Following feathered dancers into the desert

By MIKE GILLAM From Munga-Thirri (Simpson Desert) to Kiwirrkurra in the Tanami, I’ve followed budgerigar murmurations – those magnificent formations in the sky created by thousands of birds –over many years. This obsession is mostly confined to summer months when flocks are boosted by fledglings especially during the high rainfall years. The only form of luck I know is persistent searching, planning and imagining. Long meditative drives to check on the status of water in dams or claypans. Follow the falcons and think like a flock of budgerigars. Search out those plains of native oat grass and a safe place to drink, a daily requirement for these granivorous birds. Hopeful stake outs in the perfect location if only the budgerigars comply in the right light, from the right direction, in the right numbers. Camping overnight in the mulga with a chirruping multitude, I fight the urge to sleep, and dream of success in the morning. For weeks that quintessential image beckons like a mirage, just out of reach. Hot sleepless nights, hypnotic days. I resist the urge to record on video the balletic grace of the flock, a much easier path than trying to capture the perfect still frame.

Acrobatic budgerigars react to the threat of a black falcon. Finally from the vantage of a dune crest I photograph a wide ribbon of budgerigars moving slowly over spinifex hummocks, the bright green birds contrasting sharply with a background pattern of shadows. The feathered dance resembles a phalanx of stars and I return from the edge of madness, sunburnt, exhausted and smiling. And plan my next desert holiday. Few photographic moments can compare with the euphoria I feel in the presence of a budgerigar host. One early morning in late September I followed flocks on their way to drink at a dam where I sat for a while trying to analyse the best photographic options. By 0730 there were already thousands of birds roosting in nearby trees and coming to drink in turbulent waves. For the next hour or two, the numbers of budgerigars rose steadily as did the predators, black falcons an ever present threat at the water’s edge. Rashly I estimated the number of budgerigars to be upwards of 100,000 birds occupying every tree for several hectares and filling the sky much of the time in a complex layering of flocks. I’m reasonably familiar with flocks of 1,000-5,000 but greater numbers are beyond my comprehension so there could have been many more on the day but surely no less. Avian predators watch from the tree tops, resting after each failed attempt, recovering and waiting for a fresh opportunity. Hobby falcons seem to rule the outer approaches and black falcons command the water where they use the banks of the dam to conceal a low level attack, flying fast and hopefully seizing their chance in the panicked retreat and melee of drinking budgerigars.

Budgerigars resting in the mulga. A pair of black falcons appear to be working cooperatively; one bird driving flocks of budgerigars from the water’s edge and towards the second falcon in the act of breasting the earth embankment that encircles the dam. Contemplating piracy, a couple of fork-tailed kites and a hopeful goshawk watch each manoeuvre intently, hoping to snatch up any young budgerigar felled and injured but not successfully clenched in falcon talons. Sitting well back from the water’s edge and remaining motionless I allow myself a smile as young birds attempt to land on my shoulders. The predominant green plumage of the budgerigar constellation changes colour across three zones. Top and bottom, the water and the sky reflect cyan and this dulls the plumage of the birds while pushing forward the true colour and vibrance of those budgerigars flying through the centre of frame where yellows are enhanced. The final image needs only a shallow veil of sharpness to cope with the blizzard of detail. Closer inspection will reveal that every leaf on the two trees is in fact a roosting budgerigar. NEXT: For the photographer it’s imperative to keep well back from waterholes where wildlife, ever mindful of predators, are trying to drink.AT TOP: Immense flocks arriving in the early morning to drink at a turkey's nest dam. How many birds? Look very hard.