Birding New South Wales, Dorrigo National Park

Here in Kona, we are experiencing a prolonged bout of high surf.  Two days ago, it washed away the pier in Puako, ordinarily a sedate bay just south of Beach 69.  This seems like the perfect time to tell you a bit more about our Australian adventure.  This episode will deal with Dorrigo National Park, in the mountains a couple hundred miles south of Queensland.    

One of the better granite boulders in Cathedral Rock NP

     On our way east, we made a translational stop in Armidale, cutting the long journey from the Warrumbungles to Dorrigo in half.  Armidale was far less quaint than we had hoped.  Unable to find the pubs to which our host directed us, we dined (if you can call it that) at a McDonalds where the food was at least twice as expensive as in the States. 

    Also we provisioned for our two nights in Dorrigo at one of the big grocery stores.  We were getting the hang of shopping in an Australian grocery, finding that some of the things we like were cheaper in Australia.  Potato chips, real butter and  beef pies four to six  package.  And buying a half kilo of ham from the deli for sandwiches was actually no more expensive than buying a pound back home.  We also purchased a half dozen plump links made from lamb and Indian pickle, that I doubt you will find in the U.S. 

    It was a pleasant drive from Armidale on Waterfall Way, which stretches all the way from Armidale

A large male Gray Kangaroo

to Bellingen.  Mostly we passed through rolling farmland, but we had two delightful stops.  The first was at Cathedral Rock National Park.  I knew before we turned in that the eponymous monolith was going to be far away from the roads, hence beyond the scope of this mornings meanderings, but I hoped that as it was a national park, there might be something interesting for us to see.  Certainly there were plenty of large granite boulders in a variety of shapes.  But far more wonderful for us, there were lots of Gray Kangaroos.  This being a park, the 'roos realized that they did not need to run for their lives.  Several times we were treated to one or more who stood a few meters off the road quietly considering us while chewing a mouthful of grass.  There were big males and also several females with joeys in various stages of independence.  It was interesting to see a large joey crawl back into the mother's pouch. 

    On a couple occasions we were treated to fine looks at Red-necked Wallabies, about half the size of the big grays, their fuzzy pointed faces peering at us just over the top of the tall meadow grass.  What a relief it was to be in Kangarooland at last.  Up to this point, I was worried we might return from Oz without a good picture of a 'roo.  Oh, the shame of it all.  

Mother 'Roo with Joey

     We took a short walk in the cool morning, beginning at a campsite at the end of the road.  Cathedral Rock was several kms down this trail and I could imagine that it would be a very pleasant walk in the cool mountain air.   But the hours required for  that hike wasn't on the agenda, so we bid goodbye to the rocks and  kangaroos and headed west. 

    Only a little further along, Sandra and I stopped for an early lunch at Ebor Falls, which I had 

discovered while playing with Google maps.  The falls weren’t quite Iguassu, but were every bit as impressive as we had expected.   There were a few dwellings and a motel where we made the turn off the road, but right at the falls there is a fine wooded park devoid of commercial intrusion.  We shared the trail beside the Guy Fawkes River with a few other travelers who had stopped to enjoy the view and we shared our lunch with the resident Pied Currawong, who in return granted us the privilege of a killer photo.   Currawongs are, at least to my eye, extremely handsome birds.  But they are not universally loved in Australia as they are known to be nest predators.  I hope this fellow was satisfied with a portion of our sandwiches in lieu of someone else's babies. 

     After Ebor Falls, it was a pleasant drive through rolling countryside to Dorrigo.  As we approached our destination, the hills became steeper, but the traffic was light and my brave co-pilot did not complain.

     As you may recall, we had exchanged  countless emails with Allan Richards planning  our route in order to have the best chance to see the birds of New south Wales.  Allan is the current president of the NSW Field Ornithological Association, which I suppose is much like the audubon society back in Estados Unidos, with the notable exception that this group is more interested in actually watching birds than political activism.  I addition to giving us good advice, Allan had arranged for us to hook up with a couple accomplished birders along our route.  

