17/02/09
Today we are going to Bonorong. It’s an animal park and I have been promised Devils!
It’s not too far away and we drive over there in the early morning sunshine as Trina has to be back for work in the afternoon.
We pay to go in (about $14) and delve into the fantastical marsupial world of Australian fauna. The first creature I notice, is not actually an exhibit, but a strangely friendly local corvid. Looking rather like a scruffy magpie, or a white-splashed crow, it sits on the edge of a feeding bin and talks to us. He cocks his beak as I talk back, then bubbles and burbles at us, then at the lorikeet behind me. He is very talkative, and burbles and trills happily. The song is unlike that of any of the corvids in England. They have harsh cries; this one is more delicate, perky and full of sunshine!
He is sitting next to the open cage of a kookaburra. Mr Kookaburra is not so talkative. I suspect he has only just woken up and is sitting warming his tail feathers in the sun. The wicked, stocky, kingfisher beak is locked in an enigmatic half-smile and he is entirely disproportionate, but completely endearing and his white feathers are gleaming palely in the sun.
Next stop are the wombats; the two of them are in separate enclosures and they are each having a grassy breakfast. The girl is called Pixie, and she is not yet two; when she turns two she will be mature and will have to be set free. They are solitary animals so when they come of age, they choose to go their own separate ways from mum, which is why they become grumpy. They are funny little things, very stocky, squat and powerful, rather like wrestlers. Apparently, they have no feeling in their bottoms, where they have a large pad of cartilage. Their defence mechanism is to run very fast (up to 40kph) into their burrow and stick their bottom out where any predator would only be able to bite and scratch at the impervious bottom. Should the attacker prove too persistent, the wombat will flatten its body as far down as it will go, allow the predator to sneak a paw or head over it, and the wombat will then buck upwards, potentially with sufficient force to crack a skull. It is thought that this may have also developed as a defence against cave-ins, where bracing of legs and pushing up of body would save the animal from being crushed and smothered. Either way, a formidable beast, despite the cute, dropped-koala look.
As we meander through the park, we are followed by a number of local geese. They are fairly small, neat birds, nowhere near as sizeable as a Canada goose, and are a delicate blue-grey, with little black spots on the tip of each wing feather. They have wide yellow nares and black-tipped beaks. They also know very well what is in the rustling ‘roo feed bags we are carrying and follow us nonchalantly around various paddocks, keeping a respectful distance.
Today we are going to Bonorong. It’s an animal park and I have been promised Devils!
It’s not too far away and we drive over there in the early morning sunshine as Trina has to be back for work in the afternoon.
We pay to go in (about $14) and delve into the fantastical marsupial world of Australian fauna. The first creature I notice, is not actually an exhibit, but a strangely friendly local corvid. Looking rather like a scruffy magpie, or a white-splashed crow, it sits on the edge of a feeding bin and talks to us. He cocks his beak as I talk back, then bubbles and burbles at us, then at the lorikeet behind me. He is very talkative, and burbles and trills happily. The song is unlike that of any of the corvids in England. They have harsh cries; this one is more delicate, perky and full of sunshine!
He is sitting next to the open cage of a kookaburra. Mr Kookaburra is not so talkative. I suspect he has only just woken up and is sitting warming his tail feathers in the sun. The wicked, stocky, kingfisher beak is locked in an enigmatic half-smile and he is entirely disproportionate, but completely endearing and his white feathers are gleaming palely in the sun.
Next stop are the wombats; the two of them are in separate enclosures and they are each having a grassy breakfast. The girl is called Pixie, and she is not yet two; when she turns two she will be mature and will have to be set free. They are solitary animals so when they come of age, they choose to go their own separate ways from mum, which is why they become grumpy. They are funny little things, very stocky, squat and powerful, rather like wrestlers. Apparently, they have no feeling in their bottoms, where they have a large pad of cartilage. Their defence mechanism is to run very fast (up to 40kph) into their burrow and stick their bottom out where any predator would only be able to bite and scratch at the impervious bottom. Should the attacker prove too persistent, the wombat will flatten its body as far down as it will go, allow the predator to sneak a paw or head over it, and the wombat will then buck upwards, potentially with sufficient force to crack a skull. It is thought that this may have also developed as a defence against cave-ins, where bracing of legs and pushing up of body would save the animal from being crushed and smothered. Either way, a formidable beast, despite the cute, dropped-koala look.
