bobmcgee

Silo …

Drove over to Brim this afternoon to have a look at the silo …

Brim is a small town with a population of about 100 standing in the sheep – wheat country of western Victoria. The art work by Brisbane artist Guido van Helten was finished just a few days ago. Amazing what you can do with some brown paint, redundant silos and a boom lift.

Not far from Paradise …

In summary of the recent trip. The Prado and I covered 8,820 km (5,512 miles). The binoculars were turned on some 271 species of bird, one of which they had never seen before. They were also trained on some of Australia’s quite unusual mammals including both Tree Kangaroos, Platypus and Spectacled Hare Wallaby.

Getting home to the drab and mundane, the humdrum, the ordinary might be a challenge, if a word of that were true. But it’s not, I have Platypus in the creek at the bottom of my back paddock, this guy was waiting for me a few metres from my front door …

This one was out on my driveway enjoying the summer sun …

I live not far from Paradise and I can get there by bus.

Industry …

Since my house was built a number of extensions have been made, and not all by the owner. I have been watching a very busy lady make a few over recent days. Here she is.

She starts by building a mud tunnel. She has several on the go. The next step is to find a nice juicy spider which she paralyses. It looks as though it weighs as much as she does.

Several spiders are deposited in the tunnel. She then lays an egg in there and seals up the entrance. Here’s an adjacent pair of tunnels so recently sealed that the mud is still wet in one.

She goes on adding to this until she has a cluster two deep and four or five down. Then the whole thing is encased in a final render.

When the egg hatches the larva feasts on the paralysed spiders, a gruesome fate for the spider but one that neatly bypasses the need for refrigeration to keep it fresh.

My tentative diagnosis for this creature is Sceliphron laetum, the Mud Dauber Wasp. Apparently they pack a powerful sting but rarely attack. They are found throughout Australia and New Guinea.

Fort Grey to Menindee …

In one day we travelled the ground that Sturt had needed more than six months to cover, travelled further than William Wright’s resupply mission had in three months.

We took time out to poke around the rocks outside Tibooburra where we found this Euro guarding his patch …

… and then headed south through the mining town of Broken Hill. Clearly a town whose street planners could not imagine anyone traveling beyond it. Every road in seems to peter out in a maze. Then down the Silver City Highway. We drove past the turning to Mutawintji where Becker had sketched the waterhole. Burke had taken a dislike to Becker and had done his damnedest to cause him to give up but Becker stayed on and sketched until his strength and then his life was lost.

William Wright left his initials here. He was scapegoated in the enquiry that followed the Burke and Wills debacle. There were good reasons for the delay in setting off on the resupply effort but the effort itself was undistinguished. It’s hard to feel much sorrow for a man who would do this …

We spent the night on the banks of the Darling in Kinchega National Park, we visited the homestead where William Wright was once the manager, we went to Lake Cawndilla where Sturt and his men, including the indomitable Stuart camped. We drove through Menindee where Burke, Wills and company had drunk at Thomas Paine’s hotel.

And the next day we drove back to Victoria.

The First …

A new calendar game starts.

You are in the game on January first. To stay in the game you have to add at least one species of bird to your year list for each day elapsed. A big day on the first makes you safe for a while. If you fall behind the days elapsed you are out. The last one to go out is the winner or by reaching 366 (it’s a leap year) there could be any number of winners.

My total last year was 386. An insignificant achievement when compared to Sean Dooley’s 703 in 2004. Sean wrote a book about that year called The Big Twitch. I get an acknowledgement in the book, not, I suspect, because of my enormous assistance but rather so I would buy the book. It worked.

