Snake tails

Molly eyeing the chooks

Strolling down the path in the early morning drizzle to let out the chooks I was confronted with the vision of a tiger snake sliding in front of me and the flying black and white legs of a border collie speeding across the top. Yikes! Molly was fleet and keen for the excitement of  watching chooks bursting out of their house. She didn't see the snake - I'm not sure if the snake saw or felt her - it disappeared behind some weeds without changing pace. The vision reminded me of comic strips with multi feet spinning on the spot - except it didn't feel funny. The last thing I wanted was a snake bitten dog.

Mille fleur hen and her chickens

We are  looking after Molly, one of Miske's puppies, over this long weekend. Once the dogs were safely back in the house I let out the chooks and checked beside the path for the snake. It was curled up just a couple of metres further down the path. With the day overcast and damp I figured we could safely call the ranger out to catch the snake, as the snake was likely stay put for a while. The ranger turned up after breakfast, duly caught the snake with his U-beaut catcher, popped it in a big calico bag with wired opening and drawstrings and took it away. His grand daughter had waited in his car during the catching as she wasn't wearing long trousers. Safety first demands leg and foot protection. She wants to be a ranger and she took a good look at the tiger snake once it was in the bag. It was about sixty centimetres long with a rich golden belly and the gold stripes just peaking around the sides, and dark blackish on top.

I remember when we were teenagers, catching the snakes with our bare hands by grabbing them behind the head, popping them in calico bags which we then put in the fridge for a while to slow the snakes down, before tipping them out on the ground to take photographs. The big ones were very strong and twisty, so you had to be confident when holding them. Putting them in the bag was the trickiest bit as I recall. You had to put the head with one hand, and with the other hand hold the head from the outside of the bag before letting go with the inside hand, then get the rest of the snake in the bag as you let go and let it fall in. I wouldn't want to try that now.

I had seen the tiger snake only two days ago on our verandah, sliding past the dog's bed then poking its head past our main sliding door. That was just too close for comfort. I called the dogs inside, put on some thick shoes then went stomping around the house to encourage it to move on. I found it curled up under the dog's bed. I imagined Miske or Molly sleeping on the bed with a tiger snake sleeping underneath. No..! I stomped and banged some more and the snake unwound and disappeared under our decking. I stomped the decking, and then stomped the decking some more. I stomped the decking the next day just to make sure. We didn't see it again till it turned up today. I'm glad it allowed itself to be quietly caught and taken away. And I'm glad neither of the dogs were bitten in their gallivanting around the garden.

Molly diving in the dam

As I have no photos of dogs running on top of tiger snakes, I give you dogs gallivanting in the dam instead. It is summer after all. 

Southern Boobooks

Yesterday while out walking through the soft filtered light of  peppermint trees, a flurry of wings flashed by in the corner of my eye. Big and quiet ... an owl, it had to be an owl. I  snapped to attention. Still as a mouse I scanned the nearby trees. Another dark shadow flitted just in front of me.  It was a  young boobook owl, dark chocolaty in colour, seeking the greater security of a further and higher peppermint branch. Then I saw a paler adult sitting still on a branch eyeballing me and Miske, and nearby, yet another dark youngster, blending in with the shadows.

Although his first image has twigs in front of the owl it does show the powerful feet quite well.

Adult Southern Boobook

Only a couple of nights ago I had heard boobooks calling in the middle of the night. This is the first time I have actually seen them down here. I took a chance and walked quietly back home, grabbed my camera, and walked back again. Quietly I scanned the peppies once again, and at first I found the one adult. Presumably the first flurry of wings was the other adult who took off further, out of sight - I was unable to locate it anyway. Scanning further afield I finally saw the youngsters, sitting together high in a peppy tree. Yep, they were still there, but extremely well camouflaged deep within the dappled foliage. As we walked along the adult owl eyeballed me, then its head slowly turned  following Miske as she sniffed her way along the path.

