Duckheads, wetlands and shooting culture; a dispatch from the war zone

It’s pretty grim out here in the wetlands as the annual slaughter of ducks by sporting shooters continues, and its not just the wildlife that is suffering.

Conservation activist Julia Symons was shot in the face on the first weekend of the season. Whether or not she should have been there is irrelevant. Apart from the obvious questions of intent, due care and responsible shooting, why is a so called sporting shooter discharging a shotgun aimed so low that she was in his firing line? Ducks are supposed to be taken on the wing, not the ground or water. That’s what the alleged sporting bit is there to signify.

calm before the storm; what will the new day bring?
[photo © Kirsa Veal]

Kirsa Veal is another conservationist out in the front lines with a passion for birds. Braver and more active than most, she's dedicated to getting her message across at these critical flash points, putting herself in harm's way to do so. She regularly confronts gross behaviour by shooters: sexism; racism; intimidation; abuse; assault and even implied rape. Coming from groups of blokes wielding guns, this is dangerous anti-social bullying at best.

It seems that some of these weekend Rambos are not very sporting at all; there are reports of them ganging up on lone male protesters and targeting women. The shooters demonstrably dismember ducks in front of protesters; wounded ducks are purposely left to bleed and flail when they fall nearby; and women are pelted with bird heads and entrails. Kirsa was abused by a shooter who screamed at her; ‘You Aussie piece of meat’ and darkly threatened ‘what he and the rest of them would do to me’.

Problems with this kind of shooting are many, but some obvious ones are:

• the sorts of behaviour and culture it promotes

• the difficulty of monitoring hunters and hunting sites; and this is necessary - for example live wounded birds have been found in shooters' bags when inspected

• identifying which birds are OK to shoot and which aren’t; there is a steady toll on rare and endangered species, and waterfowl other than ducks

• promoting cruelty and inhumane practices; many birds are only wounded and are left to die slowly; chicks are orphaned and die of starvation. 

body count; those left behind to suffer and die a slow death -
note the little chicks [photo © Kirsa Veal]

A big issue this season is the drought-breaking wet, cool weather. You’ve noticed it and I’ve noticed it. But apparently those who make critical decisions about hunting policy have not. Many waterfowl have taken advantage of the conditions after years of drought and degraded habitat. They’ve bred late into the autumn. So there are many fledglings still in care of parent birds. Shooting the adult birds is resulting in many orphaned chicks unable to fend for themselves.

The new Victorian State Government in its wisdom extended the hunting season this year. So you’d think it would have been viable to postpone the opening of the season to give the ducklings a few more weeks to learn their survival skills. This would have ensured a healthy population of ducks for next hunting season if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it seems that decisions by authorities that control hunting are not based on this kind of logic. In addition to an apparent unwillingness to enact conservation rhetoric proclaimed on their websites, they are probably not even aware of many grass-roots environmental issues. The agencies are notoriously poor at gathering information about what’s happening out here in the real world. They simply don’t have the people on the ground and they don’t listen to volunteers or others with highly developed local knowledge and relevant skills. Anyway, office-bound decision-makers and advisers are committed to dates in calendars insensitive to the cycle of life and seasonal variation in our wetlands.

looking the part; dressed to kill [photo © Kirsa Veal]

Kirsa provides insight into how ineffective and misdirected the agencies are when they do manage to put personnel in the field. ‘[The agency] spent more time fining protesters’ than monitoring shooters who were ‘inflicting cruelty on the birds’. She was also informed that; ‘If we tried to rescue ducklings, many only a few days old, we would be charged with “interfering with wildlife under the Wildlife Act.”’

In July 2009, the Department of Sustainability and Environment published a document responding to the Flora and Fauna Guarantee Act of 1988. In it they listed twenty-nine processes that are considered a threat to the environment. Some examples:

• loss of hollow-bearing trees from Victorian native forests

• loss of terrestrial climatic habitat caused by anthropogenic emissions of greenhouse gases

• predation of native wildlife by the cat, Felis catus.

