In the big Albizia tree outside the kitchen door. Two beautiful Southern Banded Snake Eagles calling loud and animated. Roberts says, ‘Highly vocal, a loud, crowing kok-kok-kok-kwaaa-a-ak, usually at dawn.’ They were also clicking their bills.
I’m drinking my first coffee, I rush to fetch my binocs and get a good look at both, close-up, right above me. The camera! Fetch the lil Canon, but they’re gone.
Luckily they’re really worked up so I can still find them by their calls. One in a neighbour’s tree, one in the big Albizia off our front stoep/deck. Closer, but more hidden in the leaves.
Uncommon to rare resident. Status: Critically Endangered. In South Africa, estimated 25-35 pairs, with ca.20 pairs in St Lucia region, KwaZulu-Natal. That’s just north of where we are, in Umlalazi Nature Reserve.
Wish I’d been sharper, with my photography and in remembering to record their calls! Note to self: Have first cup of coffee earlier.
Twice I heard it coming from the forest in front of my deck. A deep rough short growl. Some sort of animal. Maybe bushbuck can growl too, not just bark? I thought.
Both times a pedestrian was walking past at the time, so maybe it was humans weirdly clearing their throats? Dunno. Mystery noise.
Later around sunset, sipping red wine and scanning around with my binocs I spotted a Palm-nut Vulture right on top of a tall Douglas Fir. Yay! I love it when birds sit still. Time to show off my little camera’s zoom.
The Palm-nut Vulture Gypohierax angolensis is a real Mtunzini special and I hadn’t seen one yet in the seven weeks we’ve been here.
Reading about it on my Roberts Bird Guide app, I suddenly realised that strange call I’d heard this afternoon may have been the vulture! They say, “Call:Deep grah, ahrrrrr call, also grog-grog-grog notes,” so probably.
Told Jess about the bird, showed her the pics and described it’s call. Bladdy terrible child said: Ah, like you when you’re clearing your throat.
No supper for her. Oh wait, she’s cooking tonight . .
Vacation; Holiday; Spans of sea and sand and sun, and fish in the aquarium; That’s a lekker place; For a hol.i.day!
Us Vrystaters went to Durban once on a lekker-by-die-see holiday. Back in the sixties. Oldest sister Barbara got stung by a bluebottle.
Over the years Mom has related the tale often about how the dreaded blue ‘Portuguese Man O’ War’ stung her poor child.
But today it was worse! Things took a more dramatic turn! She told the familiar tale again, and then got to the part where poor Barbara was ‘attacked by the Spanish Armada.’
Forty years ago on my River Drive stoep in Westville, a Narina Trogon landed on just the right branch on the tree straight in front of me.
Same thing again this morning in Mtunzini.
Lovely.
~~oo0oo~~
Today I was happy to spot a Lesser Honeyguide and a Golden-tailed Woodpecker in that tree. And again. And again.
Then I realised it was a mother and daughter! The Woodpecker was feeding the Honeyguide.
Roberts says the Scaly-throated usually parasitises the Golden-tailed Woodpecker, so that’s probably what it was: A juvenile Scaly-throated. I’ve been hearing both Honeyguides, but more of the Scaly-throated.
~~oo0oo~~
Latest is a pair of Grey Waxbills. Hoping to see their nuptial dance!
– I just got a peek of her scarlet bloomers –
A couple weeks later I got a few blurry shots of a Trogon pair against the harsh light. My lovely little compact zoom Canon sx740hs is not good at focusing where I want it to. My photography got one admiring comment from an envious deskundige, who chirped, “Looks like one of my favorite branches that. I like the way it keeps the bird modest and doesn’t allow full frontal exposure.”
When the male did pose full-frontal, my modest lil Canon decided to focus on a tree trunk, left-edge!
After two years and nine months of sad stoeplessness, order has at last been restored. I have a stoep, a LaZboy, my coffee and my binoculars in place again as they should be.
