A sub-adult Silver Gull was biting off more than it could chew, literally. From my kayak I could easily see the brown splotches on the bird’s plumage so I knew that it was not a full adult but I could not make out the white object that it was struggling with. Initially, I thought that it was a bit of tough fish meet that the bird was trying to tear apart. After zooming-in on a photo I realised that the bird was aggressively trying to break apart a toxic Common Toadfish. The poor fish was puffed-out to its maximum in a bid to scare the bird off, but so far that had not dissuaded this deluded bird to desist with its exertions, which would kill the fish and most likely the bird too after the gull consumed the fish’s flesh. This strange contest started within about five minutes of me pushing out into a rising tide on the Tomaga River under threatening, overcast skies with strong winds rippling the water. It was not the best day to be trying to photograph along the river because the ambient light was so bad and the strong winds meant neither I nor most bird subjects would be completely still. However, that day was the only day that I could make it to the river and the weather was not dangerous so I persisted. I was glad that I did because I really enjoyed my time and saw some fabulously animals. That common bird and common fish in the photograph above reminded me that photographs can come from anywhere but I have to be there to see it. Sorry, the photographs below are not great but I hope that you enjoy them.
My route on the day
The Tomaga River, or at least the part I was paddling in, was a estuarine river that had salty to brackish water, with tidal movement going up to where I turned around. Its muddy banks were fringed with mangroves sprouting from them. Some bends in the river were basically mudflats that were exposed at low tide, so were homes to much larger groups of mangroves. The river was not long, 16 km at most, flowing through some remnant forest and rural farmland until dividing the township of Tomakin from Mossy Point before its slow waters competed with waves to push out to the Pacific Ocean. That morning the river had a rising tide that would peak at 9:53AM, leading to period of slack water before the tide slowly started to recede. Tides on the east coast of Australia are not extreme so I was not too concerned if I ended up paddling against the tide but I was glad of the initial rising tide so that I could fully explore even the shallow parts of the river. The plan for the morning was very simple; put in at the Kingston Place boat ramp before paddling roughly northeasterly up the river with the tide, until I turned around where the Jeremadra Creek flowed into the Tomaga River. I would then follow the river back to the boat ramp. I knew that the early part of the trip would be in developed areas but further up, I would be in more natural parts of the river.
There had been a lot of rain the preceding week so the water was murky with a high level of turgidity, somewhat blighting the river’s reputation for its clear water. Indeed, a man who I presumed was a local pulled in with his surf ski just when I was about depart and told me the water foul up-river. Coming from paddling mainly on Lake Burley Griffin in Canberra, I was not too bothered by irksome water.
Upon arrival at Kingston Place I did a quick inspection of the area before I unloaded the kayak. I was immediately impressed with this cul-de-sac and boat ramp. The area was clean with well marked parking. The boat ramp was new, with some steps beside it leading down to a small, flat area of sand that would make a perfect spot to get the kayak ready. Just to the left or the downriver side of the boat ramp was a long stainless-steel sink and preparation bench unit with a hose attachment that anglers could use to clean their catches immediately.
Despite the weather my excitement was high. I quickly prepared my trusty blue kayak, hopped in it and headed out into the water of the river. Although the weather was gusting the banks of the river blunted the full strength of the wind so I barely knew how windy it really was unless I looked at the swaying tops of trees.
Photograph from later in the day showing where I set off from, with Kingston Place boat ramp at the right of the picture
(Apple iPhone 8 [ISO 20, 3.99mm, f/1.8 and 1/125 SEC])
I knew that I was going to be photographing waterbirds that day, a group of birds that I enjoy taking pictures of because they exist in a combination of water and land, making great subjects for photographs. The waterbirds here seemed somewhat accustomed to humans with the pelicans and seagulls being used to fisherman casting them scraps from the cleaning bench at the boat ramp. Indeed, a group of pelicans glided effortlessly across the river from the far bank when they saw my movements at the boat ramp, no doubt hoping that I would be a source of discarded fish innards. On the far bank the birds had found a sand bar jutting out from the shore adjacent to some mangroves that would be a reasonably safe spot to wait for food, whether from fisherman or delivered by the river.
