Don Knowler

The tawny frogmouth stared at me intently, cocking its head to one side as I moved closer to it at the Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary. How many hours had I spent searching for “tawnies” on summer nights under the summit of Mount Wellington without success, only to find one now right in front of me, perched metres above my head, flying free in a wildlife sanctuary and floodlit at that?  Birds are like that, as I often write. They turn up in the most unlikely of places.  On … [Read more...] about Tawnies to order

The arc of a rainbow spread across the Southern Ocean as a family of hooded plovers scurried across the sand. The wind blew fierce and strong off CloudyBay at the tip of south BrunyIsland but the plovers were not to be deterred from their seashore business. It was good to find them on the beach on this autumnal day washed with rain, sun and rainbows. The hooded plover has vanished from many of the beaches of south-eastern Australia where it was once common. On BrunyIsland, … [Read more...] about Tide turns for hooded plover

I’m a light sleeper, an affliction that puts me at odds with both the human and natural worlds. Strangely, I can handle man-made sounds in the night – even hoons doing donuts on my suburban street – but it is natural sounds that tend to break my sleep patterns and eventually result in a restless night. When you suffer “nature-related insomnia syndrome”, to give it my own medical term, a trip to the country, supposedly to search of some peace and quiet, can be a traumatic … [Read more...] about Lapwings on the lookout

A bird of the beach, the white-fronted chat, scurried through the long grass surrounding the house that is home to the Bruny Island Men’s Shed. A chilly wind was blowing in off the D’Entrecasteaux Channel, whipping white horses on the grey seas. A wisp of smoke rising from the shed’s chimney, and a steaming kettle on a bench misting the windows of the house’s kitchen told me it was the place to be on a rainy autumnal day. I ignored the chats, and a gannet bobbing up and … [Read more...] about Nest boxes hit the spot

The green rosella gently picking at the seeds of a yellow bottlebrush in my garden carried a stature and grace about it that told of a long life well lived. I had learned during the summer months that the brighter the colours of a rosella, the older the bird and the bright colour of this old fella – especially the bright yellow on the breast and underbelly and iridescent blue in the wings – certainly suggested he had reached an age that in humans is marked by … [Read more...] about A life lived in full colour