The only process that is claimed to be repealed is:

• use of lead shot in cartridges for the hunting of waterfowl.

collateral damage; the plumed whistling duck  
Dendrocygna eytoni is a protected species
[photo © Kirsa Veal]

In other words, sporting shooters have to use steel shot as they blaze away at the ducks to reduce the amount of toxic lead being blasted into the landscape. It beggars belief that this is even presented as an achievement; it would be laughable if it wasn't so delusional. Like so many conventional bureaucratic attempts to define and manage human interaction with OUR shared habitat, it misses the point entirely. Is it any wonder that those of us with a connection to this land and a concern for country are disenchanted with the inaction and downright avoidance of issues by governments and their agencies?

cultural complexity; old ways die hard
[photo © Kirsa Veal]

So what can we do? Here's a call to arms from Kirsa: 

‘So get angry people and fire up about this. Do something! We have 13 weeks of this. Keep all eyes and ears out in your local areas. Always take your camera with you. Look for evidence of shooting; spent cartridges, feathers, remains. Take photos! Get active! Writing letters, emails and phone calls all helps. DO NOT approach shooters on your own. Leave that up to bloody lunatics like myself. Ten ducks a day bag limit and I cannot just sit there and let it happen.’

For more information visit:

Coalition Against Duck Shooting website

Animals Australia - duck shooting fact sheet

Birds Australia article: Victoria’s Wetlands Become the Killing Fields … Yet Again 

stalemate; a shooter cradles his gun
while an activist is in the line of fire

[photo © Kirsa Veal]

Crashing in the wilderness - a day to remember.

It had to happen. I was so mesmerised by the warm conditions after a stormy start to spring that I missed the warning signs of the change. I could blame distractions: the wedge-tailed eagles that were sharing the elevator; the mobs of kangaroos and emus grazing in the wetland far below; or the wonderful view of the coast and the glittering blue southern ocean beyond. 

the little Fling in the dunes

But it was plain overconfidence that had me zooming low along the ridge to the left then flying way out into the void of the crater. I know trouble lurks there whenever the air has a touch of easterly in it.

The breeze puffed, then stopped; the lift just disappeared. I came out of my reverie with a sick feeling in my tummy and immediately threw the plane into a 180 turn heading back toward the slope, already losing height. I knew what was coming, and sure enough there was a puff from the southeast.

I turned away from the steep sides of the crater because an easterly breeze slides along the wall and produces downdrafts. Then another lull, so back into the ridge probing for any lift. The little Fling was well below eye level now and skimming the dense canopy of trees as I tried to make for a clearing below me. 

But the next puff was from the ESE and I knew all was lost.

Decision time. Stick it in the trees halfway up the slope and risk losing sight of it? Or land in the bottom of the caldera where I could watch it onto the ground. I decided on the latter and after a tense couple of minutes landed near a prominent yellow shrub in plain sight.

I kicked myself for not purchasing a lost plane alarm. I could see the Fling from my high vantage but knew it would be different down there; down there on the edge of a giant wetland that was prime snake country. Back to the car to grab my extraction kit: a walking staff; safety glasses; gaiters; a knife; and a bottle of water. This was going to be a tough retrieval and I knew it.

Don’t you just hate thoughts like that before you even set out?

Over the rim I went. I was soon battling through waist-high gorse, brambles, boxthorn and the huge indigenous nettles. The only way through was to follow wallaby and emu tracks. At times this required going headfirst on all fours at a down-angle of 45 degrees. I had to skirt the denser parts, hack my way across slope then find another animal track to follow down; down, down, for ever down. Near the bottom, the undergrowth got denser and higher; it was well over my head now. 

At last I reached the flat but was confronted by solid belts of brambles and towering clumps of rushes. It was like butting up against the outer defences of a fortress. And I could see nothing; well almost nothing. It was here I encountered my first snake [unidentified species].