Mixed group of waterbirds opposite the boat ramp
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 500, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
Slightly up river from the crowded sand bar the brown-splotched grey wing plumage marked a juvenile Silver Gull (Chroicocephalus novaehollandiae). I could see that this mainly white bird was doing its best to smash a white object onto the water surface, before the bird struggled again to get its beak around the object’s girth to repeat the thrashing. Initially, all I could see was the white of the object. As I explained in the introduction, it was only after I zoomed in on a photograph that I had already taken did I realise that the juvenile bird was on the verge of shortening its life by trying to eat a Common Toadfish (Tetractenos hamiltoni) or, as we called this fish when I was a boy, a Toado. The flesh of this fish was poisonous so the bird was risking death with its behaviour. The fish was also struggling for survival, it had bloated its body with air to look larger than it was. Its smooth skin was now studded with spikes that normally rest against its body. The fish appeared to stay still, even when the bird had it on the surface of the water away from its beak. There was no attempt to swim quickly away.
The seagull was completely absorbed in its thrashing of the toado, barely even noticing me floating towards this struggle. Eventually the blueness of my kayak contrasting on the murky water must have brought the bird around to the possible danger it was facing by my arrival, whereupon, it grabbed the rigid fish around the tail section before zig-zagging away across the water’s surface with its potentially fatal feed.
I knew that both the species involved in this tussle were extremely common, often thought of as pests or nuisances, but in that brief confrontation that I witnessed, I saw them as interesting subjects highlighting the risks of nature. The bird had to eat but there was no warning on the toadfish indicating death would result from consumption. On the other hand, the toado could blow itself up but once that deterrent was useless, poisoning its killer would not save its already taken life.
Silver Gull juvenile carrying the puffed-up toado to a quieter location
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 500, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
After my encounter with the water birds and the risk-taking Silver Gull I paddled further up the river where I started to notice some of the incongruous sights along this stretch of water. The first object that stood out to me was what I could only describe as a wooden fence made of vertical mangrove cuttings. It was not even a metre long, running parallel to the river bank. My first thought was that it was an attempt to recreate a traditional fish trap but it was way too small. I was sure that this small barrier meant something to the person that created it but that insight was lost to me.
Not far further along, a jarring orange through the lush green of the mangroves made me hopeful a colourful bird was around but disappointedly the hopeful colour congealed into an old canoe. Form a distance I thought that the canoe had been abandoned or jostled unwanted down the river on a tide to become stuck on some fallen trees. However, once I saw the ropes binding it front and back to the firms of the bank I realised it still had meaning to somebody.
A bit further up the river, a log was resting in the water with a draping of orange nonchalantly proving a small wig to the bareness of the bark-stripped wood that looked to have a straight cut in it, the tell-tale wound from a saw. At a distance I was hopeful that a creature was resting from the water but examining my first photograph showed that it was seaweed tossed upwards by an unknowing tide moving to a distant lunar impulse. On that day the dried seaweed was moistened by rain and possibly boat wakes but the sun had long removed its life. I liked the way that it contrasted with the wood but both had been marooned there by the flow of water.
Finally, approaching the stretch of river dominated by oyster farms a forgotten sign clung uselessly to a still living mangrove tree. The sign still proclaimed an oyster lease but none appeared to be around. The chipped white paint along with the streaking rust of deteriorating nails showed that this sign’s information may have been useful at one stage but was now just a curiosity for people passing along the river, if they even noticed its precarious position.
These objects all had stories, some of which were probably lost, others that could have been revealed through talking to the local residents. However, they showed how humans leave their mark on this river in small and large ways.
