Ian Fraser, talking naturally

Just recently I chose to celebrate Peru's national day here - how could I do less for Ecuador?! There is some confusion - though of course not in Ecuador! - about the actual day, as 24 May is also often mentioned. This was the day in 1822 of the brief, chaotic and crucial Battle of Pichincha on the volcano above Quito, where armies from the newly independent Gran Colombia to the north and Argentina to the south joined with Ecuadorian forces to defeat the Spanish garrison. A brigade of Scots, Irish and English volunteers played an important role. The anniversary of that victory, which marked true independence, is certainly celebrated, but 10 August is officially Independence Day. This celebrates an earlier, though short-lived, declaration of independence by the citizens of Quito in 1809.

As I did on Peru's day, I won't attempt to give a national overview - that would be silly and superficial - but will introduce you to a very special national park high in the Andes above the lovely old World Heritage town of Cuenca in the south.

Mountain peaks, lakes and heathland of El Cajas NP.
This landscape is 4200 metres above sea level; for those of us from lower down, this is high enough for our lungs to know that things aren't normal!

It protects some 30,000 hectares from 3000 to 4500 metres above sea level, of montane forest, páramo (near-treeless tundra) and around 300 lakes. It straddles the continental divide, with some water running to the Pacific, with the rest, including the Tomebamba River which provides Cuenca's water supply, ending up in the far distant Atlantic.

While cajas means boxes in Spanish this seems to be a red herring here (or 'false friend' as the etymologists would say), as the word is from indigenous Quichua, though surprisingly its actual meaning is debated.

It is a remarkably biodiverse park; it protects 19 endemic plant species (ie endemic to the park itself!), two endemic mammals (a mouse and a small marsupial) and the Violet-throated Metaltail, a hummingbird which is actually found in adjacent valleys too.

The lakes are generally part of the páramo landscape, but of course have their special fauna too.

Lake below the visitor centre.

Andean Ruddy-Duck Oxyura ferruginea, above, and
Andean Teal Anas andium below, are both restricted to the high Andes.
While the ruddy-duck is found all the entire length of the range,
the teal is only found in the north.
Both belong to groups found throughout much of the world.

The montane forests range from diverse cloud forests lower down, to simpler Polylepis forests higher up.

El Cajas cloud forest.

Creek in the cloud forest.

Polylepis forest is found in stands at high altitudes - here at 4200 metres, though they are found as high as 5000 metres, where they are the highest known flowering trees. Members of the rose family, they are wind pollinated - too cold for many insects up here. Their shaggy red bark, up to 2cm thick, helps with insulation but in general
we don't really understand the secret to their survival up here. We do know however that they provide key habitat for a range of plant and animal species.

As everywhere in the Neotropics, hummingbirds are always present.

Sapphire-vented Puffleg Eriocnemis luciani, above and below (on Passiflora flowers)
at the edge of El Cajas cloud forest. The lovely fluffy 'trousers' which give its name can be seen in both pics.

Great Horned Owl Bubo virginianus, roosting in big old Polylepis.
This owl is found throughout much of the Americas;
this one was a most exciting find on our most recent visit to El Cajas.

Orchids are most prominent in the forests, compared to the Páramo.

Elleanthus sp. above, and
Epidendrum sp. below, El Cajas cloud forests.
(As ever, any help with more specific identification appreciated.)

Odontoglossum sp. above, and unidentified (by me) orchid below.


Pleurothallis sp.; I love this genus, with the charismatic little flowers apparently growing out of the huge leaf.

There are of course other interesting plants in these high forests too.

This epiphytic lycopod - which I think is Huperzia sp. - is a representative
of an ancient lineage which long predates the flowering plants around it, including those on which it grows.

Bomerea sp, family Alstromeriaceae.
This lovely vine is in the same general group as lilies.

Then there are the wonderful open spaces of the páramo, rich indeed when we start to look more closely at it. One of the features of South American birding is the shock to outsiders of finding that most of the passerines don't fit into any group that we're familiar with. One of the two major groups of these special songbirds is the ovenbirds, or funariids, and they are well-represented on the páramo.

Both Many-striped Canastero Asthenes flammulata (above)
and Stout-billed Cinclodes Cinclodes excelsior are ovenbirds
which specialise in these high cold wind-swept grasslands.

Flowers tend to be flatter to the ground out here than in the relative shelter of the forests.

Valeriana rigida; valerians are found throughout the Americas and Europe.

Gentian, Gentiana sp.

Finally, perhaps my personal highlight of this superb park. Chuquiraga jussieui, a daisy known as Chuquirahua or Flower of the Andes, is often cited as the National Flower of Ecuador. I'm not certain how official this is, but it's good enough for me!

National flower? Maybe it's not official, but I reckon it should be!

But there's even more to the Chuquirahua than that. Hillstars, high mountain hummingbirds, are specialists on Chuquiraga, and one, the Ecuadorian Hillstar Oreotrochilus chimborazo, is particularly attracted to Chuquirahua. And we saw it!

Ecuadorian Hillstar on Chuquirahua. This tough little hummer doesn't deign to descend below 3500 metres.
Until recently it was regarded as an Ecuador endemic, but perhaps annoyingly it was recently recorded
just across the Colombian border.

So, happy day Ecuador! I look forward to getting back there in the fairly near future, and El Cajas is certainly high up on my must-go-back-to list.

BACK ON THURSDAY, WHEN WE'LL RESUME THE POLLINATION STORY

This is part of an ongoing series on pollination, which I truly believe is one of the world's great stories. Last time we got as far as looking at the role of birds, dream customers for a plant wanting pollen to be taken to distant flowers of the same species by highly mobile animals able to remember subtle cues to make sure they deliver to the right species.

It's only surprisingly recently that the role of other vertebrates, notably mammals, has been likewise recognised. Back in the 1970s research began into the possible role of mammals as pollinators in both South Africa and Australia, but while the South Africans showed that a range of small mammals, notably rodents, small primates and elephant shrews, were effective pollinators, the Australian research petered out for a while.

Cape Rock Elephant-shrew (or Sengi) Elephantulus edwardii with Cytinus visseri.Photo courtesy BBC.

More recently however, long-term studies by the University of Wollongong on the south coast of New South Wales dramatically changed our perception of the importance of mammals as pollinators here. They put traps by flowers of Waratahs Teleopea speciosissima and various Banksia species, all large showy-flowering members of the family Proteaceae, hitherto assumed to be solely bird pollinated.

Sydney Waratah (above) and Heath-leafed Banksia B. ericifolia;two of the seven flower species studied in coastal southern New South Wales.

Mammals were trapped by all seven species, and all of them were carrying pollen in their fur and their droppings. The most abundant species was the supposedly carnivorous Brown Antechinus A. stuartii, followed by Sugar Gliders Petaurus breviceps, Eastern Pygmy Possums Cercartetus nanus and Bush Rats Rattus fuscipes.

Bush Rat, a perhaps unexpected pollinator.

Sugar Gliders, probably less of a surprise.

A further surprise was the observation that they were feeding thoroughly and non-destructively; these were very effective and obviously non-incidental pollinators. The commonest pollinating honeyeater in the area was the Eastern Spinebill Acanthorhynchus tenuirostris - the one most of us would probably have nominated as the most important pollinator operating there. In fact on average the spinebills were carrying around 40 pollen grains each, while the antechinuses were bearing over 400 grains and the Sugar Gliders more than 2000! The gliders were carrying pollen up to 60 metres from the flower, while antechinuses were travelling about half that. (Determined, incidentally, by attaching little spools of thread to their backs and following them the next day.)

The real clincher however came with the application of exclusion experiments - covering flowers with bags by day or night, since all the mammal pollinators were nocturnal, and all the birds (and nearly all the insects) were diurnal. Mammal-only pollinated flowers had three times the seed set of flowers only visited by day.

We now now know of at least 25 Australian marsupials and two rodents which visit flowers; the two rats, six little possums and the strange Western Australian Dibbler Parantechinus apicalis, a carnivore, do so regularly. Of these the best-known is probably the remarkable Honey Possum, or Noolbenger, Tarsipes rostratus, the only mammal in the world known to be entirely dependent on nectar and pollen.

Honey Possums on Eucalyptus macrocarpa.
(Photo from web.)

In general mammal-pollinated flowers will have characteristics including the following. They are likely to have tight inflorescences with strong stems and a high nectar flow - all these characteristics are shared with bird-pollinated flowers. Other characters however, to deter birds, include nocturnal flowering, dull colours, flowers close to the ground or hidden inside foliage. Some are reported to have musky 'mouse-like' scents.

Creeping Banksia Banksia repens, Stirling Ranges NP, Western Australia.
One of several WA mammal-specialising banksias whose dull-coloured flowers grow from
stems on or just under the ground.

In addition to South Africa, studies have also been carried out in Madasgascar and South and Central America, with equivalent results. In Madagascar the key mammal pollinators unsurprisingly were lemurs (both large ones and mouse lemurs); in the Neotropics small monkeys were significant, along with marsupials, rodents and climbing carnivores.

Golden-mantled Tamarin Saguinus tripartitus, Napo Lodge, Yasuní NP, Ecuador.
The tamarins are particularly significant Neotropical pollinators.

It is highly likely that many mammal pollinators in Asian forests remain to be identified, but already there are over 60 pollinating non-flying mammal species known - and this is without considering the most significant furry pollen-transferers.

Grey-headed Fruit Bats Pteropus poliocephalus, Canberra (above)
and Bellingen, northern New South Wales (below).
Scores of bat species feed on blossoms, as well as fruit, and carry the pollen (and seeds)
for tens of kilometres.

In the tropics too, many species of micro-chiropterans (the essentially insectivorous echo-locating small bats) have secondarily also adopted flower-feeding habits, and have become highly specialised pollinators. A lot more work seems to have been done in the Neotropics than elsewhere, so doubtless we have much to learn. Probably thousands of tropical plants rely heavily or even solely on bat pollinators. Many have strong complex scents, including some described as 'plasticky'. Unlike the big fruit bats which visit flowers by climbing nimbly among branches, the little bats simply hover briefly in front of flower after flower.

One bat-flower story however has grabbed my attention since I first read about it a decade ago. It concerns a tiny Central American blossom bat called Glossophaga commissarisi and a night-flowering vine called Mucuna holtonii.The vine hangs its flowers in clearings and attracts distant bats with a strong sourish-garlicky smell. When the bat gets closer however the bat starts to 'ping', as it would if navigating in tight spaces or hunting insects. In this case though it is examining the flowers. When the flower is ready for pollination, when it also provides nectar, it erects a strange concave petal which perfectly reflects the bat's sonar back to it - the bat can hear that the flower is worth visiting! It briefly grasps the front of the flower and inserts its head, where its long tongue probes the nectar. This act however also sets off a trigger, which causes anthers to emerge and dust the bat's back with pollen... Amazed? I am!


Mucuna holtonii flowers. Courtesy of La Selva Florula Digital. There are some amazing pictures on the web of the bat actually pollinating the flower, but understandably the owners are pretty protective of them, so I can't show you here. They're worth looking for though!

More recent ingenious experiments with artificial bat heads, emitting and collecting ultrasonic sound directed at a range of tropical flowers, have indicated that each flower tested could at least theoretically be distinguished by a flying bat.

But astonishingly it's not just birds and mammals among vertebrates which pollinate - reptiles, notably lizards, are involved too! This is apparently especially true on islands, where presumably the plants have less choice. In New Zealand and Mauritius geckoes are known pollinators, visiting the flowers for energy in the form of nectar.

Gecko Phelsuma cepediana on Roussea simplex, Mauritius.
(The plant incidentally is now threatened following the introduction of exotic ants, which
feed on the flowers and repel the geckos.)
Photo courtesy National Geographic.

