In celebration of wattle

In June and July when the days are short and the air has a frosty bite, the Blue Mountains bush erupts in a spectacle of golden yellow sprinkled through the understorey like splashes of sunshine.

Treecreeper feeding on Xanthorrhoea nectar

White-throated Treecreeper, Cormobates leucophaea. Click to enlarge.

Last weekend (6th August) I visited Booderee National Park, one of the most beautiful and unspoilt parts of the NSW south coast. Long straight flower spikes had shot up like spears from the grass-trees (Xanthorrhoea sp.) and tiny star-like flowers were opening to form a delicate white mantle on their surface. These flowers are highly attractive to nectar-feeding birds and insects; on this occasion it was mostly Yellow-faced Honeyeaters and Silvereyes converging on them.

Winter musings

Have you noticed birds singing in the past couple of weeks?  21st June was the solstice — the shortest day of the year if you’re south of the Tropic of Capricorn, and a significant time in nature. The shift from days getting shorter to days getting longer triggers certain changes in animals and plants. For some Australian birds, nesting behaviour begins soon after the winter solstice. Birds that didn’t migrate may already be re-establishing their territory and this means an increase in birdsong (territorial singing as opposed to the generally shorter calls). Some birds start building their first nest of the season, heralding the frenzy of breeding activity that lies ahead. Others are still in their wintering grounds.

High flying honeyeater

A silvery fluting drifts across the heath and enters your consciousness like fragments of a half-remembered dream. You listen harder but the fragments escape. The notes waft about, coming and going. You scan the surrounding shrubs but there’s no knowing which way the sound comes from.

In the dead of winter, the forest is full of life

Grey Fantail

Scarlet Robin (female)

Yellow-rumped Thornbill

Weebill, Australia’s smallest bird

The woodland was silent. Frost clung to earth and grass stems in every patch of shade not yet touched by the sun’s rays. My fingers felt like blocks of ice, only less useful; I was wishing I’d remembered to wear gloves. I shoved my hands in my coat pockets with my notebook, pen and phone. These three items, along with the binoculars around my neck, are the tools I use to carry out bird surveys (the phone mostly for its timer, as these surveys are strictly 20 minutes duration).