A Superb Survival
Kinglake National Park
by Jessica Kearney, Sophie Lewis and Mitchell Groenewald
photograph © Sophie Lewis 2017
I
start my journey driving through the outskirts of Melbourne, putting behind me a city that is growing as fast as any metropolis on the planet.
I’m on my way to Kinglake, a town in the national park of the same name just an hour north of Melbourne. I am jolted from the familiar concrete jungle by the vast green out my window as I drive farther from the city.
We have just experienced our warmest winter on record and, notably for Kinglake, our ninth driest. With this in mind, I was acutely aware of the warnings for Victorian homeowners to start preparing immediately for the upcoming bushfire season. What struck me most was how this lush-seeming environment could be so deceptive; how it could become its own worst enemy—winter’s necessary livelihood, but summer’s devastating fuel.
photograph © Jessica Kearney 2017
. . .
I am slowly winding my way up to Mason Falls: the beating heart of Kinglake’s juvenile forest. This area knows change well; over 350 million years ago it was part of a vast sea, and just eight years ago it was reduced to ash.
. . .
video © Jessica Kearney 2017
ason Falls is in symbiosis with the forest, trickling over every facet of an intricate ecosystem. While the park may be dense, it’s easy to hear water tumbling down the 45 metre falls. Beneath the falls, the gush is thunderous, as it force-feeds the valley with rainwater.
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photograph © Sophie Lewis 2017
On the trail guiding towards Mason Falls, the forest appears in a winter slumber.
A call pierces the stillness.
To my surprise, the bard was closer than I could have expected. It is the Superb Lyrebird, whistling its way ahead and fossicking through the damp undergrowth.
photograph © Sophie Lewis 2017
The native bird is in its element, crossing the dedicated Lyrebird Circuit. The short path enters a wet gully that was once Carmen’s Timber Mill, where the birds have been known to make a shy appearance. Although human disturbance has come to encroach on its habitat, the Superb Lyrebird is unfazed by our presence: eyes focused, clawing through the moist
top-soil.
I was still an unknowing audience, questioning why the ground-dwelling bird I had got so close to, had earned the title of ‘superb’. On the surface, the Lyrebird is unique for its distinctive appearance and mimicry, however, if you scratch beneath, you will find an extraordinary tale of survival.
Aside from the Kookaburra, the Superb Lyrebird is arguably—in ornithological circles at least—one of Australia’s most famous birds. There might even be one hiding in your wallet if you have a closer look at the ten-cent coin.
The Lyrebird has faced its fair share of perils throughout its 15 million years on Earth. Naturally, the dazzling tail feathers of the Superb Lyrebird have attracted unwelcome attention.
From the eighteenth century, the once undisturbed bird was hunted for fashion, mostly for ladies’ hats. With colonisation, the Lyrebird was also exposed to an uncharted threat of introduced species. To this day feral cats and foxes are known to prey on their nests. It would be no coincidence if the Superb Lyrebird had earned its title for its adaptability.
Fresh
hen I heard the Lyrebird’s call near Mason Falls, I wondered if it was mimicking another bird. The song didn’t sound that different from a magpie’s. I knew that the Lyrebird was a renowned mimic, famous for its ability to emulate a variety of
sounds—from other birds to the noise of a camera shutter. What I didn’t realise was that Lyrebirds don’t just mimic: they sing for survival.
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The male’s sounds are mainly related to courtship. As sophisticated as a human dancing a waltz, the male lyrebird coordinates a song and dance routine on dirt mounds to attract females to mate. While you may hear the male at other times, they sing and dance intensely for about six weeks over winter to attract fertile females.
The female has a unique ‘whistle song’ she uses during foraging; a combination of whistles, squawks and trills. She vocalises this tune to ward off other unwanted females from her territory and when defending her chicks.
Menura novaehollandiae - male
Menura novaehollandiae - female
. . .
7 February 2009
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km/h. The drive into Kinglake is rarely easy with little space between you and the cliff’s edge: a sheer drop often without barriers. Now as I drive up under 40 km/h, my biggest comfort is that I have the time to take it slow. On that awful day, this was the main route out of town.
Two fires merged in the afternoon, one from Kilmore East and the other from the Murrindindi Mill. They combined into the deadliest blaze out of approximately 400 statewide. The temperature started to drop just before 5.30 pm, and with it came a heartbreaking wind change that transformed a narrow fire front into a wide fire band. Reaching speeds of up to 50 km/h, nearly double the average recommended speed of the town’s main exit road, the fire quickly swept through the Kinglake township and the national park. Of the 173 people who died that day, 120 were from Kinglake. Many lost their lives on this road.
On entry to the Kinglake National Park, a single sign acts as a reminder that 96 per cent of its land was destroyed by that fire. The RSPCA estimates that over one million animals perished. For most of these animals there was simply no way out and surprisingly, despite its wings, the Lyrebird was among them. As a homebody, it rarely flies only travelling within a 10 km radius unless threatened. Inhabiting the hardest-hit area within Australia’s deadliest natural disaster, the Lyrebird survived.
