The Cuckoo's Nest: One Day in Late Spring: Coodanup

Summer is almost here and with the warmer weather come the hoards of holidaymakers and itinerants. They flock to popular local tourist destinations: Perth's pristine beaches, the idyllic Rottnest Island, the scenic estuaries of Mandurah and the ephemeral lakes that run adjacent to the coast. They soak up the sunshine and partake in local culinary delights with an insatiable appetite. They enjoy a spot of fishing and are often seen relaxing and socialising with other like-minded visitors.

Of course, I'm referring to the waders that "summer" around Perth. And their time here is a bit more desperate than I've made it out to be. These birds have just journeyed up to 11,000 kilometres. Many perish along the way. The stopovers have become more and more treacherous as traditional feeding grounds disappear due to development and degradation. The birds arrive depleted; they've lost up to two thirds of their body weight and, in this fragile state, the slightest shock can give them heart failure. Their time here is spent restocking their energy levels to make the long return journey.

It's hard to believe that small birds like Red-necked Stints from Siberia are capable of flying such distances and it's little wonder other theories were offered in the place of migration. In his lecture at the University of Houston, classicist Richard Armstrong discussed Aristotle's belief that hibernation and transmutation (which sounds like a class at Hogwarts) explained the disappearance of birds in the winter months. Aristotle asserted, for example, that Redstarts miraculously transformed into Robins and that Swallows hibernated in holes in the ground. These ideas were considered facts for centuries and by the late 1800s, almost two hundred papers had been written on the peculiarities of Swallow hibernation. We understand more about the natural phenomenon of migration now but there's still much to learn.

I decided to head down to Mandurah on Sunday afternoon to search for some of the waders to add to my "life list." It was the first hot day of the season with the mercury reaching 37 degrees. The tide was out at Nairns and scattered across the mudflats were couples and trios dragging their buckets and carrying their crab nets. Further off, boats sped through the deeper channels of the inlet. Ospreys flew overhead and a small pod of Pelicans preened in the distance. At the water's edge were a few groups of waders. Most notable were the Red Knots, Great Knots, Grey Plovers and, of course, the Red-necked Stints. The Stints were bathing and feeding in small pools alongside Red-capped Plovers. They looked quite refreshed and spritely, unlike the Knots who were more subdued and intent on feeding, having, no doubt, just flown in.

Before heading to Coodanup Reserve, I did some wading myself over to Creery Island. The water was knee-deep so it didn't pose much of a challenge. The island held onto many of it's secrets under the beating sun. I followed a Common Greenshank around the waterline who ensured I maintained a respectful distance. My camera began to heat up so I paused whenever I found patches of shade, and during one of these moments, a Buff-banded Rail trotted out of the low scrub to the water line. When it saw me, it froze, turned, froze again and then returned quickly into scrub. Splendid Fairy-wrens and Ospreys complained at my presence. Eventually, I lost sight of the Greenshank as it faded into the horizon and turned back to the mainland.

The tidal flats were sublime as the sun sank away and they provided great views of the waders. As I watched these unassuming holidaymakers, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at how far they'd come and how lucky we are that they choose our place each year. Maybe these migrations are just as miraculous as Aristotle's alternate theories.