When I left off recounting the tale of my 2021 birding saga, I had just completed a trip up to the outback in the far north-east of South Australia. What I didn’t say in my blog was that I ended that trip on 345 species in South Australia for the year. Though I had not started out 2021 year-listing, throughout the year it had become a focus for my birding, if not quite an obsession. If I’d planned a few more trips I could even have pushed on to 370 or more (Nullarbor, KI, APY), but none of those trips was a particularly high priority, and as it turned out none would happen. But I did carry on trying to build my list, party because I was enjoying the birding — especially with mates like Mike Potter and Paul Coddington — and to a lesser extent because 350 seemed like a nice round target to chase, and one I could reasonably hope to reach without those time-consuming special trips.
16-17 Oct
A couple of weeks after getting back from the Outback Loop, Mike was keen to kick on and try for the record at the earliest opportunity, targetting two rare mallee birds that would lift his tally to the now mythical 375: Black-eared Miner and Red-lored Whistler. I’d seen Black-eared Miner very early in the New Year (see here) but the camping up on the Birdsville and Strez had not put me off and I was keen for more.
Paul Coddington joined Mike and myself for a two night, quite targetted trip to Gluepot the weekend of 16th and 17th October. Paul was good enough to shoulder the bulk of the driving which was a relief after the 3500km I’d racked up in October already; he picked me up in Toorak Gardens soon after a slightly premature end to Friday at work, and we collected Mike on the way north. Two hours later we rolled into Waikerie for a pub meal early evening, and by 10pm we’d set up our tents and swags in Sittella Campsite, having noted a brief appearance of a Spotted Nightjar neat the Gluepot/Taylorville boundary.
Informed to an extent by recent survey work (thx Sam G!), we spent much of the next morning looking for BEMs. At our first spot, on Track 2, we found a fairly large gathering of Miners, some of which showed a darker rump, but none of us could pin down any bird that showed all the features of a reasonably pure Black-eared Miner, with most having sings of either a pale rump or a sub-moustachial stripe paler than the throat, making them Yellow-throated X BEM hybrids. Even one that initially looked promising was clearly a hybrid once we got a reasonable view of it sitting on a nest, by climbing a neighbouring mallee tree!
Undeterred we drove through to track 7 and connected with a couple of nicely pure looking Black-eared Miners in exactly the spot I’d had one in January. This is clearly a favoured breeding area. So BEM was Mike’s record-equalling species, but somehow the excitement was not quite there. Because of the importance of the bird for Mike’s list and the difficulty of identification, we needed to be sure we were all looking at the same bird, and all satisfied that the key features were in place. Hence we spent several minutes with a few birds in this vicinity, gradually piecing together the requisite evidence. By the time we were walking back to the car there was no doubt, but there had also been no moment of exciting release that often accompanies a twitch or a rarity find.
Back at the homestead we joined Jerry and Michelle Foster for lunch. They were unexpectedly back in Gluepot for another stint as volunteer wardens, filling in for a Victorian couple who’d been unable to come because of Covid movement restrictions. They were excited to see us, and even more excited when Mike told them how close he was to the record. A Major-Mitchell’s Cockatoo put in an appearance for some middle-of-the-day excitement (always great to see a big, pink cock), then after lunch all five of us set off hopefully but not expectantly, on a low probability quest for a (record-breaking) Red-lored Whistler.
RLW are pretty picky about their preferred habitat. They love sparse mallee with an under-storey of spinifex on the crests and slopes of sand-dunes. Like many picky mallee species their numbers have decreased significantly, not least in Gluepot where a decade ago they were “reliable” but are now sporadic and tricky. Our band of five dipped at the dune where Paul and I had a lovely male in spring of 2018 (and where there was an ebird record from earlier in the year), and we tried a few parallel dunes on the same track, still drawing a blank. We then headed to another part of the reserve where Jerry had heard of another recent sighting. It was a bad time of day, but we had to give it a go at least.
