In Goolwa

Roger, in his capacity as chief dog walker and person with less paid work to do, drew the short straw and got to stay in Victor Harbor to vacuum, mop, do the laundry, and make sure that everything was shipshape for the return of our house owners. Dog, realising that something was up, ran around making a nuisance of himself and trying to savage the vacuum cleaner into submission.

He's watching and waiting...

 

Subject to the demands of work, remote though it may be, I settled into a luxury cabin in Goolwa. We got the cabin on a special deal for 40% off, and we wouldn't have wanted to pay any more because while it was perfectly adequate,  'luxury' was certainly a misnomer. It had a grand total of one power point which I shared with the air conditioner, and luckily that was all I needed given I travel with my very own power board for circumstances just like this. 

 

It'll do as an office. The chair could be comfier though 

I worked all day and when I needed a break I looked out the window and oversaw the comings and goings of the caravan park. The school holiday crowds had gone and grey nomads dominated the park, spending large amounts of time reversing their caravans just so, setting up outdoor pens for little fluffy dogs, drinking wine after 5pm, and pontificating loudly around the communal barbecue (those last ones were related to Mr Cog Admiration from Stuart Point, I swear). 

When the working day ended I got out my bicycle and went for a ride down by the river. I started off along the waterfront, where every house was balanced by a little wooden jetty jutting out into the river and fancy fishing boats jostled up beside semi-derelict houseboats in the marinas.

 

I don't know how they stop their fishing chairs from blowing away when it's windy.

 

The paddle steamer Oscar W had gone to bed for the night and further down the quay a shiny white paddlesteamer just invited closer inspection, which it thwarted by having a closed gate on the approach.

 

 

I followed the riverside all the way to the barrages, which were also closed to explorers at this time of evening, and then carried on past the Barrage establishment and on to the Coorong. The change was immediate. Upstream of the barrages was fresh water and an unchanging river level: downstream was subject to tides and salt water, and myriads of birds feasted in partially exposed river flats.

 

Hazy sun over the barrages and Goolwa, the tidal flats full of feasting birds. 

A bevy of black swans (I had to look up that collective noun).

 

I rode to the end of the road past birders hidden with long lenses in reed banks, down to the last boat ramp where the days fishers were slowly coming in from a day on the Coorong. I settled down to watch bird dramas play out in the shallow waters and took way too many photos, some of which I will now inflict on you.

 

 

Colourful Shellback duck out for an evening stroll.

Pelicans dominated the flats in the Coorong, having pelican parties and flying importantly from one pelican cluster to the next.  Graceful in both flight and on the water they were less than graceful when it came to landing, often forgetting to select a patch that was clear of other pelicans and therefore causing quite a lot of pelican angst.

Incoming! Incoming I say! Move out of the way, you bird-brain!!

Landing gear down. Flaps out. Committed to landing. Clear the runway!

OK guys. All good now, everybody chill.

A Coorong sample: pelicans; ducks; silver gulls; blue heron; egret.

A successful catch;

And again, because I liked the symmetry of the ripples.

As the sun set a group of spoonbills gathered for dinner in the shallows immediately below the barrages.

It was getting dark by the time I finished bird watching and pedaled back to my non-luxury cabin. In keeping with the bird theme of my outing, little corellas swarmed and squabbled overhead, settling in white drifts  and enthusiastically digging for food in someone's bright green lawn. When disturbed, they flew just far enough to settle ahead of me and be disturbed again with the result that for several kilometres I traveled in a rolling cloud of raucous white birds all intent on voicing their opinions at the top of their voices. 

 

I was very glad when they all decided that I was too far from the water and in a fine example of collective bird decision making, took themselves off to annoy someone else for the night.

I went home and tucked my bicycle up in the lounge room for the night. After all, I couldn't possibly leave my precious not-quite-new bicycle locked up on my less-than-luxurious verandah lest some nefarious grey nomad should take a liking to it in the middle of the night.

 

Home for a couple of nights: cabin at Goolwa. I'm quite happy to leave Roger's bike locked up outside at night.