This morning I was out of the house at 6 am. It was 24°C (75°F) already and would become hot and windy. It’s been a dry old time. One of the local hot spots is, by coincidence, Dooley’s Road. It backs on to the Maryborough (Victoria) sewage treatment plant and has some much abused remnant vegetation and I visited the sewage ponds as well. Plus some local box ironbark forest. I chalked up 50 species including Crested Shriketit, Little Eagle and the elusive Freckled Duck. No point staying out after noon. Safe until mid February. The Crested Shriketit has a viscous little hook on the end of its bill that it uses to tear away bark to get at the insects underneath …

Playing the game with mammals wouldn’t get me through January but I did see Eastern Grey Kangaroo and Swamp Wallaby. Many prefer the name Black Wallaby for the Swampie on the grounds that it has no preference for swamps which is very true, but nor is it black. The scientific name is Wallabia bicolor, the two coloured wallaby. Also untrue, it’s dark brown with rufous around the ears and a whitish stripe on the face, the tip of the tail is often white. The poor creature stands in need of an appropriate name.

By all means join the game. Wherever you are in the world. Post your tally in the comments, I look forward to hearing from you.

Time for me to get back to the thrilling account of my trip through the desert …

Happy New Year …

2015 rolls to a close. A memorable year for many good and all too many bad reasons.

Thank you to all of you that take the time to read my posts. Visits came from 69 countries, outside of Australia the US then Belgium figured large. I hope many of you will visit our country in person. If I can help just ask.

A special thanks to those who wrote comments, in particular Mukul Chand who always says nice things about my photography.

I wish you all a happy and prosperous new year.

Sturt …

At Cameron Corner it would be possible, if you can bend it like Beckham, to stand in South Australia and kick a ball slightly east of north that traveled into New South Wales, crossed into Queensland and then curved west back into South Australia. Or you could just have a beer at the Corner Store, a pub standing all alone in the desert.

When you cross the border into New South Wales you enter the Sturt National Park.

Charles Sturt left Adelaide in August 1844, travelled north to the Murray River, followed it to the junction with the Darling and then followed that north east. When he left the river it was to head north to Lake Cawndilla, close to modern day Menindee subsequently made famous by Burke and Wills. Sturt thought the river banks would suit graziers well and was proven right quite soon after his return.

From there the going became a lot tougher. His party made progress by scouting ahead until a suitable body of water was found and then taking up the main party with its livestock. Eventually they reached “a romantic rocky glen of basalt” on which Sturt bestowed the unromantic name of Depot Glen. The country was drying out quickly in the heat of an unusually dry summer. The water behind them was gone and there was none to be found ahead. They were obliged to stay put for six months. Exploratory trips were made and, knowing that the devil finds work for idle hands, Sturt had the men build a cairn on a nearby hill. Mr Poole died of scurvy at the Glen. The cairn became his memorial and the hill is now Mt Poole.

When the rains came Sturt took some of the stronger men and continued north west. He established a second depot in a spot that he called the Park. He left men here with instruction to build a stockade and a stock yard. Sturt made three sorties from here discovering and naming Cooper’s Creek on one, and penetrating into the heart of the Simpson desert on another. He had given instruction to David Morgan “to prepare and paint the boat in the event of her being required.” She was never required.

The stockade became known as Fort Grey, it stands by Lake Pinaroo which fills about once a decade and holds water for a few years. It provided Sturt with good feed for his livestock. It was our campsite for a night. These days it is grazed by Red Kangaroos …

But for some years graziers eked a living out of the land here. This steam engine brought water up from a bore out on the lake bed …

A Central Netted Dragon visited us in the camp site …

Sturt was one of Australia’s finest explorers. As well as a national park he has a university named after him (from which I have a graduate diploma in ornithology) and Sturt’s Desert Pea.

and this fine example made quite a splash …

Pub to Pub …

As beautiful as the waterhole on the Diamantina was, we could think of a far nicer place to get a drink.

When we strode into the Noccundra Hotel we were greeted by a huge dog with its forepaws on the bar. Its head was held on a quizzical slant as if to say, “What’ll it be?” It seemed a little early for a beer so I asked it for a ginger beer. The licensee emerged stage left and supplied the bottle. The dog evidently needed a bit more training.

The pub licensed since 1882 is the entire town. Fortunately it also sells diesel and unleaded petrol. If you were short of food it would be worth while asking what they could sell you from their stock.

