Day 63 | More Rocky Pool: a day perched on the edge of the water

rest day

Out here the termites see that any tree misses out on a long, fulfilling life. Trees are lacking in the landscape for the most part, constrained to the rare watercourses on a mainly horizontal terrain.

There’s scattered acacia scrub, and, this year, a thatch of flowering grasses and patches of various colours of wildflowers in full bloom.

It’s all subtlety, marginal soil changes, minor rock outcrops or breakaways, strange cloud formations along an endless road.

The jewels are the waterholes, scoured in the otherwise dry riverbeds during floodtime and retaining water for months/years subsequent.

The very much wetter year to date, the year’s supply of rain, ie 250mm, or 10 inches, fell in one 24 hour period to break a few year’s dry spell which had apparently left the landscape more a moonscape, has meant a huge proliferation of the flowering plants, grasses, annuals, and insect life. The roads through the wheatbelt were thick with black caterpillars migrating, lemming-like, across the road, invariably west to east, but up here, where it’s drier and warmer it’s locustland, fortunately mainly patchy, but smashing with a clunk when they fling themselves against the infrequent, otherwise non-existent, bike tourer.

Plenty of birdlife and it’s those birds which provide the major scenic attraction.

The ring neck parrots have been replaced by the smaller, vastly more numerous, common budgie, like you find in cages all over the world and, boy, they can be common. It’s uncommonly arresting plumage, yellow face, yellow green belly, some blue green for the tail, a muddy brown/pale yellow checked pattern to the back.

A couple of nights ago a flock of 100, 200, who knows maybe more, whistled in and perched noisily, cheerily, gregariously, on a dead acacia close to where I was creating my usual cuisine for the evening meal, umm, spaghetti for the 19th successive night.

Like synchronised swimmers they all appeared to be facing the same way. Then a similar sized, formation flying flock, whirred past, the whole resident congregation took flight in unison, wingtip to wingtip, joining the dense mass for a final sunset flight, some large impostor had taken up residence at their usual roost.

There’s a slightly larger charcoal and white cockatiel as well, moving in smaller groups across my vision as I trundle down the road.

Camped at Rocky Pool I’m adjacent to a flood scarred group of trees. In the hollows where branches have been ripped out by past floods the green budgies are nesting, a continual circuit for the parents. Occasionally I see a small fledgling pop its head out at the universe.

Next door a slightly older chick hops out and flaps around, plucking at some fluffy feathers, impatient for self reliance and adulthood.

Enjoy the moment while you can I think, life can get a whole lot tougher.