I like it on top ... of Antoniesberg

I'm guessing you've never heard of it – I hadn't even a year after I'd watched the sunrise over it on several occasions on drives through the eastern frontier of the Klein Karoo towards Baviaanskloof. Technically, its another Cape Fold mountain island, this one connecting the eastern tail end of the Swartberg to the Baviaans mountains. It is delineated by Guarriepoort on the western edge, where the N9 cuts through between Uniondale and Willowmore, and on the eastern side by the R342 from Willowmore to the Baviaanskloof.

I havn't yet found out who Antonie is or was. Perhaps a local landowner with a particular fondness for high mountains. On top of the mountain my GPS altimeter read 1721m. It had been a hard climb – part of  a transect line to conduct point counts as part of the Fynbos Endemic Birds survey. It had started easily enough on a rough 4x4 track leading north from the game farm Elandspoort. But that trail wore out after a kilometer and I was left to scrape my way through 13 year old Fynbos for the next two kilometers of steep ascent, picking my way between malevolent Metalasia acuta and broken boulders. On reaching the ridge, the harsh winds keeps the vegetation at a manageable level and I was able to enjoy the view north towards Aasvoelkrans (the tail end of the Witteberg mountain range just north of Willowmore, named for vultures long ago eradicated by poisoning programs) and south towards Blue Hill.

The journey resulted in records of all six Fynbos endemics, and while the reason for the journey was a bit of a disappointment – it was to determine if the local Protea eximia patch was still being guarded by a contingent of Cape Sugarbirds – there were plenty of highlights and distractions that go with exploring new territory. One of these was a healthy population of Leucadendrom album – by far my favourite conebush with its silvery leaves and the red cone of the female. The orchid Satyrium humile was also flowering close to the beacon on the top of the mountain. And birdwise, while I had not seen much in terms of terrestrial bird numbers, was more than made up for by aerial insectivores: Greater Striped Swallow, Barn Swallow, White-rumped Swift and what I thought may have been Bradfield's swift (a large, brownish swift), but the photos I looked at later only revealed African Black Swift.

Thanks to Renier, manager at Elandspoort, for allowing me access, and the large cool drink that went some way to replenishing my energy levels sapped by the summer sun coming off the mountain. For a visit to Antoniesberg or the 5000ha Elandspoort game farm, contact Renier on: 0447711006 or  0826962325

African Black Swift swooping in like a kamikaze pilot

Aasvoelberg, north of Willowmore

On Top!

Satyrium humile (orchid)

Antoniesberg

Leucadendron album

Leucadendron rubrum (female)

Orange-breasted Sunbird (male) on Erica wendlandiana

A CAR duller than a 1970's Skoda

Not more to be said really – last weekend on our summer Coordinated Avifaunal Roadcount we got 1 distant Karoo Korhaan sighting, and a last gasp pair of Blue Crane literally at the last stop on the route, which normally nets us at least 10. If we didn't have to stop and record Steenbok, we'd have been yawning all the way. Sods law also meant we saw the most interesting species before and after the count – a Black Harrier before the start, and a pair of Southern Black Korhaan 2km after the end. Not sure about why the low target species list, although the veld was looking rather dry.

It did give me time to notice a few disturbing things along the route: First were the dead leopard tortoises in association with Jackal proof electric fencing – basically a single strand electric line about 30cm off the ground. When a tortoise walks into, its reaction is to withdraw into its shell, and the results are fatal.

Second was this nasty scene – sometimes kudu don't get it right when clearing fences. I've witnessed it before on our property – a young kudu misjudges the height and instead of clearing the fence gets a leg caught between the upper and penultimate wire strands. With the momentum of the the jump, the animal spins around, locking the leg between the wires in such a way it is impossible to get out. The animal that I witnessed on our property do this I managed to free. The kudu in the photo below was not so lucky, and probably died of thirst where it hung.

Nice thing about the summer count is that there aren't the hordes of hunters around. This means we saw a fair amount of other wildlife, including many kudu – last winter count we saw only 1.

