Brown leaf cicada

As I type this, the cicadas are singing in the rainforest surrounding the house. Their song isn't complex — it's one note — but it is produced with gusto. A single cicada is loud. A forest full of them is deafening.

The noisiest choristers are northern greengrocers (Cyclochila virens), a robust and handsome species found in the Wet Tropics. (A southern greengrocer (C. australasiae) visited Boobook the other day and posed for some photos.)

Last night, this brown leaf cicada (Lembeja vitticollis) settled on my living room window. Like the northern greengrocer, this species is also restricted to rainforests of the Wet Tropics, where it lives in the canopy. The forewings resemble dead leaves, the veins embroidered with black stitches that highlight theor lines. These cicadas are almost impossible to see in the forest, so it is fortunate that they like to come to lights.

Territorial disputes

Since the other tree was chopped down to allow the dish a clear line of sight to the satellite, the catbirds and riflebirds have been forced to share the yellow evodia (Melicope bonwicki). It's not that there's a shortage of trees — this is a rainforest, after all — but the evodia seems to be prime real estate. A pair of catbirds and a family of riflebirds (mum, two youngsters and dad, if he's around) frequently face off over ownership of the branches.

Let's hope the wind doesn't change

A brace of winged carnivals

I and the Bird #113 at the Modern Naturalist mixes birds and poetry.

The last The Moth and Me for the year at Wanderin' Weeta (With Waterfowl and Weeds).

Here be snakes

When I lived in Townsville, one of my colleagues asked me to identify a snake she'd seen in her garden. She described it as being brown and having a piercing stare. This didn't narrow it down much. We decided that whatever the species, it was best to steer clear. Brown-coloured snakes in Townsville are never good news.

The snake was in the same place when she returned home. And was still there the next morning as she left for worl. When she eventually investigated (armed with a broom), the fearsome serpent turned out to be a piece of hessian.

We've all done it.

I went out into the garden this evening to take photos of the katydids and moths on the front windows. It's a good spot for them. Because I was only going a couple of metres, I didn't bother to put on shoes. I didn't go barefoot, of course, because that would be silly. I wore plastic sandals.

As I stepped off the concrete slab onto the dead lawn, something thin and black and glossy reared up and then started thrashing around. It was so animated, for a split second I thought it was an eel. But that misapprehension didn't last very long. I immediately stepped back onto the concrete and the snake headed towards the forest. It stopped about three metres from the house, where it remains. It hasn't moved for the past hour or so. If it's still there in the morning, I'll check it for weave.




Although my reptile ID skillz are not great, I think it's a small-eyed snake (Cryptophis or Rhinoplocephalus nigrescens), a small but potentially dangerous serpent. This species is reputedly bad-tempered, a personality trait that may be part of the short snake syndrome. They're usually only about 0.5m long, but make up for that in a spirited response to threats. The venom is myotoxic and at least one person has died from a bite.

I must make sure that the pressure bandages are somewhere I can find them. I suppose I could always use a sack in a pinch.

Where do pademelons go when ...

... it's hot?

Here's Steptoe, the tatty old male pademelon relaxing in the shade of the eaves.




... it's raining

Steptoe again, sheltering in the carport late at night, with only his tail exposed to the elements

The war on weeds

This patch of rainforest is in pretty good nick and the community here is trying to keep it that way. But there are a few weeds. Fortunately, most of these are confined to the edges, where there's plenty of light. (Coffee is the exception. That can germinate and survive beneath the forest canopy.)

Brazilian nightshade (Solanum seaforthianum) has popped up in the garden. There's only a single plant but it's been cut back repeatedly by previous owners. What should be a delicate vine now has a thick stem and deep roots. It's time to take action with a pruning saw and weed killer. If only I could fit lasers to the catbirds.

Now for the termites

Given a choice between swarming ants and swarming termites, I'd always go for the ants. Sure, they might bite or sting or bite and sting, but they don't drop their wings willy nilly. In your tea, for example. Termites are no respecters of hot beverages.

Once again, the cane toads gathered under the window and mopped up most of the swarm. The spiders took care of the rest.





A few survivors made it into the house. After shedding their wings, they were booted out to meet their termitey destiny.

