chowchilla
Well-known member
I have a confession to make....
Actually I've made this confession before, sort of. I have never seen a Fernwren. Those in the know, are aware that said bird is a Wet Tropics endemic confined to the rainforest in the general vicinity of where I live here in Cairns. There are several other species which fit that description all of which I have seen, some many times. But Fernwrens flee on my approach never to be seen again, or so I suspected.
To put this right once and for all, I accepted a lift and a day's birding on Mt Lewis, on the southern edge of the Daintree Wilderness, where I was assured I would be tripping up over them, literally.
I've been to Mt Lewis before, many years ago and indeed saw some of its local specialities, but not said bird. I was actually quite optimistic about my chances for no real reason, I just felt that this time the little buggers wouldn't hide on me.
The drive up from Cairns was relatively uneventful: there were lots of Cattle Egrets milling about with cattle in the green paddocks of the Mowbray foothills. Not much else was in evidence however until we started the climb up the Mt Lewis track.
At the main creek near the bottom of the road, we stopped to check out a large fruiting fig. The tree was literally heaving with Barred Cuckoo Shrikes with quite a few Figbirds in attendance as well, but curiously no fruit doves. A solitary Bar-shouldered Dove was calling further down the road trying to compensate for the lack of its more colourful kin. A chunky greyish bird was briefly visible as it flew across the road; most likely a Grey Whistler.
We climbed a bit higher up the road keeping an eye out for birds (Fernwren perhaps?) on the road ahead. At one point a Thrush flew up off the road and disappeared up the bank and into the forest. We stopped and got out to try and find it. At this altitude, it probably could have been either a Bassian or Russet-tailed so there was no way to call it. Furthermore, the bird refused to be relocated. As we stood there, my namesake a Chowchilla was chuntering loudly down the slope somewhere. Yellow-spotted, Graceful and Macleay's Honeyeaters were calling unseen from up ahead as well. Further up the road, an Emerald Dove fed by the roadside, but typically took off as soon as I raised my camera to try and get a picture. A typically confiding Pale Yellow Robin clung to a tree trunk, fearless in our company.
At the clearing, we parked the car and got out. There was lots of bird song: Spotted Catbirds, Grey Fantail, Bridled Honeyeater, Lewin's Honeyeater,Grey-headed Robin and Queen Victoria's Riflebird are the ones I remember.
We headed up the track towards the dam. This, I was assured was as good a place as any to find my ever elusive quarry. The weather was glorious; not a cloud in the sky; lots of bird song was in evidence. What could possibly go wrong? We walked slowly and quietly into the forest until its gloom enveloped us; only the occasional patch of sunlight penetrating the foliage at this time of the morning. I scanned the track ahead and the banks to my left for the slightest movement. Wait! What was that up ahead? A small bird had hopped out onto the track... Grey headed Robin. OK, not a Fernwren but that's OK; nice bird to have...
We walked on. The bird song was ever present. Most of the aforementioned species surrounded us and were joined by Bower's Shrike Thrush, Golden Whistler and a surprising Noisy Pitta. I don't think they're heard up here all that often. This was all well and good but try as we may, we literally couldn't see any birds at all!
Now those of you familiar with rainforest birding will be familiar with this scenario... At times it really can be a very frustrating habitat to try and see birds in. Not least because many of the most interesting birds are either way up in the canopy or scurrying furtively in the undergrowth, so you either develop a crick in the neck or a permanent stoop. With practice you are rewarded, especially if you know what you're listening to. Then you can zero in on an interesting call and with patience hopefully see your bird. It can be hard work, but that aside, it is a wonderful habitat to explore.
Then John heard the thin rising note of a frustratingly familiar bird. A Fernwren had joined the chorus. Now Fernwrens are ground birds so I immediately crouched down and peered through the foliage in the direction of the call. This time I heard it too and it was getting closer. There! A movement as a small bird hopped out into a gap in the tangle. A Grey-headed Robin. OK no problem... Our bird stopped calling. We carried on up the track. There it was again! I knew the call now; once heard never forgotten. For the next half hour or so I would hear more than a dozen of the little buggers. Every now and then, a small bird would pop out and introduce itself and every time that little bird would be a Grey-headed Robin! I began to suspect that it was the same bloody bird following us up the track. If John saw it first, he would say, 'There's your friend again', and on cue the Robin would pop out of the undergrowth. I was getting so familiar with this bird I was tempted to give it a name; Kevin perhaps.
