Dingos caught unawares

Almost bumped into this dingo (Canis lupus dingo) on a track near the rainforest pools today. She and another larger dingo were standing rock-still and staring intently into some guinea grass and lantana.

They were so fixed on their unknown target I was able to stop the none-too-silent pushbike and grab a couple of pictures without being noticed. Tried to get closer and off they slipped, away from the spot they'd been eyeing so intently and into a handy grove beside the track.

Seconds later, up flew a Pheasant Coucal from the target area. Wouldn't have been much of a breakfast, but it may have had a lucky escape. It didn't stop to thank me.

Not a common sight in and around Tyto, dingos come and go. It's not so unusual to catch them unawares on occasion in less populated places, but I've never come upon two dingos so engrossed and motionless before.

And this on a track used by licit and illicit pig hunters (whose attitudes to protected dingos might not be kindly, to say the least).

In general I've little time for 'sport' hunting and hunters. If I added to the dingos' wariness of humans in today's short encounter I'm happy to have helped their survival.

Robins bob up - BBs bounce back

Juvenile White-browed Robin (Poecilodryas superciliosa) on a branch near the lookout knoll at Tyto, no more than 50 metres from a nest site that I watched off and on early in October.

This young bird and another fledged not long after my crawl over green ants in pursuit of a Long-tailed Nightjar. From the day before they left the nest till three days ago - about six weeks - I'd not sighted them.

Yet neither the two juveniles nor their parents could have been far off at any time. Nor is the area densely treed. Some birds and their young have this ability to seemingly disappear, without leaving the breeding locality. Small honeyeaters share the knack.

Willie Wagtails, on the other hand, do not move from the immediate nest zone and dominate their space. There's no denying their breeding and survival supremacy among all the local insect eaters. But few birds can match the Willies' devotion and natural aggression in defence of nest and even mature young.

While on the subject of juveniles' whereabouts, the four young Crimson Finches not long departed from their nest hole in front of the hide now spend their days in Scleria (Razor Grass) 100 metres to the west on an untrafficked (except by me) margin of the main lagoon.

Sadly, the Leaden Flycatchers nesting near the hide seem to have fallen victim to last week's lashing rain. The trim nest sits abandoned. No sign of the birds, or the unknown number of eggs on which they had been sitting.

But the Brown-backed Honeyeaters (Ramsayornis modestus) have returned to the hide and are rebuilding the nest they started and abandoned - and which the Rufous-throated Honeyeaters looted. Brown-backeds' nesting habits are certainly erratic.

Saving them from ourselves

Oh, look, the poor little bird has fallen from the nest. It's fluttered up on to that old birdo's bicycle. Isn't it cute? What shall we do?

We'd better try to put it back. Pick it up and find the nest. Let's take it home and look after it. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

We're so keen to do the right thing we often get it all upside down. Doctors are told (but then sometimes go on to ignore the dictum): First, do no harm.

So it should be with us and wildlife. We almost all know not to get between wild animals and their young. That's because it's dangerous for us. But our thoughts should be first for the good of the young.

So when the above fledgling Rufous Whistler lost a tenuous grip on some outer foliage at Tyto today and fell at my feet, I naturally stepped back to get a picture. And to think about its welfare.

Yes, in that order and without any thought of saving the bird. That's what parents are for. Right on cue a male whistler turned up. With food in mouth. But it didn't go near the fledgling. It ducked here and there close by. Then it swallowed the caterpillar.

What's the problem? I'm probably the problem. Whistlers are trusting birds, but instinct runs counter to heading direct to the young. I back off. Still nothing doing. So I clear right off for 10 minutes.

On return it takes me five minutes to find the 'helpless' fledgling near the top of the tree it fell from. Doesn't seem judging by its fretful calls to be getting all it demands from parents but how's that different from most hungry juveniles? It's safe and sound!

I know, not all cases match such happy outcomes. My principle, though, is always to do as little as possible to interfere - or 'help'. How do others feel?

Wading into the smugness

See me smiling? It's the ugly mug of the smug gloater. We would-be Nostradamuses don't pay too much attention to the odd failure. But just hear us crow about our successes!

I was a few days out with my small-waders-here-by-November. Better early than late, I say. Get on with it, I hear you say?

Didn't spot the bird hidden by reeds in the shallows today till a passing Little Egret took my eye. And led it to a Wood Sandpiper (Tringa glareola). The birds that visit Tyto are usually loners. They may stick around for months and can become almost as approachable as the more gregarious Sharp-taileds (yet to appear in Tyto but plenty nearby).

