Wildlife, Travel & Nature Photography

A close-up of the very appropriately named Razorbill, one of the estimated 20,000 pairs that nest annually on the Bempton Cliffs, in the North York Moors, on the shores of the North Sea.

A member of the Auk family, it appears as a dumpy or dull bird from a distance, but getting close and capturing its beautiful detail, really makes it shine.

It spends its entire life adrift on the sub-Antarctic oceans, only coming ashore for 60 days a year to breed on cliff-top nesting sites, monogamous, laying only a single egg and raising only a single chick each year.

Razorbills are capable of both diving and of flight, diving to depths of 400 feet to feed on schooling fish, and remarkably, a bird ringed in the UK in 1967, survived for at least 41 years!

An iconic scene; a handsome, dapper and dashing Pheasant male, late afternoon in a lush English country field. Yet, this is as un-iconic as it gets, it’s officially declared as a species that imperils native wildlife in England.

And yet how complex an issue this is. One would think that it is environmentally sound that they are hunted and eradicated, flushed by beaters and hounds, blasted into oblivion with shotguns. But there is more to the story.

Although some birds have established local populations, at least 60,000,000 Mongolian Ringneck Pheasants such as this one, and other large gamebirds such as Red-legged Partridges are captively bred and released in the UK each year for hunting, an industry that is said to be worth £2bn a year.

And who is it to blame for their introduction and the origins of this peril? The landed gentry with their white jodhpurs, bugles and baying beagles, gamekeepers, or gentlemen in deer stalkers and tweed jackets? No, it is most likely that Pheasants were introduced to the shores of Britain by the Romans, 2.000 years ago, or the Phoenicians much earlier!

An environmental dilemma as complicated as the one about the chicken and the egg.

 Photo by @reandutoit

On my Outback trips I often spend my evenings reliving the daily highlights, figuring out which photographs I think will be keepers. And then, when I return home, one of the greatest pleasures is to download more than 10 days’ worth of images, and over the days, maybe weeks, savour the memories and enjoy the surprises.

And sometimes an image is a wonderful, unexpected surprise, this image is one of those where I worried about harsh light, focus, camera shake etc. but I am secretly thrilled!

The perch, the plumage, that massive, dark raptor eye, beak, talons, colouring, all of it, dare I say it? For me, perfect. Exactly the way the moment was. I will look back often and savour this beautiful being, an image that will give me joy, and I give thanks for this elegant Brown Falcon, and to Mother Nature, for the gifts of contentment, of solitude and of simplicity.

 Photo by @reandutoit

After a long, scorching summer, I was thirsting to return to the solitude and isolation of the Outback, so with temperatures forecast below 40C, I grabbed the opportunity, loading up on Icy Poles and Passiona, and headed North. Sadly, only to discover that the creek at my first camping spot was bone dry, littered with dead fry.

Popping in at my next stop, a large cattle station, I was told that the windmill on my most favourite waterhole was broken, and that the waterhole was parched, furthermore, the forecast had now changed to 43C and higher.

That is when you know you are fighting an uphill battle!

However, I was also told that there had been reports of good rain further north. Desperate, and forever hopeful, I headed further into the unrelenting heat, cicadas screeching through the open window, nothing but flies moving.

Rattling and bouncing down a faint track, to a favourite little spot, I was amazed to be faced with the most idyllic scene, a massive pool of cool, crystal-clear water, snow-white River Gums, reflections of Mulga and wispy cloud, shades of sapphire blue.

In no time I was floating, only my nose above water, cool, refreshed and overjoyed.

As the sun set, the frogs kicked in, first in their dozens, then in their hundreds, croaking as if their lives depended upon it, an overwhelming chorus. I was not alone in finding this paradise.

 Photo by @reandutoit

I love the dawn song of Pied Butcherbirds, a beautiful and melodious start to my Outback mornings. But I have never had an opportunity to observe them up close and it was a wonderful surprise to find a family of 2 adults and 2 youngsters hanging around the Outback waterhole where I had set myself up for the day.

Scores of large greeny yellow dragonflies were patrolling the water, laying eggs, catching midges and going about their busy routines. The Pied Butcherbirds had this all figured out! Working from opposite ends of the waterhole, perched on the windmill and in a large Mulga tree they would fly aerial raids, just like an Outback “Battle of Britain”, and with some skilful aerobatics and an audible snap of the beak, another dragonfly would bite the dust, 6, 7, 8 in a row, an absolute feast!

 Photo by @reandutoit

The gibber plains of the Australian Outback have become one of my favourite landscapes. It is simple, honest, no nonsense. I love the barrenness, and that is why it is the perfect habitat for a little friend of mine, the Banded Lapwing, a bird who likes things barren or bare, far from cover, wary, nesting in scrapes, laying eggs that are perfectly camouflaged.

This picture captures the essence of what I love out here and this country sooths me. I enjoy spending my days drifting, a sort of slow-moving mindfulness. I like the window down, engrossed in the landscape, lost in the day. Things are simple, a cup of tea, a vegemite sandwich, a bit of red dust, bedding with a hint of diesel, an occasional splash in a cattle trough, a clean outfit saved for going home, some would say minimalist, absolutely! and that is exactly the way I like it.

Photo by @reandutoit

Bungarra, the ultimate survivor, hunter and opportunist, swaggers onto the scene, like a prehistoric predator arriving at an Outback waterhole.

Fearing nothing, and devouring everything, this impressive Gould’s Monitor, also known as a Sand Goanna, is all of 1.8m in length, it will stand its ground to a large man, rearing up, inflating its neck, hissing and even lunging with wide open jaws if threatened.