Parts of mangrove trees used to make a fence
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 500, 170mm, f/8.0 and 1/400 SEC])
Orange canoe with a paddle tied to a tree on the bank of the river
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 100mm, f/8.0 and 1/320 SEC])
Seaweed over a log up the river
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
Oyster farm sign nailed to a mangrove tree
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
I kept paddling up this lovely river on the incoming tide, easily travelling under the George Bass Drive bridge as I kept trying to move away from the suburban area towards the mangrove-lined parts of the river. Just after passing under the bridge I saw four sooty Little Black Cormorants (Phalacrocorax sulcirostris) perched on the branch of a tall, dead tree that was overhanging the river. They were preening themselves for the most part. I was also very happy that they did not flee as my kayak drifted closer to where their lofty perched was high above me. The only time they became animated was when a White-bellied Sea-eagle flew along the river, higher than their perch. They all looked in its direction with one of them calling loudly. Once the eagle continued past them the birds were quiet again. The blackness of the birds on the dead, grey lifeless branch against the grey forbidding sky all seemed to work. These birds were possibly coming out a late breeding season given the flicks of white in some of their heads, indicating that they are of breeding maturity.
Later, I came upon another group occupying some lower lying vegetation at the end of a small island. Perhaps this later group felt less confident of their safety because they were lower down, at the same level as my approaching blue kayak, with my rotating arms chopping at the water with the paddle. This second group of cormorants decided, while I was still not too close, to seek a different location. That moment of them running across the water, clawing into the air to get away from me is the action shown in the second photograph below.
Little Black Cormorants perched in a dead tree over the river
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/320 SEC])
Another group of Little Black Cormorants, further up the river, taking off
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
This was the graceful, adult White-bellied Sea-eagle (Haliaeetus leucogaster) that was patrolling the river. I snapped this photographed quickly while I was looking at the Little Black Cormorants. This almost spectrally white raptor, the second largest species in Australia, cruised past up the river, not rushing, not showing any concern at the hullabaloo among other birds its presence caused. I saw this eagle, or another of this species, several times during the day. Somtimes flying straight along the course of the river, at other times arching in graceful circles around certain parts of its liquid hunting ground. I noticed that the other birds would react to it. Some, like the cormorants above, seemed agitated, calling out what I assumed were warnings of a menacing presence nearby. Others, noticeably the Silver Gulls, actually trailed the eagle, snapping at it, or swooping down on it. The eagle seemed unperturbed by these actions, continuing its path through the sky.
White-bellied Sea-eagle
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/320 SEC])
At one point, I became distracted by some mangrove trees in the shallow water on the inside curve of a bend in the river. The water was just deep enough to allow my kayak to penetrate among the outer members of that stand of trees but I could not get too far. When I realised that forward progress was doubtful I withdrew back to the main part of the river. While gliding past the sunken branches of a tree I noticed a still Striated Heron (Butorides striata) perched motionless on a branch, no doubt hoping that its frozen form would escape my notice. Because these birds can be flighty I gradually slowed the kayak before making a gentle turn back around onto the way that I had come. My efforts not to spook the bird were pointless because it moved to another tree slightly further in among the trees that I had just been exploring. That was bad for two reasons, firstly, the heron was now further from me, and, secondly, being further in under the canopy further cut the already overcast light that I had that day. Fortunately, the first problem of shallow water was not too bad, because I found a slightly deeper way in that allowed my kayak to get closer before it grounded in the sticky, inundated mud around the mangroves. By luck, that was a tolerable distance for the heron and it also provided a relatively stable photographing platform for me.
We both regarded each other for a while, neither of us moving much. I was trying to stay still so that I did not scare the heron to go further in among the trees. I knew that the bird was becoming more relaxed when it appeared to notice movement in the clouded water at the base of the tree. It extend its neck downwards, on the opposite side of the branch form me, its head sharp below the tree’s limb, spear-like, eyes intently sensing the movement below. I was ready to catch the strike but the heron relaxed, possibly doubting what it had seen, or maybe some creature had turned the wrong way, unaware that its life was spared by that action. The heron returned to a more normal perching position barely caring about me. It started to look around its surroundings then it slightly lowered its head, moving one leg very deliberately in front of the other in a poaching crawl any hunter would envy. The bird was in full stalking mode, slowly advancing hunched-over along the branch, occasionally stopping to regard movement in the water or in the tree. I kept waiting for the strike but it never came.
