How many sticks does a female superb lyrebird (Menura novaehollandiae) use to make her nest? Hundreds! I know this because I’ve observed a lyrebird make and use her nest for several months. I did it out of personal interest and recorded my observations on the global citizen science database, iNaturalist.
iNaturalist was formed in the US by the California Academy of Sciences and the National Geographic Society. People contribute to the database by recording species they’ve observed in nature, helping scientists, resource managers and others to better understand a region’s biodiversity. Observations can be made by anyone, not just trained naturalists. The observation is then reviewed and verified by the iNaturalist community.
iNaturalist Australia is linked with CSIRO’s Atlas of Living Australia, granting it considerable scientific credibility. According to its website, 109,000 citizen scientists across Australia have recorded 9.9 million observations of 60,000 species, and those numbers are growing every day. I’ve been contributing to iNaturalist Australia for several years and have recorded more than 10,000 observations of more than 2000 species. Most of them have been on the far South Coast of New South Wales and contribute to an iNaturalist sub-project named the Atlas of Life in the Coastal Wilderness.
Back to that lyrebird. I first spotted the nest in its early stages of construction in late May 2023. Guessing it was a lyrebird nest, I mounted a wildlife camera nearby and, bingo – when I retrieved the SD card a week later there were hundreds of videos of the lyrebird bringing sticks to her nest. She then finessed the nest, lining it with lichen and feathers that she’d plucked from herself. The nest was a beautiful globe, like a soccer ball with an entrance hole on one side.
From the beginning of July she sat in the nest all night, indicating that she was now on an egg. Females build and sit in the nest on their own, and given that they have to feed, they only sit in the nest at night.
Sadly, this female’s efforts came to naught. Although she’d previously defended her nest from sugar gliders and rats, one night in mid-August – close to the eve of her egg hatching – the combined stress of a sugar glider on top of the nest and an approaching bat near the nest’s entrance caused the female to abandon ship. The lyrebird returned the next morning to find her nest empty; the sugar glider had eaten her egg.
More happily, I’ve observed other species breeding successfully. Last year my wife Steph (a fellow iNatter) and I had the wonderful experience of watching a pair of tawny frogmouths (Podargus strigoides) nest in our front yard. These amazingly camouflaged birds are usually hard to see, but here they were visible from the living room. They showed up in September, moving into an old magpie nest. The male sat in the nest during the daytime, before the pair became active at night.
The chicks hatched in early October and looked out over our front yard, resembling little bandits with their facial markings. In early November they successfully fledged. And as I write this a year later, the male is back in the nest. How good is that?
Breeding is a sign of a healthy ecosystem, and some animals do it in unusual ways. Rosenberg’s goannas (Varanus rosenbergi) and lace monitors (Varanus varius) are two goanna species that lay their eggs in termite mounds. The mounds act like an incubation chamber, keeping the eggs warm until the hatchlings emerge.
While living in Canberra, I was the first person in the Australian Capital Territory to observe and photograph a female Rosenberg’s goanna laying her eggs in a mound and the first to observe the young hatchlings venturing out eight months later. ABC News and The Canberra Times covered the story, which was a great way to get conservation messages out into the community.
The lace monitor is Australia’s second-largest lizard. Similar to Rosenberg’s goannas (and many other species), individual lace monitors can be identified by their facial markings. I’ve identified 27 individuals on and around our NSW South Coast bush block by taking photos of the left and right sides of their faces. This doesn’t mean they live here all the time; some have their home territory here, while others just pass through. Recognising individuals means I can record their behaviours, movements and mating activity.
This large lace monitor population also indicates a healthy environment; without sufficient prey, these apex predators wouldn’t be here.
Citizen science can cover a range of stories from the natural world, and participating can greatly increase one’s knowledge of animals and plants. But it has its risks. A couple of years ago, while rushing to get a photo of a brown falcon (Falco berigora), I impatiently grabbed a pair of sandals – it was a hot day and I’d taken off my usual boots – and ran through the bush. I took a heavy tumble. The result: fractured ribs, a punctured lung and four days in ICU at Bega’s South East Regional Hospital! Dare I say it was a good learning experience. (You’d think a guy in his 60s would be smarter than that, wouldn’t you?)
Speaking of birds of prey, our block is elevated and grants us majestic views of raptors. We are fortunate to see lots of brown and grey goshawks (Accipiter spp.), hobbies (Falco spp.), square-tailed kites (Lophoictinia isura) and wedge-tailed eagles (Aquila audax). Courtship flights by wedgies are magnificent. These big birds – Australia’s largest raptor – do stall-dives and grapple with each other’s talons while tumbling in midair.
