Tag Archives: photography

The Emu Update

The Emu Saga: Part Two

Emus are real. They really are. We had just finished lunch and were settling back in to match some more fins (thrilling as always…) when Tim’s wife Janine called to let us know that there was an emu strolling down our street. Cameras in hand, we tumbled out the door to see this lovely lady in all her feathered finery:

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Check out those feet though! She went right by our front door, and down the road to some scrubby brush that separates us from the supermarket area of town. I found her tracks later on when I went for my evening walk, but she may have traveled a fair distance at this point…

Regardless, emus. They could appear in YOUR LIFE TOO. Watch out. Any moment now, an emu might stroll past. You’ll think it’s a very tiny grass hut, or perhaps a really bad bowl cut on a really big head, and then its neck will stretch up and its broad-beaked face will look at you and you will remember what it felt like to be a tiny rat-mammal facing off with a dinosaur. And then you will remember that you don’t live in Australia and are at the zoo (go buy your kid an ice cream, and teach her or him about science, but don’t encourage that whole cage thing…) OR that you do live in Australia and this is just regular life OR that you are hallucinating, are you dehydrated?

The Angriest Golf Ball You Ever Did See

I went for a wander through some tide pools the other day. The flats were shallow and productive, full of algae and little fish, hermit crabs and snails:

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But besides the cowries and more typical-looking snails, I found this guy:

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He may look distinctive in this photo, but he’s only about an inch long and I nearly stepped on him- he’s all the same colors as the surrounding sand and algae. Camouflage is good most of the time, but I’d have felt really bad if his turned out to be too effective.

My feet were in the water, since there were no dry places to step- I really did have to keep an eye out. Especially when I looked into a slightly deeper pool to see a little brown cephalopod scuttling across the bottom, arms tucked underneath- I leaned in and shuffled very carefully closer, hoping for a cuttlefish or a baby reef octopus. The golf ball below blanched and then flashed blue, and I snapped this photo before backing off rather hastily:

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It’s enough to confirm the presence of a blue-ringed octopus, one of the most venomous marine animals in the world. That angry little golf ball that changed direction and charged at my toes contained enough potent and antidote-less venom to kill me in minutes. “Not aggressive,” it says on Wikipedia. Well, as far as I know I didn’t do anything to make it mad. Perhaps it didn’t sleep well, or perhaps it wasn’t expecting any observers of its afternoon hunting and was embarrassed at the state of its hair.

Anyways, it was really blue and quite agitated, so I decided to get out of its way. It turned and headed deeper into its little pool as I watched from a nearby rocky perch, so it may not have been aimed at me anyways… I really wasn’t terribly interested in finding out for sure.

Fun fact: every photo in this post has, as its subject, a member of the phylum Mollusca. Shelled, invertebrate, mantled- each cephalopod or gastropod (brain-foot or stomach-foot, respectively) here descends from a hypothetical limpet-like ancestor. Evolution is neat! And just because I love evolution so much, here is a bonus sea hare, about the length of my hand:

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Hooray! Go explore something!

-AgentRedSquirrel

In Search of Emu

The Emu Saga: Part 1

Still haven’t gotten any good face-to-face emu time, but the more time I spend wandering the bush the better my odds are, right? My recently-new Vans are getting less cherry-red and more Outback-dust red, but I find no little satisfaction in recognizing my footprints day to day out on the trails near town, especially when they’re overlaid or intermingled with ‘roo and emu tracks.

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Emus are tridactyl- they have three toes, wide and leathery, that press into the red dirt as they walk. I love thinking about emu feet- they have to be pretty intense to hold up that much bird, to handle the prickly grasses and sharp stones of the outback, and to be able, as claimed by the emu Wikipedia article, to tear down chain-link fences.

Those feet are so formidable, in fact, that they pose a significant threat to unwise humans who attempt to make a full-grown emu do… I guess anything that a full-grown emu doesn’t want to do (cue joke about the 500-pound gorilla, except imagine that gorilla with sharp toe claws and a very wide beak. And feathers? Okay, this is just getting confusing now). I don’t think that the emu’s feet were the deciding factor in the frankly embarrassing “Emu War,” waged between machine-gun armed Australian troops and thirsty birds in the 1930s, but hey- I’m sure with those feet, an emu could handily (haha) kick my butt.