I'll end though with another Australian story, which I also find almost incredible, of a lizard which doesn't actually pollinate but is essential for the event to take place. On Mount Wellington above Hobart in Tasmania life is tough, and the Honey Bush Richea scoparia protects its reproductive parts in a capsule of fused petals.

Typical Mount Wellington habitat in the foreground, above Hobart (above).
Richea scoparia below.

So how do pollinating insects enter? The answer is - a lizard!

Snow Skink Niveoscincus microlepidus.Courtesy Australian Reptile Online Database.

Snow Skinks are common insect hunters on Mount Wellington (not when I was there last - too cold for any sensible animal to be above ground level!). However in summer they switch almost exclusively to Honey Bush nectar, which they obtain by ripping open the capsules, allowing insects to access anthers and styles. The flowers must mature at the mildest time of the year (on Mt Wellington that is relative!), and advertise the fact to the lizards by turning brown. How I love nature's remarkable stories.

More on pollination in coming weeks; I do hope you're as captivated by the nuances of the story as I am.

MEANTIME, BACK ON TUESDAY

There certainly be! (OK, there certainly are...). Some 350 species of them in fact, found across Africa (and slightly into Europe), Asia and Australia. This family, Agamidae, is a 'sister' family to the iguana family (Iguanidae) of the Neotropics and some of the Pacific and, strangely, Madagascar. It's a funny thing, but this rather odd distribution of the iguanas neatly fits into the gaps left by the dragons; where dragons are, iguanas aren't, and vice versa.

Bearded Dragon Pogona barbata, Eyre Peninsula, South Australia.
This smallish dragon (ie a young one - adults can be over 50cm long) shows the
characters which immediately distinguish the family. They have strong clawed legs on which
they stand clear of the ground, and have rough, even spiny, scales which don't overlap each other.
The tail is long and whiplike, and doesn't regrow if broken (unlike a skink's for instance).

This Central Bearded Dragon Pogona vitticeps, Windorah, South-west Queensland,
was too cold to run away - the usual defence of dragons - allowing a good view of its spiky scales.

Diporhiphora magna (no common name that I know of), Litchfield NP, south-west of Darwin.
The long whippy dragon tail is very pronounced in this species.

Their family is an old one - indeed, although we regard them as lizards, they (and the iguanas) are less closely related to other lizards than snakes are. One character not visible in the pictures above is the teeth; dragons have acrodont teeth, which means they don't have sockets, but are fused at the base to the surface of the jawbone. It's a common feature in fish and frogs, and isn't a very secure system, as teeth break easily. This doesn't mean they don't work perfectly well, and incautious handling of a wild Beardie has left me quite effectively lacerated on more than one occasion!

Nearly all dragons (and all Australian ones) lay soft-shelled eggs. She buries them - there may be as many as 30 - and leaves the young to burrow out again.

Southern Angle-headed Dragon Hypsilurus spinipes laying eggs in a rainforest track, Lamington NP, Queensland.
I've only been lucky enough to see this event once, and a long time ago, hence the indifferent picture
- a scan of a faded old slide.

As mentioned previously, most dragons can run at astonishing speeds, even rising onto their hind legs to do so. One group of Australian dragons is known as 'bicycle lizards' for this behaviour!

Crested Dragon or Bicycle Lizard Ctenophorus cristatus, west of Norseman, Western Australia.
Note the very long powerful hindlegs for running upright.

There is the hint of the bright brick red on this dragon which will characterise him as breeding begins. This too is typical of many dragons.

Painted Dragon Ctenophorus pictus, Cape Bauer, South Australia.
The handsome blue flush will spread to his face when breeding starts.

Gippsland (Eastern) Water Dragon Intellagama (formerly Physignathus) lesueurii, National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.
There is a healthy population of these beauties adorning the gardens; only old males attain these striking colours.
Like many dragons these lizards climb well, but they also swim powerfully, dropping from a branch into
the water if disturbed. (Mind you, this particular population doesn't get disturbed easily - they will come to outside
tables at the restaurants hoping for dropped scraps!)

Rainbow Agama Agama agama, Douala, Cameroon. Only the males attain these superb colours, and only when breeding. At other times they are dull brown, as are females all year round. There is an apparently healthy population
of them on the footpaths and open spaces, including petrol stations, in this huge crowded city.

Blue-headed Tree Agama Acanthocerus atricollis, Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda.
Breeding male above, and female (or possibly non-breeding male) below.

Agamas can be very sociable, and interactions are common.

Agamas in open-air restaurant, Waza NP, northern Cameroon.

Gilbert's Dragon or Ta Ta Lizard Amphibolurus gilberti, Bladensburg NP, Queensland.
The curious alternative common name comes from its habit of 'waving' to rivals, as this one is doing,
to indicate that it is in its territory and aware of neighbours.

Like the Ta Ta Lizard, many dragons perch high to watch for both danger and prey - all are carnivores.

Bearded Dragon, Temora, New South Wales.
They can adjust the melanin-bearing cells in the skin to turn almost black to absorb extra sunshine.

Ring-tailed Dragon Ctenophorus caudicinctus, East MacDonnell Ranges, Northern Territory.

Jacky Lizard Amphobolurus muricatus, Pretty Beach, New South Wales,
in typical position.

Gilbert's Dragon Lophognathus gilberti, Darwin.

Dwarf Bearded Dragon Pogona minor, Lesueur NP, Western Australia.

Tommy Roundhead Diporiphora australis, Mareeba, Queenland, on termite mound.
It is often said that Australia's great lizard diversity is founded on the abundance of termites in arid lands.

And finally, just a couple more arid land dragons.

Spotted Military Dragon Ctenophorus maculatus, Lake Logue NR, Western Australia.

Lined Earless Dragon Tympanocryptis lineata, Bladensburg NP, Queensland.
These heat-lovers can be remarkably well-camouflaged against coloured desert stones.

Thorny Devil Moloch horridus, Desert Park, Alice Springs.
Surely one of the most extraordinary of all dragons; despite appearances, a slow,
harmless ant specialist. More information about this fascinating animal here.

Love your dragons - I certainly do!

BACK ON MONDAY

The bracketed clarification in the title refers to the lovely and dramatic Murchison Gorge area of Western Australia, which I introduced in these pages last year. Now it's the turn of the wonderful Murchison Falls National Park in Uganda, a place I'd been greatly looking forward to visiting, not least because it would be my first experience of the mighty Nile River. I travelled with the excellent Rockjumper Birding Tours of South Africa. The park (including a couple of adjoining reserves) protects some 5000 square kilometres of country, including rainforest, vast stretches of woodland, the northern section of Lake Albert (across which is the Democratic Republic of the Congo) and some of the Nile.

It exists because of the Tsetse Fly Glossina spp., vicious little grey-and-black-striped, bullet-shaped flies with a wicked bite which is not at all deflected by clothing. More significantly it also carries trypanosome protozoans which make the area uninhabitable to European stock. (Another trypanosome also causes Sleeping Sickness.)

Murchison Falls National Park - location indicated by end of red arrow. The Nile flows in from the east,
enters the northern end of Lake Albert and flows north again without spending much time in the lake.
The falls themselves are on the river east of the lake.

The eponymous falls are the most famous part of the park, and understandably so, but there is no doubt the park would be worth visiting even without them. However, there's good reason to start with them. The river is squeezed through gorges that are not especially high or long, but with a force purported to be the greatest of any such natural system in the world.

The Nile above the falls.

The falls themselves; the pressure and roar are extraordinary.

Gorge below the falls.

The Nile opens out again below the falls.

The handsome Rock Pratincoles Glareola nuchalis spend much of their time on the rock platforms,
among the spray, from where they forage for insects on the wing. When the river rises and the platforms
become submerged, they move somewhere with lower water levels.

North - downstream - of Lake Albert, the Nile opens out to well over 100 metres wide, though narrows to about half that fairly soon. Hippos, crocodiles, antelope, buffalo and numerous birds adorn the banks. Papyrus banks fringe the river.

The Nile downstream of Lake Albert; the foam on the surface is probably still
courtesy of the enormous churning in the falls.

Papyrus beds along the banks of the Nile. Papyrus is a sedge, Cyperus papyrus, which grows to five metres tall and
forms dense riverside herbaceous 'forests' throughout much of Africa. From papyrus (a Greek word of
unknown origin) comes our word 'paper' because of the use of the pith of the plant to make a parchment,
starting with the ancient Egyptians.
Another Greek word for it, bublos, gives us book-referring words such as bibliography and bibliophile.

Hippopotamus on the banks of the Nile.

The extraordinary Shoebill Balaeniceps rex, also seen on the banks of the Nile, a highlight of the visit.
For more on this wonderful and elusive bird, see here.

Vehicles cross the river at Paraa on a ferry which, though effective enough, can best be described as basic. It comprises a floating mesh platform powered by a robust but very smoky motor. Unusually for Africa it runs strictly to schedule; it only runs four times a day and even arriving five minutes late can lead you to be stranded. (However if you are on time and the ferry is full, it will come back for you!)

Paraa vehicle ferry across the Nile, Murchison Falls NP.

This African Pied Wagtail Motacilla aguimp lives by the ferry, even riding on it, to take advantage
insect life disturbed by all the activity.

Warthogs are more robust and less fastidious exploiters of the accumulation of visitors
at the ferry crossing, shamelessly going through the garbage.

There is a range of accommodation in the park; we stayed at Sambiya River Lodge (which is not actually on the river...), in very pleasant self-contained round thatched cabins.

Sambiya River Lodge cabins, above and below.

Lovely wooden beams and spider web motif, Sambiya River Lodge dining room.

Very leafy and grassy grounds, Sambiya River Lodge.
(Though one is cautioned to be on the lookout for buffaloes...)

The entry to the park from Masindi (and ultimately Kampala) is inauspicious and tucked away in an unsignposted maze of rough tracks - I suspect that many visitors fly in.

Entrance to Murchison Falls NP; I would fear that the elephant tusks were real,
except that I don't imagine they'd still be there if so!

This entrance takes us into the Kainyo Pabidi rainforest - part of the extensive Budongo Forest - where there is a basic lodge.

Kainyo Pabidi rainforest, Murchison Falls NP.
We spend a lot of time here looking for the surprisingly drab and skulking Pavel's Illadopsis Illadopsis puveli;
I say surprising because of the assiduousness with which it is sought, but the reason is that in Budongo
is its only occurrence in East Africa.

Most of the park however is dominated by vast open expanses of woodland; big areas of rolling hills are almost treeless.

Acacia-dominated savanna woodland.

Grassland with Oribi Ourebia ourebi.

Elephants and palm trees in the Murchison Falls NP landscape.

And of course we've hardly looked at the rich animal life yet, but I think that had best be left until next time - there's a lot of it!

BACK ON SUNDAY

This is to conclude an introduction to the wonders of Murchison Falls National Park in western Uganda, began here in my last posting. While we met some animals in the context of specific places last time, they were just a tiny sample of what the park offers. (As indeed are those introduced here, but hopefully this will give you a stronger taste.)

I'll start with one of the little and too-often overlooked animals, but unfortunately I have no way of telling what it is beyond the obvious.

Dragonfly by the Nile.

From that extreme to the other, the park is rich in mammals, including very big ones!

African Savanna (or Bush) Elephants Loxodonta africana are one very good reason to stay in your vehicle!
(I specify the full name because we now recognise the African Forest Elephant as a separate species L. cyclotis.)Family above, and bull returning from mud bath below.

Elephants aren't the only ones to enjoy the mud, presumably both for its cooling properties and as protection against biting insects - including Tsetse Flies.

