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lindoig6 · 4 years

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Inner-city Bird Diversity

Birds on our Balconies

We live in a small high-rise on the edge of the Melbourne CBD, on the lowest level of apartments, 6 floors above street level. We are on the intersection of two heavily trafficked streets, with constant construction and traffic noise all day and most of the night. We have two outside terraces and despite the noise and pollution, we have been visited by many birds over the years we have lived here. The list of 19 species that we have seen on our terraces is as follows:

Common Blackbirds

Grey Butcherbirds

Pied Butcherbirds

Sulphur-crested Cockatoos

Pied Currawongs

Rock Doves (Feral Pigeons)

Spotted Doves

Galahs

Silver Gulls (ubiquitous Seagulls)

White-plumed Honeyeaters

Australian Magpies

Magpie-larks

Common (Indian) Mynas

Little Ravens

House Sparrows

Common Starlings

Song Thrush (barely-fledged chick – no idea how it got there)

Red Wattlebirds

Domestic chicken (presumed escapee from a higher apartment in a nearby tower)

In addition, I have also seen regular flypasts by several of the above species as well as four more that have not actually landed on our terraces:

Peregrine Falcons

Nankeen Kestrels

Masked Lapwings

Rainbow Lorikeets

Birds nearby

Most people imagine that big cities are virtually devoid of wildlife and what there is, is limited to cats, dogs, rats, mice, sparrows and seagulls. But landings and sightings from our apartment, less than a kilometre from the centre of the city, number 23 species and I have seen at least another 15 on my walks across the Yarra into the CBD. They include:

Eurasian Coots

Little Black Cormorants

Little Pied Cormorants

Great Cormorants

Darters

Pacific Black Duck

Nankeen Night-herons

White-faced Herons

Australian White Ibises

Australian Pelicans

Welcome Swallows

Black Swans

Chestnut Teal

Grey Teal

Crested Terns

I do quite a lot of bird surveys and within a further kilometre of home, I have reported personal sightings of at least the following 41 additions.

Red-tailed Black-Cockatoo

Long-billed Corella

Black-faced Cuckoo-shrike

Black-fronted Dotterel

Red-kneed Dotterel

Maned Duck (Australian Wood Duck)

Pink-eared Duck

Great Egret

Superb Fairywren

Grey Fantail

European Goldfinch

Australasian Grebe

Hoary-headed Grebe

Common Greenfinch

Pacific Gull

Hardhead

Swamp Harrier

New Holland Honeyeater

Sacred Kingfisher

Eastern Koel

Musk Lorikeet

Bell Miner

Noisy Miner

Dusky Moorhen

Spotted Pardalote

Red-rumped Parrot

Little Penguin

Crested Pigeon

Red-capped Plover

Australian Reedwarbler

Crimson Rosella

Sharp-tailed Sandpiper

White-browed Scrubwren

Silvereye

Grey Shrike-thrush

Royal Spoonbill

Yellow-billed Spoonbill

Pied Stilt

Australian Swamphen

Willy Wagtail

Little Wattlebird

Who would have thought I could possibly have seen 79 different species of urban birds within a kilometre of Southbank – in an area of less than 4 square kilometres? Other people have obviously seen other species as well, so maybe this figure might be closer to 90 species. The landscape is certainly not barren, but I am lucky. I live close to large areas of saltwater, freshwater, marshland, luxuriant parks and gardens with a good range of habitats for so many species. Away from this area, the variety and abundance of wildlife is rarely as prolific.

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lindoig6 · 4 years

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A Loooong Post about the ‘Sounds of the Bush’

We have been in south-central Gippsland for 12 weeks, unable to move elsewhere during the Covid-19 lockdown but have travelled extensively on daytrips to exercise by taking long walks in the bush. We have walked several hundred kilometres and the relative cacophony of birdsong juxtaposed against the ‘sound of silence’ a mere kilometre away has caused me to think a lot about the sounds of the bush and birdsong in particular.

