To “dip” on on a bird is to try to see it, but fail. All birders dip from time to time, though there have been moments when I have wondered if it happens to me more than most ;-). If you dip repeatedly on the same target species, despite multiple times going to the right places and putting in extraordinary effort, it can begin to feel like you’ll never find it. It’s especially bad if others have seen it (apparently “easily”), or if you have come close: you arrive minutes after it has been seen by others; or you can hear but not see the bird. It’s personal, your nemesis. It’s become your bogey bird.
It can start to gnaw at your confidence. It can affect your concentration in the field, making the dip self-fulfilling. I have even avoided birding once or twice because the dip has come to feel inevitable, and I can’t face that sinking, dispiriting feeling of failure. Of course, the only cure is to face the fear of failure front-on, and to keep trying — you won’t see the bird in the pub or on the couch watching tele.
This is the tale of two of my bogeys, finally Iaid to rest in the early part of 2023.
In late January I managed to book myself onto a double-header pelagic out Eaglehawk Neck in Tasmania. A free weekend, cheap(ish) reward flights and a space on the boat all aligned, and I was hopeful of some nice summer specialties from the boat: perhaps there would still be Mottled Petrels around, or maybe we’d get lucky like the corresponding trip last year (that I was not on), one for the ages with Amsterdam Albatross and New Zealand Storm-petrel!! (Yes, I know!!). Even just some nice photographic opportunities of Gould’s Petrel would be good. It was frustrating and annoying, after the hassle and expense of booking travel from Adelaide to Hobart, a multiple nights at the Lufra in EHN, to have the Saturday trip cancelled because of strong winds and a big swell. Sigh. These things happen, it’s a risk when going out to sea for birds, but it can feel deeply unfair — why me??.
In consequence I drifted around on Saturday without much of a plan, and saw little of note. A walk at Fortescue Bay was scenic and very pleasant but I could not find the Swift Parrots that had been reported from a week or two back. The scenery, was of course, superb.
Here are one or two pics of (easy / common) Tasmanian endemics I managed in passing during the day: Green Rosella, Tasmanian Nativehen and Tasmanian Thornbill.
By the evening the strong winds that had forced cancellation of our boat trip had largely abated and I decided to do some night-birding, aiming for Bogey Bird number 1, the last of the Tasmanian endemics for me.
I have a love/hate relationship with owling. I am not a fan of hanging about in the dark, especially on my own in an unfamiliar place. Sometimes it’s just boring and the mind wanders to being back at the pub or in bed or some such other happy place. At worst it’s creepy, even dangerous; who knows what else is lurking out there? But there is something truly exhilarating and addictive about successfully tracking down an exquisite owl and wielding torch, camera, etc solo for a passable record shot, so I keep pushing myself to do it. And this time, I forced myself to think, there was chance of laying to rest a bogey.
Maybe it’s pushing it to call Tasmanian Boobook a bogey bird. I had certainly tried for it several times in various locations around the Apple Isle: 4 different trips, multiple evenings, and 6 or more different sites over 5 years had all drawn a blank. On 3 of those occasions I had heard birds calling, including one bird that sounded like it was almost within touching distance. But weirdly, I did not have desperate feeling of dread about an inevitable dip as I headed out this evening. Misplaced confidence?
Above the township of Eaglehawk Neck Waterfall Bay Rd is an unsealed track that snakes its way through national park bushland to the clifftop at, funnily enough, Waterfall Bay (pic above). This was where I decided to focus my search. As soon as I hit the unsealed part away from homes I heard a distant boobook calling, but I didn’t fancy my chances of bringing it closer, and fancied even less the idea of stumbling about in the dark bush away from the road. Maybe my confidence had been misplaced.
Instead I drove on, trying a few more places until I was relieved to have one call quite close to the road. Maybe I would be able to tempt it closer? In fact after a single run through of the recording on my phone, I felt a rush of air and realised it had just flown over my head! I swung the torch into action and landed the light on a superb Tasmanian Boobook perched on an open branch above the road. You beauty! But before I could wield the camera it had taken off and landed in some much denser foliage. It called softly to another bird I could hear behind me, and with persistence (and great skill, of course) I was eventually able to find a window through the leaves and branches that afforded a lovely view. It sat tight while I wrestled camera and torch and continue t pose nicely while I fired off 5-6 shots with my flash. Such an occasion on the Adelaide Plains a few years earlier had convinced me of the virtues of back-button focus: using the torch-light, you can get a precise focus with the back-button, and then just leave it, with no concerns that a shutter-half-press will try to refocus and start hunting in the low light. Content that I’d got some nice sharp shots I left it in peace, feeling quietly elated and a bit smug. Back at the Lufra Hotel the bar was just about to shut but I’d returned in the nick of time for a celebratory beer.
On Sunday the wind and swell had reduced and we were good to go out to sea. The trip itself was (as usual) very enjoyable, but there were no new birds for me, nor even pterodroma photo ops. I did manage to get a record shot of Common Diving Petrel (a photo-lifer!). Another notable aspect of the trip was when a pair of Southern Royal Albatross started displaying to one another. They are monogamous, so was this a case of a pair showing up together along way from their nest? Or perhaps Eaglehawk is where they come for an extra-marital affair!