As I worked around to the left I kept glimpsing out across the marsh, looking for that distinctive shrub with the yellow flowers. To my dismay, I discovered that this shrub was not unique. The place was littered with them. On I went, hacking, slipping and detouring; pausing to remove the leeches that seemed to get bigger and more numerous with every step.

another iron; BeEvolution on the slopes of Tarerer

I was wearing rugged clothing and the long staff was indispensable for clearing a path. But I was getting cut to pieces. My hands and face were bleeding and full of broken thorn tips. My whole body was ablaze from the potent nettles, which were as big as Triffids and stinging clear through the so called Hard Yakkas.

Next I encountered a large tiger snake lying inert across the track. I thumped the ground with my staff to alert it to my presence. It didn’t move a muscle. I tried to find a way around it, but all was dense chaos. Time to reassess . . . and give up the plane for lost.

So I backtracked, mentally adding up the cost of replacing the little Fling as I went. It seemed infinitely less costly than continuing this madness. I began to accept its loss and experienced a pang of melancholy as we'd had many good flights together. Now sweating profusely and feeling miserable, I decided to have one last scan from a vantage on the slope and was amazed to see a magenta wing poking out the side of that distinctive yellow shrub. I felt like I’d backed the winner of the Melbourne Cup.

Between me and the plane was a solid belt of brambles and nettles, twice as dense as anywhere yet encountered and over 2 meters high. The little Fling was so tantalisingly close yet so impossible to reach. I tried to get at it from the flanks and encountered my third snake, a copperhead lying atop some bracken. No worries here; they are shy and elusive creatures.

looks benign enough from a distance

I couldn’t get through anywhere, though I did come face-to-beak with an emu, which boomed its alarm call and ran off like a mad chook on steroids. So I decided on a frontal assault and started desperately cleaving my way through the prickly barrier with my staff. But it proved to be impenetrable and I split the staff.

“What would Bear Grylls do in a situation like this?” I wondered [apart from botting a fag and a Mars Bar from the filum crew, that is].

“He’d wield his frickin great knife, grab a whole lot of timber, lay it across the prickly barrier and walk over it to the yellow shrub,” I mused. What a loony idea! So that’s precisely what I did. 

My feet never touched the ground. I reckon I levitated across 25 meters of dense brambles before I was able to pluck the plane out of the shrub and start back. This was tricky while holding onto the delicate airframe in one hand, and I almost toppled headfirst into the hellish tangle on several occasions. But I wasn't letting go of the Fling.

When I made the side of the crater again I examined the plane. No damage. NO DAMAGE! I couldn’t believe it. But the Fling is a tough little doer that I have more than once landed in boxthorn without injury.

My elation soon evaporated as I began the long, sweatily painful scramble back to the top. I managed to give the plane some minor dings on the ascent, but this was soon repaired and we were back flying the following week.

Total time to recover aircraft: 185 minutes.

My arms, legs and face tingled for days from the nettle stings. Several wounds on my forearms and knees have left souvenir scars. This same slope has become my favourite place to fly in these months, but I’m watching that breeze like a hawk.

Tarerer at the end of a long long day

The plight of the hooded plover . . . and rotten apples in the barrel

After three weeks respite, the deranged nest vandal struck again at Killarney yesterday. He maliciously attacked two nesting sites of the rare hooded plover [Thinornis rubricollis].

This is a convenient juncture to review the season and see how the little birds are fairing from the perspective of a Coastcare and Birds Australia volunteer.

Adult hooded plover with fledgling
photo courtesy Birds Australia

It’s been a tough period for the birds since they started nesting in September. High tides and storms have swept the beaches, destroying nests, carrying away eggs and exposing chicks to the elements. So far, only two hatchlings have prevailed on the whole coast from Warrnambool to Port Fairy. 

It's been a bit wild and woolly for the volunteers, too. 

The beaches from the Killarney Basin to boat-ramp are my beat. It is one of the most heavily populated hooded plover territories on the Victorian coast. Last year it produced more fledged birds than anywhere else. But so far this year has been very different. The four resident breeding pairs have been unable to repeat their successes. No fledglings have been sighted despite intensive monitoring by volunteers. Only two chicks hatched then disappeared within days, leaving two disoriented parents to rally and try again.

