Blue mobsters

I was in the garden the day the blue wren fledglings flew the nest. 

I had watched as they built the nest in a prickly acacia right beside the path to the vege patch. A wren in the chook yard collecting feathers is a bit of a give away. Things went quiet for a while as the parents sat on the eggs, then once the babies hatched life got busy for them. That was when the rest of the mob joined in. There was a constant stream of them, catching food and delivering to the hungry mouths in the nest.   

That morning, I was seated on the deck, savouring the early sunshine and the last mouthful of my breakfast, cashews and craisins. Two tiny grey shapes flashed across the corner of my eye. They zoomed onto the verandah, rapidly followed by Blake who dived after them. One veered up and away, the other was hidden behind Blake's large furry body. I yelled and jumped up in an instant my heart in my mouth. Horror at he thought of the tiny baby disappearing down his gullet.

Blake pulled back instantly and I saw a little pile of grey feathers on the ground ... not moving. This was not looking good. I picked up the body, it was alive, unharmed, but had a tangle of spider webs ensnaring a wing and a foot. No wonder it bombed onto the ground. You should have seen the blue wren mob suddenly appear when I picked the baby up. I was surrounded by four grey females and three bright blue males all scolding me. Very unhappy mobsters. 

The fledgling felt so fragile as I carefully pulled the sticky web away. It was a delicate operation, the bird was tiny, just a few grams and the thinnest legs you can imagine. Finally free of web, I let it go, wondering how it could possibly fly at all, it had such a short tail and the bird was sooo tiny. But it was up and away onto the beams of the shadehouse. Soon the family were there beside it and normal feeding resumed.

This is the baby with a fuzzy parent in the foreground.

At long last

 There is a pair of Pacific Black Ducks that have lived here for some years.

 I have never seen them with young until now. 

Look what appeared on our dam this week.

They have manged to raise seven ducklings that are now half grown. 

 Here they are after their swim heading off in single file. 

It is fantastic to see. 

Quink quink, kik kik

For over a week I stalked Western Rosellas. They could be seen from inside the house on the Guitenotia bush, feasting on the seed pods. The soft silky grey foliage was bejewelled by flashes of red, yellow, blue and green. As soon as I walked outside they would be off flying down the paddock, not returning till I had gone back inside. I could hear their high pitched 'quink quink ..quink quink' but not see them. Despite their bright colouring they are difficult to see if they want to stay hidden. Western Rosellas tend to feed quietly in pairs or small groups. Around here that is often on the ground in the pasture or in fruit trees if they are not netted.

In the end, when there were few seeds left on the bushes, I persevered. I stayed outside and stalked them. I'd see a bird, it would see me, then take off. This loop played out over and over. Finally the above bird returned and landed on some kangaroo paws. It looked at me - shocked - when it realised I was only metres away. Something changed and it lost its caution. The Rosella flew over to the Guitenotia and ate happily while it watched me as I photographed it.

In this last week the Sacred Kingfishers have returned for their summer breeding season. The pair here called to each other 'kik kik kik kik'; one near our house the other down by the creek. This fellow hunted for food, swooped down to the ground and back up to a high vantage point before it flew down the hill towards it's mate.

Low tide at Lights

Beach surprise

After an absence of several weeks I finally got to the beach today. Miske had been in season which meant we had been confined to walking in 'safe' locations: down to the dam and back or into the bush next door. Definitely not to the dog beach. Blake, the puppy we kept, had been taken to the beach a few times by friends when they took their dogs down to the beach, so he had at least had a bit of fun. Blake is now as big as his mum, much to her chagrin. She wants to be boss and he wants to be annoying. Now Blake just woofs at her to let her know he isn't happy about something. I have seen her give up a bone to him after one woof. Not a good precedent if she wants to stay boss.

The tide was way out exposing thin green slivers of water weed laying flat on the limestone rocks, the weeds occasionally raised up as an incoming wave lifted and swirled around and over then raced towards my feet tracing the moving edges of the water. Sooty oyster catchers with their distinctive red beaks and eyes took advantage of the low tide, and picked and probed a smorgasbord fresh from the rocks.

While I was photographing the ocean an immature Pacific Gull lazily drifted into my picture frame. 

It floated along the jagged limestone edge just in front of us before it flapped up and off further down the beach before commencing the lazy drift again. 

The last thing I expected to see down the beach this morning was a small flock of white tailed black cockatoos. They were feeding on the seeds of the wild geranium growing only metres from the sandy beach. The birds were half hidden on the ground, becoming visible as they flapped up and drifted a few metres along with the breeze, then dropped down to feed once more.

Look carefully there are five cockies in the image above.

Here they are much easier to pick out. They are probably Baudin's Cockatoo as they breed in karri country as opposed to Carnaby's Cockatoo which breed mainly in the wheatbelt. Their different bill shapes are rather difficult to determine from a distance. Baudin's has a long narrow upper bill and Carnaby's has a short thick upper bill. Their calls are different too, but these fellows were too busy eating to be calling.