It is hard to imagine that anyone in Australia (maybe almost anywhere in the world) would be confused about the creature they were listening to if they heard a ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo’ across their neighbour’s fence or even a couple of blocks away. But there are plenty of other birdcalls and songs that are just as distinctive. I will talk about some of our Aussie birds shortly, but other countries have birds that are equally as evocative. In Scotland, for example, I very quickly came to recognise the presence of Eurasian Skylarks even when I couldn’t find them and of course, Common Blackbirds singing at dusk are just as recognisable in Europe as they are here. It is hard to misdiagnose the call of a Skua or a Peacock, or some species of ducks or owls.

In Australia, almost everyone would recognise the calls of Magpies, Ravens, Kookaburras, Boobooks, Currawongs, Whipbirds, Bellbirds and perhaps a dozen more, even if they were unaware that there were more than one species of some of them, with notably different calls. Most people would hazard a guess at an Emu drumming even if they had never heard one other than on television.

On the other hand, many of our birds are silent or almost so. Many others are not encountered often enough (or often enough in places where we are) for most of us to become familiar with their calls, so we can be forgiven for not recognising them or understanding their language.

The more we hear particular species’ calls, the more likely we are to recognise them when we hear them again. But with so many species and subspecies, with so many different calls, nobody can be expected to know more than a small proportion of them. Perhaps you might be able to guess at a narrow range of possible species and use a bird app or a set of CDs of all Australian bird calls to identify the species, but this might be an insurmountable task if we don’t know where to start. It is further complicated because, although we might intuitively imagine that big birds would emit louder and/or lower-pitched calls than smaller ones, this is not always the case. Even remembering (accurately) what we heard in the bush whilst wading through a potentially long series of calls on our app is fraught and misidentification is a serious risk.

In an earlier post, I mentioned the joy I get when I hear the calls of the Pied Currawong, the Grey and Pied Butcherbirds and the Common Blackbird. Their calls are quite beautiful, melodic, clear and distinctive and they transport me to times and places of significance to me, locking me into emotions and experiences that were important to me at some time – and remain so to this day.

Pied Currawongs remind me of cold mornings camping at Katoomba, hot bushwalks around Canberra, and particularly the high drama that was my life when living alone in Sydney. The Butcherbirds’ clear ringing song is an unusually pleasant memory of our former apartment in Caloundra when almost everything was disastrous doom and gloom. And Blackbirds are stereotypically Melbourne for me, especially my earlier years there, although I have since enjoyed their lyrical dawn and dusk serenades on many occasions.

But what of other birds? In no particular order, I have recently thought about numerous species and their significance to me – whether that refers to a time, a place or an experience. Here are some of them……..

Peaceful Dove – anything but peaceful with its incessant calling that seems to penetrate a kilometre or more in the bush. I have seen and heard so many of them, but they always remind me of hot, dry, still, deserted places. I first heard them in Queensland but recognised the call in crowded Kalbarri and that is what has stayed with me. They say you never forget your first time, but that is only partly true. In my earlier post (referred to above), I described my first encounters with Eastern Koels and Channel-billed Cuckoos in Sydney and I will always remember them, but for some reason, I associate Peaceful Doves with Kalbarri, despite having seen and heard them numerous times before without recalling those sightings.

Laughing and Spotted Doves – predominantly from Perth and Melbourne. Their soft, repetitive murmuring seems to have been most often heard when I have been in bed and I still imagine snuggling under the covers and listening to the Laughing Doves on the roof or in the trees outside my window as a child. A warm, safe and comforting feeling.

Everyone loves the warbling of a Magpie. Indeed, it has been recognised as one of the most iconic sounds of Australia: as has the mirth of the (Laughing) Kookaburra. In general, it is the quiet pleasant communication between birds but nobody fails to imagine that some of the time, the Magpie is simply carrying on a conversation with us. We talk to them, they respond. Who hasn’t had such an encounter with an inquisitive bird a mere metre or two away, head cocked to one side, listening to our wisdom before imparting some nonsense of its own?