Because of the low light coupled with the ongoing movement of the bird I had to keep my ISO at 2000, so there was more grain in the shot than I would have liked. I was disappointed that the light was not better because the clear delineation between the subdued brown and bluish-grey marked this bird as an adult, which I had not photographed yet. Eventually this bird exhausted the branch’s length with food still eluding it so it flew to a different tree a short distance away but without a clear view for me. I figured that was a good sign to keep moving, otherwise I would have stayed in that quiet location enjoying a moment with this gorgeous stalking bird.
Pulling back onto the river again, within a few paddle strokes, brownish movement in a tree caught my attention one more time, as a juvenile Striated Heron used a small mangrove tree as a hunting platform. Fortunately, I was able to complete a circle to come back around to the tree without scaring away the bird. It was perched in the crown of the low tree, but I could not find a spot to get the bird in an unobstructed view. Eventually, this bird, like the adult I had photographed just minutes before, also flew to a different tree, to look for a new hunting area.
Striated Heron adult in the mangroves
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 2000, 400mm, f/6.3 and 1/400 SEC])
Striated Heron juvenile
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1250, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/400 SEC])
I enjoy being among mangrove trees with each individual specimen having a unique shape caused by the crooked growing trunk and chaotic branches. The trees didn’t follow a pattern of growing towards the light but rather twisted to their own accord making character-filled shapes. I found it relaxing paddling between these hectically shaped organisms that provide an important habitat. The messy structure of the trees and roots provided hiding areas for young marine organisms, forming a sort of nursery area for small creatures. Some of these fish species were of commercial importance with the mangroves providing a key habitat for their growth. In addition, the ability of the plants to tolerate salt and fresh water meant that they could stay firm on the river bank to prevent erosion. Because of climate change mangroves were important carbon sinks and they also helped in maintaining the water quality of the river. Unfortunately, an estimated 17% of mangroves have gone since European settlement in Australia. Worse still, just slightly higher up past the tide line from mangroves was often a salt marsh, which since 1950 have suffered a 25% loss in south-east Australia, or in some places up to 80%. Maybe the inaccessibility of these mangrove swamps, too wet from the landslide and too shallow from the waterside, meant people had trouble appreciating them, however, paddling through them I got a sense of their subtle beauty. As I said, their contorted forms defied the visitor to easily peer into the depth of their forests. Fish swim around them, birds prowled through them and smaller creatures sheltered throughout them. I was strangely drawn to these mangroves and not disappointed by what I found.
Mangrove tree among a group in a bend in the river
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 800, 100mm, f/8.0 and 1/400 SEC])
Mangrove tree further up the river when the rain started to fall
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 800, 100mm, f/8.0 and 1/400 SEC])
After a couple of hours on the river, more often photographing than paddling, the rain started to fall in earnest. Looking across to the eastern bank I saw a stoic White-faced Heron (Egretta novaehollandiae) standing on a private jetty, one leg raised, un-sheltered from the drops of water falling on it. The bird was not concerned by my approach, it just stayed perched where it was, with its neck pulled in, not even trying to feed. I thought that there was even a single drop of water forming at the end of its beak, momentarily connected before falling into the river below.
White-faced Heron, in the rain, making use of someone’s private jetty
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
With the rain coming down more, I was not put-off, I was in a kayak, I always assume that I will get wet so a bit of rain was nothing, I was just enjoying moving with the rhythm of the river. If anything, while the rain might detract from the aesthetics of the photographs it heightened my experience on the water. I felt that my world was much smaller because the rain hitting the water suppressed any distant human sound. The rain and other weather conditions probably discouraged other people from venturing onto the river so for the rest of my paddle I was a lone person paddling through this watery habitat.
