Wonthaggi's home-grown emus on the Rifle Range Reserve, 2016, Photos: Leonie Smith
By Julie Paterson
Within the first couple of weeks of moving to Wonthaggi in August 2023 I was told about the emus in the Heathlands and Coastal Reserve.
“Emus! Here, really?!”
Unsure if this was a tall tale I soon realised it was true as locals told me of their encounters and baby emus following their papa around. I’d heard a few stories of how they came to inhabit this remarkable area, fostered by a history of community efforts in stewardship and revegetation.
Within the first couple of weeks of moving to Wonthaggi in August 2023 I was told about the emus in the Heathlands and Coastal Reserve.
“Emus! Here, really?!”
Unsure if this was a tall tale I soon realised it was true as locals told me of their encounters and baby emus following their papa around. I’d heard a few stories of how they came to inhabit this remarkable area, fostered by a history of community efforts in stewardship and revegetation.
I’ve fallen in love with the heathlands, regularly taking walks and exploring the area. Each time I walk there I think, “Will I see the emus today?” My camera usually accompanies me everywhere, but at times I don’t want the distraction of the camera frame. On this afternoon the camera stayed at home.
I’d imagined if I did see emus they would be in the distance. Coming around the slight corner of the old rifle range, fenced off from lead and copper contaminants, I saw a solitary emu on the side of the track. She was three metres from me, and totally unperturbed by my sudden presence.
I stood bolt still, I felt like an intruder. I scanned the area for others; there were none, she was wandering solo. I was cautious because that beak and those feet can be as deadly as any rifle, but the air was calm and I felt no threat and it seemed nor did she. I slowly raised each arm to alert her of my close presence, then I spontaneously started humming to her. Still she ignored me so I was able to watch the beauty and bounty of silky feathers sashay and sway as she snacked on seeds and poked about. I moved a little closer and she still regarded me as a dead twig fallen off a branch.
A welling up of emotion flooded me; this was the first time I’d encountered an emu in the wild in Victoria. She was backlit by late summer sun and like a scene from Wake in Fright, or the equivalent, the sun illuminated a gushing torrent of blood red stuff zooshing out from her cloaca! I became concerned that she was ill as she was alone - even though I knew emus in the wild can wander alone - and that torrent of red. What on earth! Do emus have periods?
Ten or so minutes passed and she turned off the track and walked off through thigh-high blonde summer grasses. I moved to where the red spill was and realised she’d probably been eating saltbush berries and dock seed. After inspecting the large slurry I turned to see where she was as she gracefully entered the scrub where the camouflage was exact. I could no longer see her or any legs criss-crossing in the scrub.
I’d imagined if I did see emus they would be in the distance. Coming around the slight corner of the old rifle range, fenced off from lead and copper contaminants, I saw a solitary emu on the side of the track. She was three metres from me, and totally unperturbed by my sudden presence.
I stood bolt still, I felt like an intruder. I scanned the area for others; there were none, she was wandering solo. I was cautious because that beak and those feet can be as deadly as any rifle, but the air was calm and I felt no threat and it seemed nor did she. I slowly raised each arm to alert her of my close presence, then I spontaneously started humming to her. Still she ignored me so I was able to watch the beauty and bounty of silky feathers sashay and sway as she snacked on seeds and poked about. I moved a little closer and she still regarded me as a dead twig fallen off a branch.
A welling up of emotion flooded me; this was the first time I’d encountered an emu in the wild in Victoria. She was backlit by late summer sun and like a scene from Wake in Fright, or the equivalent, the sun illuminated a gushing torrent of blood red stuff zooshing out from her cloaca! I became concerned that she was ill as she was alone - even though I knew emus in the wild can wander alone - and that torrent of red. What on earth! Do emus have periods?
Ten or so minutes passed and she turned off the track and walked off through thigh-high blonde summer grasses. I moved to where the red spill was and realised she’d probably been eating saltbush berries and dock seed. After inspecting the large slurry I turned to see where she was as she gracefully entered the scrub where the camouflage was exact. I could no longer see her or any legs criss-crossing in the scrub.
I was so touched by the encounter that I literally skipped back to my car like a happy lunatic humming the tune to her all the way to where I picked up a few bags of horse manure in Reed Crescent. I chatted with the woman there and she recalled how once a few juvenile emus had come down the road. All the neighbours were alerted, they came out and ushered them back into the heathlands. It warmed my heart that people look out for them and do what they can to keep them safe.
Given the frequency of my walking in the heathlands and coastal reserve I’m sure to see an emu or three again, but doubt next time it will be such a close encounter. How magnificent to have emus nearby wandering freely from place to place across the stretch of heathlands and coastal reserve.
Given the frequency of my walking in the heathlands and coastal reserve I’m sure to see an emu or three again, but doubt next time it will be such a close encounter. How magnificent to have emus nearby wandering freely from place to place across the stretch of heathlands and coastal reserve.