Lot of nothing 'hiding' near hide

'Not much to see here, is there?' visitor one said to visitor two after a minute or so in the Tyto hide today. The second agreed and they pushed off.

Scarcely a thing, I said at their retreating backs (since some people make it very clear they don't want help).

Scarcely a thing, except for:

Drawn-out gurgle from left-front 10 metres off in Scleria. Hello, Little Bittern, nice of you to announce your presence. Yes, I know, that's it for the day. Pity the impatient pair missed it. They wouldn't have appreciated the signal? You're right.

Scolding from two metres up and a metre out from left of hide. Gidday Mr Willie and Mrs Willie, how are the two wagtail youngsters? See for myself? Of course. They look bonny!

Tinkling from paperbark three metres out in front. Morning, Crimson Finches, how are you doing? Goodness only knows how many eggs or young you've got tucked in that nest hole. You'll know in good time, they said.

Churring from directly in front of hide. Hi, Brown-backed Honeyeaters, you're proving me wrong, aren't you? Going ahead with a nest I can touch? Too right, they said, you people can't see what's right in front of you.

Don't forget us, just because we're down here on the water, called three juvenile Comb-crested Jacanas. We don't like too much movement above us, but we'll be here for an hour or so.

So will we, came nervy voices from waters right and left of the hide. Hello, Green-pigmy Geese, starting to trust us, are you? Just a wee bit, they said. Did you know you go blue when backlit? I asked. Whatever, they said.

Hey what about us? chimed in the Australasian Reed Warbler, the Golden-headed Cisticola and some Red-backed Fairy-Wrens. We turn up here most days and you're leaving us till last.

No, I'm not, because here's a Yellow Honeyeater almost at touching distance and those White-breasted Woodswallows on the hand rail deserve a mention, and I'd almost forgotten the Buff-banded Rail darting for cover as I arrived and the Great Egret who stalked closer and closer to the hide before getting hungry for elsewhere and the Magpie Geese squadrons overhead and the Hardheads and Pacific Black Ducks and Wandering Whistling Ducks splashing close by and the squeaky-cushion noises from the unseen White-browed Crakes.

Besides, you birds are beautiful, but so too are the dragonfles, the damselflies, the butterflies, and that tree frog there right in front of the hide, sunning every day low on the Scleria.

But after all that there's scarcely anything here, right? Wrong, but that's another story.

Agile words and mow woe

An Agile Wallaby (Macropus agilis) pauses from the serious business of munching selected stalks of grass to take stock of the decrepit life form crawling towards it.

After a few minutes of uncertain feeding it decided to sneak a little closer before hopping slowly away. Maybe it had seen enough of that big glass eye!

Tyto is more or less bounded on two sides by sports grounds and a pony club. Hundreds of Agiles - supposedly nocturnal and definitely gregarious - thrive and sport morning and evening on the resulting tender grasses around their habitat.

There's even been a spot of local hysteria. First, a junior footballer was 'tripped' by a wallaby making its way off the field. And 'all those droppings'. But juniors fall over their own feet all the time, and dogs' and cats' droppings - much nastier! - fester over all suburbia.

Certainly Agiles (aka Grass Wallabies) love mown areas. So shires taking pride in their Tropical North Queensland parklands create ideal conditions for them. So there's the rub.

But wait, there's more. All that splendid grass in which the wallaby is pictured grows on a raised square, a lightly treed hectare or so planted after Tyto's early shaping. The grass dominates until the Wet sets in. Bigger weeds then take over and are head high by the time any mower can tackle the growth in late April.

First comes the big slasher. Then the mower. And again the mower. And again...and so on. Then comes the chainsaw team to trim the trees - so the mower can get in closer. And lop off the mistletoes - so they can't drop on the mower.

All of which is considerably less than carbon neutral. As is mowing tracks ever wider - because tourists love everything trim and parklike.

Am I the only one wishing for some real tree change in the attitude of councils and shires toward parks and reserves?

Some weren't here yesterday

Rufous Songlark... shows up after three weeks without being sighted

Many birders will understand that terrible dread of letting down a visitor to one's stamping ground.

Having written or otherwise played up the rare treasures within, one's left saying, 'Well, they were here yesterday.'

So it's with some relief to report that a southern visitor shared in most of the 68 birds ticked off today before a localised front bucketed down - on me alone. The visitor got out beforehand. Sitting on 68, I decided to crack on for 70+ and ended drenched and still on 68.

But (always a but), didn't find Grey Whistler, or White-browed Crake, or any much less likely Lovely Fairy Wrens.

Best in the air: dark Swamp Harrier, maturing White-bellied Sea Eagle, Pelican, Little Black Cormorant, and (all to myself, BV before visitor) 9 Red-tailed Black Cockatoos (heading north: nothing in Tyto appeals to them).

In the trees (some on visitor's wish list): White-gaped Honeyeater, White-browed Robin, Rufous Fantail, Northern Fantail, MacLeays, Dusky, Graceful and Brown-backed Honeyeaters. Also sightings of Brush and Fan-tailed Cuckoos with caterpillars.

On or over the water: Little, Azure Kingfishers, juvenile Black-necked Stork, White-necked Heron. Water Python nosing about at water side of bulrushes, but no clear view.

About four hours of spotting and conversation, dealing, of course, largely with birds and wildlife. Enjoyable as a change, though at end of the joint bike ride, not a photograph taken. Obsessive single-mindedness is modified in company.

It had paid off before the joint effort as I patrolled my 2ha listing segment. Two puzzling birds engaged in distant hectic chasing through and around a grove resolved their differences and plonked themselves close to me: the 'vanished' Rufous Songlark and a young Horsfield's Cuckoo. Hadn't seen songlark for almost three weeks. Suddenly it's on top of me! Picture. Best (and only bird) of the day, but, sadly, BV.