Anyways, I’ve been trying to find myself an emu friend. Apparently they’re curious about people, and will sometimes follow a lone human on foot; thus far, no such emu magic has happened to me, but I’m working on it. I’ve encountered fresher and fresher emu poops (see http://animals.io9.com/everything-you-ever-wanted-to-know-about-emu-poo-1570013557 for… everything you ever wanted to know about emu poop) as I’ve wandered the hills near Exmouth:

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The stuff’s like tar filled with seeds, and over time (days?) the whole mixture dries into a black solid mess, seeds browning and eventually sprouting as the black stuff greys out and (weeks later?) blows away. There is a remarkable amount of this around all of the bushy areas near our house, considering the also remarkable lack of emus on my walks. But I live in hope!

Another thing I have lived in hope for, however, has finally come true.

“Emus on the beach!” I cried on one of my first days on the boat, out by the Bundegi boat ramp. “I want to see emus on the beach.”

So quintessentially Australian, I thought. How funny would it be, gangly-legged birds with stringy feathers draped across their humped backs, trotting across the soft sand? Combine the gentle waves and romantic dunes with nobbled knees and perpetually surprised faces: what could be better?

Beachmus. Dreams really do come true:DSC_0011

The Commute

We drive out anywhere between 6 am and 3 pm, depending on the winds and the tides- we load the boat and the ute (Aussie for truck or SUV, a “utility vehicle”), hitch up, and take off for one of our three boat ramps.

Exmouth marina is the closest, and the least exciting. We have seen young barracuda and minnows, and once a pair of foraging Tursiops, but for the most part it’s just calm and sheltered from winds (but not from Paul Simon blaring from yacht speakers). If we launch from Exmouth, we’re spending the day in Exmouth Gulf, deep and turbid waters and horizons littered with oil rigs and barges.IMG_1402

Bundegi boat ramp is nearest the tip of the North West Cape. Still in the Gulf, Bundegi has the advantage of a shallow reef and proximity to the Navy Pier, whence live the nurse sharks and the BFG. If we launch Bundegi, we’re likely going around the tip, with exciting swells and significant changes in scenery. Plus, the boat ramp harbors several juvenile batfish (sorry, hard to photograph while unhitching/hitching a boat) and lots of stingrays, among other little fishies.IMG_1113

Tantabiddi is the farthest ramp. It takes us near 45 minutes to drive there, through emu country (scrubby bushes and spinifex grasses) and kangaroo-spotted hills. Nearly all the way to the Cape Range National Park, a Tantabiddi launch means that we’re spending time in the lagoon (my favorite part of our transect lines- only a meter or three deep, turquoise water and white sand punctuated by coral bommies and easily-spotted dolphins) or on the outer reef, wherein lies our best chance of spotting a whale shark.IMG_2254

But regardless of where we launch, our daily commute can’t be considered boring, or at least not to excitable Americans. At the side of the road in town, I snapped this photo out the driver’s side window:IMG_2314

I went looking for her later that evening, and found lots of emu evidence (more on this later). But some of the best emu-time, best sunsets, best kangaroo encounters, most lovely hills and termite mounds have all been on our commute to “the office.” Just as full of interesting characters as the New York subway and just as scenic as I-280 along the Crystal Springs Reservoir in California, this commute sure doesn’t suck.

About a Wallaby

I think the profession of dentistry must be one of the most-maligned and most-feared in popular media- think of the gleeful sadism of The Dentist from Little Shop of Horrors or the revulsion with which Hermey the Elf is met in Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Jennifer Aniston in Horrible Bosses, several horror movies from the 90’s, that uncomfortably pathetic guy from The Hangover… but any list of my favorite horrible dentists must include Mr. P. Sherman, of 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney.

All of this was a tangential way to reference Finding Nemo’s Dr. Sherman’s mid-operation declaration that he needs to “go see a man about a wallaby” as he adjusts his pants and heads for the loo. It’s been a recurring internal joke for me during my time Down Under, anytime anyone needs a bathroom or mentions wallabies- maybe I watch too many kids’ movies? Anyways, as a northern hemisphere-girl I’m fascinated both by the native marsupials and the turns of phrase here in Oz. So we went down to Yardie Creek to see a man named “Boxy” about a wallaby, not in a bathroom kind of way but in a photographic opportunity kind of way.

