What’s happening at Bool Lagoon?

Bool Lagoon has now been dry for at least a year. There was no water when I stopped by in February and July of 2020, and still none on January 21 2021.
The lake is covered in a grass, where once there was water. In January the grass was dried out and the winds had blown it into great drifts across the road on the Eastern edge. These drifts banked up higher than the car in places, and had to be driven around. The dried grass was caught on fences and in the branches of trees.
A woman from Naracoorte, in another vehicle, said that the Border Watch (the local newspaper) had reported that water was going to be released into the lagoon – but so far, nothing.
 
There may have been more birdlife than the Willy Wagtails and Superb Fairywrens that were in abundance, but without water-birds Bool Lake is a desiccated version of its former self. A lagoon is not a lagoon without water. I didn’t stay long.
 
David Malacari.
Pictures top row: Bool Lagoon 2021 DM
Bottom row: Bool Lagoon 2019 RL

 
 
 

Since there have been several reports recently about sightings of Budgies, Bee-eaters and Cockatiels from Redbanks Conservation Park, which we have never visited, Paul and I decided to go there on Wednesday.  The weather was sunny and windy, but although the wind made birding a little harder than normal, we were grateful that it reduced the number of flies. The drive up was beautiful, going through the slopes of the Adelaide Hills, into the gentler scenery of the Barossa Valley at Angaston and on to the mounded hills around Eudunda, with their memories of Colin Thiele’s The Sun on the Stubble, and on to the start of the Southern Flinders Ranges. A Wedge-tailed Eagle was spotted soaring overhead and shortly afterwards a Black Kite was seen attacking another eagle sitting on a post. Just south of Burra we turned on to Eastern Road, reaching the park after about 10 kilometres. There is a secluded camping area for 11 sites, where we saw only galahs, and about a kilometre away, an area for day visitors, which includes the splendid red banks that give the park its name. Here there is mallee and saltbush, with two creek beds. Many of the gums were flowering and as soon as we entered this area, we began to see birds: a Grey Shrike-thrush, whose song accompanied us the whole time we were there, three Black-faced Cuckoo-shrikes, and, on the tree we parked under, two budgies, indulging in a mutual preening session.  Walking along the dry creek bed and surrounding slopes we soon glimpsed a Rainbow Bee-eater and, on a dead tree, a pair of Cockatiel. This pair were also spotted by a large and noisy crowd of mixed woodswallows, who pursued them in the fear, fully justified by their shape in flight, that they were kestrels. Once they perched, however, the woodswallows seemed perfectly willing to accept them, and joined them for a noisy but apparently amicable chat. Among the woodswallows we saw Dusky, Black-faced, Masked and the beautiful White-browed. Whistling Kites and Black Kites soared overhead, and a Brown Goshawk patrolled the ridge. Several other Budgerigars and Rainbow Bee-eaters appeared, and a Willie Wagtail made its presence known. There was a regrettable number of feral species—pigeons, starlings and sparrows—and the only Honey-eaters were White-plumed and White-naped. Flocks of Galahs went by, but, apart from the Cockatiels, no other parrot species. On the trip home, we were delighted to spot a Marsh Harrier patrolling a field of recently-mown hay. It was quite a long trip to make on a single day, but well worthwhile.

The Dawn Chorus by Chris Watson (in Icons of England, edited by Bill Bryson)