The youngsters -
Southern boobooks - giving us the beady eye

I took my photos of them as they obligingly sat still, only their heads tilting as they watched us, or swivelling around as they observed the sights and sounds around them. Remembering something I had read some years ago, about a wildlife photographer using a flash when photographing polar bears that were a huge distance away. When asked why, he replied, to get the lights in their eyes. The bears were too far away to be dangerous. Anyway, I thought I would try this, as the baby owls were deep in shade. Well, they have wonderfully wide irises and reflective retinas, with a plentiful blood supply! I have put in a flash shot to show you what not to do.

Southern boobooks nest in hollows, from August to December, raising a clutch of two or three young. They are able to leave the nest at about five weeks of age. So this family are right on target with their timing.

Here is another similar same photo but having used the red eye fix! First time I've ever used it.

Update: Out walking today a noisily complaining wattle bird alerted me while beside a peppy tree near yesterday's meeting with the boobooks. Looking up into the tree of complaint I saw three chocolate boobooks. Three babies or two babies and an adult? How fantastic if the adult pair had manged to raise three babies.

Savouring summer

For me, summer is soporific. The heat and humidity lull me into a space of relaxation despite wanting to do a heap of things. Outside in the middle of the day the sun burns within minutes. Even if it is hazy or cloudy. We always have UV index figures in the extreme category; today it is 14.  I blame it on the ozone hole above Antarctica. According to NASA it is not expected to return to its pre 1980's size till about 2060.

However there was nothing like nearly stepping on a tiger snake while out walking with Miske to get the heart racing. The snake was very dark black, very very fat and ended with a short narrow tail. She disappeared quickly off the trail, flattening her body behind her head as she went, to look bigger and scarier. That wasn't necessary - trust me, I got a heck of a shock she was so close. Bear in mind I was out walking bare footed ... and Miske was happily sniffing and investigating scents and sounds just ahead of me.

Checking with Dad, he suspected the snake was gravid. She was so fat there could have been quite a few baby snakes packed inside her. Female tiger snakes can produce litters of up to forty live young. Tiger snakes are one of the group of  viviparous snakes (those that give birth to live young), mostly found in the cooler regions of Australia. Their venom is dangerous, containing chemicals that cause presynaptic and post synaptic paralysis, coagulopathy (reduced ability to clot blood) and muscle destruction. Sounds like they have all the bases covered.  However, people usually only get bitten if they try to interfere with the snake - or accidentally tread on one.

Only a few paces further along the trail I heard another slithery rustle slipping away from the trail. Miske heard it too and she wanted to investigate - but I said no. On the way back, she again wanted to check out the slithery rustle bushes. No way! I think I will avoid that part of the trail for a while - the mind boggles at the thought of dodging dozens of diminutive tigers, let alone the adults!

It was only a couple of days ago that I was surprised by another tiger snake coiled in a figure of eight beside a track down by the creek. It quickly slipped off into the bush when it heard me. Again Miske was ahead and oblivious to it's presence. The day before that, Mark was surprised by a dugite that was surprised by Mark, right beside our carport. The large brown snake quickly slithered up the bank, and disappeared into the ground cover there, but for a moment they were almost eyeball to eyeball. Fright to flight.

Summer is also the season for making jams and chutneys. While waiting for the first apricots to ripen I was reminded of my friend's apricot orchard. She always said in the week before Christmas she heard the 'plop, plop, plop' of ripe apricots falling to the ground. Down here it is the week after the new year that the apricots ripen and fall to the ground, but without the "plop, plop, plop' as here they fall onto soft green grass, not the dry gravelly ground of the Perth hills.

It is now a week into the new year and I am picking and eating apricots. Yesterday I made my first batch of apricot jam. I love the fragrance of cooking apricots and the sight of jars full of translucent apricotness. Today I made apricot chutney. I'll leave the snakes to savour the summer sun, while I savour the summer fruits. And maybe, just maybe, put my shoes on for my walks with Miske.

