The “Joe Witty” call of the grey shrike-thrush rang through the woods but it was not as strident, resonant and far-carrying as usual. It was the same with the musical chortle of the yellowthroat and the “egypt” territorial call of the crescent honeyeater.
A thick carpet of snow on the Pipeline Track below Fern Tree was cushioning all sounds except the steady soft thump of my hiking boots.
It was beautiful, surreal, a cliché of a winter’s day, the proverbial picture postcard of a winter wonderland.
That’s how it was being described on the ABC mid-afternoon television news, which carried pictures of people throwing snowballs on the summit of kunanyi/Mt Wellington. There was also footage of a bird found only in Tasmania, the black currawong, arriving in small flocks to beg lollies from the revellers.
As snow swirled around my home in Dynnyrne earlier in the day I had been tempted to stay at home, and spend the afternoon in front of a log fire. I couldn’t resist, however, witnessing the scene for myself closer to the mountain, especially as the snow had not settled in my neighbourhood.
I chose to drive to a point just beyond the Waterworks Reserve, and walk the Pipeline Track. Snow was still falling heavily when I left and I was soon rewarded for my determination to get out and about. It eased momentarily and a muted winter sun, as muted as the birdsong, broke through pewter clouds.
Snow might carpet the Turnip Fields above South Hobart, and tumble in deep streaks from the Organ Pipes on the mountain above my head, but it did not totally deter the birds from the frenzied behaviour that heralds spring. In sub-zero temperatures, birds summoned an innate knowledge, buried in their DNA, that told them the breeding season was just around the corner and there was work to be done, to lay the foundations for procreation when the sun shone stronger and harder, and warner.
Underfoot there was stirring in the ground, as plants also summoned dormant energy to break forth. Perhaps the birds read these signs, along with the first flush of silver wattle bloom and a slight lengthening of the day to plan their own rebirth.
Already masked lapwings at the Waterworks Reserve were engaging a courtship displays. I knew it would not be long before I saw females sitting on eggs amid tuffs of grass. and then young, on spindy legs, hiding under their mother’s warm body. The feathered young find their feet as soon as they are born.
In no other state of Australia do seasons call their name so loudly, put themselves on display so dramatically, except perhaps in the alpine zone of Victoria. But to appreciate the winter wonderland it is important to seize the moment. There will be a story to tell, or a photograph to show, a picture-postcard memory to treasure.