The Pied Currawong at Ebor Falls

    The first of these contacts was Pierre Charbonneau, who lives in Coff's Harbour.  Pierre had graciously volunteered to come up to Dorrigo from Coff's.  This didn't seem unreasonable when I 

encouraged him to come up and go birding with us.  It wasn't until we made the drive down the steep, windy, narrow road to the coast that I appreciated what a really nice guy Pierre is.  By the time we made it to Bellingen, just thirty treacherous kms from Dorrigo, I was ready to nominate Pierre for sainthood

     We met Pierre for the first time about 9 AM.  Our connection had been a bit tenuous, as we did not have a cell phone.  Fiona, the owner’s wife back in Armidale, had permitted me, in the morning as we checked out,  to use her cell phone.  I had spoken to both Sandy and Pierre and made arrangements to meet around nine at the Dorrigo Mountain Holiday Park. Fiona also directed us to  Waterfall Way, which departed Armidale differently than I thought.  

    I didn’t  feel comfortable asking the Dorrigo Mountain Park manager if we could use his cell  (I wonder if he cultivates his reputation as a curmudgeon just to fend off such requests.) but as there were only two occupied cabins that morning, Pierre found us easily.

The boardwalk into the rainforest, Dorrigo NP

     Arriving at our door, he introduced himself in a charming manner with an accent identical to the one I would use to impersonate a Frenchman in an anecdote.  But of course!  He did what he could to coax Sandra to go birding.  “But madame, ze trail is easy and we will not need to go into ze wet forest so zer will be no leeches..”   

   I don’t know how she resisted, but Pierre and I, sans madame, were soon on The Skywalk at the National Park.  Sandra and I had visited The Skywalk the previous afternoon.  I was expecting an elevated bridge of cables and ropes ascending into the canopy.  This skywalk is a single pier of planks extending from the back of park headquarters out about 100 feet.  The land drops away precipitously below and by the time you are at the very end of the pier, you are possibly 100 ft above the forest floor.  High enough to give us acrophobics pause.  My friend pointed out a flowering tree hat Australian birders refer to a s a crab apple, which he said would be good for birds the following morning.  But, as was the case the previous afternoon,  no birds were seen from the skywalk.  

   Authors note: in the description of the birding adventures, we are including pictures of the birds that are not our own.  It is very difficult to photograph wild birds, but I include these pictures as they permit you to identify and enjoy what we saw.  A picture is truly worth a thousand words.

     Pierre’s reputation as a talker preceded him.  Allan, in one of our inumerable email conversations,  had noted that Pierre was not an accomplished user of the internet, but was indefatigable on the telephone.  And indeed, the previous morning returning Fiona’s phone to its rightful owner required a 

Southern Logrunner

bit of a forceful adieu.  It was only a few steps from the lodge to the boardwalk leading down to an asphalt trail.  In the midst of his non-stop soliloquy, Pierre stopped to look for a lyrebird and spotted a pair of Southern Logrunners just beneath the boardwalk.  These birds were much more like towhees than I had expected, fossicking in the debris on the floor of the rainforest.  Even their plumage, black and orange with white accents, was similar to the Rufous-sided Towhee of the PNW.  We enjoyed the logrunners and then moved on down to the asphalt trail.  

    Sandra and I had made it this far the day before.  It was afternoon and the forest was quiet.  We had a pleasant  walk in the trail, along with a few other couples, enjoying the cool shaded trail through the rain forest.  Its great the that the national park service has set aside this land and created the trail so people have an idea of what is being preserved, but to be honest, finding birds in a forest is really difficult.  We had a pleasant  walk in the trail, along with a few other couples, enjoying the cool shaded rainforest, but aside from a brush turkey, we saw and heard nothing.  I'm certain that like Sandra and I the day before, the vast majority of the people who take these trails see very few birds.  We had a pleasant  walk in the trail, along with a few other couples, enjoying the cool shaded rainforest, but aside from a brush turkey, we saw and heard nothing. 