Catching up and sitting down

It is over three weeks since we came back from our holidays. In the intervening time it has been catch up on the home front - unpacking and cleaning up and taming the rampant garden - as well as indulging in the arts. My first week back was spent finalising my works for, then helping to set up the Be Seated exhibition at the Butter Factory Studios and Gallery. Finally I feel I have time to sit down and type.

The Be Seated exhibition is part of the Bendigo Bank Southern Art and Craft Trail which comes to an end with the end of the school holidays. We had a marvelous opening, with entertainment by Sound Bites choir singing to a seated theme. A colourful Gertrude Well-ease, sported a stunning chairy hat and dispensed a lively commentary on the artworks, to our many visitors.

Bruce's carved cardboard chair and raku cylinders

Gabriele's granite stairs

My stitched pit fired ceramics

Close up on Helmie's chair and more of her work in the background

Work by Nikki, Helmie and myself

Work by Nikki

Peppermint spirits by Robyn and painting by Helmie

Mixed media works on wall by Barb

Works by Robyn

Works by Alison

For more photos follow this link to Butter Factory Studios and Gallery.

Angel tree

Poised for flight?

Found at Bea Bea

Pools and twisted gums

Just north of Meekatharra we again stopped at Bilyuin Pool. It is a great spot to camp with a long permanent pool in the middle of dry flat mulga country. On both our visits the surrounding country has seemed bare, grey and drought stricken. The pool is on the headwaters of the Murchison River, which true to form for northern rivers, is not so much a river, but more of a watercourse and occasional river. This is station country and the cattle came in for a drink in the morning, and mooched around munching on the green feed in the watercourse, keeping their distance from us of course.

 We camped beside the big pool this time, the other smaller pools were dry this visit.

Our camp is under the white gums on the distant left

There were a different range of birds this time. I loved watching the black-tailed native hens grazing on the short grass on the pool edges and feeding in the shallows. They behave rather like chooks, just very shy, running through the shallows and taking off into the bush when disturbed.

Black-tailed native hens

There were both black fronted dotterels and red kneed dotterels feeding by the water's edge.

Black Fronted Dotterel with worm

Away from the watercourse country I saw pairs of red winged wrens feeding in the shrubs. Black faced cuckoo shrikes blended in beautifully with the colours of the white gums. 

Black-faced cuckoo shrike

I love the forms of massed white gum trunks and the twisted shapes of branches against the blue sky.

More shades of black and white. The ubiquitous willie wagtail. Always cheerfully chirruping and flitting over the water after insects. One morning a willie wagtail attacked a crow down by the waters edge, then four white plumed honeyeaters promptly attached the willy wagtail, chasing it across the water. Nesting season must be in full swing.

And finally, a Nicotiana flower sprouting from a sandy watercourse.

Blue and yellow

Leschenaultia growing on road side

Here is a little bit of colour as we travelled up north, while still in cropping country. 

It reminds me of a story we heard from a fellow traveller. He was given instructions for where to go to see the wonderful wildflowers in the region, which he and his wife did. They took all day and they were thrilled with the colouful display in the bush. The same instructions were given to another couple. They were only gone for a couple of hours at the most. When asked what happened they said 'Oh we saw valleys full of beautiful yellow wildflowers, so we didn't need to go any further.They were stunning.' 

Canola fields

Those fields full of yellow were of course canola fields, not wild flowers. 

So long as they were happy

Prospector and Dreamer

We found a beautiful campsite just out of Mount Magnet, beside a thicket of cool and shady pepper trees, in the ghost town of Lennonville.

We camped on the other side of these pepper trees

It seems William Louis Smith had loved it too. Under the trees in the dense shade was a plaque remembering him: 1910 - 1996, loved father and grandfather, prospector and dreamer. The camp has a freestanding fireplace and hearth; the rectangle in the picture. There are wires strung up on which to hang shadecloth, a comfy chair and tables made from heavy machinery parts.

Camp for dreaming

Above in the trees was an occupied bird of prey nest; we heard the young calling to the parents. I think they were whistling kites. My bird book describes them as scruffy gingery birds. At sunrise three birds sunned themselves in first warming rays. (And a happy camper in William Louis Smith's camp could do the same.) 

Whistling kites 

Lennonville was established in 1898 when gold was found there. In it's heyday it boasted five pubs, and a railway line servicing the population of up to 3,000 people. The Welcome Gold Mine, just two miles north of Lennonville, produced nearly 5,000 ounces of gold.  

Mining ruins

One strike there was particularly rich producing up to seven ounces of gold to the ton of ore. The story goes that a favoured Sunday outing for people was to go to the mine to marvel at the dazzling display of gold in the richest veins. I can just imagine ladies in long skirts and gentlemen in dapper duds ooing and aahing in the heat and dust. 

The only thing left standing in Lennonville

From 1905 the town and gold dwindled in tandem with each other. A fire in 1909 destroyed the main part of town hastening it's decline into a ghost town. 

Lennonville railway platform

As to William Louis Smith, we know nothing more. 

But it surely helps to be a dreamer chasing gold out here; it is a tough environment. 

Then again, perhaps all prospectors are dreamers?

Twisting vine