The Little Corellas of Menindee
‚They are not pretty, the little corellas‘. Whoever maintains
this has certainly not seen the film made by the two well-known German
makers of wildlife films, Arendt & Schweiger. Granted, they are not
as colourful as better known species of parrots. What is fascinating about
little corellas is not obvious beauty but their character and their behaviour.
They are as playful as young children. Not many bird species have such
a distinct social behaviour as the little corellas. Whoever has ever seen
a flock of these bird for himself will be fascinated by them but might
also come a bit closer to understanding the Australian farmers' annoyance.
One of our most long-cherished dreams has always been to really experience one of these cockatoo flocks. Cockatoos often can be seen in small family groups, however we had never seen one of the mighty flocks, much less taken photographs of one. Everyone has their photographic goals and dreams and after lengthy preparations we finally set off to realise some of our own.
From my travel journal of March 2000:
...Ray
has promised to help us find flocks of cockatoos. I am a little doubtful.
Not of Ray, who always keeps his promises but regarding the presence of
the cockatoos. I just don't want to get my hopes up too soon and want
to spare myself a disappointment. Over the past few days and weeks the
weather has been quite miserable - to put it lightly. Rain, rain and more
rain. Apparently the torrential rains in New South Wales even made the
news in Europe. Horrific pictures of flooded farms found their way around
the world. Last night we had to seek shelter in camping units, the ground
being to muddy for putting up tents. I wonder whether the cockatoos have
also fled from the downpour?...
Two days later:
...The three of us are on the road, travelling in the western part of New South Wales in our off-road jeep, heading roughly towards Broken Hill. The three of us are: Ray, our friend and guide, Marcel, my husband, also an enthusiastic nature photographer, and myself. Meanwhile the world has put on a friendlier face and the desert is beginning to flower in all colours.
We have been up since six o'clock to make the most
of the early morning light and take some photographs. The red country
appears to be deserted and we only meet the occasional 'roo hunter on
his way home.
We have been on the road for hours. Meanwhile - in spite of the air
conditioning - it has become oppressively hot inside the car and the continuous driving
noise does its part in making me nod off. Occasionally Marcel wakes me to point out an
interesting sight. But there is not much to see, as the animals have also retreated from
the midday heat to take a nap. A good distance from Broken Hill we make use of the last
opportunity to stock up on fuel and food before finally leaving the sparse civilisation
behind. Shortly afterwards we take a turn to the left, towards Kinchega National Park.
The scenery
here is breathtaking. Dry, absolutely flat, no trees, no shade, only knee-high
shrub and sand - lots of red sand. We drive through this seemingly endless
country on a bumpy sand road which vaguely brings to mind a toboggan run
back home. The track is slippery and difficult to drive. The whole vehicle
vibrates, especially the steering wheel. Our driver, Ray's arms must be
totally bloodless by now, I think to myself. After a long break with coffee
from a flask and a short walk I feel refreshed and strong again. During
the late afternoon we discover a rare pine-cone lizard. We spend some
time taking photographs of it, which it does not seem to like particularly.
Like a small dragon, it snarls bravely at me, when I come too close. I
got the pictures I want and so I get out of its way while it runs off
with its head held high. I am happy - my day has been saved and so probably
has the lizard's. Now the first lakes of the Menindee Lake System are
coming into view. The humidity keeps the dust down and the air is becoming
increasingly fresh. We have nearly reached our destination. But: Will
the cockatoo flocks be there?
