In addition to my paltry journal entries, I am forced to consult an atlas to help me
remember our journey. The experience exists in my head like a lovely dream, all at once so real and just beyond the grasp of recollection. I should have written it all down as soon as I returned to our field station, but I was too exhausted and elated at being in the presence of the certain comforts which we lacked during our time on the road. The details come back to me
slowly when I encounter the names of certain towns on a map. Mary Kathleen: a town square with no buildings. Richmond: silly dinosaur statues. Camooweal: hot.
We spent twelve days exploring the Australian outback and covered 2,663 kilometers of mostly empty road, but I can only recall the memories in small, colorful bursts - the pounding hot sun, loping giant red kangaroos, a vast salty desert, an abandoned stone house, and many, many birds. Above all I remember a feeling of all consuming awe at a world I feared I would never see again.
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| Our Route |
Day One
November 22, 2009
We left Herberton, a small town in eastern
Queensland where I was volunteering as a field technician for Cornell's ongoing study of red-backed fairy-wrens with four other hardworking young women. Dan, our boss, was now leading the project as a new PhD student. His research was focused on determining the role that ecological variation had in driving the divergence of sexual traits in these charming little birds. He needed someone to accompany him on a twelve-day collecting trip across Queensland to obtain blood and feather samples from 100 male fairy-wrens. I embraced the opportunity, excited at a change of scenery, more banding experience, and the chance to see new species of birds we couldn't see in the tablelands. The rest of the crew stayed behind at the field site - a donkey farm owned by a pack tour operator - to continue the important work of searching for new nests and banding young and rogue fairy-wrens.
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| The Atherton Tablelands |
The Kennedy Highway took us west through the wind turbine-dotted verdant hills of Ravenshoe (pronounced "Raven's Hoe"). The tropical forests of the Atherton tablelands soon gave way to dry savannah and eucalyptus scrub. Two hundred and seven kilometers southwest of Herberton, Dan and I made camp at the Bedrock Village caravan park in Mount Surprise. We set up our airy tents and canvas cots in the waning heat. It was November and the beginning of summer in Australia. Air temperatures reached over 100 F, but night descended quickly providing some relief from the heat. After a quick dinner, we retired to read by the light of our headlamps inside our respective tents.
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| No longer in the tablelands! |
Day Two
Sick. I woke up drenched in a cold sweat. My throat was on fire and I realized that my tonsils were the size of ping pong balls.
My forehead burned with fever as I lay on my stiff military cot.
A less than ideal way to start the trip.
Dan an I ate a breakfast of black tea and granola soaked in hot water. The tea temporarily soothed my throat but the
cereal was hard to swallow. I sat silently chewing my food into the smallest possible bits, swallowing little by little in utter agony.
Dan asked if I was okay but I could only produce a withering, “un-huh”. I wanted to cry. I was indignant at the failings of my immune system.
I didn't want to hinder Dan's research goals and
I cursed the timing of this illness. I managed to hold it together and choked down a pair of extra-strength Advil chased with a warm cup
of water. I focused my attention on the pink corellas playing behind the outdoor kitchen, waiting for the pain killers to take effect.
Tonsillitis (?) or no tonsillitis, there was a lot of work to do. We cleaned our dishes, packed up camp, and set-off for the field.
Our first attempt to trap Dan's male fairy-wrens took place in a dry, shrubby savannah on the west end of town
where emus made themselves invisible through immobility and double-barred finches darted about in acacia trees and bunchgrass.
We split up and walked around for half an hour trying to locate a group of fairy wrens to capture.
We each found a few lone
individuals but ended up targeting a larger foraging flock in the center of the site.
We set up two mist-nets in the shape of a "V" and circled back around the group of twelve birds.
Together we set in on the fairy-wrens, driving them
toward our nets.
It took multiple
attempts, as the birds were nervous and dispersed around our setup.
We hiked back a ways, squatted down and
waited for them to return.
As we
sat like statues an emu made his way toward our gear.