     It was similarly quiet today.  As we walked, Pierre shared his personal history.   Origianally from French Cananda, he had met his wife and moved to Australia twenty years earlier.  When he found out that I was from Oregon, he stated that Charbonneau, the husband of Sacajawea, was a distant relative.   I explained that there is now a suburb of Portland named after his distant cousin and he was very pleased.  As they say in the Enchanted Kingdom, "It's a small world after all."

    The woods remained quiet, but Pierre was armed with his iPod (in which he carries the calls of every bird in Australia!) and he knew what bird to expect in that exact spot.  Before we set out, he had made sure I had no problem with using a tape.  I could have told him about walking through the snowy mountains of northern Idaho at night playing the call of the Boreal Owl while sharing some Cutty Sark with Mike and Ken, but, “Absolutely play the tape.” was sufficient.

Noisy Pitta from below, perched for a mating call.

   “Zees iss de good place for Peeta. “ he whispered.  And we began searching for that very difficult bird.  Mike and I had missed the Noisy Pitta twenty years before, not for lack of trying.  Lamington Park a couple hundred miles to the north has great habitat well inside the Pitta’s range..  Here in Dorrigo, we were on the edge of the pitta’s range.  But today we had a supreme advantage.  In the quiet forest Pierre began playing the pitta’s call.  It was a little late in the nesting season, he said, but it was worth a try.  Within a few minutes, we could hear a bird answering.  It was well uphill.  In the dappled sunlight I searched through the dense foliage, concentrating on the forest floor, as the pitta is primarily a terrestrial bird.  “The calling bird perches in ze trees.”  Pierre corrected me.  a moment later  he whispered, “Zer it iss!”

   The call from both the tape and the approaching bird had been louder than I expected.  And the bird was bigger.  The Noisy Pitta was thirty feet in and twenty feet above us.  Thus we were looking at this colorful bird from below.   He was big as an American Robin, but fat like a quail.  The breast was the color of Dijon mustard with a glob of dark brown tapenade in the center.  Just behind, the vent wasa on orange patch to color of sun dried heirloom tomato.  What a delicious bird.

The Pitta was an early Christmas present!

     Just at this point, an older couple came down the trail.  I was tempted to show them the bird Pierre had acquired with such skill and cunning, but as he was muttering vile epithets, I ignored them and they passed on with a  quiet G'day.  The pitta, however, stayed for two or three more minutes, long enough for me to make a futile effort at a photograph, before he disappeared into the forest. 

     As we started to walk Pierre pointed into the forest near the trail.  There was another pitta scratching the soil about ten feet off the trail.  The brush was so dense that our looks were difficult, but no doubt it was a second pitta, this one foraging on the ground in the prescribed manner.   On the ground, even in this dense cover,  the green wings, black face and chestnut cap were more obvious.

       The second pitta was soon gone and we walked along, identifying small dickeybirds, like the Large-billed Scrub Wren,  (whose bill is not large enough to make the bird of interest to any except the most devout birdwatchers.)  A short while later we spotted a pair of Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoos well up in the canopy.  This large  bird is found in a variety of habitats, from the savannah to the coast.  And, as it turns out, in the rain forest.  I had seen them many times at a distance, but this pair was close enough for a good look as they tended their nest among the bromeliads.  

The Much Beloved Sandy  and the Canuck that followed her home.

    As we continued our walk towards the Glade picnic area, Pierre continued to fill out his family history.  He had met his wife, Sandy, on Vancouver Island a few years after the summer of love.   An Australian girl, she was visiting relatives in western Canada.  He had moved west from Quebec and was working near Victoria.  They were introduced in a pub by a mutual friend, their immediate hook up had something to do with Pierre's dog (he identifies strongly with Kerouac and the beat generation) and they ended up traveling the west coast as far as California, before returning to Oz as man and wife.  Someone should make a movie.   Sandy now handles the correspondence and Pierre works nights as a nurse and watches birds on his off days.   

     There's more birds and adventures to come.  And if the ocean settles down I'm sure we'll see some more fish.  In the meantime have a Merry Christmas,

Follow Skippy to the exciting conclusion of the Dorrigo Adventure.

jeff