They are prolific in the Outback, often seen on roadkill and carrion, they hunt and eat almost anything, as long as it is smaller than them, venomous snakes, like the Taipan, rodents, small mammals, birds, crustaceans, large insects, lizard species, other goannas, amphibians and eggs.

I watched this large creature digging under a nearby tree for almost an hour, intent on excavating a hole the size of Kalgoorlie’s Super Pit. It had obviously found the motherload of something delicious. It then ambled up to the water’s edge, “tasting” the air with its forked tongue, slowly exploring the edge, before sliding into the water of an overgrown swampy area, investigating and hunting, as I silently watched from a shady spot under some nearby scrub.

Often featured in Aboriginal art, Bungarra is also a much-enjoyed food source for Aboriginal people, the intestines are first removed before it is cooked on the coals, over an open fire. Goanna oil or fat is also used as a medicine to treat skin ailments.

 Photo by @reandutoit

Feathered jewels of the Outback, Mulga Parrots, clothed in emeralds, rubies, sapphire and gold.

In a land of earthy tones, it is an wonderful sight to see flocks of these bold and bright birds spill out at a waterhole, as if the lid of Mother Nature’s treasure chest has been unlocked and the contents poured out, with a flourish of fluttering wings.

The species was originally described in 1820 by Kuhl, using the very appropriate name, Many-coloured Parrot (Psittacus multicolor). It was subsequently renamed the Mulga Parrot, to avoid confusion with other species, the new name was based on its distribution, which perfectly matches the distribution of the Mulga tree or shrub.

Photo by @reandutoit

The promise of the changing of the seasons is in the air in Yamaji Country, as the sun sets on another scorcher.

But Ngarlbugala, the hot and dry season of the Wajarri people, holds on stubbornly, sending a bright message through the brooding clouds of Mathany, the cooler, stormy season, telling it that it is not yet done.

This beautiful land, with its reds and gold, mulga scrub, anthills and gibber plains, thirsts for a drenching.

 Photo by @reandutoit

Ruler of the Outback skies, perched on its Mulga throne.

A young Wedge-tailed Eagle, with its wind ruffled, golden crown, and royal regalia with beautiful contrasts, rich tones and intricate feather pattern, differing from the almost all-black of the adult plumage.

Displaying its arsenal and weaponry, a lethal beak and claws, paired with laser-sharp eyesight.

Regal, imperious and powerful.

Photo by @reandutoit

As the shadows across the red heart of Australia grow longer, the Red Kangaroos start to appear from the Outback scrub, emerging from their shady, sandy sanctuaries, where they have been hiding from the searing heat. One by one they appear like mirages in the desert, slowly making their way to water.

The world’s largest marsupial, with its 300° vision, is incredibly cautious, and understandably so, after centuries of being hunted by the extinct marsupial lion, by Aboriginal warriors, dingoes and now persecuted as agricultural pests and shot in their hundreds of thousands by graziers, farmers and licensed shooters.

These golden icons of the Outback somehow sense that I mean them no harm, allowing me the opportunity to share with them the beauty of this Outback oasis, admiring their grace and their beautiful colours, like a palette of spinifex, charcoal, sunsets and red mother earth.

 Photo by @reandutoit

A Torresian Crow, looking like the villain in an old black and white movie, with its jet-black plumage, intense maniacal stare and a murderous beak. Surviving in the Outback, mostly on carrion and the misfortune of others.

Life and survival here is black and white, the Outback palette of life comes in extremes only, no rosy pinks or pastels. Looking at this stark image, I wonder what the almost 80-year-old widower and sole resident of a 600,000-acre Outback Cattle Station saw and thought a few months ago, as he lay, face down in the red dirt and heat, for 3 days with a broken pelvis, until the mail man on his weekly run, 200km from the nearest town, raised the alarm, and he was found by a neighbour and amazingly survived.

 Photo by @reandutoit

I confess that I have a big soft spot for Emus.

I mean, who can resist their big soulful eyes? and the total cuteness? Dressed for a big evening out, hair done, plumes like a fancy Gatsby era stole made of strands of precious Outback thread, rather than the large downy, fluffy plumes of an Ostrich.

They also have so much character and are curious to a fault. I noticed that they are fascinated at the music choices in my truck, really enjoying Roy Orbison performing “Oh, Pretty Woman”, they will cautiously approach until only a few meters away. This also is the case if you sit dead quiet in your camp chair, approaching like a group of kids, inching forward, fascinated.

It is said that they drink copious amounts of water in hot weather, either sitting on their haunches like this youngster or standing, consuming up to 18 litres when available.

 Photo by @reandutoit

A handsome, Long-nosed Dragon keeps me company on the veranda of an abandoned, cattle station homestead, happily sharing a cool refuge from the midday sun and the searing heat.

A confiding little creature with a tail that is 3 times the length of its body, they reach an overall total length of 450mm.

It has a habit, shared by several other lizards and dragons, of lifting a front foot of the ground, giving an apparent wave, hence their other common name of Long-nosed Ta-ta Dragon, saying Ta-ta as in saying goodbye.

 Photo by @reandutoit

A dramatic Outback landscape, in the heart of Wajarri Yamatji Country, capturing the contrasts and beauty, the drama, of the change of seasons. After three months of searing heat, screeching Cicadas, dust blown hot easterly winds, finally a brooding change is in the air.

Dark skies threaten, lightning flashes and teases every evening on the northern horizon, but even on this last gasp day of summer, the temperature still reaches 43C. Everything hopes, desperate for rain, for promise, for renewed life.

 Photo by @reandutoit