Remains of a kudu caught in a standard wire fence

Our only Blue Cranes during the 45km route

Lots of common game about, including this Grey or Common Duiker (female)

Southern Pale Chanting Goshawk

Meerkats enjoying early morning sun on what was a cool start for the day

If this kudu doesn't learn that stopped vehicles are danger really soon, he will be biltong come June

Electrified Leopard Tortoise, we counted 3 along this fence, mostly old.

What's on that Watsonia?

Occasional quite cool and damp spells of weather have interrupted a January mostly described as warm and dry. Yet again we had a marvelous three days in the Kammanassie, with still, cloudy days and 150 birds in the nets over 3 mornings. Then back to Blue Hill, where wind and sun were always too high on the agenda to result in anything too exciting. So the photos below are from some action on a multicoloured bouquet of Watsonias flowering in a moist valley below the Protea eximia band dominated by Cape Sugarbirds.

In the meantime, David has made the grade to be qualified as a ringer (well done!), freeing me up from the nets to do point counts on a more concentrated scale in the Baviaans, Kougas and Tsitsikamma mountains. The aim of those is to try and identify population fluctuations in relation to fruiting and flowering patterns at the local landscape level, as we still don't know how the birds are using the resources in this dynamic part of the world – low on rain, but big on variety. Point counts have not always proceeded that smoothly – on one transect line into Antoniesberg (a small mountain range that could be regarded as an extension of the Swartberg, connecting those more well-known mountains to the Baviaansberg) I misread the terrain and got bogged down in mud.

All alone and with no cell-phone reception, those situations can be a bit scary. With no other option, all alone I had to dig out the mud around the tires with my hands, pack in rocks, and after about an hour and a half of that I managed to rev free and back-track my way back to safety. While the Suzuki Jimney is in my mind the best value 4x4 out there, a diff-lock would be a very useful feature for those truly sticky situations.   

Malachite Sunbird male feasts on nectar from a Watsonia, pollinating the flower in the process

Striped Mouse eating young Watsonia seeds

Victorin's Warbler in a rare pose - perched on top of a Protea

The light sure shines out of his ....

This weevil looks like he is having problems balancing on this Berzilia flower

Naughty thief! Southern Double-collared Sunbird male robbing nectar from the base of a Watsonia flower

I love the way the light shines through this Scrub Hare's ears!

This guy was out of his element on the side of the road during the day

With the summer moult well under way, I had to spice this birdie up a bit with the old Adobe PS

But this is pretty much true colors for this MSB 

Yay!! Striped Flufftail!!

I heard my first Striped Flufftail while camping in the Langeberg Mountains while on a CREW expedition. I didn’t know what it was at the time – I was hoping it was a Hottentot Buttonquail, but I recorded the call and Peter Ryan at the Percy FItzPatrick institute identified it for me. That was in October 2011 at the Helderfontein hut.

This year I’ve listened to the call of the Striped Flufftail maybe 800 times in various parts of the Fynbos. There are two distinct calls, the first a melodic, almost soothing, “hoot-hoot-hoot”; which is a contrast to the second call - a staccato “k-k-k-k-k whoop whoop whoop” rattle call. Sometimes, I’ve been answered with the rattle call as part of the territorial response of a resident skulking bird, but most of the time the playback has been met with silence, or just the sound of the wind through the Protea covered hill sides. On some occasions I’ve been wondering along a mountain trail and heard the hooting in what seems to be the far distance. But the calls are not that loud, and if you can hear one, it’s probably closer than you think. But during all that time I failed to catch a glimpse of an individual bird.

On one occasion on the Montagu Pass an answering call erupted from close behind me in low Erica dominated Fynbos that didn’t reach above the knee. The bird could not have been more than 15 metres away, but a dedicated search failed to reveal even the rustle of the bird through the undergrowth. But they don’t always answer, even if they are around – on returning to the Helderfontein hut, where I planned to get my first actual sighting of the bird, the playback elicited no response. Perhaps it was a time of year thing – it was a hot day at the start of spring.

