17 October 2011

I was recently asked to give a presentation, walk and talk on the birds of Warriewood Wetlands, a remarkable space tucked behind an unprepossessing shopping centre in the far north of Sydney.

Thinking I should brush up on what was happening in that watery realm, I look time out of my weekend to check it out.

Early morning and it’s cold, sharp, crisp and sunny. Before even hitting the boardwalk, I dive off into the gloom of the tall she-oaks, the ground lumpy and loose beneath my feet due to the excavations of what must be a very big and/or very busy population of Long-nosed Bandicoots. I’m in danger of tripping over their piles of spoil as I gaze upwards looking for that rare and elusive winter visitor to the wetlands, the Rose Robin.

Rose Robin by Geoffrey Jones, Barra Imaging

Reptile-like, I park myself in a sunny spot to raise my body temperature, and scour the tops of the reeds. Action! But what? Threading their way along the edge, a party of Superb Fairy-wrens, tails cocked, keeping in touch with one another’s progress with a constant soft twittering.

Looking up into the large wattle at the side of the boardwalk I notice some of its newly emerging bright yellow flowers are on the move. Surely not. There’s hardly a whisper of a breeze. I’m having difficulty keeping the binoculars still. I see ‘em. Blending perfectly with the fluffy yellow bobbles clustered together at the end of every branch are the distinct yellow breasts of several Yellow Thornbills. And into the tree fly three Yellow-faced Honeyeaters. Yep, there’s a world of yellow on the tree today. Eat your heart out goshawks, you’ll not be finding breakfast here today.

As I swing my sights back into the grey-green of the she-oaks my heart misses a beat. Can that be what I think it is? A small soft brown bird is flitting around the trunk and needles, settling only briefly, its wings drooping, then off again. Minutes later and I get a clearer view. There’s a distinct smudge of bright red across its soft grey breast, as if a thumb had been drawn horizontally across. I consult my trusty Slater. It HAS to be a female Rose Robin. Back home I’ll compare and contrast the birding books and Google various photo websites; none show such a pronounced colour on the breast of a female so there can be no doubt.

Remembering I was supposed to be buying bread and milk  from the adjacent shopping centre, I reluctantly turn on my heels and retrace my steps back to the car. I muse with satisfaction of my discovery of the Rose Robin; it’ll stay with me all day.

Black Bittern, Geoffrey Jones, Barra Imaging

I can’t resist a slight detour to peer into the cold gloomy water of a back pond clogged with weed and fallen debris. As I step lightly between two trees for a good view and suddenly there’s an alarmed flurry of wings and rising from the murky pond a large dark bird lifts a few feet into the air and settles on a partly submerged branch.

It is spectacular. Very dark but with a large slash of yellow down its sides. A member of the heron family for sure but which species? It pins me to the spot with its unblinking eye. I’ve disturbed its fishing. I’ve intruded on the life of a very rare bird for these parts, a Black Bittern. Almost mythical among the birders of the northern beaches, I’ve read reports of sightings at Deep Creek but never even hoped I’d see one as they are superbly camouflaged birds that skulk among emergent grasses at the edges of freshwater. We eye each other for several minutes. I don’t move; I’m reluctant to even breathe. Eventually it lifts off and flies away into the large body of water behind. It’s is gone from slight but not from my memory. It’s a first for me. You always remember your first. It’ll stay with me forever.

Now where was I? Oh, yes, bread and milk.

Louise Egerton is author of Know Your Birds (available from legerton@swiftdsl.com.au) and Wildlife of Australia (with famed photographer Jiri Lochman)