo of high trills. It was coming from trees right beside us. Another called a bit further away. Ben raced for his tape. We were in the presence of two, maybe three, Chestnut–breasted cuckoos. It didn’t take long before we had one in the scope, just above our heads. A rich chestnut from bill to tail, a deep grey back, yellow eye–ring. It sat absolutely still, then winked off to another branch. We found another close handy, and a third in the background. Exceptional viewing.
At the same spot, but on the other side of the track, Ben was tracking another frisky small flycatcher–like bird, darting amongst the leaves. It had a pale yellow wash on the underparts, gradually merging to white on the throat, the back grey going to deeper grey. Suddenly I was looking at very yellow legs, bright yellow legs of a Yellow–legged flycatcher. Mark, Sue and Ben had seen the legs before I realised what they were. I mean I knew they were legs, but not what the birds were. This was an amazing stop.
The next stop was a good spot for Northern scrub robins. Ben got out the scope, or did he? I know he had the tape. We moved silently into the jungle patch and came to a stop at a spot that had a clear view in front. There were lots of twisting, twining creepers, slim trees, so you think everyone would be able to see it moving at least.
Ben played the tape, turned it off, listened, and played it again. “I can see it straight in front,” he whispered, when the bird answered. Sue was on my left, Mark, a bit further back, on my right, started to imagine things. “Look there it goes, I got the black face markings!” Excited chatter from Mark. What the bloody hell were they on about, I saw nothing, not even a leaf moved. Sue exclaimed “Oh! There it is on that sloping branch, isn’t it lovely!” No it bloody well wasn’t. I saw the sloping branch, nothing else. Then it had gone. I had seen absolutely nothing move except twining, twisting creepers. We followed it when it doubled back, Ben played the tape, but it only answered from deep cover. We had no chance. A curse on all Northern scrub robins.
We stopped at the Claudie River and had Ben’s excellent lunch. Sitting comfortably in our fold up chairs, sighing happily, becoming hypnotised by the sound of the Claudie flowing by.
Before this we had walked along the road, and came to a clearing. Ben told us to stay here while he went back for the vehicle. While he was away we watched Spectacle monarchs, scrambling and dashing about. A White–eared monarch was present. Walking down the road we noticed a White–eared monarch busily doing something on a branch, with spreading dead smaller branches. We saw something like a nest. The next moment two White–eared monarchs were bringing in material. One got in the nest and wriggled around very suggestively. We watched, as they came in, to see what material it was on the outside of the nest. At first moss and lichen were mentioned, then spider webs, or cocoons of some kind, or some plant fibre. Still don’t know. We met another couple who had discovered it the day before.
We then drove to Lockhart Mission. Got some drinks, and drove to Quintel Beach. A jetty jutted out into the white–capped ocean. A few boulders lay idly around. The sun was hot, Mark and I inspected the local toilet, didn’t dwell there long. A long barren beach stretched to nothingness. Four bemused pacific golden plovers were wondering what to do next. We went to an attractive water storage dam, for the local vegetable garden. Rufous whistlers called, some white–bellied cuckoo shrikes thrashed around, and a pair of green pygmy geese patrolled.
We headed back to the Cook’s hut camping area, arriving about 3.30. Did a short walk to a creek, seeing a male Shining flycatcher, an Azure kingfisher. We then went back to the main road, following Ben, who was playing a tape of the Yellow–billed kingfisher. We started out with great confidence. But as time went by we began to falter, despondency set in, waves of it. There were a few desultory calls, none actually answering the tape. We lost our concentration. We walked the road with dragging feet, our backs bent with loads of despair. Ben’s cheery voice took on a forlorn, hang–dogged expression. “I’ll try the tape one more time,” he said. Instantly, he shouted “I’ve got it, it’s just flown across the road, it’s on a bare branch right in front, I’ve got the scope on it!” Oh! Joy beyond understanding! Gaily we tripped down the road to the scope, or in Mark’s case he never shuffled so fast. There on the branch was perched a Yellow–billed kingfisher, with an insect in its bright yellow bill. We noticed the black spot on the nape, showing against the rich rufous–buff of the head. Mark made out some black on the crown, hence a female. It looked at us with blackened eyes. It also, unfortunately, had a metal band on its leg.
