A year of Tyto moments

Gulp! Tagged by Duncan as part of a chain meme to list 10 memorable nature moments in 2008, I've scrabbled through my tatty sweat-stained daily notebooks praying that in my absence they'd miraculously grown magical details of marvellous sights. They haven't!

What's worse, it turns out that my most stirring moments failed to present themselves as photo opportunities. And when they did, my camera skills were not often up to the task. That's got rid of the excuses-in-advance, time to knuckle down and get the 10 off the fingertips.

First must be the Tyto morning  a Common Tree Snake slides slowly over my shoulder and coils about my hat as I sit paused on my bicycle.  Blurred getaway.

Second, enraged female Pacific Black Duck stands tall, wings flailing and furiously fights off a Little Eagle after it targets her and two ducklings ... and same day, same post ...

Third, after years of failure, a Little Bittern hunting almost out in the open. Get pictures, grainy but graphic. 

Fourth, first Tyto sighting of a Red-capped Robin. Made memorable by my misidentifying it and joining later photo to a dummy spit.

Fifth, witness Black Kite learn new fishing trick, but fail to resnatch catch.

Sixth, find Lovely Fairy-wrens and nest after years of searching.

Seventh, play time with wallabies and wagtail.

Eighth, bit of nonsense with a snarky Carpet Python.

Ninth, see a small Agile Wallaby hurtle from nowhere to boot a large Amethystine Python's head. 

Tenth. At least 10 times in 2008 hear a sweet high song. No sight of bird. No idea of species. Good to have a challenge for 2009!  

Boinng! Sproinng! Kapow!!!

Why is the Masked Lapwing (Vanellus miles) shrilling at the agitated Willie Wagtail (Rhipidura leucophrys) on the mown track near my 20-minute morning survey area?

Because the grass is rippling? Not quite. The grass is rippling because a two-metre Amethyst Python (Morelia amethistina) is sliding through it, toward a Leichardt Tree and longer buffalo grass.

Leap off bike and move to cut off snake. Which virtually ignores me, eases on to leaf litter under the tree and smoothly rises unsupported close to a metre to reach a low branch. Without urgency the snake climbs a bit higher and pauses to flick out a tongue and assess things.

Stalemate. If I stay around the snake won't move. If I go too far the snake will vanish in the mysterious way they do. We compromise. I go off briefly. The snake decides I'm no threat and surprisingly quickly begins to leave the relative safety of the tree. It tolerates my return and some (failed) closeups.

Down to ground, the snake noses through more grass, across a dry ditch, ignores a cool and shaded culvert, and begins a diagonal route down a lightly metalled dirt and grass vehicle track. More pictures at a distance because the snake may well climb the tree against which my bike is leaning. Or even (a bonus!) climb the bike.

Instead: Boinng! Sproinng! Kapow!!! Sproinng! Boinng! Boinng!

A medium-small Agile Wallaby (Macropus agilis) hurtles into view at high speed, bounds on to the raised track, spins in the air, clubs the snake heavily with a thudding right foot to the head and leaves even faster the way it came.

So, two of us totally gob-smacked. Me, and the snake! Neither of us moves for maybe two minutes. The snake with head and neck pulled back in a slightly unnatural position after the wallaby's impact. Perhaps it was literally stunned. Me, mentally stunned and open-mouthed at the attack.

The snake straightens and moves off as if nothing untoward has taken place. Perhaps by a snake's lights nothing odd has happened. (I've sometimes joked about snakes in the wetlands suffering frequent headaches because of accidental thumps by the numerous wallabies.)

For another 10 minutes we dawdle over about 30 metres of mainly open ground. A final farewell stroke by me sees the snake safely into long protective bladey grass. Something for us both to tell the little ones.

No need to get all snarky about it

Poking your tongue out isn't rude, if you are asked to do so, I said. In fact, it might be considered the polite thing to do. So I'll ask again, nicely. Poke your tongue out, please.

Sha'n't! Sha'n't! Sha'n't! Hissed the Carpet Python. My name's Morelia spilota mcdowelli and my rank is reptilia and that's all you're getting out of me. And I'm warning you. Touch me again and I'll bite.

There's no need to take that attitude, I said. I was just giving you a little pat goodbye. Then you got all snakey. Sorry, didn't mean to be offensive. Snarky. That's what I meant. Snarky.

Snarky? Snarky? Who are you calling snarky? I'm perfectly composed ...

Of course you are, I ...

...and don't interrupt, it's not polite. As I was saying, I'm composed and have every right to aggrievement. Lying contentedly taking the morning sun and not a trouble in the world - until you came along and thrust that glassy thing in my face.

I'm sorry, I ...

You're not sorry at all. I've heard that you do this sort of thing all the time. All the time! Don't you dare try to deny it. I'm going off to report your intrusion right now. You'll be hearing from us.

Us? What do you mean? Us?

FANGS, that's who. Fellowship Against Naturalists Grabbing Snakes. You've got a severe tongue-lashing coming ... Don't! Don't you dare ask again that I poke my tongue out.