The unwelcome guest, if frightened, could put a large hole
in our net and we had few back-ups. Dan slowly walked toward it and drove it in
the opposite direction. Eventually the
foraging flock made its way back around and this time, without hesitation, we bolted toward them.
Six individuals hung
upside-down in our trap and we plucked them out with great enthusiasm.
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| Intermediate male red-backed fairy-wren: pure gold after a long day of searching |
Ninety-four birds to go.
By the time we had banded, gently plucked and bled our last bird, the sun had reached its zenith
and it was time for a top-up on my pain medication. Dan spoke to
a few residents around town in an attempt to gain access to their property and all of them were surprisingly friendly and accommodating. I wasn’t used to the
welcoming attitudes. Back in North America
people were quick to shoo biologists off their land. But not here. Neighbors made small talk, asking us where we were from and what we were looking for. When we told them about the fairy-wrens they grew excited and recalled their own stories of the birds they knew colloquially as "red potbellies".
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| Cheeky apostlebird |
Regardless of my inconvenient illness, we chase birds through the dry savannah all day. Afterwards, we drove towards Blancourt Station. We stopped for a lunch of cold meat sandwiches on a pullout on the side of the highway. Apostlebirds gathered in the trees and scolded us as we ate. We used our cooler as a
table and watched warily as the cheeky black birds flew closer, growing bolder in greater numbers. Soon they were above our heads, squawking loudly. I can't figure out if they want our food or are defending their territory. We hit the road before we find out what these little devils are made of.
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Cattle station camp
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The dry forests along the highway seem devoid of bird-life but we lucked out after some hours of searching. We set up a few nets on the property of a large cattle station after being given the go-ahead by one of the owners (wife). She even invited us in for supper and a shower! but we didn't have time and opted to camp and remain dusty for the evening.
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Cooking rice at the cattle station
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We managed to trap a few wrens, collected blood samples, released the birds and called it a day. We cooked rice by lantern light and camped on the side of the long driveway. At 10 PM the station manager (husband) approached in a large, loud tractor and warned us of an encroaching wildfire which forced us to leave early the next morning.
Day Three
After a seemingly short night of vivid, fever-induced dreams I awoke, again soaked in cold
sweat and with large tonsils. The smoky dawn was filled with the surreal cries of currawongs.
I heard Dan unzip his tent but
I remained on my warm, sweaty cot listening to the large corvids and praying for a few more moments of rest. I eventually had no choice
but to do the same.
A fire was approaching, not to mention there was much
work to be done, so much road to cover, and we had less than two weeks to do
it.
With great reluctance, I too emerged from my tent.
A single-lane highway unraveled before us while the hot Queensland sun beat down upon our
rental. "Ventura Highway" by
America filled the Mitsubishi and the song, as it always does, pulled at
my heart. Dan and I chatted excitedly when we realized that we shared affection for a certain 1980s cartoon whose soundtrack featured music from the same band.
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Careful on those single land highways. Road trains rule the roads.
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We continued west and stopped for lunch at a park in Georgetown.
Dan surprised me with a cold (!!!), fizzy mango soda to sooth my swollen, burning throat. Apostlebirds took on a different attitude here. Rather than ganging up on us they begged for food around our ankles like stray cats. Magpie larks bobbed their heads as they picked their way through fervent green lawns fed by sprinklers.
We napped on the benches of our picnic tables
before setting off toward Croydon.
I don't remember much about Croydon except for an old, lone smokestack in the middle of nowhere (probably an old copper smelting plant), and a small reservoir with many new species of birds. My favorite was the Australian pratincole, a curious leggy shorebird that resembled a mix between a seriema and a plover.
Later that day we drove ourselves into a giant salt flat devoid of life.
There were no trees, little grass, and absolutely no fairy-wrens.
We had to drive another 160 km to
Normanton before seeing any form of desirable habitat, and thus any chance of catching birds.
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No fairy wrens out here!
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In
The Slater Field Guide to Australian Birds, red-backed fairy-wrens appear to sprawl all over the northern portion of the country from east to west.