A jumble of warbled notes tumbling down through the bare branches of a large beech tree was the starting point for me this year. It was mid-January. A mistle thrush, head thrown back, was singing powerfully into the face of a cold wind from the highest point in the canopy. I was grateful to that bird. Not only did the song lift my spirits on an otherwise cold and grey day, but it also reminded me of what was to come. This single bird song, these solo notes, would develop into a chorus of bird songs, gradually stirring across the whole of England. 
As the January daylight lengthened, other birds joined in. Robins began their evensong; a song thrush established a song post on a television aerial and broadcast its beautiful repertoire of repeated phrases. And from deep within the leafless twigs of our cotoneaster hedge, I heard the muted tones of blackbird subsong—a quiet and peculiar rehearsal for the full performance during the weeks to come. It’s in the woodlands, however, where the volume of song builds most. Agile nuthatches pipe their sweet notes from high branches and on early mornings the still atmosphere vibrates with one of early spring’s most exciting ‘songs’—great spotted woodpeckers drumming, rattling a tattoo on a favourite tree. 
These birds are our resident solo performers, advertising for a mate or establishing and defending a territory. During February we can isolate and localize these individuals as pinpoints of sound in the awakening woodland canopy. And then, one day in March, when the sound builds and the intensity increases, there is a change. I hear it twice or more before I actually stop and listen . . . Is it the end of a wren’s song? An aberrant chaffinch phrase? No. It is the sound of the first willow warbler. Unseen but clearly heard—a silvery descending song from somewhere above. Within moments, my ears also pick up another recent migrant’s tune—the jazz-like rhythm of the onomatopoeic chiffchaff. Over the next couple of weeks these warblers are joined by redstarts, pied flycatchers and secretive blackcaps. Eventually, the line-up is complete.
In late April, I always keep a weather eye open for a high-pressure system over Northumberland, and then make my move. I arrive on the edge of ‘my’ woodland in the middle of the night (around 2.30 a.m.) and cable a stereo microphone sixty metres away, underneath a small stand of oak trees. Perched on my camping stool, with headphones on, I listen and wait. At 3.12 a.m., a redstart sings and is quickly followed by a robin—with a territorial reply across the clearing—then song thrush, wren and blackbird.
The notes, phrases and songs mix and melt into a rich wall of sound, and this dawn chorus seems to light the spark for sunrise. At our latitudes I believe we have the very best dawn chorus in the world. Characterized by its slow development—a kind of evolution each new year—all the solo performances coalesce into a new sound and release an outpouring of song from our woodlands. It’s our own private chorus that transforms the darkness into light. 

Saturday October 17  was eBird's international big day when birders worldwide spend as little as 20 minutes or as much as 24 hours birding and then post their lists to eBird. Paul and I decided to participate, though not to spend 24 hours doing so! We started around our own property, then went to Laratinga, where  there were many baby birds and the reed warblers were being clamorous. As well as the usual ducks we saw 8 Bluebills, and managed to spot the Nankeen Night Heron that has been a feature there for a few weeks. No crakes alas as the water level is very high. We then went on to Goolwa barrage, hopped across to Hindmarsh Island to pick up the Cape Barren Geese, then, past various wetlands to Milang. Along the way we say a huge crowd of Little Ravens, and realised they were escorting a wedge-tailed Eagle. The Milang area added 3 Swamp Harriers and many Australian Pelicans. We then headed for Frahn's Farm Road to add some mallee species, and also in the hope of spotting bee-eaters. None of the latter, but we did see White-winged Chough, White-browed Babblers, and both Golden and Rufous Whistlers. Our total of 84, although well below what a birder in say Colombia could have seen, was quite satisfactory.

I thought that these photos I took 9 years ago of where we visited this year may be of interest to those who saw the same country this year in very dry conditions. The top left photo is the campground where we pulled off the track & had lunch after tramping around seeking Chestnut-breasted Whiteface. Despite the healthy vegetation we didn’t see any then either!

However we did see Red-backed Kingfisher, which we were told by John Ragless has nested in the disused copper mine. Other birds seen were a large flock of Budgerigar, which were sharing a tree with a few Black-faced Woodswallow. We also saw a Little Eagle flying overhead.

The creek bed then was lined with healthy looking green trees & shrubs, including some red-flowered Eremophila. 
The old rusty car was there of course & Malcolm thought that it was probably a Hudson Terraplane!

Peter Barnes received an email from Hoss Bolenski:
 
Hi Peter. I belong to a Facebook group called Birds on the Eyre Peninsula, everyone is welcome to join. All the photos I send are taken in or near my backyard in the Marina at Port Lincoln. The Black Galah photo went all over Australia via the ABC. The same flock of Galahs returned 14 days to get another shot. It’s rare to see black birds or animals but not uncommon. It is called Melanism. (See photos above.)
 
 
Jo Gloster: While most AOC members were heading north on Sun, we "3 Js" set off for a morning at Oaklands Wetland and Reserve. High water levels in the ponds left very little muddy areas for waders, but 24 common bird species were seen, and definite evidence of 'Spring in the air'! Two matings were observed: Dusky Moorhen and Australasian Swamphen, and most nesting boxes and tree hollows showed evidence of occupation: Eurasian Coot was actually sitting tight on its substantial reedy nest. Sadly, the previously seen pair of Southern Boobook Owls of this site were not seen. Apologies for no photos !

