Runaway Trains
Not long ago, I finished only my second real holiday since before the pandemic. It was my second visit to Australia since 2019. The days went by so fast. I barely started each day and my mind and body were overtaken by the atoms buzzing around me. I thought I had plans, but I had no chance to do everything with few days and the distractions all about me. All better than my plans. Each day was like riding in an old wooden buffet car of a runaway train.
I had barely stepped both feet out of the customs and security exits at Brisbane Airport and I was amazed to see the large soaring figure of an adult White-bellied Sea-Eagle in front of the passenger pick-up. Rob and Rod then grabbed me by the collar and we were whisked around giant warehouses where bouncing monster trucks were surrounded by Australian Pelicans, Black Swans, Mangrove Gerygones, Superb Fairy-wrens, Brown Goshawks, Brahminy Kites and other distant sea eagles. So much was going on before the minute-hand completed a single circuit. And as far as a buffet car goes, in Japan, we can enjoy many exotic delicacies like miso ramen, sashimi from the Sea of Japan, koshihikari rice, sasadangos, and even Murakami beef, but nothing is anything like one of Sid’s pies.
Cutlery bounced and rattled on the saucer in front of me with all the windows wide down as the carriage slid and clattered and rattled on rusted, weathered rails. I stuck my head out into the sunshine and hooed and cooed with the wind blasting up my nostrils. It only seemed a moment before we faded into the dark quiet of a tunnel, and I awoke back, bouncing around in my booth with the roar of the wind, and persistent calls of Butcherbirds, Magpies, Currawongs, Lorikeets, and even a distant Kookaburra, announcing the start another journey on the new Bakelite speakers.
It was the middle of the week in September when we trekked to the doorstep of the west. Far away from working days in the city. Thank you to Martin and Karen for your generosity. Milly, Lincoln, Blackie, and the Bottle Trees, all greeted me kindly and I listened intently to the absence of motors and devices. The depth of the night sky is truly incredible from here. The sky is so bright, and the ground so dark; until your headlamp catches thousands of eyes of Wolf Spiders gazing back at you. Like a reflection of the night sky.
On the second night, as I went to unzip the entrance to my tent, a large Huntsman ran down along the path of the zipper and departed to the right. I entered the tent, organised my things, and as I lay down I realised I hadn’t closed the outer flaps. Not to worry. The night breeze was clean and fresh and I could watch satellites pass through the stars. Then it started to rain. A city boy in the bush, I unzipped the inner layer to reach out and zip up the outer. All done, I rested flat on my back and watched the return of the Huntsman. He was inside the outer layer but outside the inner layer. His shape was beautiful directly above my face and I fell deeply asleep.
I woke in the same position. Like I came out of the tunnel unmoved. It was just before six, and the spider had gone. I thought about how clear my mind felt and I had no pain in my back. Then I noticed the wisps and trills of Fairy-wrens just metres to the back of my tent. The train carriage was sharply bouncing about and I had no time to relax. It was the third and final chance to chase Purple-backed Fairy-wrens. They had been there from the start. They hopped and chatted right in front of me but were always obscured by sticks and stalks, and leaves. When I crept closer they would go to the back of the shrub they were in, then flutter to a farther bush. I followed them blindly and I treaded steadfully onward, but they out-paced me as they dispersed outback. I finally gave up the chase realising each time their voices had become more distant and spread out. It was unlikely I could catch up with them. I stood alone. Only in view of the Bottle Trees. The tea in my cup was stale and cold and the carriage was empty. I would head back to the camp. Then I noticed. Every time I headed back to the camp, the fairies would follow me. They’d get close behind just before I could get back to my seat. I thought they were tormenting me.
I don’t remember when it happened. The fairy-wrens were around the camp and I begrudgingly got off my seat to have another go at capturing their image. I felt somewhat cynical, and doubtful. It was still nice being beside the trees and the grasses, but I was less ambitious about my photography and stopped and browsed my camera menu. I totally removed my attention from the birds. Without any warning, five of them popped their faces out barely 2 metres away. As if they were wondering why I was no longer playing with them. In just a moment I grabbed some pictures to be happy with. Then I knew they weren’t tormenting me at all. Maybe they enjoyed the attention and were playing with me. It felt like a Dreamtime story. I’m sure it is. I miss them now. Not for their pictures, but for their companionship.
I would understand if Ludwig Leichhardt followed Fairy-wrens far, far through the lands and into the stars.
Rob and I attempted to photograph Rainbow Bee-eaters as they splashed into a dam for insects, and the sun slowly went down. It was amazing and frustrating, and we didn’t know if we were getting any useful photographs, yet we could have continued that for eternity too, if the day hadn’t ended.
(Images Below: Spiny-checked Honey-eater in flight, Brown Honey-eater drinking, and Black-striped Wallabies.)
I visited the Toowoomba Carnival of Flowers Parade for the first time in more than twenty years. They announced it was only the second time it had ever rained. Niigata City celebrated their dance festival during the same period, and it was reported to me when I returned, that it was sunny. It rained there my last few visits. One must not be superstitious.
South-eastern Queensland is vivid and beautiful in September. I was freezing at night during my first week, but the forecast was for 36 Celsius in Brisbane just days after I left. It is an old, wooden carriage that rattles and bounces, and bumps. But the light bounces like metal wheels in all directions and the breezes bring aromas of pollen, bat poo, oxygen and stories.
I gate-crashed one event of the inaugural Toowoomba Bird Fair. It is now part of the Carnival of Flowers, which is forever blooming brighter and wider. My friend Mick, picked me up this time as well as helping a birding tour of Duggan Park, where we found Superb Fairy-wrens, Yellow-rumped Thornbills, Welcome Swallows, Galahs, Little Corellas, White Ibis, Wedge-tailed Eagles, et, al; and even a Dollarbird. Furthermore, I was reminded there are other people in the world who love birds and even photograph them. Mick and I then witnessed the beginning of a whole new era of naturalists and Astro travellers taking up the art at the Toowoomba Bird Habitat with bird focussed activities for children. I hope they’ll join up to celebrate the 50th reunion in 2075, and laugh about the days when they started.
I cannot complete a complete diary of my holiday for there is limited space on the internet. I can only recall my tour along the north shore of Brisbane, where we ate fish and chips, and prawns from the hand-script of Herman Melville. I bought a freshly made Cappuccino and sipped it as I photographed a beautiful Brahminy Kite. I’ve decided now to always sip cappuccinos while photographing raptors. That was on a Friday. On Monday morning I was asked to teach the alphabet to Grade Threes. Fortunately, the students were patient and kind to me as I fumbled through it. Just as everyone else.
I didn’t see who placed a new cup of tea in front of me, but I see the cup is now sitting still and quiet on the saucer, and the tea is hot and fresh. Thank you. It would be nice though, to have just one more chocolate brownie.
The End
