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The archetypal case study of sexual selection taken to its extreme, seeing a Bird-of-Paradise was a major goal of the trip. Call me shallow, but I was pleased to encounter this male Victoria's Riflebird (life bird #1001) and appreciate its iridescent ornamentation, even if it wasn't actively displaying. I caught up with several female/immature birds afterwards, but this was the only adult male I saw.
Victoria's Riflebird
Mount Lewis clearing, Queensland, AU
Mar. 20, 2020
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Visiting Australia's ancient tropical rainforests in northern Queensland was one of the things I was looking forward to most during this trip. With the specter of impending border lockdowns due to the developing Covid-19 pandemic looming, fretted as I made my way to the terminal at the Perth airport, intending to catch my overnight flight to Brisbane (and then on the Cairns). Speculation was rampant that the US would close its borders, or that (more likely) Australia would close its own, and the prospect of being stranded was weighing heavily on me. Ultimately, after consulting Lindall, I decided to go to Cairns, but punt on the final 10 days of my itinerary in Brisbane and the Outback. So it was that I emerged into the sweltering tropical heat of Cairns midmorning of March 19th, found my rental car, and made my way to the Cairns Botanical Gardens to begin an abbreviated three-and-a-half day blitzkrieg of the lowland tropics and Atherton Tablelands. Once again, I was met with a wall of unfamiliar vocalizations, though at least by now I was more familiar with what to listen for with respect to various families. My half day around Cairns was highlighted by a visit to the Cairns Esplanade and the large number of waders present (though I never did connect with a Beach Thick-knee). As well as fantastic looks at a Lovely Fairywren sashaying about at Cattana Wetlands.
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| The aptly-named Lovely Fairwren (Malurus amabilis) |
March 20th consisted of a deluge of birds, as I birded around Daintree Village and made my way up into the Atherton Tablelands, birding around Julatten and up Mount Lewis. This luckily led to several encounters with another one of my most-wanted species for the trip, Buff-breasted Paradise Kingfisher. While none of the resplendent males I encountered posed for photos, they were kind enough to give me extended views, especially at the base of Mount Lewis. On my way up this mountain I ran into a duo of Australian birders making their way back down. They mentioned that despite a few hours of effort, they were unable to turn up any Blue-faced Parrotfinches. This was another bird high on my target list for the trip, so at hearing this news my heart sank a bit. There hadn't been any reports in eBird for the species from this spot in a few weeks either. even so, I kept bumping up the road towards the infamous Mount Lewis clearing. About a half a kilometer from the clearing I glances down to check google maps to see how close I was. Upon looking back up a tiny finchy thing flushed from some grass along the road. I checked it, finding it to be a Red-browed Firetail, the first I'd seen. Another bit of movement and I saw two Blue-faced Parrotfinches sitting nearby in some shrubbery. Excited (and swearing quietly) I managed some underexposed photos. After the small flock moved off I parked and started hiking the trail at the Mount Lewis clearing. It was hot, and I was tired but I kept running through the mental tally in my head. Several Golden Whistlers and an Atherton Scrubwren later I came up with a number.
999
My goal in coming to Australia had been to break 1000 species on my Life List, and here I was at the doorstep. Despite this, I was getting hungry, so after a little over a mile, I started hiking back to my car. I saw a slight flick of movement in the dark undergrowth off to my right and stopped, pished a bit, but saw nothing. I took a step and a chunky bird flew across the trail. Quickly, I crouched and managed to find it in my binoculars.
A Bassian Thrush, number 1,000.
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| A horrible photo of the vent-end of a Bassian Thrush (Zoothera lunulata) |
The next day consistent of rushing about the various wetlands and mountain sites south of Mount Molloy, including Mount Hypipamee NP where I had furtive luck searching for Golden Bowerbird given the intermittent heavy rain. It ended with several dozen new birds and a splendid sunset repleat with golden light shining through dense banks of fog hugging the green peaks rolling away in every direction. The next morning was similarly sodden, but I had slightly better luck with the Bowerbird, and was lucky enough to spy a Lumholtz's Tree Kangaroo embracing a tree trunk tightly, evidently having descended somewhat due to the persistent drizzle. My attempts to turn up a Platypus in Yungaburra was not so successful, but I did turn up several new species. By early afternoon I decided to leave the Tablelands and once again descend into the torrid coastal tropical lowland rainforest.
I will admit, I was initially a little embarrassed to have decided to try for the Cassowaries at Etty Bay. My original plan had been to spend a couple of days hiking the various boardwalks and rainforest trails of the Daintree hoping to encounter one serendipitously in a wild setting. The idea of seeing one on a beach with other people loafing about seemed a little repugnant. But given my truncated itinerary, I had to swallow my pride and my prejudices if I wanted to see this species. And considering Southern Cassowary was at the top of my target list, I couldn't afford to be picky.
I actually think the best way to express my reaction to seeing a Cassowary is to borrow a quote from David Qaummen's passage about seeing an Aldabran Tortoise in 'The Song of the Dodo,"
"A [Southern Cassowary] seen in the flesh seems wonderously implausible, like a holdover from the cretaceous period reappearing after eighty million years. It seems to flout all the limits and imperatives that govern our own time on this planet."
A bird shouldn't be this large, this massive, this murderous-looking. All of my former reservations about seeing them in a less-than "wild" setting evaporated. These were wild birds, potentially dangerous birds, that just happened to have gotten used to gulping golf-ball sized fruit in people's yards in this quiet little corner of the Queensland coast. In some ways, I'm happy that this ended up being my first encounter with a Cassowary. I was able to really appreciate the coloration of the neck, wattle, face, and casque. The fluffiness of the body plumage. The massive strength of its stout legs and gait. I don't think I would have been so lucky had I happened across one briefly on a jungle trail.
For me, seeing that Cassowary lumbering up the beach at Etty Bay sums up my trip rather perfectly. I have wanted to visit Australia ever since I can remember. When a place has become immortalized in one's mind there is always a sense of trepidation that it may not live up to your expectations. Australia in my mind was infinitely bizarre, exotic, and fascinating. I can happily say that the bits of Australia I saw more than exceeded my expectations, and I cannot wait to return as soon as international travel resumes in earnest.
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The notion that Cassowaries are somehow "primitive" is a grave misrepresentation, they are just as well adapted to their Australian rainforest habitat as Homo sapiens are to the plains of Africa. Their traits may be considered relictual, but that is more a product of the environment in which they found themselves rather than a lack of evolutionary innovation. Still, it feels as though they shouldn't exist in a world dominated by anthropogenic landscapes.
Southern Cassowary
Etty Bay, Queensland, AU
Mar. 22, 2020
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