I couldn’t help but wonder how.
he weather that day was extraordinary in the truest sense of the word with a
record-breaking temperature of 46.4 °C, very low humidity and winds of up to 90
ccording to La Trobe University’s Dr Steve Leonard, Lyrebirds were found seeking refuge in wombat burrows as fire swept overhead.
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‘There were also stories about Lyrebirds coming out into open paddocks to escape the fire, to areas that were less likely to burn’.
‘It seems like lots of animals, in landscapes where fire is a common part of the ecosystem, know how to escape fires. They will head down into wet gullies, or into rivers. It makes sense that it is an innate response to not getting burnt’.
The Lyrebird also sought shelter in moist gullies, its most favoured foraging ground. Astoundingly, the gullies remained largely unburnt, thanks to the Lyrebird and their ability to make a firebreak by mulching the forest floor.
photograph © Sophie Lewis 2017
To the untrained eye, the behavior of the Lyrebird might appear like that of a chicken, as they scratch into the leaf litter. A natural forager, the Lyrebird uses its powerful legs and large feet instinctively to move twigs, leaves and other bits of eco-fuel to prey on small bugs and worms. As an indirect result they create areas with very little leaf litter and, therefore, very little fuel for fire.
The Lyrebird instinctively created a safe haven during and after Black Saturday. It was these gullies that became a critical habitat post-fire, forming unburnt patches in a blackened landscape. Here, Lyrebirds managed to find what was left of their food source.
‘Those wet gullies are the core habitat for Lyrebirds—that’s where you’ll mainly find them in the forest’.
'The Lyrebird instinctively created a safe haven during and after Black Saturday.'
‘When we started looking around after the Black Saturday bushfires, we noticed that often the fire had stopped at the margin of those gullies—particularly where there was a lot of Lyrebird activity’, Steve says.
The Lyrebird had survived bushfires in the past, but they had never faced anything as severe as Black Saturday. While Steve admits that some Lyrebirds did perish during Black Saturday, he recognises how remarkable it is that a species unable to flee was not lost.
. . .
s the Lyrebird was recovering post-fire, it kept its head down, hard at work. In its thoughtful way, by searching for its next meal, the Lyrebird was in turn helping its home recover. In its modest way, the Lyrebird is a natural fire warden, indirectly
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protecting wildlife and their environment from bushfire.
By studying the trail left behind by two of Black Saturday’s most intense bushfires, Steve and a team of La Trobe University researchers found that the Lyrebird was responsible for reducing natural litter by approximately 25 per cent. By raking the forest floor in low-fire conditions the Lyrebird can eliminate the potential for fire altogether.
Survivor. Protector. Engineer.
s well as being an unassuming protector of the park, Kinglake National Park Ranger Tony Fitzgerald says the Lyrebird doubles as one of its ‘ecosystem engineers’, reshaping the surface of the forest floor.
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‘When you look at an area that has been worked over by Lyrebirds it is incredible how they encourage the cycle of nutrients— leaves, sticks and rotting logs—and how that gets reabsorbed back into the soil. They really are vital to the forest ecosystem’.
When I stood on the track in Mason Falls watching the Lyrebird for the first time, I had no idea that these words would come to describe the bird.
For many Victorians, including Tony, the Lyrebird is a reminder of nature’s perseverance.
‘For me, I find that all my encounters with Lyrebirds are special. They seem to bob up at the most amazing times’, he says.
‘The deeper I looked, the more I was astounded. Not only at its survival, but how the Lyrebird is part of the forest ecosystem’.
Tony says the Lyrebird is also close to the hearts of Kinglake locals.
‘For the community, it is an iconic animal—you associate that wet Kinglake National forest with the sound of the Lyrebird in the colder times of year. I think it is a really special thing for people who live up here’.
. . .
hile the Lyrebird has an enduring tale of survival, it is now facing its gravest threat to date: climate change.
Climate predictions for this part of the world are indicating that it will only get hotter and dryer with each year. This means that with each coming summer we will not only have a scorching reminder of Black Saturday, but also a yearly fear that things could get much worse.
This year has been one of Victoria’s driest winters and, according to Dr Steve Leonard, a severe fire season is on the horizon.
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'The Lyrebird is one of the species that comes through a fire really well.'
‘The more of those fires we have, the more there will be a direct impact on the Lyrebird and other species being directly killed by the fire, but also changes to habitat’, he says.
However, the Lyrebird has proven it certainly knows how to cope with fire.
‘There have been fires in that part of the forest and there will be again. It is just a part of how they operate. The Lyrebird is one of the species that comes through a fire really well’.
As I worry about what lies ahead, the Lyrebird is diligently working away in Kinglake. It may be mimicking a tune as another bird flies past, or performing an intricate mating dance to attract a partner. Most likely, its long legs are raking the soil, mulching the forest floor.
It’s just going about another day—unknowingly protecting itself and the park, determined to survive.
video © Mitchell Groenewald 2017