On one particular dune with slightly different vegetation — acacias rather than mallee, and low eremophila and other leafy under-storey but not much spinifex — we walked a few hundred metres along, failing to find any whistlers, but actually enjoying some new birds. The sweet song of a Shy Heathwren piped up unprompted and we chased this around for a few minutes. After the Heathwren we made to head back to the car but I decided on a burst of RLW playback. For the first time today (and for the first time in searching over multiple trips since 2018) a whoot-whoot whistle drifted back from the next dune north over the sparse mallee and white gypsum deposits. Our ears pricked up and Mike and I looked at each other. Had we actually heard it? It was just the last two notes after the “Ee-chung” intro (AM song 3, Morecombe app), but what else could it be? We strained to listen and a few seconds later, gently and distantly, but unmistakably, the full song: Eee-chung-whoot-whoot.
Immediately we set out on foot to the next dune where the song seemed to be emanating, hopeful the bird would keep singing. As we got closer we heard it again, now doing its repeated up-whistle and the tension ratcheted up to 11. It was close, and I scanned the vegetation 15m in front of us, then bingo, my bins focused on a cracking male Red-lored Whistler. “Got it”, I announced and Mike hurried over, eager for directions. It flew down before he could get a sighting, but it had not gone far. With impressive calmness, Mike scanned across and then equally calmly announced: “I am looking at a Red <pause> lored <pause> Whistler!“. We tried to follow it for a while for photos, but really this was more about the sighting, the experience and the joy of all of us being present for the significance of 375 — the target Mike had set himself 10 months earlier. Back at the vehicles I produced my hip-flask of Jura single malt and we all indulged a hearty swig.
After dinner (a camp staple of pasta with pre-bought tomato sauce) a Spotted Nightjar called from not far off. We spent the next 45 minutes following the song, with it always seeming to be just out of reach. When we finally did pin down some eye-shine it was brief, and probably showed we’d be closer than the thought all along, and “pushing” the bird away as we stumbled through the dark bush. No matter — we’d seen RLW!
The next morning we returned to the RLW territory, hoping for some better light for photos. We certainly got some much improved views, though it behaved most un-whistler-like, dropping to the ground, scurrying between bushes and generally staying quite low. At one point I commented that it thought it was a quail-thrush!
As we drove back from the RLW site mid-morning I was able to click my list over one more when an unequivocal Brown Goshawk drifted over the track near the homestead.
Leaving Gluepot early afternoon, as soon as we were back in phone range, our alerts started to go off. Both Painted Snipe and Australian Little Bittern had been seen yesterday at Whites Rd! Paul and I were interested to see what Mike’s reaction to this news would be. He might have decided, “I’ve achieved what I set out to, I’m going to chill, head back home and have a glass of wine with Dani”. Or he might decide: “Let’s carry on going hard”. In fact with no discernable hesitation, he went with the latter, and we rolled into Whites Rd soon after 5pm. But I’ll not drag this part of the tale out too long; the short, and only version worth telling, is that we and numerous other birders who joined us (and who continued to look over the next two weeks) dipped. It would not be a fairy-tale end to the weekend, but it barely put a dampener on it, because we had achieved what we set out for: BEM and RLW in the bag and on the year list.
13 Nov
Four weeks later neither Mike nor I had managed to increase our lists. An Olive-backed Oriole near Stirling got the local twitching establishment out in force (unlike the UK where this means potentially 1000s, in Adelaide it means more than 4 or 5 at a time!), but though the bird was actually present for a few days, it was very elusive and seen/heard by only two or three people who happened to be right-place-right-time. But then in the second week of November ebird alerts lit up again with significant rarity from Robe: Eastern Yellow Wagtail. It was seen well, and unequivocally, but then went missing when Colin Rogers and Stuey Hull looked in poor weather the following day, before being relocated on Friday. I’d seen many Yellow Wags before (especially at Farmoor reservoir) including of the Eastern variety (now split) in Thailand and New Guinea, so EYW was not a potential lifer. In another year, therefore, I probably would not have bothered, but with my year list now so close to 350 I was keen to go. Paul Coddington and I decided to go at the earliest opportunity, Saturday morning. Mike, meanwhile, had family commitments and would have to sweat on it staying til Sunday.