Ben took us for a ramble through the creeper–entwined forest, looking for marbled frogmouths, which often roost close to the ground. Aimlessly we walked. And it was with relief that we eventually decided to go back to the road. The sun was lowering itself and shadows were stretching.
We were standing, sweeping the jungle with our binoculars, when we heard two white–faced robins going hammer and tongs. We walked back to the commotion, to find the robins low down, flying backwards and forwards over something on the ground. We thought of marbled frogmouths. Sue, who has very sharp eyes, thought she saw the shape of a frogmouth, but changed her mind. A few seconds went by, and then she softly said, “I’ve got two Nightjars!” After some hard looking we saw these marvellous Large–tailed nightjars on a moss–encrusted log, on the ground, right beside the road. Perfect camouflage.
As dusk came on, the light almost gone, Ben got out the spotlight. Abruptly through the peace, people started chopping wood. There was a “chop, chop” close by, and a “chop, chop” just up the road, in fact people were chopping all up and down the road. The nightjars were astir. The stars were peeking out. Ben turned on the spotlight and we watched the nightjars dipping, wheeling and weaving up and down the road. One perched on a dead branch for a second or two, enabling us good viewing. In the cool evening a breeze rustled. It was enthralling.
A strange, gobbling, bubbling descending call echoed up the road and from the forest around. Ben played the tape, and for some time we happily bubbled and gurgled to each other. Two or three times, the frogmouths came to the tape. Although they were close to us, and we looked hard, we had no luck. These birds usually gave a series of deep throaty “Gurroks”. Ben said we would have to enter the forest to track them down. So he and Sue, who had a small headlamp, strode into the forest. I tried to follow, but couldn’t keep up, having left the torch with Mark. In the pitch dark, for a few minutes. I became entangled, but desperation prevailed and I made the road. Far away, well not that far, Mark and I heard shouts and voices mumbling, and watched spotlights splashing the darkness. This went on for some time. I thought a voice called “John!” Didn’t take any notice. More lights wavering about, more voices. Then a louder “John!” I grabbed the torch and fought my way towards them. Getting close I asked whether it was still there, only to be told that it had just flown. Apparently they were unsure in which direction the road lay, having lost sense of direction in the chase for the frogmouth. Five minutes later, not even that, we were back on the road. The main thing was Sue had got her marbled frogmouth.
That evening more wine, good food, and jollity. My tussle with the mosquito net continued. This time I got my legs inside but the rest of me remained outside on the pillow. When I woke in the morning, my head was at the other end of the bed, with me still attached, thankfully. I hate to think what the mosquito net was doing to me while I was asleep.
After breakfast, we went for a walk to the mangroves. There were trees scattered among low scrub and curling vines. In one tree Ben saw a movement trained his scope his scope on a branch. When we looked we saw a Rose–crowned fruit dove. It fled to another branch. Then disappeared. I heard one call every morning from the end of the mangroves by the beach. Going into the mosquito–midge infested mangroves, following a path through writhing roots, we stood in a haze of mosquitoes, listening to mangrove robins. We whistled, they sort of answered, but they didn’t come any closer. We heard Shining flycatchers calling and had several views of them. We heard and saw a Little kingfisher zip by.
Coming out again we heard loud raucous calls. Three Eclectus parrots flew over, the one in front was a female. We never saw any Eclectus perched, or I can’t remember them. Had a few views of males flying. We passed two clumps of, I think, golden orchids, flowering profusely. We waded raging creeks, a slight exaggeration. Large–billed gerygones were common, Bar–shouldered doves erupted, Peaceful doves padded importantly about. An old Fawn–breasted bowerbirds bower was found, hardly recognisable. Coming back we saw a brilliant purple–blue butterfly flashing the sunlight. It was a Shining Oak–blue. A small Grass yellow flew amongst vines. We came to a web that had tiny silver spiders attached to it. Not parasites, they feed off the leftovers of the much larger spider. The others got a White–browed robin while I was looking for the bowerbird’s bower. On the way back, out on the road we came upon a pair of Lovely fairy wrens in the lantana. The female, the bluest of all the fairy wren species, being very conspicuous. The male looks like a male variegated wren, perhaps the white flashes on the tail being one difference.