A shrill call from a more distant area of reeds revealed one of two Marsh Sandpipers (Tringa stagnatalis) wheeling low over the shallows, and landing again in the ankle-deep water.

The tall birds, much daintier than the lookalike but bigger Common Greenshank, will grow in numbers till the shallows evaporate.

Now, where are the plovers, stints and godwits?

Further to yesterday's talk of killing tulip trees, here's a bird today making use of the flowers - for the colour. The scrap of flower closely matches the excited Red-backed Fairy-Wren's (Malurus melanocephalus) glowing colour. The offering is intended to attract a female. Red berries are also used. Without conspicuous success in either case, from what I've seen!

Honeyeaters' nest lays an egg

Brown-backed Honeyeaters (Ramsayornis modestus) flourish in Tyto in spite of many nesting failures. They usually build their bulky, dangling, domed-entry nests lowish over water and away from prying eyes (that's us, folks!).

Their caution doesn't stop other honeyeaters from stealing from the mass of nesting material. It does make the nests more difficult to find than their size would indicate.

The bird pictured and its mate have chosen as bad a site as could be imagined. Smack in front of the bird hide, high off the dry ground, and in an area teeming with tree snakes (three or four live in the hide roof!) and the odd passing vandal. Any chance of a happy outcome? Not one.

They should have asked the Yellow Honeyeaters that built and abandoned a much smaller nest tucked secretly within the same branch system what life near a hide was like. 'Too much for us,' would have been the reply. 'We couldn't stand all the noise and movement. Couldn't shift quickly enough!'

Or quizzed the Willie Wagtail sitting on a neat cup nest slightly above human eyes looking out of the hide to the southwest. 'We love it here,' she'd say. 'We got cheesed off with vandals destroying the nests we built inside the hide. But this is perfect.'

Or tried to find the Red-browed Finches that reared the usual big family in the top of the tree. So cunning were the parents, they'd fly in to one tree and dart across it into the nest tree. Almost totally unseen and all high out of harm's way.

I'll let things play out without stepping in as I'm sure the Brown-backeds will soon realise their mistake. After vandals twice destroyed nests of Willies sitting on eggs I began removing all material as soon as building began. The birds took the hint and have since reared young in two of the three trees around the hide.

Elsewhere today, brief sighting of female and probable male Lovely Fairy-Wren (not far from abandoned nest), another sighting of pale Horsfield's Bronze-Cuckoo seen last week being ignored by a Red-backed Fairy-Wren, today fed by three wrens, and fleeting fly-bys from the Azure Kingfisher (seemingly too busy to stop at the nest tunnel - which may as yet be more tunnel than nest).

Why's the tree snake on my head?

What's the tree snake doing on my head? I don't know. All rather unusual.

Ride up to lookout knoll as usual this morning. Duck under Weeping Fig and pull up beside the roofed shelter, as usual. Stay on bike, propped on left leg and looking down over the lagoon, as usual.

Feel gentle movement on my back and shoulder. Not usual. Look at right shoulder and see sturdy dark and light blue midsection of Common Tree Snake (Dendrelaphis punctulata). Not usual.

'Hello. What are you up to?' I ask. No reply. As usual. Feel more movement across shoulder and back, and up on to wide-brimmed cloth hat. Not usual.

Movement on back stops. Tail of snake dangles before my eyes. Try to ease hat off head and get good look at my guest. More movement on to back and over left shoulder. Not usual.

Turn left and find 1.2m snake coiled about chamfered 4x4 roof post. It seems unsure whether to go on its way or return to me. Most unusual.

Settles on slight loosening of hold on post and drops coiled about 60cm to bench. Uncoils down to ground, accelerates two metres to base of fig and speeds up tree (pictured). As usual.

Didn't want to overdo this story in the telling. The brief encounter gave me a huge lift. But was no more than the most accidental of meetings. Though most unusual.

I've no way of knowing whether the snake joined me from the fig or from the rafters and beams of the shelter. And the couple of magical minutes with the drop-in could scarcely be called quality time. Unimportant. Such moments stay with you forever. Sure beats the usual!

Saw another four tree snakes through the morning. One routed by angry Willie Wagtails (assisted by Yellow Honeyeaters) as it sought to loot their nest, three others sunning. Not one showed any interest in climbing on my head! Definitely as usual.