The cost of flights home on Sunday night was prohibitive so I’d booked a day off work Monday and would fly back on a reward flight Monday evening. Unlike the Saturday, I did have a plan for Monday. Straight after Sunday’s pelagic I drove to Bruny Island and set my tent at the Neck. It was too late for birding… well, actually it wasn’t but I rather fancied a nice pub meal with a view of the sunset.
After dinner I checked out a track in the northern part of the island where I’d been tipped off I might see a Quoll. Sure enough as I drove slowly along the road just after dark, a fabulous Eastern Quoll was scampering about. No photos, but still a magical experience.
The following morning at Adventure Bay 2-3 Swift Parrots called and I eventually got some flight views of a pair, for my first in Tasmania (my lifers, and only other previous encounter, were near the zoom in Melbourne, several years ago). I then drove up a steep road out of Adventure Bay following an ebird report from Paul Brooks. At a small pull-off, as close as I could get to Paul’s ebird pin, I edged the rental car off the road. Instantly a young Pink Robin landed on a branch in front of the car to check me out!
I failed to find any Forty-spotted Pardalotes at the few spots I checked in the north of the island and late morning I caught the ferry back to the mainland. I still had plenty of time and wanted another chance at Pink Robin. I’d seen one, but not a stunning male. An ebird report of that species from Snug Falls, barely a few km from the Bruny ferry was intriguing so I decided to combine a tourist walk to the falls with a search for Pink Robin. The walk itself was steep but enjoyable (and included an Echidna and Bassian Thrush, track-side), the falls themselves were beautiful, and I managed another Pink Robin encounter. Sadly, once again this was not an adult male, but as you can see from the pics, a young male looking like a tiny, exquisite, bag of fairy-floss.
A week later I was in Sydney with the family, dropping Louisa at uni for her first term. The start of UNSW term also happened to coincide with the Robotic Vision Summer School, back in Kioloa on the NSW south coast for the first time since 2019 (bush-fires and covid meant the 2020, 2021 and 2022 editions were all virtual). Until I became Head of School I’d been an annual visitor (and speaker) at RVSS and now that I have relinquished the HoS role I have the time and space to attend once more. A small diversion on my route from Sydney down to Kioloa would give me another chance at Bogey #2, if I dared.
Much more than the boobook, Eastern Ground Parrot really has been a thorn in my side, a true bogey bird. EGP is a small, bright green and black parrot, the closest relative to the famous Night Parrot. It has a widespread range but is unassuming and very scarce, being very picky about its preferred habitat of low heath, which is increasingly under threat from development along the east coast. I had tried and failed on multiple occasions. A possible heard-only record at Melaleuca (Tas) in 2017, and a definite heard-only at Great Sandy NP on the Sunshine Coast Coast (Qld) in 2022 bracketed 3 barren trips to Barren Grounds and Buderoo NP near Wollongong (NSW). I’d also tried Booderee NP near Jervis Bay. The technique seems to be to go early and flush birds from the grass edges of the tracks. But although this apparently works for every other bugger, I had spent many hours walking the trails over upwards of 10 trips and, as you, know, dipped on every damn one.
I pulled into the familiar car park at Barren Grounds not long after dawn but my heart sank when I saw there was already a car here. Whoever owned it was probably already out walking the trails and would have flushed anything there :-(. I followed along the main trail and, unsurprisingly saw nothing. I turned to walk back along the trail and as I did heard the distinctive rising whistle of a Ground Parrot. It was a long way off in the heath, not just to the side of the track as I’d hoped, but at least I knew now they were here; this was the first time I’d ever even heard them at Barren Grounds. The small grassy trail past the weather station down to a creek has also been productive for other birders so I tried there next, but also drew a blank. I did have a wonderful encounter, though, with an Eastern Bristlebird, the boldest individual I have ever seen of these notorious skulkers.
Following my initial dip at Barren Grounds I jumped in the car and drove the 3-4 km to Buderoo NP where I searched the heath near the entrance. I bumbled about in the heath, getting covered in spiderwebs and once again failed to find a Ground Parrot. Rather dejected and fearing yet another dip I returned to Barren Grounds. Unlike other trips when there has been a plane to catch or conference to get to, at least I had most of the day, and although I was already doubting the wisdom of this diversion, I knew that I had to keep going. If I left now it was guaranteed to be a dip.
I started to walk slowly back down the weather station track, when a small bright green parrot burst from the track abouty 5m ahead of me, and flew weakly along it and disappeared around a bend. I’d not gone for bins or camera, hoping it would land trackside, but my view with the naked eye was unequivocal and a wave of joy and relief came over me. I walked cautiously to the bend and with all senses highly alert, I scanned back and forth fully expecting to find it on heath or in the grass next to the path. Nothing. I scanned again. Still nothing. It must have carried on further than I though or curved its flight off into the heath. I foolishly relaxed, took three steps forward, and the green and black bundle flushed again from only a few metres in front. This time I followed in binoculars as it carried on down, but then it really did bend its flight and zipped off into the heath never to be seen again. No photo, and a minor annoyance that I’d flushed it a second time, but the main thing was that I had now laid my second bogey to rest! Relief and exhilaration.
Now relaxed about my bird, and with time up my sleeve before needing to be at Kioloa, I checked out some of the fabulous scenery up here on the Illawarra Escarpment, and grabbed lunch at the famous Robertson Pie shop. I rolled into ANU’s Coastal Campus just in time for the opening briefing at the summer school.
