Stories

Home • Australian Animal Toys • Stories • Games • Music


	BUSH MATES 16 delightful stories about true encounters with Australian native animals in Secret Gully. Originally narrated on the ABC radio program 'Australia All Over'. With 8 lovely colour photos from Secret Gully, this little book is a delight for adults and children. Cost (including postage) Aus$14...within Australia Aus$17...outside Australia

To purchase send Bank Cheque (or Australian money order) in Australian Dollars to:

FREE STORY FROM SECRET GULLY
This is one of the stories from a new series which has been written and recorded for the "Australia All Over" programme, hosted by Ian Macnamara on Australian ABC National Radio. Simply save this page and read it at your leisure. A new story is published here regularly.

THE HUNTED
by Peter Leonard Harris
copyright April 1999

The bush in Secret Gully is a friendly sort of bush. But just occasionally you get a glimpse of what is must feel like to be the prey of another creature.

Of course there's plenty of living entities out there that are prepared to eat you alive if you give them half a chance. Take the humble mozzie for instance. I'll never forget the time that I was bitten so badly that I couldn't bend my arm for a week. It happened when I was safely tucked up underneath an old fashioned mozzie net. I say safely because I made sure that I was totally alone. There was not a single mozzie inside the net with me.

It's on occasions like this that you almost enjoy the high pitched, frenzied hum of the mozzies wings, knowing that you are inside and they are outside.

However, during the night I must have rolled around a bit and my elbow touched the netting. Every mosquito for miles around spotted it and came to dinner. There were so many bites I couldn't count them all. There were bites on top of bites all concentrated on the very tip of my elbow. It stayed a disturbing shade of red for weeks and thrashed about uncontrollably at the sound of beating wings.

Of course there are friendly inspections as well. One of my favourite experiences is being checked out by baby praying mantises. On a number of occasions now, I have been the centre of attention for a little band of mantises. Sometimes one of them will be so impressed, they will run off and return with a gang of friends and acquaintances, who all proceeded to inspect you rather thoroughly. In hindsight, and knowing the ferocious tactics of the praying mantis, perhaps they are appraising me for future dissection.

Sometimes I've brought such encounters on myself. Once, out on the Darling river I observed a family of emus in the distance and wondered if I could attract their attention. So I did my old trick of lying on my back and pedalling my legs in the air. I could see that the emu's weren't interested, as they kept on walking. So it was quite a shock to the system to hear a little snort behind me. I swung my head around and found myself staring into the impersonal eyes of three adult emu's who had arrived from the opposite direction. The cold eyes of those massive birds are very intimidating at close quarters, and you pray that they don't suddenly decide to see if you taste any good.

I know that many people have snake stories, but one time I was closely inspected by a massive brown snake. I didn't see anything because I was busy staring through the lens of my digital video camera, filming the cute little echidna puppet I had made to star in some children's stories about Secret Gully. It was only when I suddenly found myself staring straight into the emotionless eyes of the snake at very close range that I realised I was not alone.

However, it was a recent encounter with another amazing creature that made the hairs on the back of my neck tingle just for a brief moment.

I had decided to climb up a steep ridge to inspect the grand old family castle of our massive bird of prey, the wedge tail eagle. A family of eagles have been using this site for many years. From the valley floor you can just make out the nest. It's built right on the edge of the ridge, which is very convenient for landing and taking off. The great birds merely take one small step and they are in an updraught from where they can glide out across the ridges or circle the valley.

I hadn't been up on the ridge since the last bushfire, and a mild season had caused healthy regrowth which had obscured the ancient nesting site. As the eagles were not about for some reason, I started to think that perhaps the old tree had fallen in the fire. So it was a good excuse to take some exercise.

I love the high ridges. At various places you can climb out onto an exposed granite rock and sit quietly, staring out at the great void of the world below. With a cool updraught of air fanning your cheeks, you can get a small glimpse of what the great eagles must feel as they slowly spiral up to the timeless zones a thousand metres or more above the earth.

Anyway, this particular morning was turning out to be rather warm, and I found myself stopping more frequently to rest. Of course I pretended I was stopping just to inspect a flower or a spiderweb, or the back of my head for ticks.

And to add to the complexity of my task, I couldn't find the eagles nest anywhere. I was sure that I was in the right area but was starting to fear that the tree had really perished in the fire. Eventually I found myself leaning on a convenient tree trunk, surveying the surrounding forest and figuring that I would need to be more systematic in my search. Suddenly my attention was drawn downwards as a large horsefly circled my leg, obviously intending to take it off at the knee.

I despatched the fly, watched him fall to the ground and noticed there was other debris around...old bones, the odd feather, twigs and droppings. A rush of excitement pulled me to attention and I looked up, and there it was. High above me, in a large cleft of the tree was the great platform, the ancient nesting site, home and butchery of our most massive bird of prey, the wedge tailed eagle.

In the midst of my pleasure a tiny voice spluttered to life inside me. A primal sort of voice - an instinctive red light of some sort that had laid buried deep in my psyche, probably unused since the last time I tried to change lanes on the Harbour Bridge in peak hour traffic.

The silence, what did it mean. All my senses started to hum into activity. There was nothing obvious. I automatically checked for snakes, wasps, spiders, falling trees, escaped tigers. Nothing. Just the silence.

And then I looked behind me and knew what it was. Only a few short paces away, sitting regally on a low branch of a tree was the largest, most handsome wedge tailed eagle I had ever seen. He calmly looked me over, his great talons and massive beak glowing in the morning light.

And I knew that had I been a rabbit, or a wallaby or a python, I would have been dead. The prickles on the back of my neck told me that I shouldn't relax just yet. It was obvious that I was being appraised. But perhaps I was just too out of condition and sweaty to look completely edible.

We stared at each other for a moment. He obviously knew me. From up here he had probably watched my every move for years. I slowly ran my eyes over this wonderful creature, taking in the beautiful feathers, the strength and the bright eyes.

And then the interview was over and I was dismissed. The eagle gracefully tipped forward and in one long silent glide disappeared through the trees. I hung around for a little while, savouring the experience and giddily looking upwards to the castle ramparts above.

On my way back down the ridge I thought about the little wallabies in the valley, remembering how alert they always are. Listening, looking and sniffing between mouthfuls of grass. And I realised that I had just had a glimpse of what it must feel like to be hunted.