This huge Cape Buffalo bull Syncerus caffer was one of three grumpy old bachelors sharing the wallow.
Herds of buffalo are found throughout the park - another very good reason not to go wandering around!

Somewhat less nervousness-inducing but none the less impressive are Giraffes - could anyone ever tire of seeing these magnificently unlikely products of evolution?

He was more interested in her than vice versa. The Murchison Giraffes are Rothschild's,
sub-species Giraffa camelopardalis rothschildi. They have long white socks and the males are very dark,
at times the patches are almost black. This is a highly endangered sub-species and Murchison Falls NP
is a key reserve for them.

Cattle and antelopes all belong to the same big family of grazers, and there are plenty of 'other' antelopes wherever you drive in Murchison. Indeed near to the river the open grasslands are grazed down to a short lawn. Perhaps the honour of first mention should go to a Ugandan national emblem.

Actually the lovely Uganda Kob Kobus kob thomasi isn't officially the national emblem -
that honour belongs to a bird, which we'll meet soon - but it does appear on the national coat of arms.

Oribi Ourebia ourebi are delicate-looking little antelope, widespread south of the Sahara.

Uganda Topi Damaliscus ugandae. A very handsome stocky antelope, in a group
which has undergone a lot of taxonomic scrutiny recently. I'm almost certain I've
identified this correctly, but would be grateful to hear if you think otherwise.

And after drawing attention to the garbage sorting activities of some Warthogs last time, I feel that I should acknowledge that most of the Muchison Falls warties do live wild and independent lives!

Warthog family Phacochoerus africanus on the move.

Olive Baboons Papio anubis are another species which has recognised the benefits of human haunts, in terms of what we might leave for them to scrounge. They tend to be rather more proactive than the Warthogs however, and if you leave a car open at a picnic area, baboon retribution is likely to be dramatic!

Olive Baboon mother and baby watching events at the Paraa ferry crossing.

And there are even some small but conspicuous mammals - and coming from a place without any, I reckon that squirrels are a delight.

Striped Ground Squirrel Xerus erythropus are bold and cheeky.

The Murchison birds are slightly less obvious if you're not attuned, but they are a rich part of the landscape. And as we gave top billing among mammals to one part of the Ugandan coat of arms, so we must accord similar respect to the kob's bird counterpart. The Grey Crowned Crane Balearica regulorum is also the official national faunal emblem.

Cranes are always superb in my opinion, and the crowned cranes have something a bit extra with the wonderful
crest and the unexpectedly short bills. Grey Crowned Crane on the plains of Murchison Falls NP above and on the Ugandan coat of arms - with the Uganda Kob - below.

Unlike mammalian predators which are most active at night, bird hunters are easier to see.

Dark Chanting Goshawks Melierax metabates, are effective hunters of quite large ground birds,
plus small mammals, reptiles and insects. I'd have said it whistled rather than chanted, but that's just me.

The Grey Kestrel Falco ardosiaceus is a much smaller hunter, but scarey enough if you're in its size range!

Among the known prey of the goshawk are francolins, ground-dwelling relatives of chooks, partridges and pheasants.

Crested Francolins Dendroperdix sephaena

The open areas support many other ground-dwelling birds too.

I'm a big fan of bustards too and Africa has a pretty rich trove of these large birds, compared with
just one in Australia. This is Denham's Bustard Neotis denhami which is found across much of sub-Saharan
African, but everywhere declining.

Black-headed Lapwings Vanellus tectus doing their best to avoid a decline in their species.

African Spur-winged Lapwing Vanellus spinosus. This really is a very neat - and in-your-face - group of birds,
found over most of the world. The bony spur, in the angle of the wing, is kept hidden normally, but is used
to wicked effect when protecting the nest or chicks on the ground.


African Wattled Lapwing Vanellus senegallus, yet another member of the genus. (It was in Uganda that I saw the last of the African species that I hadn't yet come across - at least of those living in areas I've been to.)

Senegal Thick-knee Burhinus senegalensis, one of an intriguing group of waders found throughout the world.
Mostly they are known as stone-curlews, which may not be accurate but is at least more euphonius. The African
species however are mostly called thick-knees (based on an old species name for the European representative).
Even Australia, which toyed with this awful name for a while, reverted to 'stone-curlew' by popular protest.
'Dikkop' is an alternative in Africa too, and to my ear is pleasanter, but is mostly South African.

Abyssinian (or Northern) Ground Hornbill Bucorvus abyssinicus. These very large (a metre high) birds
stalk the grasslands in small groups, hunting small animals.

And just to show that there are some small birds there that don't spend their time on the ground!

Northern Red Bishop Euplectes franciscanus, one of the weavers, constructing
a delightful woven enclosed nest hung among grass stems.

I can't imagine that you'd go to Uganda without visiting Murchison Falls, but this is just to make sure! It's a great reserve.

BACK TOMORROW FOR A BRIEF ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF WATTLE DAY

For reasons I don't have at my fingertips, Australia uses the agreed Meteorological definition of the seasons, which sets the change of season at the first of September (and December, March and June), while Europe and North America use the Astronomical definition, which uses the equinoxes and solstices to mark the season kick-off. I have heard people assert quite strongly that these are the 'real' seasons, but I don't really get that - they're both human conceits. There are good reasons to define the seasons by what's actually happening, as many societies have done, and as some Australian indigenous communities (such as in the Top End) still do. This would of course mean that the dates would change from year to year, and while that seems perfectly reasonable to me, I doubt that we could cope easily with it.

I love spring and hang out for it every year. This is the time when wildflowers around here are beginning to burst forth, and the migratory birds are returning from their winter sabbatical in places north. So, today is a good day for me. It's also (semi-officially) Wattle Day, celebrated sporadically from the earlier days of our colonisation, as part of a growing sense of identity and even independence. It's an interesting story in its own right, but as this is an 'extra' posting I'll limit myself today to celebrating by way of some wattle photos - and I've selected just one from each Australian state and territory, starting here in the ACT and moving round the country clockwise.

I hope the pictures can stand alone without further commentary.

Wedge-leaf Wattle Acacia pravissima, Namadgi National Park, Australian Capital Territory.
(For more pictures of local wattles, see here, courtesy of my friend Martin Butterfield.)

Sunshine Wattle Acacia terminalis, Monga National Park, New South Wales.

Gorse-leaf Wattle Acacia ulicifolia, East Gippsland, Victoria.

Blackwood Wattle Acacia melanoxylon, Tasmania.

Port Lincoln Wattle Acacia anceps, Eyre Peninsula, South Australia.

Prickly Moses Acacia pulchella, South Beekeepers Nature Reserve, Western Australia.

Fire Wattle Acacia inaequalitara, Kata Tjuta National Park, Northern Terrritory.

Net-veined Wattle Acacia retivenea, Bladensburg NP, Queensland.

And a happy spring if you're in my hemisphere, and a happy Wattle Day to you all!

BACK ON SUNDAY

Kingfishers truly are one of the joys of life, with 90-95 species to be enjoyed in every continent except Antarctica. Moreover they've been brightening the planet for a long time - indeed the fossil record suggests that 60 million years ago kingfishers and their close kin were the dominant birds to be found perching above the landscapes of the Northern Hemisphere. However while both North America and Africa have been suggested as the ancestral kingfisher home, it seems likely, based on the fact that the oldest and most distinctive members of the dynasty are to be found in the south-east Asia to New Guinea area, that they arose there and spread.

This Sacred Kingfisher Todiramphus sanctus, in Mulligans Flat Nature Reserve, Canberra,
demonstrates widespread kingfisher characteristics. In particular the erect posture, long sharp heavy bill,
three toes forward and one back (like passerines) and bright colours are all recurring themes.

Also in perpetual dispute is whether kingfishers belong to one diverse family or three separate ones, though there is no argument about the three distinct sub-groups. The majority opinion is that the divisions are wide enough to merit family status, and I'm going along with that. These families, in descending order of size, are the Tree Kingfishers, Halcyonidae (approximately 60 species), the River Kingfishers, Alcedinidae (22-24 species) and the Water Kingfishers, Cerylidae (9 species, including all the American ones). (If we accept just one family it has to be called Alcedinidae, as the Common Kingfisher of Europe and Asia, the first to be named scientifically, belongs there.)

And, just before we get to the birds themselves, and to confirm the reputation of kingfisher taxonomists as a disputatious lot, there is also confusion as to which of the groups represents the ancestral kingfishers; while it has always been generally agreed on the basis of physical and behavioural evidence that the Tree Kingfishers are the oldest, and from which the other two families derived, recent biochemical work challenges that and puts the River Kingfishers in the chair of honour. The argument goes on but for now I'll adopt the majority view - which seems to coincide with logic - and stick with the Tree Kingfishers as the originals. Specialist behaviour, such as fishing, has been adopted by a minority of the group and seems likely to have derived secondarily from more generalist forest and woodland hunters of small animals. However the Common Kingfisher happens to be one of the minority and its habits gave the name to the whole group, even though most of them don't fish, or only rarely.

Today I'm going to introduce a few of the Tree Kingfishers, in deference to their numbers and their apparent venerability. Next time we'll meet the others, the fish-lovers. Why not start with the biggest ones, the kookaburras; I'm not sure if I have any African readers but I know they'll bristle at that statement. However while your Giant Kingfisher is a bit longer than the Laughing Kookaburra, the kooka is certainly more massive.

Laughing Kookaburras Dacelo novaeguineae, Canberra. Highly sociable, they defend territories fiercely against
rival kookaburra clans with the famous territorial laugh and display flights and even physical contact if necessary.
Both of its scientific names are contentious. Dacelo is an anagram of Alcedo, the Common Kingfisher genus; such
levity was regarded at the time as in very poor taste. Novaeguineae is even worse; it isn't found in New Guinea and
Pierre Sonnerat who claimed to have collected it there was apparently being deliberately disingenuous to exaggerate
his travels - he had form, having also claimed to have shot a penguin there!

Laughing Kookaburra, south coast New South Wales. The bill can be used - as here - like a crowbar
to extract grubs from the soil. Most food is collected on the ground, as with most of the family, and ranges from insects and worms to lizards, snakes and mice.

It seems that the kookaburras arose in New Guinea and at some point the Blue-winged Kookaburra entered Australia, where it remains in the tropics, while the Laughing Kookaburra evolved as a separate species and moved south into the temperate forests and woodlands.


Blue-winged Kookaburras Dacelo leachii behave similarly to Laughings, breeding cooperatively with the parents assisted in chick rearing by offspring from previous years, and sometimes by brothers and sisters. The call has been justifiably described by Graham Pizzey, the author of the preeminent Australian bird field guide, as "appalling".

The Sacred Kingfisher - featured above - is the common smaller kingfisher of southern and eastern Australia and is also found well into the Pacific and eastern Indonesia. Around here it is strongly migratory; soon we should be hearing its insistent 'ek ek ek' in woodlands, as it returns from far north Queensland and even New Guinea and beyond.

Sacred Kingfisher with frog, Canberra. They eat pretty much any animal suitable to their size.
(Faded old slide - sorry.)

Inland the Sacred Kingfisher is replaced by the similar and closely related Red-backed Kingfisher Todiramphus pyrrhopygius, found throughout the arid inland.

Red-backed Kingfisher, Kings Canyon National Park, central Australia.
From behind (below) we can just see its eponymous back, which is the red of a brick rather than a letter-box.
Unlike Sacreds, which usually nest in tree hollows, Red-backeds generally excavate a burrow in a bank.