Cricketing in Queensland

Now that the rain has started, insects have been peppering the windows like birdshot. Moths drum frantic tattoos with their wings. Beetles of all types have are throwing themselves against the glass. Some of the scarabs are heavy enough to rattle the panes, while smaller ones make a ticking sound like a tin roof in the sun.

Last night’s ant swarm brought cane toads out from the forest. They lined up beneath the bay window to feed on the insects that dropped from the sills.




After the ants came the termites, shedding their wings as soon as they landed. And then the cricket arrived.



The first signs were percussion ripples in my coffee. (Actually, the ripples turned out to be the last moments of a small beetle that had dropped from the ceiling.) Then I spotted this fabulous creature sitting on the window frame. I wanted to coax her into a jar for an even better look but I didn’t have a container big enough. What I really needed was a bird cage. And a lion tamer's chair.

I think it's a raspy cricket (family Gryllacrididae). The flattened, almost lobe-like pads of the tarsi ('toe' segments) distinguish these giants from the equally bulky and fearsome king and forest crickets (family Stenopelmatidae). They rest by day in burrows or shelters of leaf litter sewn together with silk, emerging at night to feed on ... well ... whatever they want to, I suppose. If only they fed on cane toads ...

Millaa Millaa vine

I am adding species to my mental herbarium. The process is very slow.

Millaa Millaa vine (Elaeagnus triflora) grows along the forest edge, where it can catch the sun while still having a scaffolding of trees on which to grow. The red berries are edible. Not mouth-wateringly delicious, but quite moreish. That's if you can get to them before the birds, bats, rats and possums. The leaves are eaten by caterpillars of the indigo flash butterfly (Rapala varuna). Tree kangaroos and green ringtail possums are also partial to them.

The vine is widespread in eastern Queensland and also occurs in Asia, where related species are cultivated for their fruit.

The southern Atherton Tablelands town of Millaa Millaa is named after the vine.

How a tree roo spends the afternoon

Lumholtz's tree kangaroos are out and about at all hours. This fellow stopped his afternoon snack to watch me watching him. He was surrounded by a cloud of flies. Judging by his reaction, they were March flies, which were not inconvenienced in the slightest by his thick fur.

Complaining catbirds

The spotted catbirds (Ailuroedus melanotis) are not happy. In order to get a clear line of sight to the satellite, the installers had to cut down a tree. Just a small tree. One that was only a few years old, probably a post-Larry seedling. But it was a tree with lots of perching spots that gave the catbirds a good view of my living room.

They still use the adjacent yellow evodia Melicope bonwickii, which is about the same height and girth and also bedecked with plenty of branches of just the right diameter. But it isn't the same. The catbirds glance at the space where the perfect tree once stood and then stare at me.

If they vandalise the dish, I won't be at all surprised.

To add insult to injury, Australia Post's 'Songbird' series of stamps features the green catbird (A. crassirostris), a closely related species from south-eastern Queensland and coastal New South Wales. I would imagine that the epithet 'songbird' refers to their classification as passerines and is not linked to their calls. Both the green and spotted catbirds are the Florence Foster Jenkins of the bird world. Here's the call of a green catbird, just in case you're not convinced.

Still life with dish and rainforest

Swoon

Riflebird dances the flamenco

Sometimes you're in the right place and the right time. And you're only a short walk away from your camera. That's not to say that the camera will have a fully-charged battery and is on the appropriate ISO setting. But let's not get too picky.

A few minutes ago, I wandered down the drive way to drop some recycling into the wheelie bin. As I was doing that, one of my neighbours came by on her late afternoon perambulation. We had a chat about the proposed development along the river. (We're agin it.) Then she continued on her walk and I headed back up the drive way.

You may recall that a dead tree fell across the drive way not long ago. It left a jagged stump about 4 m tall. Just as I was walking past this stump, a male riflebird decided that it was a perfect place for his display. Not at the top of a tall tree in the heart of the forest, but on a low stump about 6 m from the edge of my driveway. And I was there when he did his thing. How good is that?

Are you looking at me?
The male spreads the feathers on his breast into a broad fan

Warming up

Almost ready

Let's go!
He extends his wings almost into a circle and throws his head back. Then he closes one wing and leans into the other. He alternates this pose in rapid succession. The images below, show him leaning into the left wing.

A female checks him out.
(You can see her beak over his shoulder.)

The study continues.
(Female, with buff-coloured underside, on the other side of the stump.)