Safe travels to everyone and good luck with your sightings.
Cheers to all, Jo G
 
(Oaklands Wetland and Reserve is on UBD Map 141, C 11.)
 
 
Marianne Wakelin: The Hooded Plovers are nesting at Holdfast Bay (the local council have roped off the nesting area).
 

A vulnerable shorebird found across southern Australia is showing good signs of its numbers increasing as fewer people visit beaches because of travel restrictions. A recent survey of eastern hooded plovers in South Australia and Victoria showed a noticeable boost in the numbers of breeding pairs and fledglings. Ninety-three breeding pairs were spotted by BirdLife Australia volunteers in SA, along with 56 fledglings.


 
The article can be read in detail at ABC on-line:
https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-08-02/hooded-plover-numbers-rising-in-south-australia/12513316

This morning whilst I was having breakfast 2 Sulphur-crested Cockatoos flew into our courtyard. They are infrequent visitors.
 
One settled on the Maple tree, the other on the edge of the bird bath beneath the tree. Here it proceeded to pick out one of the pebbles I have in the bath (to aid the smaller birds easy access to the water) He transferred the pebble to his left claw and then began to peck at it. Not satisfied he dropped it in the Ivy outside the bath and tried another doing the same thing. By the time I had gathered my mobile and tried to focus through the window he had discarded several pebbles and moved to a large planter tub nearby where I had temporarily left a small pot plant. Determinedly he plucked at the plant and flung bits of it piece by piece onto the paving, then tackled the pot. Having vented his frustration the pair flew off. I retrieved 7 pebbles amongst the Ivy and cleared up the scattered plant stalks. Of course he could be she?!.  
 
And yes Swartkop the Kookaburra still visits. He has certainly learnt some Kookaburra manners and we occasionally meet at the dustbin and have a chat. Do I give him a treat? Of course!

Vardø and Hornøya island
Vardø is situated in Finnmark county, northern Norway on the Varanger Peninsula, facing onto the Barents Sea. The town is Norway’s eastern-most town (further east than Russia’s Saint Petersburg).  It is located on the island of Vardøya (a derivation of Old Norse meaning Wolf Island), north of the Arctic Circle in the tundra region beyond the tree line.  Access to the town is via a short undersea road tunnel.  Vardø grew up around the Vardøhus Fortress, built on the island in the early 14th century.  Main industries are fishing and fish processing.
On a cool early summer’s morning (it snowed briefly as we had breakfast) in June 2019, we assembled at the pier for the short boat trip to Hornøya (Bird) Island, home to 80,000 seabirds. This steep rocky outcrop is a truly spectacular sight.  Great rafts of guillemots cover the ocean nearby, and tier upon tier of birds occupy every available ledge on the cliffs.  The noise (and smell) was incredible.
The first birds seen were European Shags, nesting under and in one of the few visitor shelters.  They are handsome all-black cormorants, with shaggy black crests and green eyes.    Thousands of Guillemots on the cliffs jostled with Razorbills, Great Black-backed Gulls and Black-legged Kittiwakes.  Often, we saw pointy empty eggshells, bright blue with black spots, in the grass by our feet.  Our Rockjumper guide, Nigel Redman, pointed out different morphs of the Common Guillemot – bridled (who appear to be wearing white spectacles) and non-bridled. Soon, we began to see Atlantic Puffins – at first just a few, then they seemed to be everywhere.  Occasionally one or more large White-tailed Eagles flew by, causing a great explosion of wings as flocks of Guillemots, Razorbills and Puffins flew off in panic.  We spent hours that morning marvelling at the sheer enormity of the bird population.  Some Chinese tourists had a field day with their long-lensed cameras.  At one stage, one of my group signalled to me to be careful as I walked along a narrow rocky path.  Between us, a tiny clutch of gull chicks regarded us nervously.  They were a soft grey with black spots.  We did not see the parent birds, so we were unable to identify them. It was an unforgettable morning and is highly recommended despite the remoteness.