The Rainforest Journal: Outing #17 – Days 4, 5, 6 & 7

(Friday 2-January-2014)


Is been a couple days since the last journal entry because it’s been (a) too hot to give a shit and (b) the same basic things happening during those four days: get up, chug some coffee, go dig a hole to shit in then grab some food and scatter it around for the birds and – later – the Possums. I prefer to write an entry every day but really, it’s just for the appeasement of my OCD desire for a nice neat single entry per day. This time I cbf’d.

This afternoon finally brought a storm-front and it’s raining right now, awesome. If only these stupid meteorologists could predict the weather with a degree more accuracy than I can by looking at the sky that’d be great.

New years eve was spent with the Possums, but although they got sweet lunch-box fruit twists among other special treats, the lack of any knowledge at all of the new year ticking over on the animals parts and thus complete lack of occasion of ceremony was a little depressing.

A slightly blurry shot of Bobby *trying* to get a taste for banana. He's not quite lovin' it yet.

A slightly blurry shot of Bobby *trying* to get a taste for banana. He’s not quite lovin’ it yet.

Since the last update of course, Guido and Bobby have been kicking each others arses all around the tent most nights, even though there’s plenty of food for the both of them. But to be fair, I’ve heard other Possums snarling, hissing and grunting as they fight a good hundred meters away from the camp so I think they’d do it regardless who was here. I never see any marks on any of the four who eat around the camp here, but they certainly make a very noisy show of it – when they do fight.

Makes me wonder just how many Possums are around here. I can identify at least four, but I reckon there are heaps more. I think the ones I get at the tent are the more territorial/dominant, with the ‘weaker’ Possums not daring to come near the tent for fear of Guido and Bobby beating shit out of them, or fear of myself – the strange smooth-skin creature in the bubble. Not all Possums are as forward or trusting, I mean.

Either way, the number of Possums I’ve heard recently indicates the population is larger than I thought, and it’s not like I’m just hearing my regular visiting Possums further away, ’cause when I hear the distant grunting and fighting, Bobby, Guido and the Mum/Daughter are right here where I can see them.

Old Guido had the upper-hand over Bobby to begin with but in the past few nights I’ve seen Bobby kick Guidos arse on more than one occasion so I can’t really say which Possum has won the war; just give a battle-by-battle account.

Guido gets shitty at the advanced technology that is,  The snap-lok bag. Guido failed to get the gingerbread crumbs, and the bag is still out there now with little chew marks on the corner. Big balls, small brain sadly for him.

Guido gets shitty at the advanced technology that is The snap-lok bag. He failed to get the gingerbread crumbs, and the bag is still out there now with little chew marks on that one corner. Pity his brain’s not as big as his balls.

Incidentally, Guido prefers banana over dried cranberries, while Bobby prefers cranberries even more than fresh fruit and all Possums like crackers, bread, milk arrowroot and gingerbread, equally. They’re not too keen on fresh tomato and not a single Possum shows any interest in died mango slices. Even *I* like the mango slices and I’m no Fruitarian by any stretch.

Junior passes through on his way to do.. whatever. Of to eat a small family of birds no doubt.

Junior passes through on his way to find a family of birds to kill.

Junior made a cameo appearance the other day – briefly – stomping past the tent on his way… wherever he was going. I flat-out had no food that would interest him so didn’t bother calling him over. A rustle of a plastic bag on the ground is all it takes when I *do* have food for the Monitors, but I didn’t so whatever.

Pied Currawong food shopping for the chicks.

Pied Currawong food shopping for the chicks.

The parent Currawong has visited most days as usual but there’s also a female Bower been coming each day lately. Bower-birds are closely related to the birds of paradise and I uploaded a photo of a male birds “Bower” a few weeks ago. The Bower itself isn’t used to raise chicks of course, is just the males fuck-pad; like a drive-thru fertilization service the female spots the blue pegs, straws, bottle-tops etc, and lands there. The male then offers her gifts of the aforementioned items by tossing them at her, then gives her a good shagging.

Female Satin Bower-Bird.

Female Satin Bower-Bird.

Female Satin Bower-Bird with grub.

Female Satin Bower-Bird with grub.

Afterwards, the female goes off and lays her eggs in her nest then rears the chicks on her own; the male doesn’t give two shits, his involvement begins and ends with the shagging.

Today was water day, and having been coated in gossamer from the usual hundred spider webs I have to walk through to get to the trail – and thereby, the water – I spent around three hours there before the sky started accumulating clouds and thunder sealed the deal, whence upon I got my arse back to the camp lest my phone suffer the ruination of wetness.

Hard to see with the water muddied but there's a little yabbie in there. Blue and orange.

Hard to see with the water muddied but there’s a little yabbie in there. Blue and orange.

While I was there I spotted a tiny yabby under a rock and although I was very tempted to grab him and pull him out for a photo, I controlled the urge and left him there in peace.

What I wouldn’t give for a pair of scissors or a shaver right now. Being inherently lazy, I didn’t get around to shaving while I was in town last and as a result I got this cave-man fuckin growth happening. I don’t mind having facial hair accumulate in the colder months but it’s too hot for a beard and the bits on my top lip have started curling into my mouth, which is my biggest annoyance with it. All I need’s a mullet and a wife-basher singlet to let my inner bogon out. ‘STRAAAAYYYAAAA!!!

That’ll do for now, I’m bored writing and I have a pasta-dinner to cook for the Possums. I have a heat-and-eat sachet of some kind of Curry-muncher shit, but I’m not sure I want to eat that. The rice would take ages – on top of the pasta for the Possums – and I can’t even pronounce the name of the dish that’s written on the pack. If I can’t even say what it is I’m planning to eat then not eating it might be the more solid option. Teach me to take random food tourists leave behind.

Still I hear thunder, and the sky is full of clouds but sadly, for now, the rain has stopped. For dinner tonight I’ve opted not to share the Marsupials pasta – though I had a taste and it’s pretty good – but have a wrap with the last fresh tomato, parmesan, wholegrain mustard and Nandos spicy mayonnaise.

Dinner, while the last tomato is still firm.

Dinner, while the last tomato is still firm.

The Possums dinner is done, with four seperate places set far enough – again – that nobody has to get their skank on or lose their shit at anybody else.

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