Why is this? The causes are no doubt complex, but there are some obvious contributory factors.

Habitat is disappearing. To nest successfully, the birds need a strip of dry sand beyond the reach of high tides. After only three months monitoring the birds, I have noticed significant changes in the shapes of beaches. Sand loss and erosion of dune faces is aggressive. Spring tides are creeping ever higher. The strips and patches of dry sand are narrowing or disappearing

Hooded plovers on high alert bravely guard eggs
as riders keep horses to water's edge

Foxes are numerous and very active. Their footprints and scats are often seen at beach entrances and large dens are located through the dunes. Some measures have been taken to reduce this threat, but these are piecemeal and only partially effective.

There is no restriction on walking dogs off leash on the Killarney Basin to boat-ramp beaches during the birds' breeding season. Dog numbers are increasing as the weather warms and owners take advantage of the lack of regulations. On nearby beaches where human access is more frequent, dogs cannot be walked off leash. So owners take their dogs to the more remote unregulated coastal stretches. There, dogs are free to run, roam and forage where they like, disturbing breeding birds, destroying nests and killing chicks.

Same site as above, but no parent bird
can guard eggs against unleashed dogs

The Killarney beaches also attract increasing numbers of horses and riders, as these too are restricted on beaches in other areas. Professional strappers exercising thoroughbreds, weekend visitors with a horse or two in a float and organised beach rides all compete with the plovers for beach space. Land developers are even advertising unregulated beach access to promote property sales. 

Horse prints straddle a
pied oystercatcher nest
hidden behind the straw

On the weekend of 4-5 December, there was a pony club camp at Killarney Reserve. A group of over forty ponies and horses were ridden along miles of coast with little regard for beach nesting birds. The impact on nests was grave.

Attempts to educate riders about beach nesting birds are infrequent, uncoordinated, and largely ineffective.

Hooded plover eggs in typical nest
a simple scrape behind cover
1 December 2010

The same site with heavy horse and vehicle disturbance
3 eggs missing, 5 December 2010

Vehicles are regularly driven on these precious beaches, despite signs informing drivers that this is illegal. Breeches through dune faces, wheelie ruts and broken beer bottles speak volumes about the sort of behaviour associated with this activity. It's simply no holds barred.

But the strangest and most disturbing phenomenon of all is the deranged vandal. He breaks, burns and hides the fences, chick shelters and signs carefully placed by volunteers to help the birds. He has done this for more than two years. He continues to pose an unimpeded threat to the hooded plovers and volunteers.

The negative repercussions are insidious. The hooded plovers are not successfully breeding, and even the more robust oystercatchers are struggling with only one fledgling observed so far this year. Psychological stress, feelings of vulnerability, frustration and low morale undermine the performance of volunteers. Limited time and material resources are diverted to repair the damaged sites at a critical period in the hooded plovers' year.

Hooded plover and pied oystercatcher
high-density nesting

The weeks before summer solstice are likely to be their last chance to mate, lay clutches and raise chicks before the onslaught of visitors invade the beaches. In the busy Christmas to Easter period, few if any birds will manage to breed. Then, they must wait for the following season.

The trouble is, no one wants dogs off leashes, horses and vehicles on more populated beaches. The outcry would be deafening. Instead, these activities are displaced and permitted, even promoted, on the same remote beaches where the ever diminishing numbers of hooded plovers and other beach nesting birds have been exiled.

The solutions are simple; there is room for all. Direct the more damaging activities to specific areas where birds and other natural assets are less vulnerable. Restrict activities on beaches that monitoring has shown support breeding populations of beach nesting birds. Increase agency presence, enforcement and participation in education programs.  

But alas, there seems to be an official policy of turning a blind eye and a cynical lack of transparency in dealings with volunteers.

