Branching out - a day at the farm

Moorabool River near Russel's Bridge

Today I had the opportunity to visit another part of the Moorabool River - part which I hadn't seen for years, but used to visit as a kid to go fishing. I remember we used to catch redfin, black fish and eels which we would then take home and clean. I can still remember the eels twitching and sliding around in the sink long after they were dead! I can't say I was ever very interested in eating the fish once caught as they had a rather muddy flavour to them, but the catching was fun.
This visit however, was not for fishing, but to do some bird watching, take in the scenery and find some new blog fodder, all of which we managed to achieve. The Moorabool at this point is somewhat different to other parts of either the Barwon or the Moorabool which I have seen so far. Firstly, it is bordered on both sides by privately-owned land. There are no designer walking-trails with weed-controlled verges, no areas of regionally appropriate re-vegetation or strategically-placed seats upon which to sit and enjoy the view.

A few of the flock

This is farm land. On one side, ordered rows of grapevines line the banks. On the other, the grass is chest-high - so are the thistles in places too. The sheep haven't been put in to graze this paddock for a couple of months and growth is rampant with the recent rain. For the moment, the flock is further downstream on the lucerne, but the lambs will soon be put in to control the situation.
Also along the banks of the river are the remnant native trees which have not been cleared for farming. Their twisted roots protrude from the banks, reaching down to water level. There are also a surprising number of dead trees in between the living. They stand upright and bare, or lie across the river from bank to bank, making an informal crossing or weir depending on their height. I am informed that the presence of all this dead wood is integral to the structure of the river, providing a defence against the erosion which comes with flooding, holding the soil of the riverbank in place. Many of them appear to have been there for decades.

Crimson Rosella

Also evident are piles of sticks and dead grass, wedged in the branches of trees - well above head height in some places. They are a clear reminder of the water levels which have been attained during previous flood events, as are the temporary fences which can be removed to a safe distance in case of impending deluge. At the moment, all is quiet and the river is well within its banks. Reassuringly, it is actually flowing. The reservoirs upstream are at or somewhere near capacity, so the balance between rural uses, domestic water supply, industry and nature are somewhat better than they have been in recent years. The fish are there, the platypus have returned and the surrounding land is green, but this hasn't always been the case for the Moorabool of late.
The birds are here as well. I counted nearly twenty species. This is no sanctuary, but there are more nests here in the eucalypts than I have seen on any other part of this river or the Barwon. Many are a mess of sticks high in the branches - belonging to larger birds, possibly magpies. I am told that one nest belonged to an eagle which is no longer present. The muddy cups of the mudlarks are here and there too. There is a koala in the upper story and bees buzz around a hive in a tree hollow.

Bob and Craig

Back at the house, there is a rather surprising convergence between the farm animals and the native fauna. Bob is a working dog and Craig - actually a female of the species - is a magpie, born with a twisted beak and hand-reared from a chick. She receives food at the house as her beak renders her unable to hunt. Her days are spent out and about, possibly visiting relatives in the back paddock, or loudly voicing her opinion of any favourable attention which might be shown to the dog in preference to herself. In the evening she returns to the house.
As will I - and also to the river as there are parts downstream which I have yet to investigate and which I understand may contain some some natural features of interest.

"Currawong! Currawong!"

Pied Currawong

One of my favourite bird calls is that of the Currawong. I have read that the name is onomatopoeic, meaning that it derives from the sound of their call and it doesn't take too much imagination to translate the repetitive, double-barrelled "caw-aw, caw-aw" into "currawong, currawong". It has been said that in the early days of European settlement in Australia, the unfamiliar calls of the Currawong were mistaken for the voices of ghosts, so haunting and unfamiliar were they to those who did not know the environment.

Grey Butcher Bird

The species of Currawong most commonly found on the Barwon is the Pied Currawong which at first glance is similar to a Crow or Raven but is only distantly related. Currawongs are actually more closely related to  Butcher Birds and Australian Magpies, all being from the same family group, however the Currawong is generally larger and has less white on its body than a Magpie - parts of the wing tips and tail - and a yellow eye.

The diet of these birds is broadly similar too, with Currawongs feeding on insects, small animals, berries and some smaller species of birds. Its propensity to eat fruit makes the Currawong responsible for a significant amount of seed distribution within its habitat. In addition, I have first-hand evidence of their taste for Sparrows, having watched from my back doorstep as a Currawong made a meal of one such unfortunate creature, sitting in a tree and spitting small feathers all over my backyard.

Like Butcher Birds, who are named for the trait, Currawongs will sometimes use the fork of a tree or a convenient hollow to store food for later consumption, even hanging it on on a convenient branch.

Australian Magpie

Another, quite eerie experience with Currawongs occurred on a still, overcast day last year. It was one of those days when the atmosphere felt so heavy you had to push your way through it. I was on one of my regular walks around the river, camera in hand. What sounds I could hear were muffled and most of the birds seemed to be in hiding. As I made my way upriver towards Queen's Park the weather became increasingly gloomy.

There is a section not far from the bridge where a stand of sheaoks line the path on either side, meeting overhead in places and on this occasion, further adding to the dim, oppressive atmosphere. As I approached, I could hear Currawongs calling from up ahead. Once inside the stand of trees, I was greeted by the sight of a dozen or more Pied Currawongs perched on the branches of one of the sheaoks. For the most part, they remained where they were, looking at me with their yellow eyes, not moving, just watching, seemingly unconcerned by my presence. There was no doubt in my mind at that time that the Currawong is a bird of prey.

Pied Currawong eating
a Sparrow

Like Crows, Ravens and other similar species, they have the long, curved beak which marks them as a meat-eater and their predominantly black plumage on this occasion added to the foreboding atmosphere. In combination with their unearthly calls, this created a distinctly eerie scene. I in turn stopped to watch them for a time, before moving on and heading up and across the bridge. As I once again passed by that section of the river - this time on the opposite bank - I could still hear them calling from amongst the branches. I find their call one of the most evocative sounds of the Australian bush - a call I have known for decades, even before I knew what Currawongs were.

Whilst I have never again seen them congregate in such numbers in any one place, I occasionally hear them calling from those same trees and sometimes in my backyard - no doubt looking for another Sparrow or two.