Of all the birds I see the one that seems to allow me to get the closest on a regular basis is the Grey Fantail (Rhipidura albiscapa preissi). Whether it was due to the slightly later start this morning or not, a variety of small birds were busily hopping about in the bushes but moved away as I approached. The Grey Fantail however stuck close to me in an inquisitive manner. It is a insectivorous bird and likes to catch its meals on the wing, so was taking advantage of the insects I disturbed as I brushed past the vegetation. :
The Grey Fantail has learnt that where there are people there is likely to be an easily picked meal. To the point that when they spot us, they will fly to a handy perch near where we are and if required fly very close to us in order to get a fed. There are five subpopulations of this bird in southern Australia, and each of these subspecies shows the same characteristics and lack of fear of humans. On a less joyous note the fantail in Māori mythology, being a different species that is found in New Zealand, is said to indicate the presence of death:
Heading down to the coast away from the scrub that covers the hills, I left the birds behind. Their chattering replaced by the crashing of the waves, as I took my usual path to get to Lost Buttress. This takes me rock hopping along the edge of the coast at the same level as the ocean, and being high tide with a four meter swell several sections I normally take were awash. Sometimes careful timing allowed me to pass, and other times it was just too dodgy to try and scoot across the wet boulders in-between the sets of waves:
Being a little more cautious today because I was going solo, plus having no phone service along this stretch of the coast meant I really didn’t want to risk a fall. While the waves were impressive to watch, and watch them I did so as not to get caught out, all the signs were about of the recent six meter swells. And I am sure I wouldn’t have even considered this approach if it was that high today. In contrast to Friday when it was blowing a hooley, and yesterday when it seemed to drizzle for much of the day, today was bliss:
I’d risked the drizzle yesterday and headed out for a wander, managing to avoid most of the rain. But like Friday I didn’t spot anything of interest and there seemed to be very little out and about. Today however the birds were out in force early on, small skinks were bathing themselves in the sun, insects were buzzing and hopping about, and on top of the crag I found heaps of small jumping spiders. There were so many of them, and as I watched them they seemed to be playing chasee with each other more than hunting for food:
These ones were different to the species I spotted a few weeks back at Bobs Hollow: https://sandbagged.blog/2023/07/08/window-of-opportunity/. The size, colouration, and patterning, including the pale cross on the top of the head, indicate that the one I photographed is a juvenile Bronze Rockhopper (Euophyrine). Referenced as being undescribed meaning it has not yet been formally described and named. After each climb I sat there watching the spiders madly hopping about, and now wish I had checked if there was more than one species:
After two laps of each of my chosen six climbs, and more jumping spiders than I care to count, my body was telling me that I had done enough for today. But as I move pretty quickly when I’m out by myself, there was time sit back, watch the waves, and have a bite to eat before packing up. For the return trip I opted for the inland route following the Cape to Cape track, hoping to spot something fun on the way back but it was not to be. After three days of getting a fix of the great outdoors, I feel refreshed, recharged and ready for the week ahead:
Sandbagged 