Bird

 

Here at Wye River time may include birdwatching on the iPhone. ‘Superb blue wren’ opens the list in Notes, keeping in mind at all times the female, who is more superb brown wren. They bob up from the bracken below, in hope of seed. How they move from place to place in seconds is an optical marvel, ditto how they land on a railing from the decking in a trice. Not surprisingly, soon to show up amidst the tall timber of the steep slope is Item: ‘Sulphur-crested cockatoo’. Several in fact, they glide in packs, cocking their headdress towards an eighth of apple, or the vicinity in general in proprietorial air. Their stride is wide, but they’ll POQ if there’s a better offer up the valley. Pleasingly, ‘Kookaburra’ can be added to the list, usually heard before seen but this time silent swooping to the decking from powerlines. They grab a curl of orange peel and bash it against the timber like a snake, before seeing it’s not what they thought it was. Their bearing is calm, superior. They bide their time, as you do when in charge. Likewise disposed is ‘Magpie’, glancing from side to side, smart as. Today is thin pickings in wintry Wye, what with the residents up in Town or staying inside out of the cold. Exit with a brief warble, back another day. Happily the name ‘King parrot’ is added to the list in the iPhone, as they descend brightly in greens and reds from the forests of the hinterland. Shyer when young, they hold back from taking strawberry tops from our hands. Gathering about the decking table they bicker one another for a choice slice. If the day is sunny we walk down to the store and the beach: ‘Seagull’. On the way downhill the restored gardens of native coastal bushes twitch with, quick note in Notes: ‘Firetail’. Maybe a dozen of them darting up the ladders of banksias. At the river itself construction is underway on a new bridge, hence the stop-start of one lane traffic and grind of truck machinery grating against the familiar regularity of the surf waves. ‘Heron’ keeps its distance upriver amidst bulrushes and overhang. Birds that could only be ‘Cormorant’ grace the outlines of branch and reef. After chai at the store and inspection of the beach, time may include walking the long way home with the reassuring, some would say inevitable, appearance in air-bending numbers of: ‘Crimson rosella’. Headlong they weave between eucalypts, screech with what we always assume is happiness, to land up at the decking later in time for the funtime morsels. Then, when least expected, the moment: ‘Satin bowerbird’. Mrs Green more commonly than Mr Blue, but all the same we report the news back down the line in a soft voice. Shy as, but watching all the time, they reconnoitre just outside the edges of vision, grabbing the grape under the radar. The iPhone list includes sightings passed on to the scribe. For example, “one that seemed to have a beard,” which flipping through The Slater Field Guide to Australian Birds’ (Revised and update edition) we adduce to be a New Holland Honeyeater. “One with a yellow belly” requires more information, though on subsequent walks we conclude, after several sightings, it was ‘Wattlebird’. “A grey bird with a very long neck” is noted for future reference, and good luck with that! “A bird with a beak that goes chisssssssss” is recorded, the sound there described in the air by our reporter as protruding some distance from the head. Sightings later confirm it is: ‘Egret’. ‘Duck’ is another river bird, duly noted. Night follows day like some great &c. Variations on these sightings displace the notion of repetition, birdland being cyclic. Still, reports drift in for the iPhone: “A great seabird that is all black and bulbous and follows the line where the sand meets the ocean.” Over a fresh pot of chai we agree: ‘Great cormorant’. Sent from my iPhone.