As we meander through the park, we are followed by a number of local geese. They are fairly small, neat birds, nowhere near as sizeable as a Canada goose, and are a delicate blue-grey, with little black spots on the tip of each wing feather. They have wide yellow nares and black-tipped beaks. They also know very well what is in the rustling ‘roo feed bags we are carrying and follow us nonchalantly around various paddocks, keeping a respectful distance.
The next enclosure we come to houses a strange creature; all green, and partially aquatic…Ah, no, just a keeper, washing out an enclosure. She helpfully points out the real inhabitants: two birds, much like nightjars, who sit, still as twigs on a branch, Tawny Frogmouths. They have flat, owlish faces, bulked out by a ridiculous number of whiskers just above the beak. They blink slowly and half lid their golden eyes, trusting in their plumage to keep then hidden. You would never see these birds in the wild; they are far too well camouflaged. They have fairly dull plumage until you take a closer look and realise that the bark-effect they sport for safety is actually made up of many different mottled patterns over each smart, delicate feather. They are quite beautiful, and very serene.
A yellow-tailed black cockatoo provides an enormous contrast. He and his friend are talkative and friendly, scrambling up against the bars to say hello. Apparently they were both in car accidents which left them too badly damaged to return to the wild. However, they seem to be happy, bouncing about their spacious enclosure, squawking at each other and the visitors and having a good chomp. One of them picks up a slice of sweetcorn delicately in one foot and stands firmly on the other, nibbling the corn off the edge with a humorous but fearsome beak. He mumbles the interesting bits out of each grain, then spits the husk on the ground beneath him. It is rather like watching a faddy child eat the edges of a particularly crumbly cookie or the icing from a slice of cake…
Next we pop over to see the main event, the reason we are here, Tasmanian Devils!
They are unbelievably endearing. After all the bad press and hype they get, they are really rather sweet and quite small. They do have massive jaws, which they can dislocate and gape open to 90 degrees in order to be more effective, but they are carrion-eaters and scavengers, not hunting animals. They have a powerful bite, good jaws and good hearing, but poor eyesight. They are rather like mini marsupial hyaenas in habit, and quite unlike anything else in appearance. They have large paws and stocky legs and bodies. The front legs are longer than the back legs, giving them an odd lolloping gait when they run, so that they bounce through the bush. They are not the fastest of little creatures, so evidently not designed to hunt. They have fairly large ears which shine red when the sun catches the head of one sleepy Devil, up on a log. Each of them has different stripes or splodges or spots of white about his person somewhere, which is how they can be distinguished. Two of these endearing little creatures are called PeeWee and Chomper. They can live up to 6 years old, but tend to get arthritis owing to the disproportionate length of their legs. Mum births around 40 babies, each the size of a grain of rice, of which the three fittest might make it to the pouch and to term.
One of the keepers gets in the pen with them; they are not at all aggressive with her, having been hand reared, though they are slightly snarly and play with each other, snapping and biting at each others heads. This is not intended to damage, merely to greet and/or warn. This illustrates the largest problem facing the Tassie Devils at the moment. There are three threats to this lovely, lively little beast. He is threatened by dogs, which are a menace in the bush, killing many native animals; he is threatened also by cars. When there is roadkill, a Tassie Devil will stop to eat it, and not look for cars, and they don’t always see him…
However, worse than these two is Tasmanian Devil Facial Tumour Disease. Confined only to this species, it is nonetheless quite deadly. Once contracted (through blood or saliva, therefore their ‘greetings’ can be fatal), the disease will leave no mark for around 6 months, then it will become active and cause great tumours to grow all over the poor Devil’s face, often leading to starvation and suffocation. Research is being undertaken to try and keep this poor beleaguered animal from becoming extinct, he is already on the Vulnerable list…
The good thing about being here at this particular time of day is that most of the animals are being cleaned out, so most of them are awake and doing, or at least staring sleepily out of dens, nests and burrows. We wander among the animals. There are many enclosures, but none too small. The koalas are snoozing happily in the shade in their eucalypts, chewing away. A Golden Possum shows nothing but his bottom peeping out of the hole in his tree. There are so many interesting Tassie creatures here: Echidna (nothing like a hedgehog), Quoll (bit like a freckly squirrel), sugar gliders (a bit like bush babies but marsupial; they are grooming at the moment and it is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins!).