Corellas – usually but not only the Little Corella. Many people hate them for the damage they can do but I love them. My first memorable encounter with them was at Halls Gap in the Grampians, where hundreds of them squabbled over the best few inches of branch to roost on that particular night. They tend to swarm into and out of the same tall trees for at least a couple of hours every night and are very often seen (by us) around camping areas. They are wonderful aerobats, great characters, comics, highly vocal and seem intent on discussing every detail of their day’s adventures with every other bird in the flock so it is an entertaining, if noisy, reunion when many campers are trying to relax, listen to their televisions, or sleep. Interestingly, they are off on new adventures before many of us surface in the morning, usually without waking any of us.

Galahs are somewhat the same, performing superb aerobatics, just because they can. Their monosyllabic call evokes the desert for me wherever I am: hot, clear evenings even though I have seen them right across the country at all times of the day, and occasionally at night. They are stereotypically Outback birds in my mind, even though I know they are not.

Grey Shrike-thrush – a lovely nondescript bird with a big, melodic voice. I first saw one in the West McDonalds near Alice Springs and heard its call with wonder. Such a small bird, so hard to find, yet singing its little repertoire so loudly just a metre or two in front of me. I rarely saw others until our enforced stay in Warragul but have now heard so many of them that I can identify them even if I can’t see them. At one time, I imagined (from the end of their call) that they were similar to a Whipbird (equally hard to spot, despite their loud distinguishing call), but now know better and can easily identify both from their calls.

Most people hate the Common Myna, claiming them to be foreign invaders, aggressively supplanting our native birds. But let’s not blame the bird for being what it is. After all, it was humans that introduced it to Australia and if it is aggressive, that is simply crucial to its survival strategy. I am not even convinced of its risk to our own birds. If you refer to my earlier post about the birds on our terraces at home, you will note that they have been put in their place by our far less aggressive Spotted Doves and House Sparrows (admittedly also introduced species). The reason I have highlighted this species is because their range of vocalisations is extensive and can be piercingly loud and grating or soft and musical. Indeed, I often imagine different birds when I hear them because ‘surely, that can’t be a Myna!’

The calls of Magpie-larks and Willy Wagtails can also be shrill and deafening, especially for such small birds. Although I like their cheeky playfulness, I find their voices unpleasant, grating, raucous, piercing and uncharacteristic of diminutive species. Magpie-larks in particular can screech at almost painful levels at a range of 100 metres or more.

The Masked Lapwing also has a distinctive call, albeit not as piercing as the Magpie-lark. I first encountered them as a bowler in a cricket team where the run-up at one of the pitches we used was also used as a nesting site for a pair of Lapwings for at least 3 successive years. The poor birds were frantic whenever we played there, screeching and diving at us constantly whilst we poor humans erected a few sticks to surround a small no-man’s-land near the eggs in the scrape on the ground. Bowlers in particular found it frustrating to run around this quarantined area as they approached the crease – and many a catch was dropped when a fielder was screamed at for chasing a ball too close to the sacred ground. Amazingly, despite the Saturday afternoon inconvenience to them, the Lapwings successfully fledged their chicks year after year. More recently, when living in Richmond, my love of this species was renewed when they would call from the oval across the road every evening, particularly in the colder weather. Huddled cosy by the fire, listening to the unmistakable calls from across the road became one of the more enjoyable features of our winter evenings.

Australian Ravens (the eponymous Aussie crows) are also birds of wonder for me. All our crows and ravens have somewhat similar calls, but my favourite by far is the Australian Raven with its long, slow, lazy, down-turning groan. Caaaahhhaaharrr – very different to our other corvids. I grew up in Western Australia where all ‘crows’ were Australian Ravens and their call always reminds me of hot, dry, dusty days in the ‘great southern wheatbelt’ where I spent a lot of my recreational time as a child and adolescent. On my relatives’ wheat and sheep farms, they were seen as pests, attacking newborn lambs and spilling grain from the unsewn tops of wheat bags. One uncle in particular temporarily stored hundreds of bags of grain at the side of the house and the ravens were attracted to it – to uncle’s annoyance. He sometimes set himself up in the sleepout with his shotgun, but it took no more than a couple of inches of barrel to appear between the louvres before the ravens took flight. He claimed that they were the cleverest birds on earth – much to his chagrin.