Back home for a brunch of bacon, eggs and baked beans. Finishing the main meal I was asked if I could finish what was left in the saucepan. I said yes, but was shocked at the amount left. By the time I had finished I was in a very delicate condition. The rest of the day I moved very, very slowly.
Just after midday Sue, Mark and I returned to the mangroves. Didn’t go as far as the creek. Sue and I once more entered the twilight of the mangroves, Mark stayed outside. Again heard the little kingfisher, Sue saw it. The mangrove robins were heard, still no closer. Yellow orioles called, but it was the midday hush. Shining flycatcher murmured, but really it was siesta time.
I left Sue and went back outside. I watched a skink on the hunt, dashing amongst the dried leaves, scooting under twigs, keeping his beady eyes on me. Found a gasteracantha or spiny spider in a web and watched dragonflies, resembling Tiger Moth planes scudding about, black and yellow markings. A black, blue–spotted blue tiger fluttered by.
After another snack we drove out to Chilli Beach. The road was none too good, deep ruts and gullies, but firm. Slow going. Then we came to a very worrying patch, the ruts and gullies full of water. Ben cogitated for a moment, then told us to hang on. We plunged in, the water cascading over us. Fortunately, again, the ground underneath was firm. Coming back from the beach we met another 4WD, towing a boat. Ben stopped, the other stopped. Ben told the other to slowly come on, he would get on the side. The other came on and it looked, from the back seat, as if he was going to hit us. But no, he drew up beside us, had a short talk, and splashed onward. Good driving by Ben, well he was a good driver every day.
Chilli Beach was lined by swaying, rustling coconut palms loaded with nuts. Fallen coconuts and leaves lay below, almost knee–deep. The beach swept south into a misty blueness of headlands. Out front were rocky islets, vegetation clinging to some. Restoration Island bulked grandly at the northern end. People were dotted about, some with fishing nets, a pair boating, another pair in easy chairs, reading steadily. We strode the beach. A pair of immaculate gull–billed terns swept smoothly by. An eastern reef heron minced along the water’s edge, wavelets breaking round its legs. Two to three little egrets passed by. Wait a minute! The last one had bright yellow feet. It was very noticeable. Mark said it was the Asian race. The ones with black feet go as far as Indonesia.
Small boulders hunched the ocean in scattered groups. A few Red–necked stints whisked off, others raced over the sand on twinkling legs. A lone Greater sand plover jabbed at seaweed. A few Red–capped plovers bobbed by small lakelets. Up the northern end Sue drew our attention, how does she do it? to a pair of perfectly camouflaged Beach stone curlews. Back from the beach we saw a Frill–necked monarch, going up and down trees, gently “tchuking” to itself.
Late afternoon, heading home, open wooded country, grass trees, acacias, tall eucalypts, we stopped to spend a bit of time with another Frill–necked lizard. It was sunbaking on some rocks, surveying us calmly, but nevertheless alert. Sue, Mark and Ben took photos. Then Sue pointed out, just below the lizard, a large, juicy, very plump, brown praying mantis swaying gently in the grass. If it didn’t move from its close proximity to the lizard it might soon be a scrumptious meal.
We heard a White–browed robin and Ben, naturally played the tape. The next second a pert, brownish, white flanked, white–browed robin with cocked tail was dancing round in a nearby tree. Now and again lifting its wings.
Further on a Fawn–breasted bowerbird was heard close to the road. We stopped, got out, listening to its repertoire. All sorts of cackles, churrs, gruerks, and chuckles plus some mimicry of local birds. We thought, at first, that it was up in the trees, but gradually we found ourselves lowering our binoculars at the shrubbery. Ben wanted to get a fresh bower as all the others were damaged. So we dived in amongst the termite mounds, the grass skirted grass trees, swaying acacias, banksias. Ben scouted ahead and it wasn’t long before he had found it. An avenue of twigs with a platform at both ends, green fruit, like olives as decoration. The bird had flown, but Ben thought it would be back.
Standing back in the shadows, listening to the breeze through the leaves, the calls of Yellow–spotted honeyeaters and White–browed robins were sharp and loud. A movement at the top of the eucalypt, a largish bird was descending. Before we knew it, there it was, hopping round the bower. First at the far end, where it appeared he was rearranging some twigs in the avenue. Then round to our end where he hopped on to the platform, adding some fresh green fruit to the platform, getting rid of the rotten grotty ones. He hopped around the clearing churring and cackling, moving objects or tossing leaves out of the way. I got the fawn breast, white–streaked throat, white–tipped scalloped back. It knew we were there, the black eyes looked directly at us. As the darkness deepened we left, crashing furtively.
