Yesterday afternoon, overlooking an “iconic” Perth beach, I had an astonishing avian encounter.
I in no way resemble any alleged version of St Francis, and Cottesloe is very far from Assisi, but…
The pictured feathered individuals are total “strangers” to this individual.
As far as I could see, no other also-present humans enjoyed any similar, prolonged, amazingly close encounter with the relevant ravens.
(They are almost certainly Corvus coronoides, the Australian raven. This species is endemic to Australia and is our largest corvid. It is the species most commonly sighted by urban humans; most of us [wrongly] call them “crows”. Perth’s “crows” are members of the subspecies perplexus; generally, the WA “crows” are a little smaller than are members of the eastern Australian subspecies coronoides. One can abbreviate the respective subspecies’ names, respectively, as C.c. perplexus & C.c.coronoides)
This most-unexpected experience was not in any way “facilitated” by prayers, incantations, or any form of “encouragement”.
No food bribes were offered.
As far as I could see, “my” patch of Cottesloe grass was no more intrinsically attractive to birds than was any other patch.
This is what occurred
Shortly after 2 pm – within a few minutes of seating myself in the shade of a Norfolk pine, whilst my beloved enjoyed a swim in the sparkling waters below – several ravens, a couple of gulls, and a pair of pigeons all started to move closer and closer to me.
The proximity of the gulls and pigeons was utterly unremarkable.
Australian ravens, however, very rarely venture to within a metre of an unfamiliar, non-food-bearing human.
I was astonished…and wishing that I had brought my “proper” camera.
The ravens kept checking on me, would occasionally step back, briefly, but always soon stepped forward again.
Eventually, several were literally within “touching distance” of my feet.
Occasionally, I quietly talked to them; experience has taught me that sometimes (not always) birds find a quietly-talking human’s presence rather more “reassuring” than a mute, “stealthy” human’s.
After about fifteen minutes, the pigeons and gulls moved on, as did three of the ravens.
My IPad lurked within my daypack, but I had assumed that it would alarm the birds if I were to open the pack, extract the device, and then expose its shiny glass surface.
By now, however, the remaining ravens – who continued to browse, so very close by – appeared to have decided that I posed no threat.
So, I decided to extract the iPad.
Briefly, the ravens retreated, but only a couple of human paces away.
Within a minute, they were once again “at my feet”.
The IPad’s lens is ill-suited to bird photography; it is neither “good enough”, nor “long enough”.
In this particular instance, however, a wide-angle lens (29 mm) offered advantage as well as disadvantage.
It made the ravens appear further distant (and less “sharp”) than they really were, but it also offered a much clearer/wider view of the “background” than would a longer lens.
A few minutes after I’d extracted the IPad, the ravens had exhausted “my”” patch, and they moved on.
Comments