#11 Swooping in The Name of Parental Love
On Saturday, Sydney was given a preview of the warmer months to come. The sun delivered its dress rehearsal for summer and the cast of revellers, my family included, took to the outdoors to play our part. Our chosen stage was Bobbin Head, a point on the Cowan Creek in Sydney’s North. We decided on Bobbin Head because it sits at the very edge of our local government area, to which we are confined during Sydney’s COVID-19 lockdowns.
It was a day of repose as we enjoyed the humble sport of sauntering and people watching. This was a welcomed respite from the routine of weekday life. We spend most of our time performing tasks and fulfilling plans that we often miss the simple joys that have no aim at all other than soothing our weary spirits.
On this particular day, a pair of Masked Lapwings facilitated our mental rest. The picnic ground of Bobbin Head is wedged between hilled bushlands on one side and the Cowan Creek on the other. Most people stationed themselves under the shades of Norfolk Island Pines that outline the creek. There is a lone gumtree that sits at one end of the grass strip, equidistant from the foot of hills and the water’s edge. When we first arrived, we noticed there were bright orange cones placed roughly around the tree but didn’t pay much mind to their purpose. I did faintly acknowledge a bird nestled among the debris beneath the tree. Sandra remarked that it must be nested there but I quickly disregarded that suggestion as it seemed highly implausible that a bird would choose an area filled with human congestion to raise its young. We decided to encamp in the tree’s shade, some meters from the cone perimeter.
Once we settled, we noticed there were a pair of the yellow-beaked birds inside the coned boundaries, one nestled and one standing tall, as though standing guard. It was quickly apparent that Sandra’s initial suspicion was correct. These birds were parents, keeping watch over their young. I initially imagined there to be eggs under the mother bird but when she got up to stretch momentarily, we caught a glimpse of two barely feathered chicks seated under her. This was a family of four.
Despite all the commotion around us, our attention was completely monopolised by this feathered clan. The mother bird was at first near stationary, rising only occasionally to adjust her position. The father patrolled the surroundings, sporadically picked up nourishments off the floor when he could.
We noticed a man walking in the direction of the ground nest, although clearly just trying to reach his family on the other side of the tree and entirely unaware of the birds. As the man got closer, the mother bird gave off a shriek that alerted the nearby father to return to the nest. He then echoed the shriek, increasing in frequency and volume as the man got closer. It reminded me of parking sensors in my car as I backed closer and closer to the wall. When the man finally noticed the birds, it was too late. The male guardian took flight and swooped the man at shoulder height. The sight of a full-grown man running awkwardly from a small but ferocious bird was both comical and frightening. I saw flashes of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 thriller The Birds. Only that these were not menacing crows - but rather Masked Lapwings - whose appearance reminded me of Mr Burns from The Simpsons.
Over the next few hours, the passage of time was momentarily exorcised from our minds, as we indulged in the theatre of avian parental instincts. The father performed several maneuvers to deter would-be intruders. He charged a waddling of ducks until they steered clear of the No-Go Zone; He nipped the heels of an unsuspecting lady, who let out a scream that caught the attention of the whole park; He shrieked and ran at a group of young children with the reckless abandon of a Kamikaze pilot - putting the human fight or flight response on full display.
Given our seated proximity to the birds, I also found myself identifying with these birds and feeling responsible and even anxious for their wellbeing. A masked elderly man approached them from the other side of the tree and was attempting to take photos of the birds without realising that he was entering into sacred grounds. This time, the man’s sudden appearance startled the birds and both parents took flight in opposite directions. Sandra reflected that this must have been designed as a final effort to move the attention away from the chicks that were concealed in the aged leaves and branches. Before I knew it, I was shouting instructions at the man, BACK AWAY FROM THE BIRDS AND STAY BEHIND THE CONE. It was only after that I realised the man didn’t speak English and was probably confused by the whole interaction.
Eventually, the sun’s rays pulled us back into the flow of time and we decided to explore the mangroves along the creek. Even then, we couldn’t help discussing the life of these birds. Sandra pointed out that although this nesting location seems ludicrous at first, given all the human activity around it, it was actually a genius decision because more humans equal fewer predators and the birds seem to handle humans just fine.
The next day, we returned to Bobbin Head again to take advantage of the balmy weather and sure enough, the familiar scenes from the day before were playing out once again. Although this time, I found myself less concerned, as though I was more confident at their ability to defend their home from pesky humans. There was also a sign we didn’t notice from a day earlier, which stated Caution, Masked Lapwings Swooping, Leave the area to avoid such behaviour. At that moment, I felt a glimmer of hope that our own species - Homo Sapiens - might not be so bad after all.