Halcyon is a mostly African genus of Tree Kingfishers - and 7 of the 16 African kingfishers species belong to it. There is much mythology surrounding kingfishers - many Polynesians believed that Sacred Kingfishers controlled the waves, hence the English name - and Greek mythology was rife with it. Ceyx was the son of Hesperos, the Morning Star, married to Alcyone, daughter of Aeolus, the wind guardian. Blissfully happy, they made the mistake of comparing themselves to Zeus and Hera - big mistake actually, as Z and H turned out to be not at all happy, and punished their presumption by drowning them both with a storm. The other gods felt that this was a bit over the top and turned them into halcyons, birds generally agreed to be kingfishers. (I can't help but think they might have preferred to have been themselves again, but what would I know?) Not being very experienced in such things, Alcyone opted to nest on the beach near the waterline - her dad arranged for windless days to allow her to get away with it, hence Halcyon Days. We'll meet some of these names again next time among the fishing kingfishers.

The Blue-breasted Kingfisher Halcyon malimbica is a lovely bird found across western and central Africa,
from primary rainforest (as here, in Budongo Forest, Uganda) to dry savannahs.
As well as the normal kingfisher animal fare, it is known to eat oil palm fruits.

The Grey-headed Kingfisher Halcyon leucocephala, Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda, is another beauty.
This one is found widely across Africa and undertakes complex movements in different parts of this range.


Woodland Kingfisher Halcyon senegalensis, Entebbe Botanic Gardens, Uganda. Another with a range right across sub-Saharan Africa, and migrating from the north and south into the centre of the continent in the dry.

The Striped Kingfisher Halcyon chelicuti, central Cameroon, may not be as smartly dressed as some of its relatives,
and is smaller, but I think it has lots of character. It too has a huge distribution.

I hope I have whetted your appetite for these wonderful birds - back next time to talk about some of their even flashier fishing relatives, from tiny to huge.

BACK ON FRIDAY

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Last time I had the pleasure of introducing some of the Tree Kingfishers, by far the most numerous of the three kingfisher families as generally recognised. Today I've been looking forward to completing this little alcenid homage by meeting, with you, some members of the other two families, the ones who actually do fish as a key part of their lifestyle. The best-known of these, via the literature, calendars and Christmas cards, is probably the Common Kingfisher Alcedo atthis, found right across Europe, North Africa and most of Asia. However it's been decades since I was in those parts, and I can't offer you any pics - there are some superb shots out there in webland however!

The smaller of the two fishing families is Cerylidae, the Water Kingfishers. (This is not a very helpful name compared with the other one, Alcedinidae, the River Kingfishers, but I wouldn't have wanted to have to come up with anything more useful either!) It comprises just nine species and oddly I have photos of six of them - this is because they comprise all the American kingfishers, which are ubiquitous and evident in South America. It seems that they arose only a few million years ago when an ancestral ceryline crossed from Asia, via the Bering Strait. In the orthodox view this ancestor did not to have left any direct descendants in the Old World, though this is certainly not an unheard of occurrence.

However it has been recently suggested that this ancestral line is represented by the Pied Kingfisher Ceryle rudis, found across most of sub-Saharan Africa and southern Asia. It is a very handsome bird, without the usual bright kingfisher colours, common and evident on lakes and rivers, perching on branches and reeds, poles and buildings above water; moreover, unlike other kingfishers it greatly increases its hunting range by hovering conspicuously above the surface. Like many kingfishers they draw attention to themselves by constant calling. Less typically they roost in flocks.

Pied Kingfisher, Kazinga Channel, Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda (where all these Pied Kingfisher
photos were taken). This is a female, with just one breast band.

Typically, fish are carried back to a perch, battered into stillness and swallowed headfirst so that fins don't catch in the throat.

Part of a sequence, above and below, of bashing the fish then swallowing it.
(This is a male bird, with a second narrow breast band.)

Like many kingfishers, Pieds nest in a burrow in the bank, which they excavate themselves.

Male Pied Kingfisher at the mouth of a nesting burrow.

By one theory the American cousins then divided into two genera. Megaceryle is represented in South America by the Ringed Kingfisher M. torquata, an imposingly big bird found from the Amazon basin to the Strait of Magellan, and north into the southern USA. (Further north it is replaced by the closely related Belted Kingfisher M. alcyon.)

Ringed Kingfisher, Isla de Chiloé, Chile.
Despite its size (similar to that of a kookaburra) it's a fishing bird, diving spectacularly into the water.

In this scenario a Megaceryle kingfisher later recrossed the Atlantic to give rise to two Asian-African species, but more recent thinking has the genus arising in Africa and later in arriving in the Americas. Either way the African representative, the appropriately named Giant Kingfisher M. maxima, is a most impressive bird, found throughout the non-desert lands of the continent.

Giant Kingfisher, Benoue NP, Cameroon.
This one too, despite its considerable bulk, hurls itself into the water after fish, frogs and crustaceans.

The other American kingfishers - all from the South American tropics - are very similar birds of the genus Chloroceryle, which neatly divide into two species-pairs, one pair with rufous undersides, the other with substantial white below (though males have a broad rufous breast band). In each pair there is a large and a small species, thus avoiding competition.

Male Amazon Kingfisher C. amazona, Cocha Salvador, Manu NP, Peru.
He is a big bird, 30cm long, with no white spotting in the green.

Male Green Kingfisher C. americana, Manu NP, Peru.
He is less than 20cm long.

American Pygmy Kingfisher C. aenea, Yasuní NP, Ecuador.
This scarce and tiny bird is only 13cm long; this one was seen at roost at night above a creek from a canoe.
Its 'pair partner', the Green-and-Rufous Kingfisher, also scarce, is 24cm long.

The third kingfisher family, also specialist fishers, is found throughout most of the world except the Americas. Mostly smaller birds, they are notably short-tailed and typically blue above and rufous or white below.

Azure Kingfisher Ceyx azurea, Barmah Forest, Victoria.
Ceyx, you may recall from last time, was one of the doomed couple who just got too happy for the liking
of the typically grumpy Greek gods, and got turned into birds.
This exquisite bird is found along streams in near-coastal eastern and northern Australia and, as here,
inland along the Murray River.

African Pygmy Kingfisher Ispidina picta, Queen Elizabeth NP, Uganda.
A tiny bird, the size of the relatively unrelated American Pygmy Kingfisher. It will sometimes hunt
insects far from water.

Malachite Kingfisher Alcedo (or Corythornis) cristata, Lake Mburo NP, Uganda.
One of the jewels of Africa, no bigger than the Pygmies, common and widespread in Africa.

So, this is the end of our kingfisher journey; I hope you've enjoyed meeting them as much as I have. Wherever you are, there'll be one or more not too far away. And every one's a pleasure.

BACK ON THURSDAY

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I know that lots of people read this, but very few comment. ]

On this day in 1810 the Spanish colonial governor of Chile was deposed and replaced by a Council of seven, based in Santiago; this was only the beginning of the end of Spanish rule, but it is marked now as the first of two consecutive Fiestas Patrias, effectively Chile's national days. Chile was my first experience of South America, and as such retains a special place in my heart. My experience of it has so far been limited to the south, though in the next 12 months I plan to rectify that by visiting the Atacama. However it means that a strong part of my impression of Chile is water and in paying a tribute to the country on its special day, I'm going to do so by introducing you to two very special and spectacular saltos - literally a jump, but also meaning waterfall or cascade.

The first is Salto Petrohué in Vicente Pérez Rosales National Park, inland from the bustling Puerto Montt, on the Petrohué River soon after it flows out of Lago Todos los Santos. The second is much further south, in the sublime Torres del Paine National Park. Salto Grande - the 'big falls' - forms in a slot canyon between Lago Nordenskjöld and Lago Pehoé.

Location of Salto Petrohué shown (approximately!) by end of red arrow;
that of Salto Grande by end of brown arrow.

The settings of both are superb.

Looking east along Lago Todos Santos to the Andean spine; the mountains, including Tronodor, are
on the Chilean-Argentinian border. The Petrohué flows west from the right of the photo.

The mountains around Lago Todos Santos are still visible from the saltos, a little downstream.

The top of Salto Petrohué, with mighty Puntiagudo in the background.
(The name simply means 'pointy'.)

From there the water roars down through a narrow slot.

The rocks are laval basalt, very tough but still being gradually worn away.

Below the falls the river runs over shallow bars and through rocky channels, sometimes still white, sometimes relatively peaceful.

Rio Petrohué flowing through cool temperate rainforest downstream of the falls
(above and below).

While the falls are the obvious attraction, the forest itself is well worthy of our attention too, especially if we have an eye to the Gondwanan connections of the plants, a striking aspect to those of us lucky enough to visit from other southern lands.

Notro, Embothrium coccineum, overhanging the Petrohué River.
This member of the family Proteaceae bears a striking resemblance to the
Australian waratahs, Telopea spp., in the same family.
The characteristic blue of the water is due to the presence of fine suspended particles of silt.

Weinmannia trichosperma, family Cunonicacae - another Gondwanan family.

Escallonia rubra; its family, Escallionaceae, is mostly found in South America, with
a smaller focus in Australia.

But let's fly south now, to the second of our saltos to celebrate Chile's day. It too has a spectacular setting, between two of the lakes for which Torres del Paine is famous (among many other things!).

Lago Nordenskjöld, with the Towers (Torres) behind it.
Not a very Spanish (or Tehuelche!) name, you may well think; it was named for Swedish
geologist and explorer Otto Nordenskjöld, who investigated the area in the 1920s.


Lago Pehoé whipped up by the winds that are typical of the area; I've been nearly knocked off my feet by them while visiting Salto Grande.

Pehoé is lower than Nordenskjöld, causing the waters to rush into Pehoé with dramatic force.

Upstream of the salto, with the Horns (the Curenos) in the background.

The falls, above and below; the latter shows Lago Pehoé in the background.

Another view of the mighty Cuernos, looking back from Salto Grande.

And, as everywhere, there are plants and animals to admire too, including the ubiquitous Notro.

Notro by the Salto Grande.


Southern House Wren Troglogdytes musculus, Salto Grande. This bird will be instantly familiar to my northern hemisphere friends, though the Eurasian species has now been separated. Many ornithologists recognise just one species (T. aedon) from Canada to Tierra del Fuego, but the South Americans disagree.


Male Austral Negrito Lessonia rufa, an equally widespread bird in the south. It is one of the vast group of South American Tyrant Flycatchers which makes South American birding such a challenge and a joy to the rest of us.

So, Happy Day Chile, and thanks for sharing your wonderful saltos with us!

BACK ON WEDNESDAY

The other day we were walking in Mulligans Flat Nature Reserve on the northern edge of Canberra; for the whole time we surrounded by millions of Early Nancies, low-growing native lilies.

Massed Early Nancies Wurmbea dioca Family Colchicaceae, Mulligans Flat NR, Canberra.

It got me thinking that lilies would be a great topic for a blog post, but the more I thought about it, and after I'd checked up on recent changes in thinking of the place of lilies in the world, I realised that there are actually at least two and probably three postings involved, just because of the numbers of 'lilies'. I use the inverted commas there because the question of what actually is a lily is a very vexed one.

At one stage the answer seemed easy - everything in the family Liliaceae. But... The family was described by Antoine Jussieu in 1789, and was basically defined as any herb with six roughly equal flower parts, six stamens, an ovary that sits above the flower base, and three sections within the ovary. Unfortunately it soon became obvious that this definition included very many species indeed. In fact despite growing concerns which had begun to be expressed in the mid-19th century as to the validity of the family, by 1980 the definition had actually been broadened and the family included over 300 genera and nearly 5000 species!