However, Dan and I quickly learned within the first day of our trip that they would not be so
easy to find.
Fairy-wrens seem to prefer some form of understory, especially tall grasses, intermixed with larger trees where they can cluster in groups and sally for air-borne
insects.
Much of Queensland, save the
coastal portions, consists of desert scrub and open savannah.
The outback is an immense place and we had to drive hundreds of kilometers between patches of suitable habitat in order to locate the birds.
Even when we found seemingly ideal locations, there
was no guarantee that they would be there.
Day Four
The Australian outback spread before us like a shimmering mirage.
We kicked up dust as we drove north towards Normanton and
could barely see the ribbon of dirt we left behind.
There was nothing to look at out here besides
the grandeur of the desert.
There was
nothing but incredible space and slow time. When we reached Normanton I could smell the Arafura Sea, twenty miles to the west. We camped at a caravan park, dejected at finding no fairy-wrens in the surrounding area, but all woes disappeared when we discovered a swimming pool.
After a long, luxurious swim we relaxed around camp. I spied a bowerbird in the parking lot behind me while I strummed at my cheap guitar. I was beginning to feel healthy once again.
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Freshly showered and strumming in the Normanton caravan park
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Red dirt road
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Day Five
We head further north on the Burke Developmental Rd. but the salty land is flat and dry and devoid of fairy-wren habitat. We turn around and head back south. Onward to Cloncurry!
As we bridged the 230 km gap between Normanton and
Cloncurry we noted something very strange. For the first time on our
trip the highway was full of activity. Clouds of grasshoppers filled the air and smacked against our windshield as we drove through the swarms. The grasshoppers also attracted a myriad of bird species that unfortunately followed the insects into the highway. Willy wagtails bumped off the top of the windshield and our grill was full of
insect carcasses. I slowed down
in an attempt to spare the birds but we had a long way to go and we would never reach Cloncurry at this pace. Dan urged me to speed up - hitting
the birds, like the insects, would be inevitable.
When we reached Cloncurry we climbed out of the car and
stretched our tired bodies.
I walked to
the front of the vehicle to survey the damage.
Hundreds of grasshoppers filled the front compartment.
I picked a diamond dove out of the grill and
held it up to show Dan. I placed the dead bird on the side of the road and whispered an apology.
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Grasshoppers all up in our grill!
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I can't remember much else about the town besides brolga cranes strutting along the sidewalk, and a billboard guaranteeing “a warm welcome”.
Apparently back in 1889 the town experienced a
record high of 127 F. Today it was only a
little over 100.
Day Six
We take the Barkly Highway west toward Mount Isa and visit Mary Kathleen, a ghost town with a terrible secret.
Originally settled in the 1860s, the town didn't boom until uranium was discovered in the 1950s. The area was eventually abandoned in the 1980s when mining became unprofitable and the land was "rehabilitated" for grazing. A failed $19,000,000 radioactive cleanup attempt left seeping uranium tailings to poison nearby evaporation ponds. Nothing remains here but a grid of old roads and stop signs but no cars, a town square with no buildings, and steps that no longer lead to homes. Probably a good thing.
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| Camp outside of Mt. Isa |
We made it to Mount Isa! A bustling copper town in the middle of the harsh Queensland desert. A local birder took us around to search for wrens. During our wanderings we found a midden full of aboriginal artifacts, stone tools, flint, and arrowheads. Saw several new birds. Found wrens near a copper mining site and caught a few. An angry mother wren perched on Dan’s hat while he processed her two fledglings. For dinner we headed back to town and eat surprisingly delicious fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. We spent a long time searching for the turn-off road that leads to our camp. We found it after several sweeps back and forth along the dark highway. I am so happy to collapse inside my tent. Utterly exhausted. I am too tired and too sore to set up my cot. The
ground is hot and hard but I fall asleep easily regardless.