However, this middle part of the river still showed signs of human use because it was here that some oyster farms had been established. The unnatural straight lines along the surface of the water were made more obvious by incongruous black and white poles sticking upright from the water.
Oyster farming has been going on since European settlement in Australia but has recently seen some new developments to make growing faster and more profitable, without the use of chemicals. The new technique was called “single seed culture”. It relied on tiny free swimming oyster larvae or spat taking root on a catching surface such as wood or PVC slats. Once they had attached themselves to form into a bivalve shell the farmer moved them to floating mesh bags suspended along lines that rode up and down two poles at either end with the tide. The second photo below shows the floats of those mesh bags. By always floating in water it meant that the oysters could continue to feed, whereas in a natural setting they lived in the intertidal zone so for hours at a time they were out of water so unable to feed. Traditional methods of cultivation reflected the natural biology of the oyster but the floating mesh basket allowed for constant feeding while also keeping the oyster protected from predators cruising along the river.
Wide view of oyster farms in the river at high tide during rain
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 640, 170mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
Close-up view of the tops of an oyster lease as the rain came down
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 640, 263mm, f/10 and 1/500 SEC])
Past the oyster leases I continued on a bit further until I came to where the Jeremadra Creek flowed into the river. This was a quiet meeting of two waterways, with barely a current discernible. On the northeast bank I could see where some cleared agricultural land came down to the river. Despite being at my planned turnaround location I decided to push on just a little further to where there was a large, circular area eroded into the bank. I am not sure how this area formed because it was very shallow but had a nice curve that had eaten into the surrounding low-lying area. It was at that open area that I took the second photograph of a mangrove tree shown above. I circled around in that shallow hollow, somewhat disappointed that I was not going any further but I also knew that I still had to get back to Canberra that day so I could not spend too long on the river.
I had eyed off the cleared area on the north-east bank as a place to stop for a rest because I saw that there was more than enough space between the river and a fence for me to stop to stretch my legs, without trespassing on somebody’s private land. However, I had also spied a small, flat area of bank on the wooded side opposite that would allow me to pull my kayak easily out of the river while also allowing access to what looked like an interesting area filled with trees. I think I made the right choice because once I had my kayak firmly on the bank, a short walk into the trees revealed a flooded woodland, like a small American bayou. Interestingly, the water was above the level of the river yet was still soaking the ground, forming a wide, shallow pond among the trees. It was not very deep, but enough water to cover a fallen tree. My imagination easily wandered with ideas of a fantasy landscape and how stunningly beautifully if was in the area. It took me a while to realise that I was starting to feel cold from my wet cloths combined with a slight breeze and standing still taking photographs. When I was finally prepared to move away from the inundated beauty I had stumbled on I grabbed a quick snack of a fattening cookie, guilty chocolate and unhealthy lollies to regenerate some energy for the paddle back down the river.
While I had seen the farm, some houses and the occasional boat pulled onto land, I had not seen anybody for almost two hours so I really felt pleasantly undisturbed in my own corner of nature. Birdlife was going about its daily activities around me. I could see some herons on one bare branch of a tree and some cormorants in another branch on a partially sunken tree, all perched out in the falling rain, preening themselves but not seeking cover under fuller canopies nearby.
Pushing my kayak back into the quiet river while the raindrops patted into the water I did feel a sense of disappointment because the trip was half over, I was heading back to the end. While the lighting was not great, the river was fun to be on. Still, I had to go home at some stage and that meant a two-hour drive back to Canberra.
My kayak at the turnaround location
(Canon EOS 6D Mk II with a Canon EF16-35mm f/4L IS USM [ISO 640, 24mm, f/9.0 and 1/100 SEC])
Flooded forest at the turnaround location, but slightly above the level of the river
(Canon EOS 6D Mk II with a Canon EF16-35mm f/4L IS USM [ISO 100, 25mm, f/20 and 1.0 SEC])
One of the trees in the area
(Canon EOS 6D Mk II with a Canon EF16-35mm f/4L IS USM [ISO 100, 35mm, f/14 and 0.5 SEC])
Paddling back down the river I had a second glance at a green, wooden boat shed that I had seen on the way up. I noticed a yellow canoe poking out from behind the door, shyly peering at the river, like it too wanted to be out on the water. I thought what an ideal location the shed was to quickly get a watercraft on to the river for a bit of fun. I did feel a bit jealous of the owners while paddling past.