Environmental agencies and land managers who oversee this stretch of coast are failing to effectively support the hooded plover and the volunteers who dedicate so much time and effort. 

It is apparent from getting windburned eyelids and sand in the pants that hooded plover and volunteer alike are very much dependent upon their own resources in their quest to help the species survive.

St Helens - a landscape for woodland birds

As the sun gently warmed the morning of Wednesday 17 November, we gathered in a paddock next to St Helens Reserve. The occasion was the Landscapes for Birds field walk. Our hosts were Sue and David Rowbottom, who are both active members of the St Helens Landcare group. We were here to witness the progress of planting and natural regeneration in a section of pasture that the Rowbottoms had fenced off ten years ago to complement bushland in the reserve.

Although you’d never know it now, the site was once the venue for an important community event - the Yambuk Picnic Races. It must have been a treat sipping cool ale in the heat of the last summer before the war, as the horses were led past the bar to the start. On 27 February 1939 the Port Fairy Gazette reported:

RAZZLE DAZZLE SCORES AGAIN

                           The  picturesque St Helens racecourse fringed with its
                           belt of trees and set in ideal surroundings was the scene
                           of the annual picnic race meeting . . .

Clearly St Helens Reserve has long been appreciated for its natural beauty. It is now an important remnant of wooded wetland, a scarce habitat once widespread across Southwest Victoria. It is refuge to many species of flora and fauna and an ideal spot for Dr Rod Bird to talk about attracting woodland birds back to farms.

Michael and Rod

Rod has lived and worked in the region for over 35 years. Now retired from researching agricultural science, he has vast experience in sustainable farming, re-vegetation programs, flora and fauna surveys and conservation projects. He is also a keen birdo. With 50% of woodland birds predicted to be extinct in our region by 2050, his message is timely - get planting and regenerate habitat.

Woodland habitat has been decimated and is now a scarce resource in most districts. Some sources estimate that to support a healthy population of birds, 30% of the landscape needs to be wooded. But a minimal target of 10% is probably a more realistic goal with current land-use practices.

The best habitat for woodland birds is remnant bush with its diversity of flora. But most surviving stands are now small and isolated, unable to sustain healthy bird populations. Birds need corridors of wooded cover to permit movement for feeding and breeding. The remnant patches can be effectively supplemented by strip plantations along roadsides, and wooded corridors and shelter belts on farms. These need to be at least 50m wide to be viable.

Although re-vegetation is unable to achieve the same biodiversity found in remnant bush, it still supports a wide variety of woodland birds. And if you want to attract endemic species of birds, the formula is simple. Plant endemic species of flora.

What kind of woodland cover is desirable?

gnarled manna gum - Eucalyptus viminalis

Old mature trees are vital. When in flower they produce most nectar for honeyeaters, lorikeets and wattlebirds. The bark harbours insects for woodswallows and thornbills. Their lofty crowns are nesting sites for raptors.

Shrubs offer shelter for fairy wrens, choughs and babblers, which are otherwise prone to displacement by aggressive territorial species like noisy miners.

Sedges and grasses have seeds for finches, pigeons and parrots.

Leaf litter and fallen limbs provide food and camouflage for warblers, treecreepers and curlews.

Standing dead trees have hollows that are home to many creatures. 

deep in St Helens Reserve - a large Carex

So why bother planting trees and shrubs to attract woodland birds to farms?

There are productivity benefits. As Sue pointed out, woodland cover provides great shelter for stock, especially when calving or lambing. There is evidence that in summer livestock with access to shade drink less frequently. Cover reduces the impact of severe weather events, ameliorating catastrophic stock losses. 

It fits within the sustainable farming paradigm. Ground cover mitigates erosion and species diversity contributes to the complex biology of soils. Many of the creatures attracted, including woodland birds, provide natural protection from insect damage to crops.

The aesthetics and pleasure of living with woodland birds should not be underestimated. There are lifestyle benefits and important implications for the health and well-being of rural communities.