As the morning wore on, other birds finally gave up the game of hiding on us and started to appear. High up in a tree several Bridled Honeyeaters were flittering about, giving their call so reminiscent of a started Blackbird. One or two Lewin's Honeyeaters also made their presence felt. To our left, a pair of Eastern Whipbirds duetted close to the track. I managed to glimpse the male as he landed briefly on a fallen tree; never easy birds to see. On an overhanging branch, a beautiful male Golden Whistler landed and gave us a great show. A few Spectacled Monarchs put in a brief appearance. A female Leaden Flycatcher was seen hawking for insects in a shaft of light penetrating the forest. Most in evidence were lots of Grey Fantails which typically showed off from exposed branches just above head height.
Kevin periodically put in a regular appearance as we progressed. He was beginning to annoy me however as he was not what we were looking for, but we were still hearing them! Despite this, my optimism was waning. At one point John said, 'Funny I normally see them every time I come up here'. He gave me an odd look... 'Are you jinxed by any chance?' No sooner had I considered a reply then Heather shouted 'Fernwren!' I honed in on the spot she was looking at and panicked. I couldn't see it! 'Where?!' I cried. Heather did her best to explain, 'You see that tree...' (there were hundreds of trees, something I briefly considered explaining but I bit on my reply) 'Er, which one?' I said, barely betraying my impatience. John could now see it too.
She continued valiantly trying to explain where the bird was, I really can't recall the exact description but it was along the lines of, 'See the um, seventh sapling to the left of that fallen log, no the other log, just beyond that and slightly to the left of that wait-a-while (which grows in profusion in these forests) and then... oh it's moved.' By now I was convinced I would never see it. I had good reason to... it flew off into the forest. I didn't see it.
We carried on walking. Some Mountain Thornbills finally gave up hiding and showed briefly as well. Why had they been so elusive up until now? They are hardly known skulkers. And where the hell were all the Scrubwrens? you can reasonably expect three species up here and we hadn't seen or even heard any. What was present however were some typically noisy Sulphur-crested Cockatoos, possibly the only native bird I would happily shoot, and rather more surprisingly, a few Rainbow Lorikeets zoomed overhead. Common enough in Cairns, but not a bird I normally associate with these sorts of places.
I was determined not to give up. Surely I wouldn't fail... would I? We continued to scan the track ahead and the banks along the left of the track. We continued to hear Fernwrens. Suddenly one called very close to the track; it must've been only a few metres away. Desperately I scanned the foliage; I crouched down and peered through any gap however small; I constantly readjusted my position. This was ridiculous! These birds aren't supposed to be skulkers! Just as I was about to give up, a small bird hopped out onto the track ahead. That's not Kevin... that's a bloody Fernwren! It stayed for several seconds, giving me very tickable views; a small dark bird with a big white bib. Unmistakable.
'That's a Yellow-throated Scrubwren', said John. I suddenly realised he was looking at a completely different bird. In fact there were two on the track further up from where the Fernwren had deigned to appear. He hadn't seen the Fernwren and neither as it turned out had Heather! They had raised their bins as soon as I had called out and both focussed on the Scrubwrens. Well that was an extra bird for the day and fortunately neither of them 'needed' the Fernwren as a tick. Plus they'd seen the earlier bird, so I didn't feel quite so guilty.
We continued a little further up, but with our quarry securely in the bag, we soon turned around and started to head back. A Brown Cuckoo Dove, far lovelier than their boring name suggests, sat on an overhead branch. White-throated Treecreepers called from the forest, and one briefly showed. A Spotted Catbird appeared briefly. High up in a fruiting tree, a Tooth-billed Bowerbird was gorging itself. We had heard several during the course of the morning and were soon on a side trail to one of their bowers. An unimpressive affair of several overturned leaves in a small clearing. The bowerbird selects leaves with pale undersides to show up in the gloomy understorey. I wondered if any female would be lured by this particularly half-arsed attempt. The male hissed unseen from nearby. Even his call sounded less impressive than the usual amazing vocal gymnastics you get from these birds.