Boat shed on the river with a canoe ready to go
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 2000, 100mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
I saw a number of Great Egrets (Ardea modesta) when I was getting close to the George Bass Drive road bridge. Three birds were in some mangrove trees upriver from the bridge, well out of the water. One of them had some black stains on its brilliant white plumage. They were not that worried about me, letting my kayak drift very near to them.
There was another group of five who were moving methodically through the river in other mangroves near where the orange canoe was tied to the bank. I carefully lined my kayak up so that the current and wind would slowly push me close-by where those birds were in the shallow water near the bank. The kayak bumped gently passed some vegetation, with some birds looking up while others continued staring at the water. Eventually the kayak slowly nudged onto a partially submerged branch where it stayed stuck. The birds looked at me for a while but I kept the camera to my face while I took photographs. The light was not great because this bank was in the shade of the already cloud-defused light. However, I was too excited to care because I was so close to these graceful birds that I was having trouble fitting the egrets in the frame so I decided to do some head studies of the closest one. Looking down the lens I could really appreciate the seemingly unnatural kink in the neck like a badly botched repair job that led to a graceful shepherd’s crook curve of white. From there, the neck opened to a head with a black pupil surrounded by a contrasting yellow iris. Further forward was the yellow, dagger beak that could strike into the water to grab an unawares fish. In the end I was reasonably happy with this shot but I wished that the lighting had been better.
Great Egrets in a tree
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 400, 255mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
Head study of a Great Egret
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 800, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
When I finally finished enjoying my time with the egrets I thought that I had better ease my kayak off the branch it had come to rest on. I pushed back slowly so as not to disturb the egrets, who still seemed not really that concerned about my presence. While easing my kayak back I noticed some Sydney Rock Oysters (Saccostrea glomerata) that were using the branch as a place to live. They were roughly attached, growing on top of each other but doing well to still be whole. Perhaps this strange location was a good place to keep them safe from predators both on the land and in the water. Oysters are filter feeders so the river would be a good place for them, humans certainly thought so given the presence of so many oysters farms up the river.
Sydney Rock Oysters on a log
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 800, 100mm, f/8.0 and 1/250 SEC])
After getting the kayak back out into the free water a few strokes took me under the road bridge and I was getting close to the end. I kept wanting to go to the sides of the river, near the trees, where I could explore, looking for photographic subjects. I found that this very shallow water created noticeable drag on the kayak, which I lost when I was back in some deeper water.
Coming around the last bend in the river I could see the group of Australian Pelicans still occupying their prime sand bank. Again, I lined up my kayak on the sandbank in a way that I hoped would let the wind and tide carry me onwards. I raised the camera to my face partly so that I was ready to photograph and partly to help disguise my human form. Form this position I was able to get a shot of a pelican, like a massive flying boat, skim low over the water just before it angled its wings slightly up as brakes so that it could come to a standing stop in the water with minimal effort. It caused some splashing but landed perfectly, only pausing momentarily to ensure that it was steady before the great wings folded themselves along its side.
I was able to drift past one pelican to get a profile shot while it stood in the shallow water.
Later, once I had my kayak back at the starting location, a recreational angler was cleaning his catch that had come from a morning’s fishing in his boat that was already pulled out of the water on a trailer. The pelicans knew that a feed was in the offing so they assembled on the sand between the boat ramp and cleaning station, sized in pecking order from biggest to smallest. The fisherman gleefully threw the guts of some large snappers to this horde of grateful white birds. The sea gulls tried to get some of the offered morsels but they only picked up small bits that somehow drifted away from the larger birds. The fisherman said that the pelicans would always line up, and, had the water not so been so murky from the rain and weather, there were often stingrays that also came in for this free feed.