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The Black-Footed Rock-Wallaby lives in the caves and crannies along the side of Yardie Creek. Though it’s not actually apparently called that (the black-sided wallaby, perhaps?) and doesn’t apparently live in this area, according to Wikipedia… I can attest that they do exist. Scooting out of caves and grooming themselves in the morning sun, squinting into the light and down at the boat passing underneath, these fuzzy little marsupials seemed perfectly at home along the steep rock walls high above the water.

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Yep, perfectly at home. Just letting it all hang out. Right on out there.

I don’t know a lot about marsupial anatomy but I’m pretty sure that is not a lady wallaby. No pouch, no joey (DID YOU KNOW THAT AUSTRALIAN CUB SCOUTS ARE CALLED JOEYS?) and no little pink bow…

Must be a dentist.

Best Looking Birds

As we chatted with the tour operator at Yardie Creek, a group of elderly travelers disembarked around us. Wives helped husbands with canes out of the low seats, and their cheery organizer/guide asked for a vote on whether or not to walk up the trail a bit (it seemed like nobody was that enthused). One khaki-clad man, seemingly alone, paused as he passed us three Team Sousa members.

“Best-looking birds I’ve seen all trip,” he grumbled in our general direction before stomping up the few steps to the dock.

My first (innocent) thought: I wonder where they’ve been, and if they’re all on a bird-watching trip?

My second thought: …gross.

Crusty old Australians aside, Yardie Creek (Yardi means “creek” in one of the many Aboriginal languages of Australia, so really all of us immigrants and tourists are referring to the briny tidal waters as the “creek creek”) did in fact host some lovely birds. Ospreys seem to be a theme around here:

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It feels like everywhere we go, someone points out an osprey nest to us. Doesn’t make them less awesome, though- this one has reportedly been occupied nearly continuously for 80 years at least. It may not always have contained chicks, but the past few years have been productive for local ospreys, evidenced by the juveniles and new nests we’ve seen around the area. They’re very fun to watch from the boat, as they dive for fish and flap, low and slow above the waves, with their struggling prizes.

Corellas, with their cockatoo head plumes and raucous screeches, followed us from the trees of Exmouth to the cliffs of Yardie and the Cape Range. They’re not the only things sheltering in the little caves worn into the rock faces (more on their other occupants in a later post), but they certainly make an impression. They flash white feathers over ledges and splay their wingtips to impress their companions and warn away hovering birds of prey, and peer down at the boat below with heads cocked.

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A kestrel of some kind, with a tiny bit of snake in her mouth, landed just shy of these two youngsters who were tucked away in an overhang. They shuffled out to peer at us as we peered at them, wide-eyed and wobbly.

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Among the other lovely long-legged locals, this white-faced heron gave us a good show. Best-looking birds, indeed, random old guy. Best-looking birds, indeed.

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Creature Feature

Basically the point of this post is that I think this photo is pretty funny, and I spent a fair bit of time combing through Gerald Allen’s Marine Fishes of Tropical Australia and South-East Asia trying to figure out what this fish was. I also got significantly closer to this one than to the stonefish that I posted about a while back,

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without being quite aware that it, bug eyes and pouty face and all, is listed on the University of Melbourne’s “Australian Venom Research Unit” page, with the description: “It is armed with two pairs of spines – two on its back and two on its sides. Despite its commonness, stings are infrequent and little is known about the effects of envenomation by this species, apart form (sic) the severe local pain experienced by the victim.”

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How reassuring. You’ve done it again, Australia, and hidden a painful surprise within a fringy funny-looking underwater friend. At least this one isn’t deadly, or at least not to humans. Halophryne diemensis (probably) translates roughly to “banded salt-toad,” and like a toad this fish, the banded frogfish springs upon its prey with unexpected speed from a cumbersome head and body, but didn’t seem at all interested in the many divers who passed right overhead.

This post is dedicated to my beloved readers Ben, Camille, and Isabella, who are welcome to choose any topic or question they’d like discussed in a post! Thank you so much to everyone who puts up with my lame jokes and biological ramblings, and especially to everyone who has donated to the Vicky-Has-Internet Fund- all of your support is thoroughly appreciated.

