Don Knowler

Panic in the air on late-spring afternoon on the Derwent, a pastel-yellow sun about to set behind kunanyi/Mt Wellington. A marauding collared sparrowhawk has got among a flock of galahs and they are fleeing in all directions. Their screams shatter the peace of a gentle stroll along the waterfront at Long Beach in Lower Sandy Bay. It gets worse when a pair of sulphur-crested cockatoos join in. I had been receiving treatment from a physiotherapist for a knee injury and a … [Read more...] about Sparrowhawk causes a flap

A pair of grey shrike-thrushes have been captivating a reader with their sweet singing. My email and telephone runs hot in the spring with readers reporting bird sightings, and the email from Kingston certainly struck a chord. I, too, revel in the rich, far-carrying song of the shrike-thrush, in which the birds seem to be calling out the name “Joe Whitty’’. For this reason, the grey shrike-thrush is also known as the Joe Whitty in Tasmania, even by people who know the song … [Read more...] about Bearer of bad tidings

The anguished twittering of the New Holland honeyeater’s alarm call rang out over the Inala private reserve on Bruny Island as a goshawk swept in and landed on a tree stump The goshawk, a female mixing russet and grey in its plumage, looked about it menacingly but at this time there would be slim pickings. The roadkill put out for birds of prey had already been snapped up earlier in the day by the other visitors to the reserve, which included wedge-tailed and sea … [Read more...] about Raptor restaurant in the frame

To use the extensive lexicon of the fanatical birdwatchers, the twitchers, I “dipped out” on one of the rarest birds to be seen in Tasmania in recent years. To make matters worse, the rarity from Eurasia, the grey wagtail turned up at my local birdwatching spot, the Waterworks Reserve. I was told later that it was a “crippler”, another twitcher term for a bird of stunning beauty which hangs around to be observed and photographed. I’m far from a “dude” in these matters (a … [Read more...] about Dipping out on a crippler

There’s no sound in the Tasmanian bush as mystical and magical as the call of the boobook owl ringing out in the night. It’s onomatopoeic, of course, the “boo-book” giving the bird its common name. In New Zealand a closely-related species is called the morepork, which perhaps is the same sound but with a New Zealand accent. The call is a haunting, rhythmic two-note sound, which can carry for a kilometre on a still, summer night. It’s symbolic of the wilder Tasmanian bush but … [Read more...] about Boobook comes to call