In a dusty open paddock there are various ‘roos lying lazily in the sun, looking like a beer advert. One of them is clearly male (forepaws crossed over each other, rear legs stretched right out… All he is missing is a fag and the TV remote…). The other one has a pair of big feet sticking out of her pouch. It doesn’t look entirely comfortable. But she seems unconcerned by the growing joey nestled inside her pocket and comes to slurp ‘roo food out of my hand. She has a dusty tongue and leave muddy slobber on my fingers. But she is rather sweet, at one point grabbing my food-full paw gently in both of hers to keep me still while she licked up the tasty pellets. Soon enough, joey decides mum has had enough fun on her own and he peeps out too. This little velvety mushroom-brown head with peach-soft nose peeps out of mum’s pocket and blinks at me, wide-eyed. He watches mum nibbling and as she bends to eat, he is swung nearly to the dusty ground. He peers towards it and stretches out for a nibble on some scattered pellets. Mum stands up again and he is scooped out of reach. She bends to nibble, joey tries agin. She stands up – he and his laziness are foiled! Still, he’s got his free milk bar in there so he should be fine for a little while yet…
There are other ‘roos in the paddock who come to say hullo when they realise that we are carrying rustling food bags. One of them pops over to say hi and does the paw-grabbing thing again. He has plenty of slobber to share; now I have a muddy, sobbery, chewed mess on my hand…
I’m about to look for somewhere to wash, but am distracted by staring at the evil emus (crazy little orange eyes, and erratic beaks without rhyme or reason; just a hard, fast beak with no brain and a big temper). I give up on the washing idea for the time being and wipe the worst of the crumby slobber off on my trouser leg… Nice.
A paddymelon appears on the path in front. He is like a small wallaby, very soft and dainty grey-brown with black tipped nose, paws, ears and tail.
He is very friendly and I have never been so forcibly and enthusiastically greeted by a creature that didn’t know me before. It was a case of ‘Bounce, bounce, bounce… Oooh! Person! Huuuug!’ It was definitely that way around…
It bounces a lot, barrels into my legs like a small furry balloon and then snuggles up to whatever it can reach. It tucks itself in beneath my knees when I crouch to feed it and peeps its little head up around my arm to gently take food from my hand. It is quite happy to be petted and stroked and clearly actively seeks out human company. It is being bullied by the geese. They are cute, but not when they are jealously pulling out chunks of fluff from his head and back. He seems unconcerned by their attacks (good thick fur!) but I push the goose away carefully with one foot anyway. It does not look happy, and struts off, pride wounded.
We leave the animal park at Bonorong and head back to Hobart via Richmond. There isn’t a great deal in Richmond, except for the oldest bridge in Australia. And a nice little bakery, of course, where we get cheese and bacon rolls and sarsaparilla. I’ve never had sarsaparilla before and can’t decide if I like it or not. It looks and feels like cola, but has no caffeine content and tastes of cream soda, vanilla, licquorice and cloves. It is rather like Oraldine, but nicer, and I think I shall have to try it again to help me make up my mind! Richmond is very pretty, high arches and peaceful water, a few ducks and some stray confetti (which one of the stupider ducks has clearly tried to eat; he has some stuck on his nose). Also in Richmond, besides a very pretty view indeed, there is also a brilliant ‘Lolly shop’ with ice cream and boxes of penny sweets, as well as the obligatory smell and jars up to the ceiling; a shop on the common called ‘Teddies on the Green’, here Trina and I spend a cool few minutes. It is very random, this teddy bear shop, but seems well-enough populated by customers! It is interesting that they still sell golliwogs here Down Under, and also rather nice I think. I’ve always felt that it’s silly to say that they are offensive to black people – after all, I don’t take offence that there is an unspoken assumption that all white females should look as unrealistically slim and buxom as Barbie does!