Reality kicked in then and people began looking at the real relationships, resulting in a major break-up of the family and the erection of close to 50 new genera and quite a few new families. With new biochemical tools in particular, the work is proceeding and more changes have recently been made and widely accepted. The artificiality of the old family is underlined by the fact that former members have been spread across not just 24 families, but two Orders - in other words many members of the old Liliaceae aren't even moderately related! For the purposes of this blog I'm going to define a 'lily' as anything that has historically been regarded as such, but I'll also explain the current situation for anyone interested as we go.

I'm going to introduce today some of those members which stayed in the order Liliales (which is the smaller of the two), but first, some lilies in history.

You may not have suspected it, but onions and garlic (family Alliaceae) are lilies by this definition. They have been grown around the Mediterranean for at least 5000 years. The Greek historian Herodotus described an inscription on the Pyramid of Cheops detailing the large sums of money spent on onions, garlic and radish (unrelated) for the labourers. Somewhere I read that the first recorded sit-down strike was staged at the Necropolis in Thebes because the onion wage wasn't being paid. Quite right too!

In the 13th century Florence was a world trading centre; their gold coins, embossed with a lily, were called fiorin d'oro, 'little gold flower', which entered English as 'florin'. Tulips - among the few remaining members of family Liliaceae - came to Austria from Turkey in 1554 and the craze spread throughout Europe. In Holland single bulbs sold for thousands of guilders; Belgian speculators traded at the van Beurse home, hence our word 'bourse' for a stock exchange. 'Paper tulips' were promisory notes, and millions of them circulated. When the government shocked everyone by demanding that the notes had to be honoured, people went bankrupt - and many went off tulips... Another lily, the hyacinth, arrived in Europe via the middle east from the western Asian plains in the mid-16th century; within two hundred years some 3000 varieties had been developed in Holland, of which we now know only around 150.

It's a long time in this post since a picture, a dangerous thing in a blog posting, so here are some lilies of the Order Liliales. The Americas aren't particularly well endowed with native lilies, especially in the south, but one notable central and South American family is Alstroemeriaceae, with just four genera but some 250 species, including some beauties. Two of these genera, Alstromoeria and Bomarea, account for nearly the entire family, each having 100-120 species.

Alstromoeria patagonica, Torres del Paine NP, southern Chile.
This tiny herb is endemic to Patagonia.

Bomarea sp., El Cajas NP, Andes above Cuenca, Ecuador.

Bomarea sp., 4000m high cloud forest, Manu NP, Peru.

In Australia we also have a few members of this order, including the cheerful little Early Nancies I mentioned earlier, in family Colchicaceae.

Wurmbea dioica, Mulligans Flat NR, Canberra.
As the species name implies the species is dioecious - it has separate male and female plants.
Female above, male below.

A less common member of the family locally is also a grassland lily, and also named for a human female!

Milkmaids, Burchardia umbellata, Bigga cemetery, New South Wales.
An umbel is a floral arrangement whereby all the flower stalks arise from a common point,
well illustrated here and again reflecting the species name.

Burchardia rosea, Kalbarri NP, Western Australia.

A third member of the family Colchicaceae locally is found in wet forests not far to the east of here.

Schelhammera undulata, Lilac Lily, Carrington Falls, New South Wales.
The flower streaks are nectar guides, advertising hoardings for pollinating insects.

Smilacaceae is another Liliales family found in Australia as well as widely elsewhere. The most familiar member in south-eastern Australia is Smilax australis, known unkindly as Lawyer Vine (one of several species so named in fact) because it is prickly and easy to become entangled in!

Smilax australis, Monga NP, New South Wales.
The leaves are most unusual among monocots - mostly herbaceous plants like lilies, orchids and grasses - in having
net-like leaf veins, instead of simple parallel veins.

We'll leave it there for now - there are many more lilies to meet! I must say though that one of the best known quotations about lilies, the famous biblical one, "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin" leaves me baffled. I have never understood that one - are we being exhorted to a life of sloth, hoping for the best?? Oh well, best I stick to what I know a little about.

BACK ON WEDNESDAY FOR MORE OF THE STORY

Last time I started an exploration of the wonderful world of lilies, including their complicated definition, which I finally settled upon, for the purposes of this blog, as plants which have in the past been included in the family Liliaceae - and there are very many of them! Not only has the giant pseudo-family been broken into 24 separate families, but this wealth of species is spread across two entire orders - it would be as though ducks and herons had recently been mixed in together, or carnivores with horses and rhinos. Last time we looked at some lilies which remain in the order Liliales; today I want to start looking at the larger order Asparagales.

First however, a couple of omissions from last time to rectify! I talked about some Australian members of the Liliales, but omitted a couple of rather lovely overseas members of the families discussed. Bear with me - they really are worth it.

Probably the best-known and most widespread member of the family Colchicaceae is the glorious Flame Lily (among many other names), also called, with some justifiable hyperbole, Gloriosa superba. It is found in much of Africa and Asia, and is the national flower of Zimbabwe. It is reputed in different places to cure almost every ill known to humankind, though it is highly toxic from top to bottom and is used as an arrow poison in West Africa.

Gloriosa superba near Masindi, Uganda.

Another family that we explored was the South American Alstromoeriaceae; again I left out a particularly lovely one that I ought not to have done! Luzuriaga has a classic Gondwanan distribution, the few species being found in Patagonia and New Zealand. L. polyphylla (Quilineja or Coral in Spanish - I'm not aware of an English name) is a beautiful climbing herb from the dripping wet temperate rainforests of the Lakes Region of northern Chilean Patagonia.

Quilineja seems to glow softly in the dark wet forests it inhabits.
Alerce Andino NP, near Puerto Montt, Chile.

So, to the order Asparagales. There are, as I've said, many families involved and today I'd like us to look at representatives of some of the smaller families.

Amaryllidaceae is probably best known for its cultivated members - daffodils and snowdrops for instance. However there are many beautiful ones to be found in the wild too of course. A couple of species occur in inland Australia, where they grow and flower, sometimes prolifically, as flood plains dry out.

Darling Lily Crinum flaccidum, Lake Broadwater NP, Queensland.
They have a strong sweet scent in the evenings, suggesting they're pollinated by night-flying moths.

In Africa eight species of blood lilies, Scadoxus spp., are found widely. They are highly toxic with both leaves and bulbs containing potentially deadly alkoloids.

Scadoxus sp. (I think S. multiflorus - any clues anyone?), Mt Cameroon.

Asteliaceae is a largely Pacific family, most members of which are in the genus Astelia; New Zealand is its heartland, but there is one species in the far south of Patagonia, others scattered through the Pacific, and a couple in Australia.

Astelia alpina (above and below), Mount Field NP, Tasmania.
Known as Pineapple Grass though it is neither of course, but the name is appropriate!
It can dominate alpine understoreys in the south-eastern Australian alps.

Blandfordiaceae is a tiny family of just four species, all in the genus Blandfordia of eastern Australia. They are known as Christmas Bells for their mid-summer flowering and are much-loved. They grow generally in moist heathy areas.

Christmas Bells, Blandfordia nobilis, Morton NP, New South Wales.

Boryaceae is another small family, exclusively Australian, with most species in the genus Borya and in south-western Australia where they are especially found around great granite outcrops, drying out to apparent death and recovering dramatically when it rains. Unsurprisingly they are known as resurrection plants.

Borya sphaerocephala, Dingo Rock, south-west Western Australia.

Doryanthaceae is yet another tiny Australian endemic family, featuring just two giant species in the genus Doryanthes. Gymea Lily D. excelsa is found near the coast in rocky forests from Sydney to southern Queensland and is one of the most striking plants in Australia. In winter and early spring it puts up a massive flowering spike to four metres tall!

Gymea Lily, above and below, Royal National Park, Sydney.

Hypoxidaceae on the other hand is a near world-wide family, as is the large type genus with up to 150 species.


Yellow Star Hypoxis hygrometrica, Canberra. The odd species name - it means 'water measuring' - refers to the curious fact that the plant's hairs coil up when dry and extend when wet. To my knowledge this has never been explained!

Hypoxis sp., Ngaoundaba Ranch, central Cameroon.

And finally for today, family Asphodeliaceae, the aloes and asphodels. Some modern taxonomies subsume this one into the Xanthorrhoeas, which intuitively feels a bit odd, but this has not been accepted in Australia. Locally there are a couple of species of Bulbine Lily.

Bulbine bulbosa, Canberra.
In case you'd missed it, the name is trying to assure us that it has a bulb!
An edible one too apparently, well known to indigenous Australians.
This is a very common and cheerful spring flower in grassy areas locally.

Rock Lily Bulbine glauca, Namadgi National Park, above Canberra.
Unlike Bulbine Lily this one lacks an edible tuber; it replaces that species at higher altitudes.

And I think that will do us for today - you must be just about lilied out by now. We've not yet finished with the glorious lilies though; we'll wrap it up with a posting on each of two families, the next being the asparagus family!

BACK ON WEDNESDAY

Little Española, in the far south-east of the Galápagos archipelago, is among the oldest of the islands (other than those that are already submerged, further to the east), eroding away into the sea. The whole archipelago of exposed volcanic peaks is riding the Nazca Plate towards South America; the youngest islands are the western ones, still passing over the 'hot spot' where fiercely hot magma is close to the crust's surface. Española's days (or millenia) may be numbered, but meantime it is one of the most exciting place for wildlife in the whole of the Galápagos, which is saying a very great deal!

The location of Española is indicated by the red arrow; the volcanic 'hot spot' is currently under Isabela and Fernandina
to the west, and the whole archipelago is sailing east with the Nazca Plate.

There is so much to say about Española that I won't attempt to do so in one posting; it is probably most famous for seabirds, so let's start today with them. The Waved Albatross Phoebastria irrorata is the world's only tropical albatross and virtually the entire world population breeds on Española (there are a few breeding pairs on Isla de la Plata off the coast of central Ecuador). This is no coincidence; albatrosses rely on the wind (which is why nearly all species live in the permanently howling winds of the far southern oceans), and find it virtually impossible to take off from flat ground, because of their weight and hugely long wings. Only on Española is there flat ground for breeding alongside cliffs that face the prevailing winds for takeoff. When the winds fail in January and February they move closer to the mainland to fish.

The walking track - to which it is compulsory to keep - runs near the edge of the colony, but not close enough to nesting sites to cause problems. It is a remarkable experience to watch the great birds displaying to reinforce pair bonds, and to encounter the huge calm curious chicks, shabby as they moult into adult plumage.

Waved Albatross colony, Española.

They are a beautiful and imposing bird seen close up.

Courtship, above and below, involves exaggerated stepping, sky-pointing, mellow honking
and loud beak slapping, like children sword-fighting.

It requires some imagination to see the cheerful buffoonish chicks as the infinitely
graceful adults they will soon become.

To watch them lumber into the wind, or simply drop over the cliff edge, then soar overhead
or even below us along the cliff, is nothing less than thrilling.

And finally, if you were wondering about the 'Waved' part of the name, here's the answer,
in the delicate filigree pattern on neck, breast and flanks.

But when you can finally tear yourself away from the albatross colony there are other special seabirds to admire from close range too, including two species of booby. These lovely tropical gannets have been known as boobies in English for over 400 years; it is apparently derived from Spanish bobo, a fool, based on their trusting habits which enabled sailors to slaughter them with ease at breeding colonies. We really are shockers at times! Blue-footed Boobies are the ones most readily encountered throughout the Galápagos, though they are actually the least abundant of the three species - the other two however breed only on remote islands, so are less evident to most visitors. I can't ever imagine not stopping to admire the Blue-foots though!

Blue-footed Booby Sula nebouxii, Española.
The egg is just visible under the breast.

And fortunately Española is one of those remote islands, and supports a healthy breeding colony of Nazca Booby Sula granti. This is a primarily Galápagos species, formerly regarded as a sub-species of the more widespread Masked Booby Sula dactylatra.