Ba-Bopsy

“Okay. All my life, I had a lump at the back of my neck, right here. Always, a lump. Then I started menopause and the lump got bigger from the “hormonees.” It started to grow. So I go to the doctor, and he did the bio… the b… the… the bios… the… b… the “ba-bopsy.” Inside the lump he found teeth and a spinal column. Yes. Inside the lump… was my twin.” – Aunt Voula, My Big Fat Greek Wedding

Andrea Martin is a genius, a straight-up acting genius. She was genius on Sesame Street and on Broadway and of course in this movie, and as a result since 2002 I’ve been:

  1. Terrified of any sort of bodily lump
  2. Sympathetic to the plight of vegetarians trying to explain themselves
  3. Aware of the concept of biopsy.

A biopsy is an investigative surgery; it doesn’t kill the subject, but provides information to the doctor or researcher performing the operation. In Aunt Voula’s case, it provided some really unexpected news, and Team Sousa hopes for revelations of the same magnitude (if not the same comedic heights).

That’s right, in addition to our observational data, we’ve started collecting genetic information via dolphin biopsies. Using a special rifle and large, red, sterile, buoyant darts, we (really just Tim, but it’s a team effort) take careful aim at a peduncle (dolphin back, below the fin) and fire, hoping to remove a neat plug of skin and blubber. This sample gets preserved on ice, shipped back to Adelaide, and analyzed to determine the sampled dolphin’s sex and potential genetic relationships.

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*This photo shows the whole red dart en route to contact with a Sousa peduncle. The actual sample taken is much smaller (5mm in diameter) and likely couldn’t be seen from this distance.

It does feel like a drastic procedure- I mean, we do actually shoot at the dolphins with a rifle. But the dolphins barely react, generally diving on hearing the noise of the dart hitting skin or water, and then returning to whatever it was they were doing before. (According to Krützen et al., 2002, dolphins react the same way whether they were hit or missed, indicating that it’s really the sound and disturbance of the dart that causes them to duck.) Additionally, the scar created by the biopsy rifle has been observed in several dolphin populations (this method is well-documented and historically proven among people who study cetaceans) to disappear within a month or two. Compared to the gouges and scrapes we see and recognize on Sousa sahulensis and Tursiops aduncus fins, the plug is hardly noticeable.

I don’t advocate shooting anything at dolphins or really bothering them at all (how would you like it?) but short of waiting around for all of our catalogued individuals to turn upside down and wave their genitals through the air, there’s no other way to determine the sex of the various members of our study’s social groups. And the other data (relatedness, genetic distance, etc.) that we will gain will be a fascinating addition to our observations of the fission-fusion groups of mixing dolphins. Do related dolphins spend more time together? How long does a subadult or young adult stay near its mother? Are allied males related to one another?

Most of the time the biopsy rifle stays in its box at the back of the boat. But we’re hoping to collect as many samples as possible to unlock the genetic gold mine that could be present and underlying our Sousa sahulensis’ behavior and environmental needs.

Krützen, M., Barré, L.M., Möller, L.M., Heithaus, M.R., Simms, C., Sherwin, W.B., 2002. A biopsy system for small cetaceans: darting success and wound healing in Tursiops spp. Marine Mammal Science 18, 863–878.

Pretty Birds

It’s amazing what we get used to. Locals keep their eyes forward while passing bloated kangaroo carcasses, spray Raid on redback spiders residing under the handles of the car trunk, and don’t take a second glance at the colorful parrots that beat their wings above street lights and telephone wires. And you’d think after the avian fauna of Costa Rica and India, Nepal and California, I’d be immune to the charms of squawking corellas and squabbling galahs… but of course, though I adjusted rapidly to the climate and the time change, the constant flip-flops and the vague answers to any question (“not bad,” “not long,” “not far,” “not too much,”) I’m still fascinated by the birds.

I think someone must be feeding the galahs. They’re remarkably cavalier about my approach, a slow flip-flop shuffle with a big lens and some muffled cursing as I trip over the tufts of grass that cling to life in the backyard.IMG_1772