We thought we heard Black-faced Monarch at one point. A nice addition to the day list, and we thought that would be about it as we approached the car. John was looking up at a tree leaning out over the path. Suddenly he said, 'Golden Bowerbird!' Above our heads feeding on fruit was a male. This really is a great bird to see. Only found in these high-altitude rainforests, most people don't see many of them. In fact, only a couple of years ago, no active bowers could be found and the species was proving to be very elusive even to the expert tour guides. It's become a bit easier to see since then, but it's by no means a given that you'll see one on a trip to these parts especially if time is short. Then a much darker bird appeared just above it in the same tree: A male Queen Victoria's Riflebird. I've seen rather more of these than the GB, but not that many males. They are far less common than the females and lovely birds to behold with their dark metallic plumage. Eventually the GB flew into the forest. It didn't go far in before we heard a loud scraping call, rather like a Riflebird with a sore throat. I spotted the caller and as I suspected, the GB was making this call. It's another easy one to remember and I'll be listening out for it in the future.
That was a great finale to the day and it easily eclipsed the Fernwren for spectacle. It's been a long time since I last saw GB and even had I dipped on the Fernwren, it would have made my day, a bit like my failed attempt to locate Fernwren at Cassowary House two years ago; compensated somewhat by having a huge female Cassowary charge out of the forest at me. A scary but exhilarating moment!
The birds weren't quite finished yet though as another surprise, a Scarlet Honeyeater called from the forest. A more open country bird normally, though I have heard and seen them in this habitat before but not often. On one of those funny looking dying trees in the middle of the clearing, a Shining Bronze Cuckoo sat quietly observing us. As I ducked behind a tree to relieve myself, a Superb Fruit Dove called from directly above my head.
So it was worth it in the end. My bogey bird finally fell; it wasn't just every visiting birder I had ever met who'd seen them. I'd see them, OK one, too!
Actually I've made this confession before, sort of. I have never seen a Fernwren. Those in the know, are aware that said bird is a Wet Tropics endemic confined to the rainforest in the general vicinity of where I live here in Cairns. There are several other species which fit that description all of which I have seen, some many times. But Fernwrens flee on my approach never to be seen again, or so I suspected.
To put this right once and for all, I accepted a lift and a day's birding on Mt Lewis, on the southern edge of the Daintree Wilderness, where I was assured I would be tripping up over them, literally.
I've been to Mt Lewis before, many years ago and indeed saw some of its local specialities, but not said bird. I was actually quite optimistic about my chances for no real reason, I just felt that this time the little buggers wouldn't hide on me.
The drive up from Cairns was relatively uneventful: there were lots of Cattle Egrets milling about with cattle in the green paddocks of the Mowbray foothills. Not much else was in evidence however until we started the climb up the Mt Lewis track.
At the main creek near the bottom of the road, we stopped to check out a large fruiting fig. The tree was literally heaving with Barred Cuckoo Shrikes with quite a few Figbirds in attendance as well, but curiously no fruit doves. A solitary Bar-shouldered Dove was calling further down the road trying to compensate for the lack of its more colourful kin. A chunky greyish bird was briefly visible as it flew across the road; most likely a Grey Whistler.
We climbed a bit higher up the road keeping an eye out for birds (Fernwren perhaps?) on the road ahead. At one point a Thrush flew up off the road and disappeared up the bank and into the forest. We stopped and got out to try and find it. At this altitude, it probably could have been either a Bassian or Russet-tailed so there was no way to call it. Furthermore, the bird refused to be relocated. As we stood there, my namesake a Chowchilla was chuntering loudly down the slope somewhere. Yellow-spotted, Graceful and Macleay's Honeyeaters were calling unseen from up ahead as well. Further up the road, an Emerald Dove fed by the roadside, but typically took off as soon as I raised my camera to try and get a picture. A typically confiding Pale Yellow Robin clung to a tree trunk, fearless in our company.
