Rainbow Bee-eater (© Magi Nams)
In late afternoon, slanted rays of sun turned trunks of gums to grey silk, their leaves tattered olive. The curving fronds of palms were slivered emerald washed with gold. Warm air danced with cool, swirling and nudging, bumping my bare limbs in passing. Bee-eater songs tumbled out vibrating passion for the insect hunt carried out in shades of green and blue, with copper thrown in for ardent feather measure. The Ross River is sinking into winter, exposing long, wide flats of cinnamon and ochre mud stretching nearly the river’s span at low tide, and glazed with algae so vivid they could be flaring embers of green fire. Fish leapt from the leaden water like silver-white planks and pushed its surface into rippled wakes. I watched them swimming – shapes there and yet unseen, their presence revealed by spreading touch on liquid.
Today, Vilis and Janis flew to Perth, across the width of this country from Townsville. Janis has taken my place as a volunteer research assistant, since I am unwell. Together, they form half of a crew of four that is today purchasing food supplies before heading inland. They have our camera and will photograph the red, arid landscape of inland Western Australia, then bring images home to me. For three weeks, we will be essentially incommunicado, so I am unable to share in their adventures until they return. However, I plan to publish joint posts featuring Townsville and Western Australia that cover the next three weeks. These will of necessity not be available until after June 18. Tune in then for news of North Queensland creeping toward the longest night of the year, as well as photographs from the sampling of biodiversity on a station that kills dingoes and on one that doesn’t, in the desert country of Western Australia.
Western Australia Desert, Cunyu Station (© Vilis Nams)
