BACK TO NATURE - Let’s talk about the weather

by Jamie Walker

Episodes of extreme weather, sometimes with catastrophic consequences, have become so commonplace that views expressing disbelief in climate change, seem counterintuitive to most of us. And in Australia – the land of fire and flood – the change piles new extremes on top of the ones already embedded in our climate.

Drought possesses an insidious power that damages deeply, in spite of its non-violent nature. Eight years ago, inland cattle country was stricken this way and stock starved in a desiccated landscape. 

Birders on the coast reported sightings of “drought refugees” from the outback – birds like Red-capped Robins and Red-backed Kingfishers. I found a Black-faced Woodswallow in a Mooloola Environmental Reserve and White-winged Trillers at Baroon Dam.

That drought was smashed by heavy rains associated with Cyclone Debbie (March 2017) – an event which enforced a deeper thinking throughout Queensland, as starving cattle (in places often merely on the edge of this violent system) then chilled to death or drowned in floods.

The less dramatic windy wet of the New Year which prevails as I write this, has still produced some unusual occurrences.

In December, on a day of chilly drizzle blown about by strong onshore wind, I visited Godwin Beach with my ‘scope to search for shorebirds. There were none. The wind in my face was like the slap of a wet towel, the tideline white with foam, the beach desolate.

So, perhaps epitomising the madness of birders, I moved to Kakadu Beach Shorebird Sanctuary, where there are hides giving drafty shelter and a little comfort. I did not see another soul.

As the tide rose, the waders began to arrive. Soon the beach roost became a crowd of jostling Curlews, Godwits, Knots, Sandpipers and Lesser Sand Plovers.

When it looked as though all available space was filled, two Common Terns alighted on the sandy shoreline nearest to me. They were immediately joined by two more very pale, smaller birds of the same family. These were Black-naped Terns, birds normally associated with tropical waters to the north. The furthest south we may see them is North Stradbroke Island (where they are very rare).

The four birds in front of me had found a foul weather refuge in Pumicestone Passage. It was my good luck (plus that madness) that put me in the same place at the same time.

“Drought refugees” and “storm refugees”: we enjoy these special sightings. Yet the climate conditions that produce them are having a more frequent and uncomfortably harsh impact on both the natural world, and the world we wish to make for ourselves.

There is no doubt; we have a problem on our hands.