Paul and I took arguably a too-relaxed approach and didn’t leave Adelaide until 6.30am (meaning we would be arriving at Robe after 9.30), but we did pick up Spotted Harrier in the Coorong along the way, yet another “easy” bird I had not yet connected with during the year. A couple of immature birds and an adult were quartering a field near Parnka Point and were gratefully scribed onto my list.
About 30mins before we got to Robe a text came through from Bob Green: he was watching the bird at Pub Lake now. What was our ETA? We duly rolled into Robe half an hour later to the news that no birder wants to hear: it’s just flown. There followed a 6 hour vigil and wild goose chase.
The island where it had been last seen could not be viewed from some angles, and so after the first 3 hours passed with nothing to show for them, in desperation I decided to wade out through the mud and water to get some kind of line-of-sight to the eastern end. Though this helped revealed the true nature of the density of Latham’s Snipe here — more than 40 were hunkered down in the samphire — I proved once and for all that the wagtail was no longer on the island. After I’d washed off as much of the foul-smelling mud from my skin and clothes, Paul and I repaired to the pub for lunch and to regroup.
In the afternoon we tried a few other places nearby, but ended up back at Pub Lake. Around 3pm, as much for something to do as because I thought it was real prospect, I walked over alone to Fox Lake again and scanned for the 3rd or 4th time today from the foot-bridge. A snipe was working its way along the near bank and on the far bank a couple of dotterel scampered about. Then suddenly they were joined by a grey-looking bird that then sat up on the top of a samphire bush and wagged it long tail. I had it! I rang Paul who rounded up the troops (well, the other 4-5 birders who were also looking — another “big” SA twitch ;-)) and walked over. They seemed to take forever and were not rushing with the urgency I thought the situation deserved: I carried on watching as it worked its way along the bank and back, staying in view and then finally I spied the crew arriving from the corner of my eye. It was still in view as they approached the bridge, and then, just as Paul set foot on the bridge and I made to point across the channel, it dropped behind some samphire out of sight. Oh dear. We all waited for 20min or so hoping it would return but it did not. Eventually Paul walked around to the hide to get a different angle. The immediate news was not good, but then 10min later he called again to say it as showing from the hide. We all duly walked around to join him, and everyone was able to get on it. It was easy to see why it was going missing for long periods. Even though it was mostly feeding unconcerned in the open, as far as it was concerned, “the open” also included between low samphire bushes that completely obscured it. Sated with our views, Paul and I made for home — a 6 hour round trip in the car along day out for a dull but rather rare bird.
It was pleasing to hear that Mike was able to connect within minutes of arrival the following morning.
27-28 Nov
The final Port MacDonnell pelagic of the year was scheduled for 28th Nov and Mike and I were both booked on, so once again we hooked up to share the drive down. As well as the potential offerings out at sea, we wondered if the South-east could keep delivering new birds, and set our sights on trying a few places for Satin Flycatcher.
Our first port of call, just north of Mt Gambier, was Telford Scrub, a lovely stand of native vegetation in a sea of commercial pine forests, and therefore a magnet for the native fauna. We had a very nice morning walk along the boardwalk and around the scrub, finding an obliging Horsfield’s Bronze-cuckoo and Eastern Yellow Robins (among other species), but no Satin Fly.
Instead we now headed for Donovan’s where I had hatched a cunning plan. Looking at maps and chatting via FB messenger with Bob Green, I worked out that a chunk of Lower Glenelg National Park that has produced records of Satin Flycatchers lies just inside SA. It is not accessible by car without travelling into Victoria and even then needing a permit and keys to get through locked gates. On the other hand, it can be reached across the river where there is a small landing station on the left bank opposite Donovans. We arrived at the boat-ramp and pulled out my inflatable kayak. We had last ventured out like this crossing the shark-infested waters (not really) of Outer Harbor to reach Bird Island in March, where Whimbrel had become Mike’s 300th species for the year. Today there were no sharks or shipping containers to complicate our paddling, but we would have to contend with a strong wind that was whipping up choppy waves. It was all part of the adventure.