Our local magpies are an excellent alarm system; as soon as we hear their alarm call we look up and, sure enough, there’s a raptor about. The male magpie, Morris, bravely flies up to engage them and drive them out of his territory.
For several years I’ve observed platypuses (Ornithorhynchus anatinus) at a couple of locations in the Bega Valley. Their numbers have fluctuated, but they’re still there. The waterways are degraded, but these intriguing monotremes – egg-laying mammals – can handle the changed conditions.
Platypus bills have electroreceptors that detect tiny electrical pulses from invertebrate prey, helping them hunt in murky waters. They rise to the surface every so often to breathe and chew their food, offering wonderful moments of observation. Again, local ABC radio and the local council have given publicity to my observations, helping to make the community more aware of the precious creatures with whom we share our environment.
Wombats are also common. I regularly see them in the daytime (disproving the belief that only sick wombats are seen in daylight) and have watched one female – called Scarnose for obvious reasons – produce young every couple of years. I watched her most recent joey take its first steps out of her pouch, almost hairless.
Wombat pouches face backwards to keep dirt out when the mother is digging. Sometimes you see a little face poking out of it as mum walks along. Thankfully, the dreaded disease mange is not prevalent in our area.
An aged female that we christened Willie (short for Wilhelmina) virtually adopted us, coming to live under our deck for periods of time that grew longer the older she got. We’d watch her shuffle around the garden as we went about our lives. She’d even graze nearby while I hung out the washing.
Sadly, Willie died of old age, expiring at our feet. I respectfully placed her body in our forest, and so she has become part of the soil she had burrowed in all her life.
Migration is a behaviour observed in nature all over the world, and it’s visible from our patch too. There are, for example, the humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) that we watch off the coast, heading north in May and June and south with their calves in September and October. Despite being 10km from the water, we can see whales breaching with the naked eye, especially on a sunny day when the blue sea contrasts with the whale’s great white splash.
In autumn, flocks of yellow-faced honeyeaters (Caligavis chrysops) migrate through the area, identifiable by their ‘chip chip’ call as they fly from tree to tree. At the same time, white-naped honeyeaters (Melithreptus lunatus) and red wattlebirds (Anthochaera carunculata) also move through the region.
(Cacomantis flabelliformis) and rufous whistlers (Pachycephala rufiventris) – mark the changing season as surely as the lengthening days and warmer temperatures.
There is great beauty in small things. Take butterflies: so many species have lovely colours and patterns. The extravagant colouring is matched only by their ostentatious names such as the Australian painted lady (Vanessa kershawi), yellow admiral (Vanessa itea) and black jezebel (Delias nigrina). Then there are the dragonflies, another harbinger of spring. They zigzag while hunting small insect prey on the wing. Tau emerald (Hemicordulia tau), blue skimmer (Orthetrum caledonicum) and Australian emperor (Hemianax papuensis) species are all seen locally.
The plant kingdom is a world unto itself, and I still have much to learn there. The robust and often very old rough-barked apple (Angophora floribunda) puts on a show of blossoms that become a magnet for insects – including brightly coloured fiddler beetles (Eupoecila australasiae), which are real eye-catchers. The small flowers of the warmer months, such as the tufted bluebell (Wahlenbergia capillaris) and golden weather-grass (Hypoxis spp.), add beaut colours to the woodland palette.
Then, in spring, the calls of returning birds – olive-backed orioles (Oriolus sagittatus), fan-tailed cuckoos
Some plants tell us about changes in the natural environment by virtue of their names. The tall, straight, impressive mountain grey gum (Eucalyptus cypellocarpa) was known by settlers as ‘monkey gum’ because koalas ate its leaves. We haven’t seen a koala on our block, but they’re in the region. We live in hope, especially because a new koala project is rumoured to be launching here soon.
One of the really nice things we’ve learnt over the past few years is that there’s so much biodiversity on private land in our region. Biodiversity isn’t always confined to conservation estates such as national parks and nature reserves; with the right ethic and management, private landholders can foster and encourage native wildlife. Meanwhile, my observations on iNaturalist continue daily. The camera is always handy.
We’re very fortunate to have the opportunity to record and share the natural world. The work of citizen scientists reporting our observations on iNaturalist will hopefully contribute to increased understanding and conservation of wildlife in our respective corners of Australia.
