Out on the river, everything starts moving when the wattles come out. The birds get louder, the foxes, hares and kangaroos move around more — and a few visitors show up.

We like our first late-winter sighting of the black-faced cuckoo-shrike. When The Boss was a nipper, he used to call it the blue jay, or the shufflewing, on account of the way it spreads and shuffles its wings when it lands on a branch.

It’s supposed to be common everywhere, but not here so much right on the river. He says the black-faced cuckoo-shrike is officially listed as “of least concern”, which offends him because we don’t see it all year round at all.

We mostly hear it before we see it because of its distinctive call, often described as a “warbling creeark” — but that doesn’t do it justice. The Boss thinks its soft, churring warble — almost a rich gurgle — is underrated in the pantheon of Australian bird calls.

They are graceful, medium-sized birds, their plumage is a soft blend of blues and greys, with a characteristic black face mask stretching from the bill, across the eyes and often down the throat.

When we hear them, we look about and soon see them: their flight is instantly recognisable, a series of slow, buoyant wing-beats, interspersed with gliding, during which they lose elevation, giving them a relaxed, undulating flight as they move from tree to tree. They never look like they’re late to a meeting, or worried about being chased by their creditors.

They are supposed to be mainly sedentary in both woodlands and urban areas, with some populations heading north in the winter. The Boss reckons it is these nomads we tend to see on their way back to breed, because we see them in pairs when they arrive, and they like to perform a shufflewing together as they are warming up. They usually mate with the same partner.

Their nest is quite small, a shallow saucer of twigs and bark held together with cobwebs high in the tree canopy. Both parents build the nest, take on incubating their two or three eggs for three weeks and share feeding duties. After breeding they gather in larger groups to forage together, but they refuse to synchronise in flight like the ibis or cockatoos: each to their own, they undulate in their own time and look like a kindergarten soccer team.

Another thing I approve of is their diet: they are omnivorous. While caterpillars, beetles, grasshoppers and other insects are usually preferred, they will tuck into fruit and seeds for dessert. They have a strong hooked beak, though, and will hover around a tree while plucking insects off the leaves and branches.

They are the advance party for the summer migrants along the river. By Shepp Show weekend the rainbow bee-eaters will arrive, with the dollarbirds hot on their heels and the kingfishers soon after, then the rufous whistler after that.

So despite being neither a cuckoo nor a shrike — they are called that because their feather patterns are similar to cuckoos and their beaks are like those of a shrike — Coracina novaehollandiae is a cheerful herald for spring. Woof!

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Sunday, 14th February 2027

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