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Mad mama trying to protect her babes
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Day Seven
Mount Isa again. We did some more serious work today running through the harshest environment I've ever experienced. Spinifex grass has painfully embedded itself in my legs but it was worth it. We caught several wrens (and a spinifex bird to boot)! I also got to untangle a fat blue skink from the net and we nearly caught a rainbow bee-eater (bounced out). I took
a bucket shower behind the truck and pulled spinifex splinters out of my legs all evening. Feeling annoyed at the existence of fairy-wrens and Dan's need to study them...
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Excellent fairy-wren habitat
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| Rocking the dirt tan with a female red-backed fairy-wren in-hand |
Day Eight
We made our way further west to Camooweal, the last town at the edge of Queensland. We wandered into the surrounding savannah and were happy to quickly hear the twinkling twitters of fairy-wrens. Cockatiels whistled from the trees and thousands of bright birds colored the sky neon green. We focus our binoculars on them and realize they are budgerigars!
By noon it is too hot to work so we head to the car and drive back into town. We stopped at a gas station to fuel up and the thermometer reads 110 F in the shade.
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Quittin' time!
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Back the caravan park I took a very long, cool shower. I felt a little guilty at using so much water in such a harsh, dry environment but it was just so heavenly. I stood there soaking in the coolness knowing it would be a while before I had a chance to do this again.
It was very hard to sleep that night. The road
trains (think 18-wheelers on steroids) came and went at all hours of the night, their thunderous engines causing the earth to quake, their enormous dust clouds choking our airways.
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Road Train
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Day Nine
Camooweal again. Dan and I split up to scour the scrubby outback for new fairy-wrens. Instead I found a dead bustard on the side of the road. I collected a few of it's large and lovely feathers and enjoy the alone time to reflect on the last few long, hot days. Only one more
day in the field before we began the long trek back to Herberton.
We eventually find two groups of fairy-wrens and try for both with some success. Later that day we drove the short distance to the Northern Territory. We took photos standing atop our rental and waved at passing road trains.
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We made it to the Northern Territory!
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Day Ten
We are headed back east along the Flinders Highway and stop just east of Julia Creek. Dan and I split off again in opposite directions. I drifted through a scrubby meadow
with outstretched hands, grazing the tips of the dry grass with my palms. I found fairy-wrens but they were the wrong species (variegated) and I watched them for a while as they sallied for insects. The ground suddenly began to shake and a flock of giant red kangaroos appeared. My heart pounded as they bounded through
the crunchy grass only a few feet away.
Bustards snuck through the trees, but no red-backs are to be found here so we move on.
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Variegated fairy wren. Cool bird but not what we were hoping for.
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In Richmond we made a visit to a museum filled with cheesy dinosaur sculptures and fossils of footprints of long dead beasts. We spent the night in the Lakeview Caravan Park. I marveled at how thick and lush the grass was and walked around enjoying the sensation on my bare feet. Hundreds of fat cane toads soon litter the lawns like ornaments as night descend and we hit a few with golf clubs. Dan hates them (they are exotic and highly invasive) and he makes them fly especially far. Tree
frogs live in the showers but they are native and I welcome their quiet presence.
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Argh! A quick visit to the dinosaur museum in Richmond, QLD
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Cheese! Posing inside a liopleuradon
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Day Eleven
We headed east toward Hughenden and took the Kennedy
Developmental Rd. north past Porcupine Gorge National Park. We are back in the tablelands and huge gymnosperms and eucalyptus trees line the red dirt highway. There were large reservoirs, lots of wise old cows, and weary loggers - but no fairy-wrens. We camped out alongside the road, our last night afield.
Day Twelve
We made it back to the donkey farm absolutely exhausted. Our legs full of spinifex splinters, and our hides falsely tanned with several layers of outback dust, we are happy to be home.
Dan and I spent twelve days scouring the state of Queensland and came back with samples from 76 birds. We hadn't anticipated that finding 100 male fairy-wrens would be so difficult.
We decided that we were awesome, and high-fived. Best collecting trip ever.
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| Our friends are happy to see us |
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| Home sweet home in Herberton,QLD |
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| An early Thanksgiving celebration with the RBFW Crew! |
Photo credits: Dan Baldassarre