Once across, we walked a loop along the cliff-top and then “inland” a bit, though we had no sniff of any flycatchers. Our best sighting came early on, when we heard, then had good but distant views of a Pied Currawong. It was good to get this upgraded on my year list from heard to seen. A Scarlet Robin posed nicely on either side of the state border, but otherwise it was not a very birdy afternoon. At least we’d tried.
The following day anticipation was high for what a late spring pelagic might bring. I was hopeful of White-headed Petrel, a pretty pterodroma and one of the few “regular” SA pelagic species I had never seen. This was now my 3rd or 4th such trip hoping. And in the end 3rd-or-4th time was a charm: we had at least 4 different White-headed Petrels (distinguishable from photos by slight plumage differences). A great bird, and a lifer to boot, for my number 350 for the year! Although the first couple were fairly quick flybys, later in the day two birds hung around a bit longer and swept past our burley station at fairly close quarters. As usual it was great to see the big Albies, with a couple of Northern Royal, at least 5 gibsoni NZ (Wandering) Albatross and 2 fabulous exulans Wandering Albatross.
We kept up the intensity straight after the pelagic — ebird had alerted us to a pair of Common Terns at Murray Mouth on Hindmarsh Island the previous day. If we drove immediately north we might get there just before sunset. The final 30-40kms felt like they went very slowly, as we waited for a ferry at Wellington, then seemingly crawled through the minor roads around Lake Alexandrina. As hoped we did arrive with the sun still visible in the sky, but by the time we had reached the tern roost some 10-15mins walk away it was bumping the horizon and the sky turning golden. With the last rays of light we scanned every part of the roost hopefully, but without success.
Later in the week Mike returned after work one day and clocked up his 379th species. Me, I waited until the next weekend and joined forces with Paul Coddington. Paul and I connected immediately with just one Common Tern (yay) but then as we walked around the roost giving all the birds a wide berth, the Common Tern flew off — the only one to do so — and we never relocated it.
12 Dec
On 351, I imagined that there would be no chances to build my list any further in December without making one or more long-distance trips. But then on 12th Dec I was checking the South Aussie Birding pages of Facebook and saw that Chris Haskett had reported a White-throated Gerygone. Although I had heard WTG while birding near Brisbane on a work trip in 2019 (see here), I had never seen one. So not only was this a chance to build my year list, I could also get yet another unexpected lifer!
I rocked up to the small car park about an hour after setting out. Almost immediately I heard the beautiful and distinctive song and followed it over to the far side of the lakes where first I noted Ed Smith, lurking about 50m away, and then located a pretty White-throated Gerygone singing in the tree right in front of me. It was very vocal, and although not “hiding”, it often kept itself high in the eucalypts or in dense leaves. Nevertheless while watching for about 30-40 mins we ended up with excellent views. As I was about to leave Paul Coddington rocked up and was able to find it within minutes.
And that, my friends, was that. Mike connected with WTG a couple of days later, setting a new record for South Australia, 380. And by tagging along with him for much of the journey, I’d managed a very tidy 352. Not only that, just in SA I had picked up 7 lifers (Cook’s Petrel, Little Buttonquail, Copperback Quailthrush, Bourke’s Parrot, Spinifex Pigeon, White-headed Petrel and White-throated Gerygone) and 19 other state ticks. I will not be year-listing again soon, and I will never attempt any kind of long duration record, but it was fun while it lasted and brought focus to my birding which was, because of covid, mostly restricted to my home state. This year, by contrast, it is now late February and — perhaps shamefully — I have not birded once in South Australia. I have, however cycled nearly 500km over 5 weekends.
