There is a tuart tree near the base of the limestone cliffs above the river in North Fremantle where all the cormorants sit—-a couple of trees. Beneath them, the rocks and other plants are white with their droppings. They roost in their tree, sometimes black and white, sometimes all black, sometimes small, sometimes large, a few moving away during the day or night maybe, but in the evening, when I usually see them, the tree is full. The cormorant tree. Shags as they are sometimes called. Phalacrocorax (mostly melaneleucos, perhaps the odd varius, orsulcirostris maybe). Kakak. Midi. Koordjikit. Their tree, partway down the cliff. 

But not this last Australia Day, when around evening time we took a walk along the clifftop and saw the bend in the river full, the sandbar crowded…with boats. Boats and loud music and flags. A kind of celebratory cacophony. Australiana. We walked along, and I tried not to make any judgments, nor hold too many opinions, but just observe, which today meant also listening. And as we walked through this unusualness, or usualness brought to the surface, one thing did strike me as more unusual than the rest of the unusual-ness. And that was almost all the cormorants who usually sat in ther tree roosting, were this day in the air and circling. Not sitting in their tree, not flying to or away from it, but circling in the air around it. Not landing, but instead looking uncertain, the silence of their mostly silent perch now broken. 

We walked on, and further along the path I saw two black swans who, usually on slightly busier weekends when a handful of boats are moored by the cliffs, swim from one boat to another and look for food. But this evening, even they stayed away. 

We took a more inland track when we walked back, and later that night, amongst all the news items of the day—including a tree branch falling on some people in Kaarta Gar-up Kings Park (and with this I was reminded of an earlier year Australia Day plane crash into the river)—I saw footage of a brawl of younger men upon the sandbar; young men ankle deep and fighting. Testing something maybe. Testing themselves. Testing each other.

There was a story shared by an Aboringal friend about this place during a Perth Festival event some years ago. It featured young men and testing. Tunnels. Water. There was more. 

But I can’t help thinking of those cormorants. And shadows. When something isn’t seen truly then all we have are shadows. Shadows of cormorants circling. Shadows on the sandbar, brawling. The water’s surface reflecting a higher light above.