Nazca Booby colony on plateau, Española.
They are bigger birds than the Blue-foots, and like the albatrosses appreciate the advantages of cliff-top takeoffs.

Nazca Booby pair.

Nazca Booby with eggs, Española. They nearly always lay two but, as in some other bird species,
the second chick is just insurance, and if its older sibling survives, it will not.

Gulls are also present, both visitors and permanent residents.

Franklin's Gull Leucophaeus pipixcan, a non-breeding migrant from North America.
And what an excellent place to avoid the northern winter!
(Sally Lightfoot Crabs in the background.)


The exquisite Swallow-tailed Gull Creagrus furcatus on the other hand is essentially a Galápagos endemic, with a small colony off the Colombian coast the only other breeding site. It is also the world's only nocturnal gull; I remember my delight at looking out of the cabin window one travelling night and seeing one flying alongside in the glow of the boat lights.

There is much more to tell you about Española however, and next time, more birds, plus mammals and reptiles!

BACK ON TUESDAY

This is the penultimate posting of this series on the delightful lilies; see here for the first posting and how we're defining lilies. The second posting follows that one, so will be easy for you to find if you so desire. I'm going to continue with big order Asparagales. As ever I'm using the Australian interpretation of the taxonomy, as defined by the authoritative Council of Heads of Australasian Herbaria; this is a work in progress, but the lilies have certainly been covered by them.

Quite a few Australian lily genera have recently been incorporated into the huge family Asparagaceae, which has recently been greatly expanded to include many smaller families, notably in Australia Anthericaceae, in itself relatively newly in wide use here. It's that family I want to share with you today, though my examples are limited to Australian ones; I'll be happy to read your account of your own local species in due course!

One of the most delightful experiences I know is to walk through a field of the appropriately named Chocolate Lilies - the name is from the scent rather than taste (not that I can comment on the latter).

Chocolate Lily Arthropodium (formerly Dichopogon) fimbriatum,Bigga Cemetery, New South Wales.
To some people (including me) it does smell like dark chocolate, to others it more resembles vanilla.

There are two other members of the genus around here too; Vanilla Lily can be found in open areas around Canberra and high into the Snow Gum meadows. And I can't believe I don't have a newer, better photo of this abundant little plant!

Vanilla Lily Arthropodium milleflorum.This one does smell unequivocally of vanilla, but it was the edible tubers which
caught the attention of Aboriginal People.
The species name 'thousand flowers' does represent a touch of hyperbole!

Small Vanilla Lily Arthropodium minum.
This one is tiny, less than 30cm high with flowers only about 10mm across.

Chamaescilla is another genus of blue lilies, generally known as blue squills, squill being the name used for various European lilies, especially of the genus Scilla; don't ask me why though.

Chamaescilla spiralis, Esperance, Western Australia, growing, as so many western plants do, in pure sand.
As indicated below they can grow in huge colonies.
The spiralis refers to the twisted basal leaves, though they are not particularly obvious in these photos
(unlike the bud in the photo above).

Another small endemic Australian genus is Sowerbaea, named for highly regarded early 19th century English botanical artist James Sowerby. There are just six species, but found collectively in all Australian states.


Rush Lily Sowerbaea juncea, Ulladulla, New South Wales. This one grows in near-coastal boggy heathland.

Purple Tassels Sowerbaea laxiflora, Perth.
Unusually, Western Australia doesn't have a monopoly on this genus!

An apparently atypical member is the Wombat Berry, the only member of the genus Eustrephus. Eustrephus latifolius is a quite robust climber with stems many metres long, found throughout eastern Australia in moister situations and on many Pacific islands.

Wombat Berry, Deua National Park, New South Wales.
The berries are edible, as are the tubers, as with many other members of this family.

The mat rushes - Lomandra spp. - comprise another lily group in this order which may not meet our expectations of what lilies should look like. At one stage they were incorporated into the Xanthorrhoea family then for some time given their own, Lomandraceae. Now however they have been included in the huge Asparagaceae. There are some 50 species of Lomandra, all Australian though a couple extend a little offshore. All are rush-like clumping plants, some of which can form important forest understoreys.

Lomandra longifolia Canberra.
Note that this is a planting (outside the National Portrait Gallery) - to my surprise my picture library lacked this species -
and for some reason the leaves had been slashed before flowering.

Probably my favourite genus in this family however - and indeed perhaps my favourite lily genus - is Thysanotus, the beautiful fringe lilies. Here Western Australia reasserts its claim to Australian wildflower supremacy, with 45 of the 50 known species living there. A few northern Australian species extend north into Asia too.

Here are a few of them.

Thysanotus manglesianus, Kalbarri National Park, Western Australia.

This one is a twiner, as is the next, common in early spring in Canberra dry forests (and well beyond).

Twining Fringe Lily Thysanotus patersonii, Canberra.

Another local fringe lily however is much more robust and stands erect.

Thysanotus tuberosus flowering post-fire, Morton NP, New South Wales.
As the name suggests it has an edible tuber, valued by Aboriginal People.
It has a huge distribution, from Victoria into the Queensland tropics and across the Torres Strait to New Guinea.
Naturally, this also means that it lives in a wide variety of habitats.

Thysanotus juncifolius, Mareeba, tropical Queensland.
This one has a similarly extensive distribution to the previous one, but isn't found in New Guinea.

The lovely lilies - and still one posting to go, on another large family.

At last - you may well be thinking - here is the last in this series on the lovely lilies. It started here, and followed from there.

In this last posting I want to introduce you to some beautiful members of a family whose name may well be unfamiliar to you. Hemerocallidaceae was first proposed by the great Scottish botanist Robert Brown in 1810 but was certainly not familiar to at least most Australian amateurs until very recent years when some familiar species from other families were shifted into it. Elsewhere in the world many people would go further and include the members of this family in the grass tree family Xanthorrhoeaceae, but here we prefer to give that wonderful group of quintessentially Australian plants their own family. You don't of course need to know any of this to enjoy the plants, but I thought I should mention it in passing to explain why the system I'm using here might seem strange to you. It might be too, but I didn't invent it!

One such subsumed family is (was) Phormiaceae, which includes the New Zealand flaxes Phormium spp. Though not a numerous family it is widely spread, due largely to the genus Dianella - referring to Diana, in her role of goddess of the woods. These are robust familiar herbs in this part of the world, where they are known as flax lilies.

Mountain Flax Lily Dianella tasmanica, Namadgi NP above Canberra.
Above can be seen the big strappy leaves and tall flower stem.
Below is a close-up of the lovely yellow-stamened blue flowers.

Following the flowers are almost equally attractive big glossy blue or purple berries.

Mountain Flax Lily berries were eaten by the Aboriginal people of the mountains, who also used the leaf fibres
(remember the flax part of the name) and pounded and roasted the roots.
This species is found in higher places from northern New South Wales to Tasmania.

The paler-flowered Dianella caerulea is found in near coastal and lower hinterland habitats,
often sandy, in much of eastern Australia.

Apart from Nodding Blue Lily (another formerly in Phormiaceae), the rest of the lilies to be showcased today were until recently in family Anthericaceae.

Blue Grass Lily Caesiacalliantha is another local lily with a wide eastern Australian distribution. It is found in grassy understoreys of open forests and woodlands. Other species are found in New Guinea and southern Africa.

Blue Grass Lily, Kama NR, Canberra.

Thelionema is a closely related and similar genus, containing just three species from eastern Australia.

Blue Tufted Lily Thelionema caespitosum, Tallong, New South Wales.
Yes, I know, an unfortunate name! White flowers get commoner at higher altitudes.

Stypandra is a very small genus, with one species in Western Australia only, the other, Nodding Blue Lily S. glauca, very widespread in eastern and southern Australia. It is flowering delightfully right now around here. The flowers are very similar to Dianella, but the plant is entirely different with tall leafy stems.


Nodding Blue Lily, above and below. The plant can grow to a metre and a half high.

Johnsonia is a small genus of five lilies, all Western Australian. They have strange little sheathed flowers in a spike. The genus is named for Thomas Johnson, a 17th London physician and herb gardener who was also a serious field botanist and mountaineer. He had the honour of displaying the first bunch of bananas to be seen in England in his shop in 1639.

Pipe Lily Johnsonia pubescens, Yandin Lookout, north of Perth


Hooded Lily Johnsonia teretifolia, Shannon NP, south west Western Australia.

And finally for this series, a somewhat more conventional-looking lily. Yellow Rush Lily is found again widely in grassy areas in much of eastern and southern Australia, where it favours grassy areas and can stud such meadows with numerous flowers.

Yellow Rush Lily, above and below, Tidbinbilla NR, Australian Capital Territory.

I hope you've enjoyed meeting or re-meeting these lovely plants as much as I have enjoyed introducing them to you.

(I should mention perhaps that also in the huge order Asparagales are now included orchids, irises and grass trees, but I prefer to leave my definition of lilies short of them, and treat them as separate groups in due course.)

I'm currently in Ecuador, and this is as many posts as I had time to put up in advance before I left.
I'LL BE BACK ON DECK HERE WITH ANOTHER POST ON 7 NOVEMBER; I LOOK FORWARD TO CATCHING UP WITH YOU THEN.

Feathers to a bird are, if not the Meaning of Life, then the necessity of it. They insulate (this was their original purpose), they disguise from enemies or display to their rivals and intended mates, and of course they enable flight, one of evolution's most difficult challenges. (It has only arisen on four occasions in all the vast history of life - in birds, bats, insects and pteranodons, just once in each case - compared to some 40 separate times for the compound eye, oft cited as the most unlikely result of evolution.) If they are not operating at optimal efficiency, the bird may well die from heat loss, or fail to catch dinner or succeed in becoming someone else's, or be insufficiently attractive to a mate, in itself a form of death.

Blue-faced Honeyeater Entomyzon cyanotis preening, Griffith, New South Wales.

So care of feathers is critical to life itself, and a considerable portion of a bird's day is devoted to preening to achieve this. It is often closely associated with bathing, either in water or dust, but we've discussed that before and we'll focus on the direct preening today. Each feather - and there may be tens of thousands of them in larger birds or cold climate ones - must be individually 'combed' with the bill (or sometimes the foot), so that each tiny barbule 'zips' properly with the adjacent one and the whole feather must perfectly align with its neighbours. Dirt and parasites must be removed - a single bird may be carrying a dozen species of feather-eating lice, each restricted to that bird species, and each restricted to a single part of the bird's body!

Yellow-billed Spoonbill Platalea flavipes, Canberra, carefully 'combing' a single wing feather.

Key to most preening is a waxy oil produced by the uropygial gland at the base of the tail. It is collected on the bill and wiped into the feathers - understandably this is particularly significant to waterbirds, though most other groups also utilise them. The birds in the following photos appear to be accessing the gland prior to applying the oil.

Male Australian Darter Anhinga novaehollandiae, Canberra.

In close up, the gland is visible at the bill tip.

Kelp Geese Chloephaga hybrida, Puñihuil, Isla de Chiloé, Chile.
They are strongly dimorphic; the male is the white one, recharging with oil.

Marabou Stork Leptoptilos crumeniferus, at dawn, Jinja, Uganda.

Australian Pelican Pelicanus conspicillatus, Nowra, New South Wales.

Other bird groups, notably ratites (the flightless giants of the southern continents), pigeons, parrots and woodpeckers, don't have the valuable gland and many of these rely on powder down, obtained from special feathers which, unlike all others, grow perpetually and are not moulted and regrown each year. They are scattered amongst 'normal' feathers (or in herons for instance, are concentrated into a couple of patches) and their tips readily disintegrate into powdery talc-like keratin which scatters through and 'reinforces' the other feathers.