At the clearing, we parked the car and got out. There was lots of bird song: Spotted Catbirds, Grey Fantail, Bridled Honeyeater, Lewin's Honeyeater,Grey-headed Robin and Queen Victoria's Riflebird are the ones I remember.
We headed up the track towards the dam. This, I was assured was as good a place as any to find my ever elusive quarry. The weather was glorious; not a cloud in the sky; lots of bird song was in evidence. What could possibly go wrong? We walked slowly and quietly into the forest until its gloom enveloped us; only the occasional patch of sunlight penetrating the foliage at this time of the morning. I scanned the track ahead and the banks to my left for the slightest movement. Wait! What was that up ahead? A small bird had hopped out onto the track... Grey headed Robin. OK, not a Fernwren but that's OK; nice bird to have...
We walked on. The bird song was ever present. Most of the aforementioned species surrounded us and were joined by Bower's Shrike Thrush, Golden Whistler and a surprising Noisy Pitta. I don't think they're heard up here all that often. This was all well and good but try as we may, we literally couldn't see any birds at all!
Now those of you familiar with rainforest birding will be familiar with this scenario... At times it really can be a very frustrating habitat to try and see birds in. Not least because many of the most interesting birds are either way up in the canopy or scurrying furtively in the undergrowth, so you either develop a crick in the neck or a permanent stoop. With practice you are rewarded, especially if you know what you're listening to. Then you can zero in on an interesting call and with patience hopefully see your bird. It can be hard work, but that aside, it is a wonderful habitat to explore.
Then John heard the thin rising note of a frustratingly familiar bird. A Fernwren had joined the chorus. Now Fernwrens are ground birds so I immediately crouched down and peered through the foliage in the direction of the call. This time I heard it too and it was getting closer. There! A movement as a small bird hopped out into a gap in the tangle. A Grey-headed Robin. OK no problem... Our bird stopped calling. We carried on up the track. There it was again! I knew the call now; once heard never forgotten. For the next half hour or so I would hear more than a dozen of the little buggers. Every now and then, a small bird would pop out and introduce itself and every time that little bird would be a Grey-headed Robin! I began to suspect that it was the same bloody bird following us up the track. If John saw it first, he would say, 'There's your friend again', and on cue the Robin would pop out of the undergrowth. I was getting so familiar with this bird I was tempted to give it a name; Kevin perhaps.
As the morning wore on, other birds finally gave up the game of hiding on us and started to appear. High up in a tree several Bridled Honeyeaters were flittering about, giving their call so reminiscent of a started Blackbird. One or two Lewin's Honeyeaters also made their presence felt. To our left, a pair of Eastern Whipbirds duetted close to the track. I managed to glimpse the male as he landed briefly on a fallen tree; never easy birds to see. On an overhanging branch, a beautiful male Golden Whistler landed and gave us a great show. A few Spectacled Monarchs put in a brief appearance. A female Leaden Flycatcher was seen hawking for insects in a shaft of light penetrating the forest. Most in evidence were lots of Grey Fantails which typically showed off from exposed branches just above head height.
Kevin periodically put in a regular appearance as we progressed. He was beginning to annoy me however as he was not what we were looking for, but we were still hearing them! Despite this, my optimism was waning. At one point John said, 'Funny I normally see them every time I come up here'. He gave me an odd look... 'Are you jinxed by any chance?' No sooner had I considered a reply then Heather shouted 'Fernwren!' I honed in on the spot she was looking at and panicked. I couldn't see it! 'Where?!' I cried. Heather did her best to explain, 'You see that tree...' (there were hundreds of trees, something I briefly considered explaining but I bit on my reply) 'Er, which one?' I said, barely betraying my impatience. John could now see it too.
She continued valiantly trying to explain where the bird was, I really can't recall the exact description but it was along the lines of, 'See the um, seventh sapling to the left of that fallen log, no the other log, just beyond that and slightly to the left of that wait-a-while (which grows in profusion in these forests) and then... oh it's moved.' By now I was convinced I would never see it. I had good reason to... it flew off into the forest. I didn't see it.
