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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

1.482m water level at the lake today after rain overnight; and something I’ve never seen before—koolbardie the magpie chases noolarga the black faced cuckooshrike clear across the lake, west to east.