Finally, there is the satisfaction of contributing to a wider good. Re-vegetation promotes biodiversity and is a meaningful response to the threat of mass species extinction.

a grass tree - Xanthorrhoea minor

After Rod’s informative talk, we walked through the mix of regenerating and remnant woodland as birds busied themselves with their daily routines. Over fence and through swamp, nothing stopped our intrepid group from experiencing the wildflowers [Goodenia], giant grasses [Xanthorrhoea] and majestic gums [Eucalyptus viminalis]. There was excitement when a visitor from Tasmania familiar with bandicoots pointed out some distinctive conical diggings - now a rare sight indeed. 

signs of a foraging bandicoot

The mosquito bites and a solitary leech were soon forgotten as we talked and bonded over a delicious lunch under the trees. It was then the quote of the day was uttered:

Q: What was the highlight of your day?

A: Finding an unknown native plant.

Q: What was it?

A: I don't know!

Thanks to Michael Wright of Basalt to Bay who organised the field trip, Rod Bird, Sue and David Rowbottom, and everyone who turned up to make this such an enjoyable and productive day.

Edge of Darkness - TV review

Screening on ABC2 from tonight is a BBC classic drama from another generation that sounds a warning about the future of our planet  . . .

Considering its age, you might expect Edge of Darkness to be just another lack-lustre TV artefact regurgitated to indulge nostalgic baby boomers. But you would be wrong. The secret at the heart of this gothic political thriller is as urgently relevant now as it was when first aired in 1985.

Troy Kennedy Martin (The Italian Job 1969) felt compelled to write this saga, alarmed at the direction Western democracies were taking in the early 1980s. Oozing with critical ambivalence, the script was unlikely to find favour with television’s mandarins in the iron embrace of Thatcherite Britain.

The Falklands War was just concluded, the Soviet adventure in Afganistan was brewing up the Cold War and Reagan’s United States was toying with SciFi weapons in the Star Wars program. Somehow, Kennedy Martin convinced the BBC to assemble a talented production crew and dazzling cast to create this masterpiece.

The story starts conventionally enough. Policemen Ronald Craven (Bob Peck) is shattered when his daughter Emma (Joanne Whally) dies bleeding in his arms. When he discovers the killer is an IRA gunman and Emma’s body is radioactive, his mood shifts from despair to a steely determination to uncover the truth. His investigations implicate the Establishment and multinational corporations allied in a conspiracy that threatens life itself.

A panoply of superb British character actors (Ian McNeice, Charles Kay, Hugh Fraser) apply Shakespearean gravitas to drive the mystery ever deeper. Plan ahead and have refreshments close at hand. There’s no getting up once an episode is running.

The length and complexity of the series will not suit all viewers. This is no light entertainment for an alpha-wave session with pizza and beer in front of the idiot box. This is a six-by-50-minute intensive exercise in high-tension drama – an intellectually challenging puzzle that requires cerebral stamina. It is certainly emotionally draining. Some might consider it self-indulgent headache material. But you can't please everyone.

Director Martin Campbell (Casino Royale 2006) marshals the stylistic elements of film noir to transform the script into a chilling montage. Surreal images abound. Sinister trains clank through gloomy wet industrial nights. A survival capsule stocked with Harrods’ finest wares glitters in the bowels of a dank cavern. Jedburgh (Joe Don Baker) clasps heavy-metal bars flashing white with critical mass in the grandmaster villain’s face; "That's the problem with plutonium. It's limited in its application. But as a vehicle for regaining one's self-respect, it's got a lot going for it." All the while, the soundtrack throbs a backbeat omen, the genius of Eric Clapton.

The plot matures into exquisite intricacy, alluding to arcane religious orders perpetually locked in mortal battle – Good versus Evil. It is clear that Satan’s soldiers march among us. Ultimately, we are left pondering the consequences of abusing our planet and the apocalyptic predictions of James Lovelock’s Gaia Hypothesis. As Jedburgh confides, "I believe the Earth Goddess will defend herself against all danger."  That danger is . . . you and me.