With that, M. s. mcdowelli was gone, leaving me chastised. But undaunted. Little did the snarky one know I'd captured an early shot of the tongue today at Tyto. Not so clever now, eh, M.s.m.?

Whipsnake not so dead(ly)

Greater Black Whipsnake (Demansia papuensis) poses reluctantly for a picture of its underside after being caught playing dead. These are among Tyto's most commonly encountered daytime snakes. Can't recall any positive sightings of the Lesser Black (D. vestigiata).

I spotted the one-metre snake idling across a track of short grass and over a patch of leaf litter at the base of a few paperbarks. A tree snake would have gone straight up a tree, but whipsnakes seem only to consider climbing when on the track of prey.

The defensive strategy is to sit it out in whatever limited cover is available, stiffen up and feign death. The pretence continues even when a stick is gently pushed under the snake and most of the body is hoisted clear of the ground.

But it seems the muscular demands of continuing the trick cannot be sustained when all the body is raised. The snake then slowly 'returns to life'. There's no aggressive reaction or sudden movement, simply a gradually easing of body off the hoisting stick.

Only when back on the ground and facing a camera close to its head will the snake rear back in defensive threat. Pull camera or presence away slightly and wary calm returns. Pull back a little more and a gentle escape is made.

Though large whipsnakes are considered potentially dangerous there's something unthreatening about them. The only snakes I've felt comfortable having close enough to 'taste' my sandalled toes with their delicate tongues have been Common Trees, Greater Blacks, and small pythons.

This from a Kiwi cyclist whose first reaction on seeing a tiny snake on a Boondall Wetlands (Brisbane) path nine years ago was to hoist both feet high off the pedals. Times change - and we can too!

Snakes won't sit up and listen

Thirty minutes within three metres of a busy Red-bellied Black Snake today for typical outcome: not one good picture. Picture above, best of more than 50, is not even typical of the encounter. Snake spent almost all the time with head either under grass or obscured by the stuff.

Red-bellieds (Pseudechis porphyriacus) are frustratingly prone (oops) to nosing about in full sunshine and managing never to be picture-perfect. Came upon today's 900mm snake from behind on quiet forestry road. Hopped off bike and stepped in closer each time head was under dead grass.

Off we went. Snake working this way and that. Slowly north, sticking to slashed strip about two metres wide. Vigorously sliding under and butting bunches of grass from below to force a passage through the swathes. One sudden hidden strike brought hope of a kill, but led to nothing. Halfway through the 40 metres the snake paused briefly and lifted a suspicious head (the picture) but immediately resumed the hunt.

On we went, until the cut strip began to narrow and I tried to get both closer and ahead of its probable next move. A blur of black and snake gone into the long stuff.

Just have to accept this is the way of things. It's a lucky privilege having factors combine to allow a 30-minute insight into behaviour. In similar pattern, I saw cannibalism of a 600mm Red-bellied by a 1200mm specimen in Tyto about three years ago. But on that occasion I stayed 6-8 metres back as I trailed the big snake.

Much more obliging, a Lace Monitor (Varanus varius) sunning itself also alongside the forestry road near where I'd seen it yesterday. But again the grass kept getting in the way. This is the first Lace Monitor I've seen around Ingham. Almost as rare is the Frilled Lizard (Chlamydasaurus kingii). Several skinks, big and small, but little else on reptile legs.

Depauperate, that's the word of the day! However, there's no need to use jargon to stop people reading this post. Putting a snake at the top is enough to slash views. But I can't stop loving them (in the nicest, safest possible way!).

Let's take a little walk

'Black' Butcherbird...rufous morph (sorry about the picture)

Little Shrike-Thrush ... delays the quest

Come for a little birding walk with me. We'll gloss over most of the trees and plants and concentrate on living things.

Nearly 8am at Tyto carpark, warm (say 20C), greyish light, low cloud, mild breeze. Promise of later sunshine.

Brown Honeyeaters, Yellow Honeyeaters, House Sparrows, Bar-shouldered Doves, Spotted Turtle-Doves and Indian Mynas in the carpark plantings and backing eucalypts.

On the bike (you walk, I ride), toward the first lagoon. Darter, wings outstretched, takes warmth from the feeble sunlight. Agile Wallabies crop grass. Near hairless joey pokes its brick-red head from one pouch. Withdraws shyly. Fairy Martins hawk for insects and dip to the water.

Turn right toward north boundary (suburbia) and routine daily survey in Birds Austalia's preferred format: 2-hectare, 20-minute count. Dry creek lined by small trees to left, open ground right with 20+ Bush Stone-Curlews - beyond survey limit - standing around. Whistling Kite opens count, then Fairy Martins (5), Masked Lapwings (2), Peaceful Doves (2), Crimson Finches (8), Red-browed Finches (6), Willie Wagtails (2), a Straw-necked Ibis, White-browed Robins (3) and a Black Butcherbird.