Aaah
~~oo0oo~~
stoep – porch, patio, deck, veranda
And: My coffee got an upgrade – and a Narina Trogon is hooting as I sip n scribble.
And now a Bronze Caco is going creep and a Bush Squeaker is going sweep. Paradise.
And now even guest beds! OK, now it’s getting a bit worrying ..
Nearly three weeks on my stoep and here’s the birdlist:
Down on the South Coast the trains no longer run. Transnet Spoorweg and Railways Pty Very Limited managed to neglect the tracks, bridges and overhead cables to the point where they got varktap beyond all repair – fully FUBAR. This put a million trucks on the highways and started wrecking the roads and bridges nicely. One pleasant little side-effect if you live near the tracks is peace n quiet.
Rail Track overgrownRoad Bridge varktap
Now up here on the North Coast there are also a million trucks on the road but the railroad track that runs – close by but unseen – in the forest in front of our wooden cottage on stilts does still run about twice a day.
And I’m no trainspotter*, but it is my uninformed opinion that neglect of the track and the rolling stock is happening right in front of our ears. Cos the trains make an almighty racket going past. Like Rolling Thunder! And it’s not the diesel locomotives making the din. It’s metallic Track n Truck noise IMO. Like Naas’ Truck n Trailer. You have to listen carefully to even hear that there’s a diesel belching smoke to provide the locomotion. The locomotion. C’mon baby, DO the locomotion with me.
So I’m just giving advance warning that before long there may be peace and quiet here too.
~~oo0oo~~
Top pic taken from our deck shows the track about 50m straight ahead. Somewhere there.
Locomotives like this one pass by invisibly:
~~oo0oo~~
* ain’t no doubt about that. Seven weeks later the trains seem much quieter and less cacophonous, less metal banging. Can it be they’ve done something? Over xmas/new year!? More likely I was just not used to having rolling stock thunder past so closeby.
the line passes our cottage about on that horizon
varktap – colourful way of saying ‘damaged;’ or, ‘not in a good way;’ see FUBAR
Mtunzini, Zululand, KZN North Coast. A new chapter begins after eighteen months in the metropolis of Mtwalume, KZN South Coast.
We’ve had a very friendly welcome, a common refrain being, ‘Watch, Now You’re Here You’ll Never Leave.’
Also my landlord must have spoken to Brooose, my previous landlord. He said, Now that I’ve met you I’ll send a gardener once a week to mow the lawn, as I can see it’s not your thing. How else could he have worked that secret out?
Jess was surprised that unfurnished meant zero furniture, but I said, ‘We Have Plenty Jess’ and unpacked our fine aluminium folding camping table, two comfortable camping chairs and the mattress from the camper. Manie took a good look at that and offered to return the furniture he’d just schlepped off to store in his garden cottage after his last tenant left. Another bonus! These are kind people.
Meantime Willie had almost beaten us back home to deliver the fridge and microwave from his second-hand store.
In Feb I spotted at last what I’d been hearing regularly from my stoep – A Yellow-streaked Greenbul, coastal forest special.
It’s the annual Westville fair and the Chinese crafts are on full display. Tom has wheedled some extra pocket money and has made a fine investment: A BB Gun. Plastic pellets. ‘But a much better one than the last one Dad, this one’s metal.’ The plastic gun had lasted one day.
Right TomTom, you know that a gun is ONLY for shooting at a target, right? ‘Yes, Dad.‘ You set up a target, put your eye protection goggles on and make sure no-one’s in harm’s way, right? ‘Yes, Dad.‘
Pring pring. This is your neighbour the lawyer speaking. Do you know YOUR SON is shooting at MY DOGS?
Well no, actually, I didn’t know that. I’ll be right over.
The boys are nowhere in sight so I call them – Tom and a neighbour friend – and present them to the neighbours: the lawyer, the businesswoman wife and the adult son. I get an immediate confession and an apology from the boys, and they repeat their apology directly to the man. So I dismiss them. Off you go now.
Is that the end of it? No. Bitch Kvetch, Blah Blah, Blah bloody blah . . Well, I say with a smile, Boys will be Boys. Well, I never did anything like that, he says. Well, I certainly did, I say, and with all due respect your dogs DO bark incessantly and are extremely annoying, and the little plastic pellets didn’t actually hit them. Never mind the fact that there are a few too many of them. Still smiling. Three dogs maximum allowed in Westville and the lawyer has seven!
Well, says the vrou: THESE KIDS play outside the gates and the blacks walk past and make the dogs bark.
Mistake.
Firstly, I say with a much broader smile creasing my dial, chest out and going red in the face, These actually aren’t “the blacks.” They’re my son and OUR NEIGHBOURS, and they’re walking HOME. They live here; Secondly,these kids have every right to play in the street and on the pavements. I’m still grinning, trying to keep it light. You need your neighbours, if possible.
Ooh, he says, We’re not racist, when I go to the townships the dogs there bark at me cos I’m white. Kak cover-up, but nice to see you batting for the old bat. She herself makes no attempt to explain her “the blacks.” She’s the tough one here.
I repeat, Let’s just understand very clearly that these kids have every right to play RIGHT in front of your gates. Up to one millimetre from your gate. And YOUR responsibility is to keep your dogs in your yard and not let them run out and menace the kids. One of the girls is absolutely terrified of dogs. And her Dad happens to be a Metro cop and I will join forces with him in seeing to it that you are held responsible if your dogs do ANYTHING to my kids or the neighbourhood kids when out of your yard! . . smiles sweetly . .
Bloody hell! Well, according to the law I have the right . . . I am not a lawyer but I’ll tell you right now your dogs should not be out of your yard. Period. I get the kids off the streets as often as I can, they play at our place most days, so let’s just work together, okay? And anyway, nice weather if it doesn’t rain, and thanks very much for calling me and I apologise again for the plastic pinging of your puppies and let’s be adult about all this as we’re stuck with each other as neighbours. Kay?
Big smile hopefully covers up my eff you thoughts and we withdraw.
We still wave at each other. Him. She doesn’t.
~~oo0oo~~
Later: I was telling friend Stephen in Aussie about the seven barking dogs on my one side and the two barking dogs on my other side: White alsatians bought by non-dog people cos ONCE an intruder jumped over their low fence.
He said: As you probably know, one thing about not living in SA is that mysteriously the dogs do not bark. Except our neighbour’s when there are tradies (workmen) around. But he can only keep it up for about one and a half minutes. A very old labrador. Our other neighbour gets irritated on the rare occasion that the dog barks. So he sits out on the deck and shouts “shuddup.” Then the dog barks more.
Then she thinks it’s me shouting. And when I try to have a chat to her about this, she disappears. I will have to collar her sometime. Or as they say here, “bail her up.”
~~oo0oo~~
This evening I had curry and an ice cold beer on my new stoep with my children, checking out the birds; especially the black flycatchers with their two fledglings; the parents all black, the babies black with lotsa russet scallops and streaks – their gapes still yellowish. Then a kingfisher with a cricket in his beak, followed a big praying mantis – lots of protein. Complete peaceful silence. Not a sound. No shouting, no barking.
Hey! No barking! The dogs are actually quiet for a change.
Tommy had a lovely fun collection of model trains. Mom Aitch and I started the trend, then his rolling stock fleet was given a boost when Val & Pete Excell brought him a Thomas the Tank Engine from England.
Trains were a thing. He went on a few train rides, one for his fourth birthday party:
Then all of a sudden he was grown and the trains gathered dust. He agreed it would be best if other children could play with them, so off they went:
. . and today, a Lesser Honeyguide in the Milkwood tree! An Indicator minor in a Mimusops afra
– the banded mongoose gang visit regularly –
Mrs Pretty Mpisane who works at the cottage next door came in for a whirlwind day of cleaning. She gave orders, and we cleared rooms ahead of her. Much sweeping, and mopping and wiping down.
The day after, this tiny little mushroom popped up in the freshly-cleaned bathroom! About 10mm diameter cap.
And last thing before we left: Jess had a birthday and her friends Lwazi and Sandi treated her to roses.
Twenty years on, we’re here again. Me and Jess. Thanks to her, we have actually booked ahead and are staying in a comfortable chalet at Kosi Bay Lodge. She loves it, there’s DSTV and good phone signal. Also a restaurant that makes great food. Really tasty grub. Oh, and some nature outside. You go, Dad.
It’s too windy for boat trips on the lakes, so I walk the grounds and drive around the area – Ezemvelo’s Kosi Bay camp. Utshwayelo Kosi Mouth Lodge – while Jess just chills. Good birding, including one I seldom see, an Eastern Nicator. My pictures were just shadowy blobs, so here’s one from a good camera:
Note: All the camps are quite far from the beaches, and as the only one that is actually on the lakeshore, Ezemvelo’s Kosi Bay Camp is, for my money, by far the best option.
~~oo0oo~~
Last we were here we camped at the Ezemvelo Camp, and Jess was young enough to enjoy the swing I rigged up using an umbrella pole and tie-down straps.
Out on the lakes in 2003 – Greg Bennett loaned us his rubber dinghy and Yamaha.
Oops! Sorry Daddy! Huh? I started awake. What, Jess? I cut one part way too short. Oh, doesn’t matter, love. Were you sleeping? I did nod off. Sorry Dad. Really love, I’m just happy you’re giving me a haircut. You can see how relaxed I am.
After: Jess you’d better sweep up here, my girl. It looks like an eagle caught a goat and pecked out all its fur on the stoep.
(*hoses herself* *fetches broom*) Okay Daddy. Can I have a picture of your haircut for my profile?
Us agronomists have lots of planning to do. There’s the preparing the soil, planting the seed and watering the crop and other stuff I know very little about. But I’ve heard about it.
Sometimes though, you can sit in a chair on your stoep and watch a plant growing in a flowerpot and idly wonder what it is. A tomato plant! Hey, look at that. I immediately claimed credit and started planning what to with the harvest once the leaves had done their bit, then the flowers bloomed and now for the harvest! The word ‘bumper’ came to mind. Harvests are often bumper.
I decided I’d share generously.
– had to tell Terry the green thing wasn’t a finger –
Maybe I’ll buy a few pockets of onions and make a bredie?
~~oo0oo~~
My pic of the stoep, chair and flowerpot was neatly photobombed by a box kite spider!
stoep – porch
bredie – cooked tomato and onion mix; mine usually found in a can
A special sighting in the garden in Mtwalume! A male Black-throated Wattle-eye some 80km south of where he’s usually to be found. Durban is where I last saw him, in the Beachwood mangroves.
Roberts says: In southern Africa, along the eastern littoral from southern Mozambique as far south as Durban, KwaZulu-Natal, with isolated records from E Cape as far south as Gonubie. Near-threatened in S Africa, where evidence for population decreases due to eg habitat destruction.
Plenty of habitat destruction along the south coast I’m afraid.
As usual, me and my camera were too slow. Moving targets ‘are not us,’ but I got one good view in my binocs and one saturation view, clearly seeing his red eye wattle.
I’ll watch out for him now, camera in hand.
– pics from Roberts and Newmans bird apps –
He was still there the next day, but too quick for me and my camera.
T.C. Robertson Nature Reserve is situated on the right bank of the Mpambanyoni River close to its mouth into the sparkling Indian Ocean. Part of Scottburgh townlands, it is about 60ha in extent. Established in 1989 and named after should-be-more-famous South African author, ecologist and soil and grassland conservationist Dr. Thomas Chalmers Robertson.