We carried on walking. Some Mountain Thornbills finally gave up hiding and showed briefly as well. Why had they been so elusive up until now? They are hardly known skulkers. And where the hell were all the Scrubwrens? you can reasonably expect three species up here and we hadn't seen or even heard any. What was present however were some typically noisy Sulphur-crested Cockatoos, possibly the only native bird I would happily shoot, and rather more surprisingly, a few Rainbow Lorikeets zoomed overhead. Common enough in Cairns, but not a bird I normally associate with these sorts of places.
I was determined not to give up. Surely I wouldn't fail... would I? We continued to scan the track ahead and the banks along the left of the track. We continued to hear Fernwrens. Suddenly one called very close to the track; it must've been only a few metres away. Desperately I scanned the foliage; I crouched down and peered through any gap however small; I constantly readjusted my position. This was ridiculous! These birds aren't supposed to be skulkers! Just as I was about to give up, a small bird hopped out onto the track ahead. That's not Kevin... that's a bloody Fernwren! It stayed for several seconds, giving me very tickable views; a small dark bird with a big white bib. Unmistakable.
'That's a Yellow-throated Scrubwren', said John. I suddenly realised he was looking at a completely different bird. In fact there were two on the track further up from where the Fernwren had deigned to appear. He hadn't seen the Fernwren and neither as it turned out had Heather! They had raised their bins as soon as I had called out and both focussed on the Scrubwrens. Well that was an extra bird for the day and fortunately neither of them 'needed' the Fernwren as a tick. Plus they'd seen the earlier bird, so I didn't feel quite so guilty.
We continued a little further up, but with our quarry securely in the bag, we soon turned around and started to head back. A Brown Cuckoo Dove, far lovelier than their boring name suggests, sat on an overhead branch. White-throated Treecreepers called from the forest, and one briefly showed. A Spotted Catbird appeared briefly. High up in a fruiting tree, a Tooth-billed Bowerbird was gorging itself. We had heard several during the course of the morning and were soon on a side trail to one of their bowers. An unimpressive affair of several overturned leaves in a small clearing. The bowerbird selects leaves with pale undersides to show up in the gloomy understorey. I wondered if any female would be lured by this particularly half-arsed attempt. The male hissed unseen from nearby. Even his call sounded less impressive than the usual amazing vocal gymnastics you get from these birds.
We thought we heard Black-faced Monarch at one point. A nice addition to the day list, and we thought that would be about it as we approached the car. John was looking up at a tree leaning out over the path. Suddenly he said, 'Golden Bowerbird!' Above our heads feeding on fruit was a male. This really is a great bird to see. Only found in these high-altitude rainforests, most people don't see many of them. In fact, only a couple of years ago, no active bowers could be found and the species was proving to be very elusive even to the expert tour guides. It's become a bit easier to see since then, but it's by no means a given that you'll see one on a trip to these parts especially if time is short. Then a much darker bird appeared just above it in the same tree: A male Queen Victoria's Riflebird. I've seen rather more of these than the GB, but not that many males. They are far less common than the females and lovely birds to behold with their dark metallic plumage. Eventually the GB flew into the forest. It didn't go far in before we heard a loud scraping call, rather like a Riflebird with a sore throat. I spotted the caller and as I suspected, the GB was making this call. It's another easy one to remember and I'll be listening out for it in the future.
That was a great finale to the day and it easily eclipsed the Fernwren for spectacle. It's been a long time since I last saw GB and even had I dipped on the Fernwren, it would have made my day, a bit like my failed attempt to locate Fernwren at Cassowary House two years ago; compensated somewhat by having a huge female Cassowary charge out of the forest at me. A scary but exhilarating moment!
The birds weren't quite finished yet though as another surprise, a Scarlet Honeyeater called from the forest. A more open country bird normally, though I have heard and seen them in this habitat before but not often. On one of those funny looking dying trees in the middle of the clearing, a Shining Bronze Cuckoo sat quietly observing us. As I ducked behind a tree to relieve myself, a Superb Fruit Dove called from directly above my head.
So it was worth it in the end. My bogey bird finally fell; it wasn't just every visiting birder I had ever met who'd seen them. I'd see them, OK one, too!
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. That was at a different location - a crater lake I think.