The afternoon and evening are simple. I chill out for a bit, then go swimming at Trina’s pool for an hour (I prune but enjoy myself immensely, especially once I had made friends with a purple swimming noodle and bobbed happily up and down for a bit being lazy). There is chilli con carne for tea, courtesy of Phil and we watch Eragon at my request. It’s awful. I love the casting, it’s brilliant, I love the animations, they’re brilliant too; the characterisations were true to the storyline. The general main plot, however, has been mangled, mutilated, twisted and tortured, which is a shame as it could (and should) have been so much better on the big screen!
;)
They are unbelievably endearing. After all the bad press and hype they get, they are really rather sweet and quite small. They do have massive jaws, which they can dislocate and gape open to 90 degrees in order to be more effective, but they are carrion-eaters and scavengers, not hunting animals. They have a powerful bite, good jaws and good hearing, but poor eyesight. They are rather like mini marsupial hyaenas in habit, and quite unlike anything else in appearance. They have large paws and stocky legs and bodies. The front legs are longer than the back legs, giving them an odd lolloping gait when they run, so that they bounce through the bush. They are not the fastest of little creatures, so evidently not designed to hunt. They have fairly large ears which shine red when the sun catches the head of one sleepy Devil, up on a log. Each of them has different stripes or splodges or spots of white about his person somewhere, which is how they can be distinguished. Two of these endearing little creatures are called PeeWee and Chomper. They can live up to 6 years old, but tend to get arthritis owing to the disproportionate length of their legs. Mum births around 40 babies, each the size of a grain of rice, of which the three fittest might make it to the pouch and to term.
One of the keepers gets in the pen with them; they are not at all aggressive with her, having been hand reared, though they are slightly snarly and play with each other, snapping and biting at each others heads. This is not intended to damage, merely to greet and/or warn. This illustrates the largest problem facing the Tassie Devils at the moment. There are three threats to this lovely, lively little beast. He is threatened by dogs, which are a menace in the bush, killing many native animals; he is threatened also by cars. When there is roadkill, a Tassie Devil will stop to eat it, and not look for cars, and they don’t always see him…
However, worse than these two is Tasmanian Devil Facial Tumour Disease. Confined only to this species, it is nonetheless quite deadly. Once contracted (through blood or saliva, therefore their ‘greetings’ can be fatal), the disease will leave no mark for around 6 months, then it will become active and cause great tumours to grow all over the poor Devil’s face, often leading to starvation and suffocation. Research is being undertaken to try and keep this poor beleaguered animal from becoming extinct, he is already on the Vulnerable list…
The good thing about being here at this particular time of day is that most of the animals are being cleaned out, so most of them are awake and doing, or at least staring sleepily out of dens, nests and burrows. We wander among the animals. There are many enclosures, but none too small. The koalas are snoozing happily in the shade in their eucalypts, chewing away. A Golden Possum shows nothing but his bottom peeping out of the hole in his tree. There are so many interesting Tassie creatures here: Echidna (nothing like a hedgehog), Quoll (bit like a freckly squirrel), sugar gliders (a bit like bush babies but marsupial; they are grooming at the moment and it is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins!).