This night was the final. Fruit–sucking moths clustered, green moths mimicked out of place leaves. Geckoes barked. One hid cunningly under a poster on the wall, you would see its head poking out. Sue called me over to point out a wasp that looked like an ant. I said it was an ant. With that the ant took umbrage and flew off. It was a wasp. We drank and ate long into the night. The mosquito net collapsed gently all over me, I went to sleep hugging it.
The final morning found Sue, Ben and myself going back to the bower. Ben came back for some photos. Before long the bird appeared hopping round on those strong legs, moving his olives, adding fresh ones, getting rid of the old, energetically tossing a leaf away. He became displeased at our intrusion, flying up somewhere behind us, swearing at us. This continued until we left. I had better views of his rufous–fawn abdomen, the striations way down his breast. I saw striations on the head also, or cheeks. A wonderful bird. On the way home near the mangroves, we heard the loud calls of collared kingfishers. We left at about 11:00am after packing.
We stopped for a sandwich lunch at the Gordon Creek camping ground. Still no manucode. We looked for white–eared monarchs, not very good views of nest or birds. While at the Gordon Creek clearing Brian Venables pulled in, with Johnathon, an English birder and a Dutch girl named Ava, who we couldn’t help noticing. Very attractive.
Further along we heard the northern scrub robin, my nemesis. Again an open patch, I followed Ben up a bank. Ben saw it moving, I saw some very interesting trees and vines. Sue joined me. It called now and again. Eventually we went back to the road, and Ben took us down the road to a place where there was no scrub robins calling, even when he played the tape. The one we left was in full voice calling “John! John! Where are you?”
We raced back and this bird was just off the road, apparently before a rotten black log. It called persistently and although we searched again and again we couldn’t see the flaming thing. It moved along the bank. It was seen by Ben, and I think Mark, not sure about Sue. It stopped higher up the bank. Ben got it in the scope. Mark saw it. I dived in, thinking it would be easy. All I saw were leaves, leaves, rushes, grass, a thin tree, but where was this misbegotten bird, it simply wasn’t in the scope. Sue took a look and couldn’t find it. Mark saw it in the same place, “down on the left”, he said. So I looked again, only to see a shape dash off.
While I lay on the ground, moaning and groaning, Ben saw it fly across the road. We crashed after it wrenching vines and trees out of our way. Ben playing the tape every so often. It was calling so close, low down in front. I was in a nervous tension state, swearing softly to myself. Getting excellent views of intricately patterned leaves, moss, fungus, mouldy branches, etc.
Ben called, “There it goes!” I turned round to see a streak with two legs and a straight tail. What the hell was happening? It started to call again. Sue, Mark and I ended up back on the road. Ben decided to have one last try and went back in to drive it into the open. A moment’s silence, then Ben crashing around. We were, or I was, on tenterhooks. A movement, then another, and there in the open was a perfect view of a northern scrub robin, reddish–brown, black mark on face, white lines on darker wings, faint buffish breast. The relief for me was unimaginable. I was treading on air, I was flying. What a way to end the Iron Range trip. Well it wasn’t exactly the end. We met a couple of birders we’d been meeting off and on for the last few days. They were standing on a bridge, peering up into a thin foliaged tree. We asked what they were looking at. “A male red–cheeked parrot!” they replied. There in the tree was another beautiful view of a hard to get bird.
Ben dropped us off at the Lockhart airport and left, he had to drive home to Cairns. The flight home was looking down on reefs and islands, slender beaches, forest–coated mountains, smoking fires and clouds. Then the lights of Cairns and home.
I shall remember Sue for her sharpness in the field, her soft laugh and infectious giggle, Mark’s friendship and endless sermons on plumage markings and Ben’s overall guidance, a cheery presence. Ben’s a great cook, leader and guide. I cannot fault him.
John Crowhurst.
Chestnut-breasted Cuckoo
Marbled Frogmouth
Red Goshawk
Palm Cockatoo
Eclectus Parrot
Yellow-billed Kingfisher
Spotted Whistling Ducks