It stands close to the Wilson River. The first time I went there it was very close, the river having overflowed its banks. This time it was in its normal place a couple of hundred metres away. Given the choice of a beer or any amount of water from the creek, spare a thought for Andrew Hume. He found himself in jail for horsestealing, his get out of jail card was the claim that he had met a survivor of the missing Leichhardt expedition living with aboriginals way out in the west of Queensland. In 1874 he was given the chance to substantiate his claim. Two of his party of three perished of thirst just to the west of Noccundra. Maybe he should have served his sentence.

The road south from here leads to the dingo fence where you can pass through the Warri Warri Gate into New South Wales. About half way to the border and less than 50 km off to the east is Bulloo Lake. This is where the Burke and Wills resupply party led by William Wight lost three men. They were three months out from Menindee and had covered just 450 km. Stone, Purcell and Becker died, the remainder of the personnel were in bad shape. This was the furthest point for the party although Wright rode on with Brahe to have one last look for Burke and Wills at the Cooper.

We continued the pub crawl by taking a right turn north of the border and heading out to Cameron Corner. It’s the point where Queensland, South Australia and New South Wales meet. John Brewer Cameron banged a wooden post in here on the 30th September 1880. Given his middle name it is entirely apposite that someone decided to build a pub here. By tradition one drinks three beers, one from each state. Start with a Coopers, get that chore out of the way whilst your thirst is at its greatest.

If it were not for the accidental intersection of lines on a map it would be just a lonely place in the dunes left to the wildlife like this Brown Falcon …

Cordillo Downs …

We tore ourselves away from the Birdsville pub and headed south east. The Cordillo Downs Road leads into the heart of explorer country, the dig tree of Burke and Wills, Fort Grey of Sturt. Hallowed ground. Our route was a little indirect since we were aiming to inspect as many black soil crevasses as we could but our first objective was to get beyond the creek crossings between the Cadelga Out-station and Cordillo Downs station. There were thunder storms all around us, showers had preceded us and more were coming.

Although the creeks running into the desert are usually dry the occasional rains are enough to bring life giving water into what seems a sterile landscape. The creek lines are marked by trees, in between there is mostly no vegetation. Once we had crossed the last of the channels we camped on the gibber (pronounced with a hard G as in get not like a J) and woke to a glorious blue sky.

This is Sturt’s Stony Desert …

The stones, with which the ground was so thickly covered as to exclude vegetation, were of different lengths, from one inch to six, they had been rounded by attrition, were coated with oxide of iron, and evenly distributed. In going over this dreary waste the horses left no track, and that of the cart was only visible here and there. From the spot on which we stopped no object of any kind broke the line of the horizon; we were as lonely as a ship at sea, and as a navigator seeking for land, only that we had the disadvantage of an unsteady compass, without any fixed point on which to steer.

The creek line intrudes into the top right of the photograph and here we found Bourke’s Parrots and these little guys …

… before we pressed on to pass the largest woolshed in the southern hemisphere. It was built of local stone in 1883. It’s not a case of how many sheep to the acre more a case of how many acres to the sheep. These days the sheep have given way to cattle. The last time a bale of wool was pressed here was about 1942.

Our objective that day was the Diamantina River which we crossed at a point where it fans out into a multitude of channels, mostly dry, with a maze of lignum swamps in between. We camped close to one of the billabongs …

After crossing the Simpson Desert by camel, Cecil Madigan also camped by the Diamantina, not at this spot but one rather like it …

It was cloudless and calm. I lay in my bed on the bare ground above the steep bank, just beyond the thin line of trees that edged the waterhole. The moon was high, but its light was already paling and the shadows were gone. Orion still rode the skies, but the glorious morning star in the east was heralding the approach of the bold sun. The sky still held the dark blue of the night, but towards the east it changed to dove grey, then light grey and finally to a strip of tangerine that lay low on the horizon.They were not the brilliant colours of sunset clouds, but the most delicate hues of the sky itself. The black trees were silhouetted against these lovely tints. Gradually the stars faded and the mystic moonlight withdrew as night crept silently away, and objects took their true shape and distance in the hard light of day. A squawk was heard here and there in the trees, and soon the clouds of cockatoos came to life and filled the morning with their harsh screeching, tearing away the last soft veils of night as the sun came up.

The desert has a truly awful beauty but it’s water that brings it life.