Mealy Parrots Amazona farinosa, Blanquillo Clay Lick, Peruvian Amazonia.
The 'mealy' name, meaning 'floury', is due to plentiful powder down.

Both the Spinifex Pigeons Geophaps plumifera, Alice Springs, central Australia (above)
and the Red and Green Macaws Ara chloropterus, Blanquillo (below)
are using powder down to preen.

Some parts just can't be reached with a bill (especially the head) and feet must be used to comb out the feathers, though presumably it can't be as effective.

White-necked Heron Ardea pacifica, Grenfell, New South Wales.

Golden-headed Cisticola Cisticola exilis, Canberra.

Olive-backed Oriole Oriolus sagittatus, Nowra, New South Wales.

Additionally, mutual grooming - 'allo-preening' - can also help to reinforce pair bonds, as well as getting the job done.

Apostlebirds Struthidea cinerea, Cobar, New South Wales.
One of the most sociable birds in the world, the behaviour here reinforces bonds for the whole group.

Major Mitchell Cockatoo Lophochroa leadbeateri, MacDonnell Ranges, central Australia.

African Silverbills Lonchura cantans, Waza National Park, northern Cameroon.

Finally, let's just enjoy a few more birds at their daily maintenance and repair sessions - it's late Friday afternoon of a busy week here...

Brolgas Grus rubicunda, Rockhampton, Queensland.

Brown Pelican Pelecanus occidentalis, Puerto Ayora, Galápagos.

Flightless Cormorant Phalacrocorax harrisi, Fernandina, Galápagos.

Great Crested Grebe Podiceps cristatus, Lake Alexandrina, South Australia.

Little Raven Corvus mellori, Kosciuszko National Park, New South Wales.

Mistletoebird Dicaeum hirundinaceum, Goolwa, South Australia.

Australian White Ibis Threskiornis moluccus, Darwin.

Nazca Booby Sula granti, Española, Galápagos.

Superb Fairy-wren Malurus cyaneus, Canberra.

You probably see birds undertaking this task - doubtless mundane, though vital, for them but fascinating for us - more often than you realise. Take time to enjoy the moment next time, knowing what they're up to.

BACK ON TUESDAY

Just back from another visit to wonderful Ecuador, it's perhaps inevitable that my first posting will relate to that. I'm easing myself back into life in Australia (albeit only for another 3 weeks!) so this is a relatively brief posting, based on one of the most interesting and intriguing encounters of our trip. I had not previously been to the north-eastern slopes of the Ecuadorian Andes, and realised I'd been missing some very special places. The eastern slopes seem to me wilder and less populated than the western ones that I've seen, at least in the north.

San Isidro Lodge is a beautiful place to stay in a large tract of mostly primary rainforest whose continued existence is due to the foresight of Simón Bustamante back in the 1970s when the government was making wild land available to people to clear for farming. Simón did something unexpected - he acquired the land and left nearly all of it in its pristine state despite considerable pressure on him to 'improve' it. Today there are nearly 1800 hectares of forest protected in the expanded reserve.

Cloud forest protected by San Isidro; the lodge is at 2000 metres above sea level.

Some of the cabins and elevated viewing platform.

The lodge grounds themselves are full of wildlife and there is no reason to go far from the cabins before breakfast. (San Isidro is noted for its food almost as much as its birds!) Here are a couple of my personal favourites, both species which are almost totally restricted to the eastern slopes - the high treeless paramo along the spine of the Andes provides a near total barrier to forest birds, allowing evolution to proceed separately on the two slopes.

Inca (or Green) Jays Cyanocorax yncas (also found in southern North America) form large
raucous mobs around the cabins and dining room. They are stunning.

The exquisite Long-tailed Sylph Aglaiocercus kingi is a glorious hummingbird which fits the
east-west divide concept perfectly, with a sister species (Violet-tailed Sylph A. coelestis) on the western slopes.

However, there is one bird found around the cabins which doesn't seem to fit any established concepts - unless it is indeed that most marvellous of treats for a birder, an undescribed species. This big handsome owl is indeed widely known in birding communities as 'the Mystery Owl'.

It is one of four species of the South American genus Ciccaba - at least according to the influential South American Classification Committee, though elsewhere the genus is often included in the more widespread wood owl genus Strix. The Mystery Owl is only known from the vicinity of the San Isidro Cabins, though I'm not sure how intensively the wild forests further away have been searched for it. It is closely related to the Black and White Owl C. nigrolineata of the western slopes and the Black-banded Owl C. huhula (I love that name!) of the eastern lowlands. In plumage and, reportedly, in voice, it seems midway between both those species. Indeed the general approach to it is to tentatively regard it as an isolated sub-species of Black-banded, though it seems to me there is little basis for that.

The Black-banded has apparently never been recorded higher than 900 metres above sea level; if it can indeed live in the extensive forests higher than that, why has it never been found there? However, before I conclude, let's meet this delightful and amenable bird.

San Isidro's wonderful 'Mystery Owl', photo taken in the carpark, by torchlight.
It's a substantial owl, standing at least 40cm high. Nonetheless, based on the habits of its closest
relatives, it probably eats mostly insects, hence its attraction to the lights of the lodge.

In the bad old days (not so long ago in fact) it would have simply been 'collected' (ie with a shotgun) though before the advent of modern DNA testing this wouldn't actually have told us much. We need DNA samples - eg from feathers from a nest or under a roosting site, or from hatched eggs - to get the final answer, but we can wait for that. My own feeling is that it will prove to be a separate species, and will probably eventually be found more widely in the mid-level cloud forests.

Meantime it's good for us to be reminded regularly of how much we don't know, and how much is lost without our ever knowing it as we continue to treat the earth so badly. We must also remember though that there are good dedicated people trying to make amends; I am grateful to everyone associated with San Isidro.

Try and visit some time.

BACK ON TUESDAY

In 10 trips to South America I'd never managed to see a tinamou, to my chagrin. I'd heard them, and on one occasion the group just in front of me saw some walk across the track, but not me. It's possible I've even mentioned the fact to other travelling companions...

They really are a most interesting family of birds, close to the most ancient of living birds. Together with the ratites - the mostly large, flightless runners of the southern continents, emus, cassowaries, kiwis, rheas and ostriches (plus extinct moas and Madagascan elephant birds) - they comprise the grouping known as the Palaeognathae, 'ancient palates'. This refers to primitive palate characteristics which are more reminiscent of reptiles than other living birds. All other birds belong the 'other' grouping, the Neognathae. Some put the ratites and tinamous into separate orders, others insist they are all part of one order of very closely related birds.

A South American ratite; Darwins Rhea father and chicks, Torres del Paine NP, southern Chile.
Another reminder of the close relationship between rheas and tinamous is the breeding behaviour. Tinamou males call to attract females, one of whom mates with him and then leaves him with a clutch of eggs to brood on the ground,
while she goes off to find another male for another clutch. This is not identical to ratite breeding but is very similar.

The key difference between the two Palaeognathae groups is that the tinamous retain the keel on the breastbone, which is the anchor point for the great flight muscles, and can still fly, though reluctantly and inexpertly. It seems that the ratites broke away early from the tinamous and then diversified in the Gondwanan lands.

There are 47 tinamou species found throughout most of Central and South America, in pretty much every habitat type, but they are notoriously shy and skulking.

One night recently at Napo Lodge within the magnificent Yasuní National Park in the Amazon basin in Ecuador I was about to have a shower prior to collapsing for the night when a knock on the door was followed by "come quickly, I have something you want to see". It was Dani, the lodge-employed guide attached to our group, who had heard about my desire for tinamous from Marcelo, our own guide. He'd seen one roosting nearby a few days previously and had gone to see if it was still using the same site; it was...

With torches we descended into the rainforest on muddy tracks and after a few hundred metres, there it was above the track.

Great Tinamou Tinamus major.This is a big bird, up to 45cm long and weighing well over a kilogram.
It has been heavily hunted and suffers from forest clearance, but is doing better than some other species.

We didn't stay long, not wanting to scare it off into the night, especially when dazzled by our torches. It was a very special moment for me and one I'll never forget, not only for the wonderful bird itself, but for the kindness of Dani and Marcelo. Of course I still want to see one on the ground in the daytime, but for now I'm very content.

And as a footnote, on the way back we saw another delight that I'd only read about, a beautiful coral snake. These are highly venomous, but small and not readily encountered.

Coral Snake, probably Micrurus sp., disappearing under a log.
There are some 20 species in Ecuador and I can't hazard a guess as to the species, but it capped a memorable night.

BACK ON MONDAY

After a couple of postings reflecting some personal highlights of my recent trip to Ecuador, it's probably time to come a bit closer to home for this one.

The George Gill Range lies 300 kilometres south west of Alice Springs in central Australia, and about the same distance north-east of the more famous Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. It was named in 1872 by one of the toughest of all 19th century European desert explorers, Ernest Giles (who will surely feature here one day in his own right), somewhat prosaically for his brother in law, George Duff Gill of Melbourne, who helped finance the expedition. The western end of the range, covering some 72,000 hectares, has since 1983 been protected as Watarrka National Park.

Views of the George Gill Range, above and below, from the north.

The walk of some seven kilometres around the rim of Kings Canyon, the best-known feature of the range, is very much a favourite of mine, though I only 'discovered' it relatively recently. The creek which flows through it was also named by Giles, for a Mr Fielder King, though we know little of him other that he lived on a property that Giles had visited, and Giles regarded him as an "old and kind friend".

The walk features both exposed arid land forms, many of them dramatic, and surprisingly sheltered oases in gullies in the rock. It begins with a fairly daunting stone stair case climb to the plateau, but thereafter it is an easy walk on level ground until a long undulating descent.

A section of the climb; it takes about 15 minutes, but it's always good to get the worst part over first!

Looking back from the top of this climb, giving an idea of the ascent, to Kings Creek flowing into the plain.

The hard pure sandstone of the plateau is some 50 metres deep and is believed to have formed from wind-blown dunes some 360 million years ago; very little soil is found on the plateau.


Route of the walk near the start, on pure Mereenie Sandstone. To the right is dramatic cross-bedding on the surface of the 'beehives' which characterise the plateau. This crossbedding (detail below) is regarded by geologists as further evidence of a wind-blown dune origin.

Later (around 320 million years ago) a dramatic period of mountain-building tilted and thrust up iconic forms such as Uluru and Kata Tjuta, and forced fault lines into the Mereenie Sandstone. These fault lines formed cracks which weathered and eroded into the modern beehives.

The 'beehives' provide some of the most dramatic aspects of a dramatic walk.

By contrast, the walls of the canyon itself, seen from above magnificently from vantage points along the route are sheer for the top 50 metres at least.

The hard sheer Mereenie Sandstone walls of the canyon.

Below the Mereenie layer is an older, softer, redder one of Carmichael Sandstones,
formed under a sea 440 million years ago.
These are crumbling and undermining the Mereenie layer, causing huge boulders to fall from the walls.

The plateau is a tough environment but inevitably plants thrive there, though the going is obviously hard in same instances.

Ghost Gums Eucalyptus (or Corymbia) aparrerinja, above and below.

Here the Ghost Gum roots are sprawling across the surface seeking access to water.

Also searching for water on the rocks are the roots of this Rock Fig Ficus brachypoda.

Baeckea polystemmonea, another shrub clinging for life to the rock face; flowers below.
This is a generally uncommon species, but is readily found along the walk.

Acacia macdonnellensis, limited to the central desert ranges;
the name comes from the nearby MacDonnell Ranges.

