Black cockatoo

The tentacles of winter do not extend this far north. There is always a certain balminess to Slade Point that staves off the cold. It makes it far easier to lie in wait for the fauna that greets the dawn.

A cockfest of them arrive, screeching loudly in the twilight air. Black and bold, they come to feast on the seeds from this grove of umbrella trees. As they hop from one spot to another, the horizontal band of red and orange that adorn their tails, flashes in the brightening day.

For the locals, it is an everyday occurrence. But not for me. I am used to the brilliant white and sulphur cresting of their cousins.

I always find the black cockatoo inspiring. It reminds me of places less domesticated than the capital cities to the south. A smile is splashed generously across my face as I lie on my stomach taking photos. It is obvious that this is where I prefer to be.