I was glad that the pelicans were so comfortable in that location because I had filled up the memory card on my Canon EOS 7D Mark II with over a 1000 photographs from the morning so I only had the wide angle Canon EF 16-35mm f/4L IS USM lens on my Canon EOS 6D Mark II, which meant that pelicans standing nearby were a perfect subject. I was thrilled to capture this interaction between birds and humans while being so close to these awesome wild animals. They were not at their best on land but they were still an impressive sight to see, being a sizeable bird.
Australian Pelican flying in
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 800, 400mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
Australian Pelican
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 800, 220mm, f/8.0 and 1/500 SEC])
Australian Pelicans lining up for fish guts from a returning angler at the boat ramp
(Canon EOS 6D Mk II with a Canon EF16-35mm f/4L IS USM [ISO 400, 35mm, f/11 and 1/160 SEC])
The pelicans were the last subjects that I photographed before I quickly packed everything back into or onto the car ready for the drive home. I was able to change out of my wet clothes in the well kept public toilets, which was nice to be out of the wind and rain to get changed into dry clothes. After changing I took the short walk to the beach but I could not see much to photograph so I decided that it was time to start the drive back to Canberra. I was honestly torn to depart because it had been a really enjoyable paddle in a beautiful natural habitat, despite the less than perfect weather. I think I would have been incredibly happy to have a house nearby so that I could repeat that trip regularly without a long drive.
Eventually, I convinced my self that it was time to depart. While the rain beat gently against the car’s metal body I drove slowly thought the wet, quiet streets of Tomakin, already thinking about a return.
I did not go too far because I wanted to get some lunch. On the way down to the coast I had already decided that the small township of Mogo, population about 320, would make for a perfect stop. The shops were where the road to Tomakin branched off the Princes Highway, and these small boutique shops and cafes lined either side of the single lane highway. I went to a small cafe for lunch where I saw a wooden statue of possibly a Native American women. I am not sure of the connection to Mogo but I liked the wet look of the statue in the rain.
Face of the wooden statue in the rain outside of some shops in Mogo
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1000, 100mm, f/8.0 and 1/125 SEC])
A bit of food with a strong coffee got me back behind the wheel heading to Canberra but I had one more stop that I wanted to make. That was near Braidwood where I had seen a really nice looking winter tree on my previous trip to the coast.
When I saw the subject I was safely able to pull my car off to the side of the Kings Highway because the traffic returning from the coast was sparse. Unfortunately, the weather in the area was no better than at the coast, with gusting wind almost taking my cap off as soon as I left the car. However, the overcast sky seemed to add to the bare, winter mood of the tree, so despite the moving branches the scene was probably lit properly. The tree sat isolated in a farmer’s field with another fallen tree at its base and a pile of boulders were nicely aligned with the scene as well. I was reasonably happy with the shot but I would have liked to get closer.
Winter tree and rocks on the way back
(Canon EOS 7D Mk II with a Canon EF100-400mm f4.5-5.6L IS II USM [ISO 1250, 100mm, f/11 and 1/320 SEC])
I reached Canberra safely, but much later than planned, yet I was still buzzing with the day. I was tired but excited. It had been a fun day, with another location that was on my list for a re-visit. Sure, the weather was wet and windy but, somehow, that added to the experience, without causing me any problems in paddling. I would have liked better light for photography but I also enjoyed the challenge of photographing in those conditions and I did like the photos that showed the rain in them because I normally avoid photographing on wet days. Of course I enjoyed photographing the Striated Herons and I always enjoy photographing pelicans. I had also found that magical flooded wood that I doubted would exist in warmer, dryer weather. All in all, it was another day up a river and another wonderful memory.
Thanks for reading this post and thanks also for looking at my photos. I hope you come back again to read more about some of the wonderful natural things that the region around the Australian Capital Territory has on offer. All the best until the next post.