In a dusty open paddock there are various ‘roos lying lazily in the sun, looking like a beer advert. One of them is clearly male (forepaws crossed over each other, rear legs stretched right out… All he is missing is a fag and the TV remote…). The other one has a pair of big feet sticking out of her pouch. It doesn’t look entirely comfortable. But she seems unconcerned by the growing joey nestled inside her pocket and comes to slurp ‘roo food out of my hand. She has a dusty tongue and leave muddy slobber on my fingers. But she is rather sweet, at one point grabbing my food-full paw gently in both of hers to keep me still while she licked up the tasty pellets. Soon enough, joey decides mum has had enough fun on her own and he peeps out too. This little velvety mushroom-brown head with peach-soft nose peeps out of mum’s pocket and blinks at me, wide-eyed. He watches mum nibbling and as she bends to eat, he is swung nearly to the dusty ground. He peers towards it and stretches out for a nibble on some scattered pellets. Mum stands up again and he is scooped out of reach. She bends to nibble, joey tries agin. She stands up – he and his laziness are foiled! Still, he’s got his free milk bar in there so he should be fine for a little while yet…
There are other ‘roos in the paddock who come to say hullo when they realise that we are carrying rustling food bags. One of them pops over to say hi and does the paw-grabbing thing again. He has plenty of slobber to share; now I have a muddy, sobbery, chewed mess on my hand…I’m about to look for somewhere to wash, but am distracted by staring at the evil emus (crazy little orange eyes, and erratic beaks without rhyme or reason; just a hard, fast beak with no brain and a big temper). I give up on the washing idea for the time being and wipe the worst of the crumby slobber off on my trouser leg… Nice.
A paddymelon appears on the path in front. He is like a small wallaby, very soft and dainty grey-brown with black tipped nose, paws, ears and tail.
He is very friendly and I have never been so forcibly and enthusiastically greeted by a creature that didn’t know me before. It was a case of ‘Bounce, bounce, bounce… Oooh! Person! Huuuug!’ It was definitely that way around…
It bounces a lot, barrels into my legs like a small furry balloon and then snuggles up to whatever it can reach. It tucks itself in beneath my knees when I crouch to feed it and peeps its little head up around my arm to gently take food from my hand. It is quite happy to be petted and stroked and clearly actively seeks out human company. It is being bullied by the geese. They are cute, but not when they are jealously pulling out chunks of fluff from his head and back. He seems unconcerned by their attacks (good thick fur!) but I push the goose away carefully with one foot anyway. It does not look happy, and struts off, pride wounded.
We leave the animal park at Bonorong and head back to Hobart via Richmond. There isn’t a great deal in Richmond, except for the oldest bridge in Australia. And a nice little bakery, of course, where we get cheese and bacon rolls and sarsaparilla. I’ve never had sarsaparilla before and can’t decide if I like it or not. It looks and feels like cola, but has no caffeine content and tastes of cream soda, vanilla, licquorice and cloves. It is rather like Oraldine, but nicer, and I think I shall have to try it again to help me make up my mind! Richmond is very pretty, high arches and peaceful water, a few ducks and some stray confetti (which one of the stupider ducks has clearly tried to eat; he has some stuck on his nose). Also in Richmond, besides a very pretty view indeed, there is also a brilliant ‘Lolly shop’ with ice cream and boxes of penny sweets, as well as the obligatory smell and jars up to the ceiling; a shop on the common called ‘Teddies on the Green’, here Trina and I spend a cool few minutes. It is very random, this teddy bear shop, but seems well-enough populated by customers! It is interesting that they still sell golliwogs here Down Under, and also rather nice I think. I’ve always felt that it’s silly to say that they are offensive to black people – after all, I don’t take offence that there is an unspoken assumption that all white females should look as unrealistically slim and buxom as Barbie does!
The afternoon and evening are simple. I chill out for a bit, then go swimming at Trina’s pool for an hour (I prune but enjoy myself immensely, especially once I had made friends with a purple swimming noodle and bobbed happily up and down for a bit being lazy). There is chilli con carne for tea, courtesy of Phil and we watch Eragon at my request. It’s awful. I love the casting, it’s brilliant, I love the animations, they’re brilliant too; the characterisations were true to the storyline. The general main plot, however, has been mangled, mutilated, twisted and tortured, which is a shame as it could (and should) have been so much better on the big screen!;)
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