Author Archives: jbstubley

Watching Owls Watching

There’s been a bit more movement amongst the owls these last few days at the lake. I’ve seen two tawny frogmouths sitting in each of two separate trees, one nest a little larger than the other. When standing under them, they seem a little less reluctant to move, and so show us the side of their head, then look down again. Today there are many dogs running around under them—every day must be somewhat the same. One owl can’t be more than a couple of metres above them. I wonder what the owls think of them, these four-legged creatures fetching balls and sticks and frisbees for those who walk on two legs beside them, while the owls are all the while sitting, waiting, watching. 

In addition to dogs and humans there are also magpies, also wattle birds, also crows, and other birds. I’ve heard stories of it not always being so amicable—stories of crows attacking owls—but as far as I can see here, the magpies and others—often so territorial—seem happy to let the frogmouths sit on their branches all djilba or kambarang—maybe also keeping one eye on them—sitting, sitting, in the sun and storms and winds and rain and waiting.

The Sound of Kadar

I have not seen or heard kadar the musk duck since I saw the female with chicks and heard the male’s poing five days ago. I wonder where they are. And as I walk today, at some far distant corner, I hear the sound of the male, clear and poing-niant, sounding its way—rippling and turning its way—across to me on the other side of the lake. Still here.

Lying Down in Minerals

On the coast is more limestone and sand; moving gradually through sand to more mud and clay in the wetter lands between ocean and hills; moving gradually from mud and clay to more granite in the hills and beyond. Like a human being lying down, with head at the limestone and sandy ocean, heart and chest in the muddy wetlands and riverways of clay, feet at the willful granite of rising hills.

WImbin By Any Other Name

Walking the edge of the lake today, there’s a pink eared duck—wimbin—sleeping on the water’s edge, with yet the Pacific black duck nearby. They stir a little when we pause to look. The wimbin shows us his best side-on feature: he’s all black-and-white stripes, square-tipped bill, dark crown and black eye. And up near the dark crown, the tiniest hint of a little pink dot. And for this they renamed him the pink eared duck. “What about the zebra stripes?” I say. “Or the shovel shaped bill?” my nephew replies.

Coot Jump

Plenty of times I have seen a coot jump up a little in order to dive deeper below the water’s surface, then come up again with plant in mouth, or not, with a plop. But never have I seen one jumping up from the surface of grassy, watery, reeds to reach the top of the highest reed by his side. One, two, three, four jumps. And for some reason the top of that very reed is the one he wants. We stand there watching. And he gets it, eventually.

Of the City Sky

On the old traffic bridge stretching across the river from North Fremantle—where even now they build a new bridge next door—above a lightpost on the upriver side, just as the road starts to hang out over the water—in that upper world, looking down on it all, including the river, sits, as so often he does, dorn dorn the osprey. The next day I’m walking across the high trainline pedestrian bridge towards the ocean, and on the westernmost lightpost, high above coastal dunes and plants and road, sits a small raptor of some kind—I’m guessing a kestrel, the sun heading towards setting beyond. And on the way home, on a power line the other side of the highway, sits wardo wardong the grey butcherbird, all black and white and high, singing as if from the periphery of life.

Perry Lake Hideouts

My nephew and I go to Perry Lakes for something different and find a wetland 3.64m high following rain and water diversion from Noogenboro Lake Herdsman nearby (we find where the drain seems to come out). Also here are some of the birds not seen recently at Galbaamanup Lake Claremont, such as the white-bill-tipped-and-eyed hardhead, the blue-billed bluebill boodoo, the long-white-billed kakka-bakka spoonbill, the orange-legged shovel-billed bardoobgooba the Australian shoveler, marangana the woodduck with twelve chicks, the breeding Australasian grebe. All of these birds are currently absent from Galbamaanup, but all of them are here, just nearby…with, of course, the usual coots and swamphens and swans, ibis and corellas and magpies and kookaburras…and so on.

We then drive across lower lands to Noogenboro Lake Herdsman itself. It is a different mindset that drives sticking to lower points in the land, rather than one that sticks to the quickest route. We park and walk further down to the lake—an Ibis, some Pacific black ducks, a mudlark, and someone spotting birds. The city lies in the background.

Camouflaged in Plain Sight

I run into my owl-whispering friend again at the lake, and she tells me for the third time—and this time with phone photo—where to find a tawny frogmouth owl on the lake’s eastern edges. I thought I’d looked at all the trees she’d suggested, up and down, round and round, every single forking branch. And now, when I get to the spot she’s shown me, I walk along a well-worn path, and not more than a couple of arm lengths from the ground, directly above, in plain and simple sight, there is the owl, looking back.

Masked Musk Duck

Arriving at the lake today, in westerly wind and after overnight rain, I spot a flash amongst the reeds at its eastern edge, with a chick or two left behind a retreating female, or maybe male. I assume it is a duck. On first look it seems to be a musk, but I haven’t seen one here in months, and here is something with young. Soon I have lost sight of any movement. But then, out beyond the edges of the rushes, there is the low lying, all-black form, sitting lower in the water than a yet…a female musk duck with two chicks. I remember seeing some here months and months ago, but nothing since. But for this one to have two chicks now it must have been here all this time, likely in a nest undercover, away from prying eyes. 

Later on the walk I’m also surprised to hear the recurring ‘poing’ of the male calling—the sound travelling into the westerly wind with ease. Here this whole time.

Perth Water

I’ve been thinking about the water underneath this city, the water underneath our feet. It’s hard to see other than when it comes up in lakes and wetlands and rivers and sprinklered bores. But it is there, under the Swan Coastal Plain—Whadjuk Country. I think of Archimedes displacing water in his bath. I think of the brain displacing spinal fluid. Maybe this underground water is holding up a buoyant country, a buoyant city, as the water in the body holds up a buoyant brain.