But it's not black. The bird's an immature rufous morph, race rufescens. Cracticus quoyi adults are black but one nest may offer rufous, and black. More to point, the species isn't numerous in Tyto and photographic desire takes over. Twist and turn, duck and dodge, miss chances, lose bird, refind, lose again, get distracted by juvenile White-browed Robin. Finally emerge almost 45 minutes later with so-so pictures of Butcher, robins and Little Shrike-Thrush (another distraction).

'Gimme food'. 'Gimme food'. 'Gimme food'. White-browed Robin proves immune to pester power.

Onward to main lagoon lookout. Forest Kingfishers, Green Pigmy Geese, Australasian Grebes, Comb-crested Jacanas, Wandering Whistling-Ducks, Pacific Black Ducks, Little Pied Cormorants, Great Egret, Intermediate Egret, Black-necked Stork (juvenile triplets), Royal Spoonbills, Yellow-billed Spoonbill, Black Kite overhead, and Welcome Swallows and White-bellied Woodswallows.

To the hide. Find professional guide, photographer, cinematographer and Tyto instigator and visionary John Young seeking responses from resident Little Bitterns (2 heard), Spotless Crakes and White-browed Crakes. No sightings or sounds for me (apart from on John's hi-tech toys).

Chat away (birds, snakes, butterflies, more birds). Spot Australian Reed Warblers, White-throated Gerygone and one Little Kingfisher. Plus lovely green/black male Cairns Birdwing (butterfly), and a White-lipped Treefrog on the bulrushes. At a distance, Grey Teal, a pair of White-necked Herons and four White Ibises.

Quick look at Brown-backed Honeyeaters completing a nest near the hide and at a noisy Yellow Oriole and John gone. I follow some Olive-backed Orioles along the southern creek track. Hello to Bumpy Rocketfrogs in their stump and out southwest on a wide fire trail (access for firefighters).

No sign of the Southern Boobook (first for me: 225 on my Tyto list, of 235 total) harassed by a Spangled Drongo two days ago. But Mistletoe Birds, Sunbirds, MacLeay's Honeyeaters, a lone Fairy Gerygone and the Drongo show up.

Back on to inner lagoon circuit, look for migrant Latham's Snipe. None. Across western end and White-gaped Honeyeaters dash to and from small island. Chestnut-breasted Mannikins in the bulrushes, Nutmeg Mannikins in bushes and a plaintive Horsfield's Cuckoo atop a nearby tree.

No Collared Sparrowhawk in the usual hiding spot down the planted levee but two Sacred Kingfishers dart away. White-winged Triller works water's edge shrubs for insects.

Return to base of lookout and take southern track back toward Brown-backed Honeyeaters' nest. Surprise Common Tree Snake lying in feeble sunshine. Quickly vanishes. Surprise Buff-banded Rail almost below BBs' nest (didn't tell you I'd glimpsed rail first time around!).

No Azure Kingfisher in last big pool on creek. Get four Metallic Starlings, new seasonal arrivals from Papua New Guinea, as compensation.

Movement in gauvas leads to Graceful Honeyeater taking material from part-built nest (possibly BBH). Lose Graceful and turn to find a big Common Tree Snake moving around a tree trunk. Tiptoe up and get poor picture as snake changes mind about ascending tree and drops into long grass.

Walk (bike gets parked here and there) on and see dark head. Male Leaden Flycatcher. Another dark head. Northern Fantail, which sits on felled tree in sunshine. I sit on same trunk. Fantail won't turn to suit camera. Nor will a Silvereye, which pops up from the grass and devours a small insect.

After much singing a male Rufous Whistler appears, followed by a Varied Triller, a White-bellied Cuckoo-Shrike and a Helmeted Friarbird. (Talk about no buses and then three at once!).

A Ulysses butterfly beams its blue brilliance along the creek, and a Wanderer (Monarch) flitters by before I quit my log and head back to the carpark. Always room for more on the list and a Blue-winged Kookaburra makes an excellent final sighting.

What have we forgotten? Probable chunky Red-bellied Black snake diving from sight, Rainbow Lorikeets streaking overhead, Rainbow Bee-eaters 'pirrip'erring in the distance, Tawny Grassbirds sticking to cover, Golden-headed Cisticolas likewise.

That's it. Four hours, a great fun chase to be continued another day, 65 birds seen, plus snakes, butterflies and wallabies and three pictures more or less keepable.

Hope you enjoyed the walk.

Some slither, some hop, some fly ...

An Amethyst Python takes a discriminating taste of the air as some big heat-emitter gets in the way at Tyto Wetlands. Couldn't photograph fast enough to stop all movement of tongue. The glistening 3.5 metre snake radiated plump health. After a few more flickers of tongue it untensed and unhurriedly went on its way.

An Agile Wallaby takes a thoughtful bite on the breakfast of choice for champion hoppers - tender grass. The 90-hectare wetlands nourish and shelter hundreds of the species. Agiles bound along athletically enough, but more impressive marsupial agility is shown by various rock wallabies.

Black Kite takes a turn across Tyto's main lagoon. These birds lost out to northern counterparts for rights to the more accurate descriptive title of Fork-tailed Kites. Another unknowing casualty in taxonomy's name games. Yes, I know, it's serious and essential work.