- Published on
By Catherine Watson
ALL over Wonthaggi we heard him. Liane and Matt heard him in Wishart Street, Stephen heard him in Campbell Street, I heard him in Reed Crescent. Martin and Vilya didn't notice him until I pointed him out then they couldn't unhear him.
He was just outside my window. Or perhaps he was in the neighbour’s willow myrtle. Or the gum tree across the road. Or down the back lane? I never spotted him and the sound came from every direction.
Two trilled notes, no pause, a slight inflexion. “Oh yeah?” “Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? …” rising gradually in register and volume until the final shrieking “OH YEAH?!”
ALL over Wonthaggi we heard him. Liane and Matt heard him in Wishart Street, Stephen heard him in Campbell Street, I heard him in Reed Crescent. Martin and Vilya didn't notice him until I pointed him out then they couldn't unhear him.
He was just outside my window. Or perhaps he was in the neighbour’s willow myrtle. Or the gum tree across the road. Or down the back lane? I never spotted him and the sound came from every direction.
Two trilled notes, no pause, a slight inflexion. “Oh yeah?” “Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? …” rising gradually in register and volume until the final shrieking “OH YEAH?!”
Then sudden silence. Fifteen seconds of blessed relief. Then he starts again. The same question over and over and bloody over.
At first I thought some insane doting grandparent had bought their grandkid a tin whistle, but it went on from dawn till dusk, day after day. After a week of torture, I asked Google “What’s the most annoying bird call in Australia?”
AI didn’t hesitate. “The Eastern Koel, also known as the Common Koel.”
He’s jet black, with crimson eyes. She’s the handsomer of the two, a brown bird with white spots, plus she doesn’t make that damned racket.
Bird Life Australia informs me that the Eastern Koel is a large migratory cuckoo which flies from New Guinea, Indonesia and possibly the Philippines to breed in Australia. They’re common in Queensland and NSW but have only recently been seen in Victoria.
At first I thought some insane doting grandparent had bought their grandkid a tin whistle, but it went on from dawn till dusk, day after day. After a week of torture, I asked Google “What’s the most annoying bird call in Australia?”
AI didn’t hesitate. “The Eastern Koel, also known as the Common Koel.”
He’s jet black, with crimson eyes. She’s the handsomer of the two, a brown bird with white spots, plus she doesn’t make that damned racket.
Bird Life Australia informs me that the Eastern Koel is a large migratory cuckoo which flies from New Guinea, Indonesia and possibly the Philippines to breed in Australia. They’re common in Queensland and NSW but have only recently been seen in Victoria.
They seek him here, they seek him there
That damned elusive eastern koel.
So his chances of finding a lady friend in Wonthaggi aren’t flash. Does that mean we have to endure that lovelorn cry all summer?
Oh, this is interesting. “Adults are rather shy and they are heard much more than seen. In contrast to the adults, fledglings can be very conspicuous as they beg loudly for food from their foster parents.”
Foster parents? Of course. They’re cuckoos, meaning they find a nest, turf out the resident eggs or chicks and lay their own to be hatched and raised by some poor cuckolded birds of another species.
Well, they’d better not lay them in a blackbird nest in a tree near me.
Then Liane emails me. “The varmint is in our back garden” and a photo to prove it.
“You shoot him and I’ll eat him,” I email back. And I mean it. The last bird I ate was in 2007. He was the rooster in our neighbourhood chook co-op. A comfy set up, plenty of tucker and all the hens he could possibly desire. A rooster that had won Tatts, or at least second division.
And he had to go and ruin it all. He always treated Frank with great civility. “How ya goin, mate.” “Yeah. Good, mate.” You know the way blokes talk. But every time Vilya or I went in to collect the eggs he’d fly at us like a kickboxer, long talons reaching to rake our faces.
We made Frank dispatch that misogynistic rooster, which was a bit cruel because they were sort of buddies. I never asked how he did it but when the job was done I ate a rooster leg and felt no regret.
And I will eat that damned elusive koel if I get a chance. Though I suspect he has found a lady friend since all has been quiet for a week.
Update, December 10
He’s back! “Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? OH YEAH?” Must have been on holiday in Wishart Street.
Oh, this is interesting. “Adults are rather shy and they are heard much more than seen. In contrast to the adults, fledglings can be very conspicuous as they beg loudly for food from their foster parents.”
Foster parents? Of course. They’re cuckoos, meaning they find a nest, turf out the resident eggs or chicks and lay their own to be hatched and raised by some poor cuckolded birds of another species.
Well, they’d better not lay them in a blackbird nest in a tree near me.
Then Liane emails me. “The varmint is in our back garden” and a photo to prove it.
“You shoot him and I’ll eat him,” I email back. And I mean it. The last bird I ate was in 2007. He was the rooster in our neighbourhood chook co-op. A comfy set up, plenty of tucker and all the hens he could possibly desire. A rooster that had won Tatts, or at least second division.
And he had to go and ruin it all. He always treated Frank with great civility. “How ya goin, mate.” “Yeah. Good, mate.” You know the way blokes talk. But every time Vilya or I went in to collect the eggs he’d fly at us like a kickboxer, long talons reaching to rake our faces.
We made Frank dispatch that misogynistic rooster, which was a bit cruel because they were sort of buddies. I never asked how he did it but when the job was done I ate a rooster leg and felt no regret.
And I will eat that damned elusive koel if I get a chance. Though I suspect he has found a lady friend since all has been quiet for a week.
Update, December 10
He’s back! “Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? OH YEAH?” Must have been on holiday in Wishart Street.
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The Eastern Koel is extending its range and now moving into suburban areas for two reasons. Firstly the abundance of fruit trees in suburban gardens and secondly the large number of Wattlebirds and their nests. The Eastern koel likes to lay its eggs in Red Wattlebird nests.
The female Eastern Koel arrives after the male. Hence all his calling trying to find a mate.
Thank you for the story. I actually like it's call.
A couple of years ago I heard and saw the Koel in a Norfolk Pine next to PICAL on Phillip Island, what a surprise.