Wild BNE

New housing developments are strange places. They feel like the scene of a disaster that unfolded just moments before you got there. You have to look past the new houses and clean cul-de-sacs, the fresh paint on the streetlamps. Start with the trees. See the lone survivor from the forest now no more? Exposed and alone, the wind blows it out of shape. See the native flower, in amongst the grass? A natural relic from an obliterated habitat. But these are not lifeless places—quite the opposite, in fact. There are all sorts of creatures wandering about, homeless trauma victims suddenly finding themselves on the edge of survival. It might be a koala up a power pole, where months earlier stood a red gum. It might be a brolga named Bruce , who wanders a floodplain now paved. Some animals do alright at first, like the kangaroos that are gifted with fresh lawns to graze, or the rainbow bee-eaters that enjoy the open space. It’s only later that their fortunes fade, when the landscape is given ov

Today I woke to the sound of a butcherbird duet, a sign of life on an otherwise cold and still winter’s morning. Thinking they would make a good photography subject, I decided to see if I could follow my ears to track them down. Emerging onto the street outside my apartment block, I realised the singing was echoing off the tall buildings around me and that try as I might, I couldn’t quite pinpoint the direction it was coming from. In my room, I had felt like the sounds were coming from the direction of the main road, so I headed that way. The song was that of the pied butcherbird (Cracticus nigrogularis) specifically, a beautiful, full-bodied fluting sound, rich in melody and sung by the male and female together . At the main road, however, there were already cars passing by, and it made it hard to hear the still somewhat distant birds. After wandering a few blocks fruitlessly, I ended up walking away from the main road, towards houses and parkland. There, at the top of a Norfolk pine