As we grapple with the implications of climate shift, widespread species extinctions and population pressure – be warned. You ignore the message at the heart of Edge of Darkness at your peril.

Meerteeyt Marr Lirpeen [song for the coastal man]

As the squalls cut in from the frigid wastes of the Southern Ocean, we huddled together in the pavilion at the Killarney Recreation Reserve. While we peered through the gap between hat and scarf a wit remarked; “This is good old Gunditjmara weather. It gets too hot for us after this.” A bloke from Queensland grimaced.

Last weekend [13-14 November] was the Tarerer Festival. Held each year, it brings people together in a process called Restorative Arts Practice. There’s a focus on culture, history, the environment and having a good time.

The area has long been a place where people gather to feast, celebrate and trade. It is a tradition established by the Tarerer Gunditj, the Koroit Gunditj and the Moonwer Gunditj, coastal clans of the Peek Wuurong people and the greater Gunditjmara Nation. Now blackfellas and whitefellas come together from around Australia to continue this tradition.

On Saturday there was heaps of music, dance and performances. A huge smoking ceremony still has me smelling like the coastal scrub two days later. For lunch there was bush tucker to munch - like roo burgers and wattle-seed scones. There were people from Coastcare, Landcare and the Wilderness Society to talk about native animals and plants - some of which we’d just eaten. Ted the Kite Man from Port Fairy was there, making lots of kites with the kids. There was no shortage of wind for these colourful creations to decorate the sky all afternoon.

Sunday was time for talks and walks. The highlight for me was Damien Bell’s presentation on the achievements of the Gunditj Mirring and their restoration of Lake Condah. His message about “returning the water to the stones and giving their spirits back” was very powerful. It tells me that we still have opportunities to reinvigorate this country and help it survive our wasteful and disrespectful ways.

Don’t miss out next year. Come along to the Tarerer Festival - it’s very user friendly.

Ted and the kids building flying machines

A plover's tale

The sandy beaches of Victoria's Southwest are prime recreational spaces that attract beach and water lovers from far and wide. They also offer some of the best coastal habitat in Victoria and are home to several bird species, including the rare hooded plover [Thinornis rubricollis].

These shy little birds can be seen nesting from September to April. The pair occupies a small territory on dry sand at the top of the beach. Here the hen lays several eggs in a shallow scrape. Because of the exposed nature of the nest site, parents, chicks and eggs are well camouflaged and very difficult to see. But once spotted, their behaviour is intriguing. The parent birds will distract intruders that venture too close to their territory. They run up and down the beach, feign foraging or a broken wing, then dart away at the last moment.

Although protecting them from natural predators, many of the bird’s habits make them vulnerable to human disturbance. While the parents put on their acts, eggs and chicks are left unguarded at the mercy of marauding gulls, the sun’s heat, wind and trampling. Dogs off leash account for many deaths. Activities like horse riding and off-road vehicle use cause havoc.

In recent years, signs and temporary barriers have appeared on the beaches as volunteers attempt to protect the vulnerable nest sites. Sometimes little wooden chick shelters are placed on the sand for them to hide in. This not only makes these feisty birds easier to locate and observe, but improves their rate of successful breeding.

Unfortunately, this attempt to aid the birds has attracted unwanted attention. A deranged surfer lurks between Warrnambool and Killarney, removing barriers and burning signs and chick shelters. He is even suspected of removing eggs. It is little wonder that none of the sites he vandalises has produced successful fledglings this season.

With the Victorian hooded plover population estimated at around 600, one wonders how long we will have the opportunity to see this bird on our beaches. Increased awareness of these and other beach nesting birds, and finding simple ways to share the beach without being a threat to these species [like keeping dogs leashed on nesting beaches] will significantly improve their chances of survival.

The trouble is, many people see these kinds of measures as an inconvenience or a threat to personal liberty. After all, the beach is there solely for our benefit, isn't it?

Hooded plovers - parent and chick                           picture courtesy Birds Australia