A rare call in Gippsland has been that of the White-plumed Honeyeater that has seemed the most prominent and distinctive call almost wherever else I have travelled in Australia. I have heard it in a couple of places in Gippsland, but it is one of the most recognisable calls (for me) and its absence in this area has surprised me.

On the other hand, there are other calls that I find instantly recognisable, including most of those mentioned above. Among the others are the Black-cockatoos, White-headed Stilts, Oystercatchers, Striated and Spotted Pardalotes, Southern Boobooks, Bell Minors, Black Swans, White-faced Herons to name a few.

But there are also some areas of confusion. I always imagined that the sound of the Whistling Kite was diagnostic – until I heard the almost identical whistling of Black Kites. Similarly, most ducks quack, but how does one differentiate between one quack and another? Many small bush-birds twitter away, largely hidden in dense thickets and it is hard to identify them from their call, especially if more than one species is calling in the same area. But if you think it may be a particular species, it is sometimes possible to confirm it – although it might be harder to rule it out. I was recently in an area where numerous birds were calling but I thought I saw a Brown Thornbill and heard its call. I used an app on my phone to confirm my identification and interestingly, we were suddenly surrounded by several more Brown Thornbills, all trying to interact with the app.

I have been on the beach at dusk and have been able to identify Masked Lapwings, Silver Gulls and Oystercatchers from their calls, but anything else is a guess. I have also been at sea surrounded by majestic seabirds and found it almost impossible to identify any from their occasional calls. Some of that is simply lack of familiarity, but many pelagic species seem to be silent or have somewhat similar calls making identification other than by sight difficult.

Some birds rarely use their voice, but others are great communicators, at least between their species. Families of Babblers are constantly babbling, almost never silent, simply keeping contact within the group. Noisy Miners are (naturally) very noisy and who hasn’t been irritated by their incessant ‘chip, chip, chip, chips’? New Holland Honeyeaters, Grey Fantails and Superb Fairy-wrens seem to be twittering constantly as they flit around the foliage hunting for a feed.

The sound of one species that is unmistakable to me, even if I don’t see it and it does not call is the Crested Pigeon. The sound made by its wings in flight is absolute proof of the species. (A bit like the sound of wind in Sheoaks – instant recognition).

But then there is the sound of the Superb Lyrebird – or rather the cacophony of sounds. Being such a brilliant mimic, one needs to listen for a few moments to ensure you are not listening to a Whipbird and a Rosella and a motor bike and a chainsaw and the ringtone of a phone and……. It is the variety of replicated sounds that enables you to identify this species. Whether there is an innate ‘natural’ call of the species is perhaps doubtful because it incorporates the calls of so many other local birds (and incidental sounds) into its repertoire.

Despite some places and periods of silence in the bush where birds may or may not be present, there are wonderful experiences when the air is alive with birdsong. Far and near, we might hear twittering and tweeting, raucous squawking and shrieking, melodic warblings, single peeps and long carolling. These are often somewhat frustrating times when we are trying to see and identify the birds near us, but are constantly distracted by another call or another shadow, or another bird catching our attention because it is nearer or larger or louder and we simply don’t know where to look next.

Equally, we may be at a beach or beside a lake or surrounded by dense thickets or very tall trees and we can hear birds all around us or high in the canopy, but simply can’t find them. In Gippsland, I have recently been in towering forests with many small birds flitting around the leaves, but have simply been unable to focus my binoculars on them because they are so small, so far away and so active in their foraging, cloaked in foliage and silhouetted against a bright sky.

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