We have now crossed the Kinchega National Park. We get occasional waves from workers at the nearby cotton plantation, who recognise Ray's car. He has many friends here and also in the area where we plan to put up our base camp. We want to camp as remotely as possible on private ground owned by friends of Ray's. The road is gradually getting narrower and can hardly be recognised as such. It seems to me that we are simply driving in an undetermined general direction. Sometimes a lake appears to the right, sometimes to the left. There are innumerable irrigation channels here. I have not the faintest idea where we are just now - I have completely lost all orientation. Without roads everything's looks the same... . Suddenly Ray slows down, alarming Marcel and myself. After so many weeks spent closely together in the bush we instinctively recognise such wordless signs. Ray looks to the lake on our right and smiles: “The cockatoos are here.” he says. I take a hard look. And so they are. Amidst all the dead, grey-white bleached eucalyptus branches sticking out of the water - white cockatoos. Innumerable animals. At least about 100 of them we estimate. The birds sit there quietly. Ray drives on. But I want to take photographs! The birds are sitting there in the best evening light but Ray says: ‚We have to move on now, if we want to set up our camp before dark, sorry - but hey, you're going to see many more cockatoos... .‘ I am annoyed. How can I know that the weather will still be fine tomorrow, whether the light will be right, whether the birds will still be there at all?! I am totally disappointed, but do realise that it would be dangerous to arrive after nightfall. After all we didn't book a room at the Hilton.
Half an hour later we have arrived. In a reasonably
organised manner we begin to unload our boat, pitch the tents, collect
firewood, light the fire. Only then do we take the time to inspect our
surroundings a bit more closely. From the campfire there is already an
enticing smell from the steaks that Ray is barbecuing for us. The camp
is situated ideally. Only a few feet from the shore of Lake Tandou in
a light little eucalyptus forest and on soft sand. Absolutely wonderful
- nature at its best. There are some cockatoos here as well, I can faintly
here them, some even sit within sight above our tent. Ray says: ‘It's
going to get even better!‘ and continues to fry our meat. Marcel
brings along some more firewood and I decide to go for a little walk on
my own - I am not easily scared. The twilight makes it difficult to see
much. Occasionally some pelicans, individual cormorants and small groups
of cockatoos fly by with loud squawking. Other than that everything is
quiet. I lean against a tree and watch the cockatoo groups fighting for
the best sleeping perch among the dead branches. They are mostly little
corellas and some Galahs. ‚Nice‘, I think. I will get to take
some photographs of flocks after all - yes, it is quite nice here.‘
I relax and listen to the sound of the waves, when
suddenly this seems to come closer. I shake my head, slightly amused at
myself. Why should the sound of the waves come closer? Or is it? I can
feel goose-bumps. Have I not gone too far from the others...?! It sounds
like a huge storm front coming directly towards us. Suddenly I shiver
- what is this thundering noise? I stand rooted to the spot in spite of
an urge to return to the others as quickly as possible. The area is absolutely
flat but I can't see anything because of the trees. It is coming closer
fast, directly towards me - it must be a hurricane like last year in Florida.
I shiver again.... . Then suddenly I realise: ‚That is cockatoo squawking
- can it be?! My goodness, there must be hundreds of animals!’ I
think, and then they are already flying over me with deafening noise,
only several metres above the ground... For minutes I can't see a single
piece of sky.
There are not hundreds, but what must be thousands of birds! Never have I experienced anything like this before. I stand there with my mouth open and am unable to move. The sound of thousands of wings beating is unreal, and can hardly be appreciated by someone who has never experienced it at close quarters. Unbelievable. I am both amazed and fascinated...
I ran back to the camp full of excitement. The birds had joined their mates and settled in the dead branches in the lake and on the shore and on the branches around our base camp and above our tents. (With all the squawking we hardly slept a wink all night and somehow still managed to enjoy it!)
We accompanied the flock for several more days and so took some of the most impressive photographs of our trip - thanks to Ray.
Manuela Leder, nature photographer
would you like to experience a similar adventure?
Ray will be pleased to help you:
Ray Ackroyd
P.O. Box 44
Bringelly
NSW, 2171 AUSTRALIA
Are you interested in little corellas in
general?
Here you can find all you want to know:
http://www.birdworld.com.au/records/cockatoo/litcor.html
http://www.ingrids-welt.de/reise/aus/htm/voekak.htm
http://home.t-online.de/home/riske-media/nackt.htm
Are you interested in the film about little
corellas mentioned above?
Read more about it: