Ornithology is not a subject that was close to my heart in Ireland. I’m sure that are beautiful birds there but to me they all looked the same. Well OK, I can tell the difference between a swan and a robin redbreast but most of the ones in between just look like small brown or black things with angry faces.
Victoria on the other hand has every variety under the sun and a few more besides that shirk God’s rays and only come out in the twilight hours.
Pigeons seem to be the dominant species, in the City at least. Many people consider them to be rats with wings, but rats wouldn’t be so cheeky or oblivious to the public around them. They thrive on Burke Street where the rubbish of a million shoppers provides ample nourishment.
As I waited for a tram yesterday on the corner of Burke and Swanston, I spotted a clever member of the pigeon population who had realised that a bounty awaited him within the groove of the tram tracks. He swooped from a great height and made for a tasty morsel trapped in the rails. He stood astride the metal bar and poked to his heart’s content, seemingly unaware that he was placing himself directly in the path of the wheel of the oncoming tram.
A small group of us assembled to see if he would be crushed. It was a morbid gathering it must be said but none of us seemed the least bit concerned at the imminent prospect of feathers and blood adorning the footpath. Perhaps like me, they had lost sympathy for our grey feathered friends and were equally curious as to why none of these birds ever seem to come to harm, despite hurtling themselves between tramlines, buses and the swaying bags of inconsiderate back-packers.
Down the street the 96 tram trundled and we waited to see if the pigeon would notice. He seemed oblivious to the imminent danger and pointed his backside defiantly to the on-coming vehicle. He pecked on as the tram grew ever closer, its wheels creaking along the metal groove. The tram driver rang his bell and for a moment the world stood still.
I wondered would the street miss one pigeon. They seemed to have so many after all. They love the fast food restaurants and sandwich shops that service the City centre. Most of these shops leave their doors open in summer, in order to tempt the passing public with the aroma of fresh bread or fried chicken.
Unfortunately, it also tempts the birds. The little sparrows attack anything on the ground, while the pigeons take on the tables and benches. Last week, I passed KFC where inside 12 pigeons were gathered round an abandoned tray of nuggets and chips like the apostles at the last supper and were busy tucking in while the staff and customers went about their business as though the birds weren’t there.
I wouldn’t call myself squeamish but it strikes me as odd that a City that prides itself on cleanliness in the area of parklands and street cleaning should be so lax when it comes to feral birds.
A little bit outside the city centre, the sea-gulls reign. Melbourne is a maritime city, but it’s strange how far inland they roam. Their favorite venue appears to be the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Maybe they’re there all the time but you only really notice them when a match is on TV.
They drift in one by one and gather on the pitch oblivious to the 36 players on the field and the 70,000 watching in the stands. I don’t know if they are there for the worms or whether they are like the rest of Melbourne and are just mad about the Footy.
The players seem immune to their presence in fairness and there seems to be an unspoken rule to avoid the part of the pitch occupied by the birds. The Argentinean soccer team that played there last October hadn’t been let in on this secret. They thought they had stumbled onto the set of a Hitchcock remake. Messi was so traumatised he hasn’t played for Barcelona since.
A little further out in the parklands that run alongside the Yarra River, the bats are king. Bats get a bad rap in mythology. Dracula, vampires and being extras in every horror movie since Nosferatu.
But when you see one up close, you can see that this reputation is entirely justified. It’s hard to imagine that there is an uglier animal in existence, although the Manchester United team of 1999 would give them a good run for their money.
To their credit, bats seem to be social creatures. They congregate in their thousands among the tall gum trees that garland the riverbank. They hang upside down and cry out to each other in blood curdling shrieks until the riverside becomes a cathedral of noise and faintly unpleasant smells.
Then at twilight they drop from their lofty perches and glide down the valley. The slow swish of their massive wings sounds like an armada of attack helicopters and the sky darkens as they depart on mass, in search of bloody prey and the opportunity to scare young children.
Watching them I found was the perfect way to spend St Valentines Day!
There are of course beautiful birds here too. Gayly colored parrots are common; their red and green feathers offer a welcome distraction from the parched earth of a Victorian summer. Galah’s live in the suburbs because farmers hate them. Their pink and grey plumage brightens the suburban sky and the bright brush on their heads gives them the majestic look of an Indian Maharaja.
I guess Australia has the advantage of having had a full complement of beautiful native birds before the white man got here and has added several hundred species of European birds in the meantime.
That’s the only explanation I can come to for why there are so many birds here. Or perhaps they are just indestructible. You regularly read about people being hit by trams but you never see dead birds in the street.
Our hungry friend confirmed that yesterday. The tram was about 10cm from his exposed behind when he flew off without as much as a backward glance. Maybe it’s peripheral vision or motion sensitivity that keeps them safe. Or perhaps they’ve sold their souls to the satanic rats in return for immortality.
The clocks went back this weekend and winter is approaching. I can hear the bats as I write. Perhaps the latter option is not so fanciful.
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