Water dreaming

Summer has finally reached us down here in the south west, with warm sunny days, blue skies and high humidity. Nothing like the dripping heat one experiences up north or the baking heat of the inland. My brother and his wife, who live in Broome, spent a couple of days with us recently. We breakfasted outside in the morning sunlight, a gentle breeze wafting over our skin, and they felt cold. We thought it was perfect. Up in Broome they'd be dripping with sweat before breakfast was done. Our maximum temperatures are their minimums!

Despite the contrasts, the heat of summer brings to mind enticing visions of cool water. Down here we have  rivers with tannin dark waters and pristine beaches of white sand, rounded grey granite washed by cold azure seas. Up north, the beaches are washed by warm waters that can disappear into the distance with the huge tides, and the inland pools have fish lurking in the shadows, visible if you are still and quiet. In the wet after a good cyclone there can water as far as the eye can see.

It is those inland pools that remind me of the work of Sonia Kurarra. We saw some of her paintings when we were last in Perth at Form Gallery and it was great to see her work up close as I had only seen digital images previously. Her colours are rich with the reds of her homeland and vibrant contrasts. Nothing says sweltering humid summer more to me than shimmering hot pink and orange red. Barramundi  appear and disappear within her expressive brushstrokes.

The river near Noonkanbah (Yungngora)

Kurarra is from the country around Noonkanbah (Yungngora) and the Fitzroy River in the Kimberley region of  Western Australia, not too far from Broome. She paints the billabong country of the Fitzroy, and the fish - barramindi (parlka) and catfish (kurlumajarti) - that are important food species. Other themes that she paints are also related to traditional life; the rocks where the fish is cooked (parrmarr), coolamon for carrying things (ngurti) and boomerang (karli).

Barramundi dreaming

In 2010 Kurarra won the Western Australian Indigenous Art Award and the port Hedland indigenous art award. This year she won the Most Outstanding Work at the Port Hedland Art Awards for her work Martuwarra (Kurarra's river country).

Parlka (Barramundi) and rockholes 2010

Images are from WA Art Gallery and Short Street Gallery.

Cuckoos and caterpillars

This horsefield's bronze cuckoo is a new comer to my vege patch seen recently. It has been feeding on the bugs and caterpillars in my garden - and it is looking quite fat on it. We've heard its sharp descending whistle for some time now, especially in the early mornings, but until now it had stayed out of sight.

Here it is perched above a tomato plant, spying on green caterpillars.

 Below it is amongst the radish plant that I have let go to seed.

This cuckoo, like many, is a nest parasite and particularly, but not exclusively, likes nests with a domed construction. There should be plenty of those around here as wrens and thornbills are always to be seen and heard in the garden. The female lays one speckled egg in the chosen host nest and the incubation period is usually shorter than the hosts which gives the cuckoo chick the upper hand - or foot in the case of the chick - as they turf the competition out of the nest.

Counting chickens

I think it is reasonable safe to write that we now have a dozen chickens, safely hatched, post fox.

 

It wasn't without dramas. About three days after they started chipping I went down as usual to check my two hens and their chicks and I found my big white splash hen on her last legs, drooping on the ground with her chickens gathered under her head and body. What the!! I figured she must have been bitten by a spider, as she had no other signs of illness - just flaked out, and dead within a short period of time. Poor old girl. I had to gather up her chickens and give them to my other tiny mille fleur hen - she now has charge of a dozen healthy chickens.

They ripple her undercarriage as they jostle to fit under her body, and she spreads her wings wide to accommodate them all. I ended up with five mille fleurs - their 'mother' is the only surviving mille fleur from the fox attack. And I have seven araucana chickens in a mix of colours. After all these disasters I am not taking any chances and have brought them up to the house.  I can hear the conversations between hen and chicks from where I sit typing - just outside on our dichrondra lawn on the edge of the verandah.

A feast of Skinks

The sacred kingfishers are still here and yesterday I found them feeding on garden skinks from the vantage  of posts in my vegetable garden. Here are some pictures.