In the sheltered depths of the gorge itself however, and in one particular rocky gully along the walk, conditions are dramatically different, cool and sheltered, and life is very different.

Known locally as the 'Garden of Eden' (!), this mini-gorge supports River Red Gums (Eucalyptus camaldulensis)and MacDonnell Ranges Cycad Macrozamia macdonnellii (also below), a relict of ancient wetter times.

MacDonnell Ranges Cycad with male cones.

Animal life is less evident in these exposed conditions (especially with lots of walkers) but it is there.

Little Eagle Hieraaetus morphnoides on a nest on the canyon walls.

Spinifex Pigeon Geophaps plumifera, an exquisite dryland pigeon of rocky areas.

Grey-headed Honeyeater Lichenostomus keartlandi on Grevillea wickhamii.

Ring-tailed Dragon Ctenophorus caudicinctus.

A beautifully camouflaged grasshopper - though it doesn't seem to have saved it from losing an antenna!

This brief posting really doesn't do justice to one of Australia's great walks, but hopefully it will at least encourage you to add it to your 'must do' list - it deserves to be there.

BACK ON FRIDAY

Allan Cunningham was one of the great botanist-explorers of Australia, but his interests were strictly in that order. He travelled in order to find new plants, and new places were good places to look for hitherto undescribed plants. However he was a very competent bushman, was keenly aware of the colony's need for viable routes between already settled areas, or from settlements to new grazing land, and was thorough in describing what he'd found.

He was born in southern England in 1791 to a Scottish father. (I keep coming upon Scots in my readings about Australian explorers and biologists, but maybe it's just that my own heritage makes me more aware of them!) He worked for a while in a law office in London, but that didn't suit him and he got work instead as a clerk in the Kew Gardens herbarium. Here he met such botanical luminaries as the great Robert Brown (another Scot! but it's OK, I'll stop that now), who in turn put him in touch with Sir Joseph Banks himself. Banks recommended that the gardens employ Cunningham as a collector - he was quite right, but I have no idea how! Banks by now was 70 years old and had already decided he no longer needed a full-time collector, but he was happy for Kew to supervise Cunningham and pay him.

Swamp Daisy Actinodium cunninghamii, Stirling Ranges National Park, south west Western Australia.
Despite the common name it is in the family Myrtaceae, with eucalypts and bottlebrushes!
It was named by the German botanist Johannes Schauer, a specialist in Western Australian myrtaceous plants,
in 1836, towards the end of Cunningham's life.

He sailed for Brazil in 1814, aged 23 - it was to be another 17 years before he saw England again. It must have been an extraordinary experience for a young man who, as far as I can tell, had never before left Britain. After two years he was ordered to sail for New South Wales, another sudden and dramatic contrast for him; he arrived in the summer of 1816, just before Christmas.

Soon afterwards he accompanied the notoriously grumpy Government Surveyor-general John Oxley to the western plains of New South Wales. Oxley was frustrated with the relative lack of success in finding new grazing lands, but Cunningham was delighted with his 450 or so plant specimens. He walked home across the Blue Mountains from Bathurst so his horse could carry the plants.

River Oaks Casuarina cunninghamiana, Deua National Park, New South Wales.
This casuarina is only found within metres of water courses, and is the dominant tree of river corridors
in near-coastal southern New South Wales; inland it is replaced by River Red Gums.
It was named in honour of Cunningham, ten years after his death, by Dutch botanist Friedrich Miquel.

He then spent five years on a series of exploratory voyages with Philip Parker King, sailing in the little Mermaid, and later the Bathurst, right around Australia more than once. His health was suffering, but he never flagged.

Rattlepod Pea Crotolaria cunninghamii, south-west Queensland.
This most striking big pea grows on bare desert dunes.
It too was named for Cunningham after his death, by his old patron,the great Robert Brown.

Back on land he undertook a series of inland expeditions, especially to northern New South Wales and southern Queensland (which at that stage was still part of New South Wales). He discovered the Pandora Pass, leading from the coast through the rugged Liverpool Range to the rich Liverpool Plains, formerly described by Oxley. From there he proceeded to the equally rich Queensland Darling Downs, and on a subsequent trip pioneered the route from there over the ranges via Cunningham Gap to Moreton Bay (now Brisbane). In between he made numerous shorter exploratory trips and spent some months collecting in New Zealand. He was the first botanist to visit the Limestone Plains where Canberra now stands.

Bangalow Palm Archontophoenixcunninghamiana.
Named long after Cunningham's death by the German botanist Heinrich Wendland.
(Apologies for the muddy old slide - I must get up there again some time!)

On Norfolk Island in 1830 suspected escaped convicts stole all his equipment, but the government declined to offer him compensation. Perhaps the government reasoned that once they'd escaped, the convicts were not longer their responsibility!

Hoop Pine Araucaria cunninghamii, National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.
A rainforest conifer of the east coast tropics and subtropics, and north into New Guinea.
Named by William Aiton, first director of Kew Gardens, who employed Cunningham as clerk, then collector;
however Aiton somehow mucked up the publication and it was left to Robert Mudie, much-published naturalist
and author of The British Naturalist, to sort it out in 1829.

In 1828 he requested permission to return to Britain - they were tough employers, those botanic gardens! - which was granted, after two years consideration. He lived near to Kew, spending most of five years sorting his specimens for the herbarium and writing papers on his experiences. Australia hadn't finished with him yet though. After only a year he was asked to become New South Wales Colonial Botanist, but he managed to pass the job to his younger brother Richard; like Allan he also worked at Kew as a clerk, but in his case it had been for 17 years, much of his work involving Allan's flow of specimens.

Maytenus cunninghamii Celastraceae, Tregole National Park, southern Queensland.
Named by Sir William Hooker, who succeeded Banks as director of Kew Gardens in 1841,
naming the small tree again well after Cunningham's death.
It is widespread across northern Australia in dry forests and vine thickets.

Richard followed in his brother's footsteps across the plains beyond the Blue Mountains, but was killed by Aboriginal people with whom he had been camping, apparently due to cultural misunderstandings - it seems that he might have been delirious with a fever at the time. This time Allan couldn't refuse the invitation to replace him and took up the position in 1837. What he hadn't realised was that the job included responsibility for the governor's vegetable garden; he baulked at having to supply the governor and his colleagues with carrots and cabbages, and resigned to resume what he termed the "more legitimate occupation" of plant collecting.

Ancient Myrtle Beech Nothofagus cunninghamii;a magnificent old temperate rainforest
tree in Weldborough Forest, Tasmania.
Another one named by William Hooker to honour Cunningham.

In another visit to New Zealand he apparently contracted pulmonary tuberculosis - he certainly returned from there with it - and died in Sydney in 1838, having had to give up a place on the Beagle surveying north-western Australia.

I've always admired Cunningham for his quiet passion for understanding the natural world, and his self-effacing stoicism and commitment. (And of course for his Scottish ancestry.) Wherever I go it seems there are plants, and even lizards, which help me to remember him.

Cunningham's Skink Egernia cunninghamii, a common colonial-dwelling big skink which inhabits
mostly rock outcrops in our part of the world.
Named in 1832 by (I am almost certain) zoologist John Edward Gray, later of the British Museum.

BACK ON THURSDAY

It's been a while since I offered a new colour in my very intermittent 'colours in nature' series - the last was green, found here, and you can track it back from there.

Way back someone asked me to be sure to do a posting on/in pink one day, and of course I promised to do so; it's been on my conscience (intermittently at least) ever since. Pink is generally a colour based on pigments, and especially carotenoids; we discussed them when we looked at red in nature some time ago, and the same principles apply. In general animals can't produce carotenoids but must take them from food, be it plants, algae or bacteria, then convert them, an outrageously extravagant thing to do just to look good. And never mind the strange Western tradition that reserves pink for girls - in many animals not only do the boys also flaunt it, but in some birds in particular they reserve it for themselves.

A final comment, before the featured birds (I'll offer some other animals next time, then some flowers). I've been very conservative in what I've selected as 'pink'; there is after all a continuum that includes various reds, orange, russet, pink and mauve. Someone in my home sees colours in that part of the spectrum differently from me, so if I'm not cautious I risk domestic scorn at my colour sense...

Pink isn't actually abundant in animals; I guess the logic is that if you're going to go to all that trouble and energy expense you might as well do it properly and go for something really lurid and red.

The most obvious pink bird of course to most people is a flamingo. I talked about the details of flamingo pinkness back here, so I won't go through it again, but it's all due to the carotenoids in its brine shrimp diet.

American Flamingo Phoenicopterus ruber, Isabela, Galápagos. Exquisite.

Some of the other more spectacular pink birds are found among Australian cockatoos.

Part of a large flock of Galahs Eolophus roseicapilla, Forbes, New South Wales.
These glorious cockatoos are abundant, having spread south-east in the past 50 years with the
spread of grain crops and water points. They are often dismissed as 'just galahs', but deserve better.


Major Mitchell's Cockatoos Lophochroa leadbeateri, Bourke, New South Wales. An even more beautiful and much less common cockatoo of the inland. Major Thomas Mitchell was a 19th century explorer who brought them to the public attention by rhapsodising over them.

Both pink cockatoos in one tree, Buldbodney State Forest, central New South Wales.

Other bird feature pink, rather than fully clothe themselves in it.

Western Bowerbird Chlamydera guttata, Alice Springs.
The spectacular pink nape is only shown when the bird is displaying.

Pink-eared Duck Malacorhynchus membranaceus, Canberra.
A single-species genus of the inland waterways of Australia, the pink 'ear' is really only
visible through a telescope - or on a dead bird, which was doubtless how it was named.

Other species have pink on exposed skin, rather than feathers. This makes sense given the cost of producing carotenoids and the fact that feathers are moulted once a year. But if you refer back to the flamingo portrait above, you'll see that it favours pink all over - bill and legs, as well as feathers.


Australian Pelican Pelecanus conspicillatus, Nowra, New South Wales. In part the pink bill pouch is due to blood vessels near the surface, but this is probably not applicable to the bony upper mandible.

African Penguin Spheniscus demersus, south of Cape Town, South Africa.
The pink patches here definitely owe much of their colour to blood vessels;
when it's hot, more blood is directed there to assist in heat loss, so they're brighter pink.

Southern Caracara Caracara plancus, far southern Chile.
It's not a matter of losing heat down there!

Finally, a couple of examples of very attractive (to me, but probably more important to others of their species) pink legs.

Swallow-tailed Gull Creagrus furcatus, Genovesa, Galápagos.
A beautiful bird all round, from the pink legs up, and the world's only nocturnal gull.

Black-necked Stilt Himantopus mexicanus, Isabela, Galápagos.

So, pink is not as easy to find examples of as red, say, but it's worth looking for. Next time, a few other pink-bearing animals, mostly reptiles.

BACK ON WEDNESDAY

On this Day, 10 August, Ecuador Independence Day; El Cajas NP

The Pollination Story, Part 5; beyond birds - other vertebrate helpers

There Be Dragons!

Magnificent Murchison (the Ugandan one). Part 1.

Magnificent Murchison (the Ugandan one). Part 2.

Wattle Day - and Spring!

Homage to Kingfishers: 1

Homage to Kingfishers: 2

On This Day, 18 September: Chile's National Day, featuring two saltos.

Considering the Lilies: part 1

Considering the Lilies: part 2

Stunning Española, a Galápagos jewel; part 1

Considering the Lilies; part 3

Considering the Lilies; part 4

Preening; how birds stay beautiful - and alive...

The Mysterious Owl of San Isidro

"Good night, and thanks for the tinamou..."

Walking Watarrka; the King's Canyon Rim walk

On This Day 13 July: Allan Cunningham's Birthday

Thinking Pinkly