TC Robertson (15 September 1907 – 11 January 1989) was an extraordinarily gifted man – accomplished journalist, gifted raconteur, ardent naturalist from boyhood, war correspondent, and Jan Smuts’s anti-Nazi propagandist during World War II. His most significant work lay in his lifelong mission to save southern Africa’s soil and grasses, and for this he sacrificed any ideas of personal ambition.
TC was widely known during his lifetime as South Africa’s doyen of soil conservation and was regarded by many, including some of the best brains in the world, as a genius. Yet many South Africans today know little or nothing about him. This is partly because he was little concerned with self-promotion and put off writing his autobiography despite many requests to do so. He wrote insatiably, but not about himself. His passion was the land. He was driven by three things: his mission to save the soil, his insatiable quest for knowledge, and his equally insatiable hedonism.
He was of the intrepid, cavaliering stuff of which romantic heroes are made, a born musketeer, and a man with an enormous capacity for friendship. Outspoken, witty and able to hold an audience in the palm of his hand, he was immensely private when it came to his deepest feelings, sorrows, fears and any inadequacies he might have felt; his passion, his total commitment, was for his mission: saving the soil, conserving the land.
No public monument of bronze or stone commemorates his achievements. His epitaph is written in the soil of southern Africa, whispered by the grasses and leaves, murmured by the streams, and engraved indelibly on the hearts of all who knew him; plus in a small evergreen sanctuary on the banks of a subtropical river estuary on the south coast of KwaZulu Natal. Among the great men our country has produced, he was truly one of the greatest.
Paraphrased from author Shirley Bell – who wrote his biography, The Happy Warrior: The Story of TC Robertson 2005 ISBN978-0-620-33255-2
Birds seen on a short visit today 08:30 to 10:30 – Sunbirds, Amethyst, Collared, Olive; Weavers, Eastern Golden, Spectacled, Dark-backed; Mannikins, Bronze, Red-backed; Square-tailed Drongo; Flycatchers, Black, Dusky; Grey Waxbill; Lesser Honeyguide; Barbets, White-eared, Black-collared; Yellow-rumped Tinkerbird; Yellow-bellied Greenbul; Dark-capped Bulbul; Yellow-eyed Canary; Cape White-Eye; Hadeda; Geese, Egyptian, Spur-wing; Blacksmith Lapwing; Hamerkop; Little Egret; Black Sawwing; Black-bellied Starling; Red-capped Robin-Chat; Purple-crested Turaco; Grey-headed Sparrow; Doves, Red-eyed, Tambourine; Speckled Mousebird; Darter; Cape Wagtail; Heard: African Firefinch; Fish Eagle; Natal Spurfowl.
We ‘all want to preserve nature,’ right? I was the only person there those two hours on a perfect Sunday morning! Even Jess declined, ‘There’s TV to watch, Dad!’ Damn!
One bakkie did drive in and out. The manager, who stopped for a chat. He seems enthusiastic about changes he has brought in the five months he has run the show. Low attendance is a challenge. Next Sunday there’s a flea market, 37 stalls booked.
Look for a slight decline in the EFF’s results in the polls.
Driving south on the N2 a coupla days ago, I had a red bakkie right on my tail. Its nostrils were probly touching my exhaust pipe. Soon as I could, I moved over and it roared past, big hurry. It was an EFF election bakkie, only two weeks left, lots to do.
– like this – saw this one on election day –
A couple of k’s later, hundreds of posters lined the roadside. About a mile of red n yellow EFF election posters won’t be adorning poles on the KZN South Coast this week. They’re Scatterlings of Africa.
– oops –
I think youthful exuberance got the best of the two young guys in the bakkie. Let’s See How Fast This Thing Can Go! Move Over You Old Goat! WHEEE!!
I’m imagining them getting to Izingolweni and the main Mama of the EFF branch yelling, ‘Wadda you mean you don’t know where our posters are!?’