Last week I reported an excellent week of ringing from the Kammanassie Mountains. What I did not report was that each evening and almost right through the night, the hooting call of a Striped Flufftail echoed down from the mountain slopes above our very basic campsite. We had chosen this spot to camp because of a very primitive shack, too small to sleep in, but big enough to provide shelter from the wind while cooking on our gas stove. But more luxuriously, there were two baths that served as drinking troughs for cattle. They also provided a very refreshing escape from the summer sun induced sweat. These baths were constantly fed by mountain water fed in by a black pipe that could not be turned off. The overflow from the baths had thus created an artificial permanent wetland on the slope below.

One afternoon this week while navigating the Ortholobium shrublets on the 50m or so section of slope from the baths to the hut, I heard the Flufftail hooting coming from my left. I realised the Flufftail was closer than I had presumed. Getting back to the camp, I set up my recorder with the call on the other side of an open track and put the call onto repeat playback. I then chose a spot in the bushes and proceeded to wait. After five minutes I heard the Flufftail rattle call a few meters away from me. I lifted my camera and made sure the dodgy focus was working. After another eternally long five minutes, eyes watering with attempts to focus on the spot between the call and the speaker, I lowered my gaze to peer into the bushes. Nothing. But on scanning back to the track a dark bump had appeared in the grass that had not been there a minute before. Sure enough! It was the Striped Flufftail! Unfortunately a branch obscured my view for a clean photo, and on leaning to the side to get a clearer view the bird spotted me, hunkered down, and within three seconds had fluttered back into the safety of the swamp, where any further views would be impossible.

I held my breath as I switched the camera to review mode – and felt triumphant as I reviewed the evidence of my encounter, not as sharp as I would wish, but clear enough all the same.

So, a lifer, and a day to remember.    

Ideal Striped Flufftail habitat

Other mountain denizens

Cool Karma in the Kammanassie

I love the Kammanassie mountains, that island of table mountain sandstone surrounded by the plains of the Klein Karoo and dissected plateaus of the ancient African landsurface.

On Monday David and I picked up the key from the CapeNature office in Uniondale to access the south-western section where we had been informed Protea eximia were in flower and hence that was where we should head to find Cape Sugarbirds. After a bit of shopping, we started into the mountains, first stopping off to inform the landowners of the southern slopes of our presence. Most of the lower sections of the mountain are privately owned and so permission has to be obtained both from CapeNature and private landowners to gain access. That combined with a lack of any facilities or infrastructure means it is rarely visited by anyone except the park-rangers, who visit once a month or so to check weather stations.

The weather was overcast and windy, and a ringing session on Blue Hill Nature reserve in the morning had been blown away. However, the weather forecast for the following days looked promising. Up in the mist of the upper slopes, over 1200m – higher than Table Mountain, but not quite at that sections maximum height of 1800m, the calls of Cape Sugarbirds alerted us to our first patch of Protea eximia that would otherwise have been invisible in the mist. Then, in the cold and wet, we set up camp in proximity to an old abandoned shepherds shack that would at least provide dry conditions for cooking. With not much else to do, we turned in early to brace ourselves for our alarm clocks set for 3.30am.

The morning was still misty, and we set up nets along the mountain track. Soon we were plucking out Cape Sugarbirds and Orange-breasted Sunbirds from the nets, mixed with the odd Yellow Bishop and Cape Grassbird. By close to midday, our fingers full of pin-prick puncture wounds from the strong, sharp claws of the Cape Sugarbirds, and with sun and breeze lowering capture rates comparable to our depleted energy levels, it was time to call it a day. It was clear the site had potential for a second days ringing, especially since the view now allowed us to examine the landscape more closely for better net locations. The target for the second day would be Victorin's Warbler. In the afternoon, after a much needed lunch and siesta, we set our nets.

With the nets already up on the Wednesday morning, we had our first birds in the hand by 4.30, with the skies still turning red above us. Then time blurred in an endless procession from ringing station, to nets, extracting, birds, back to the ringing station where we huddled in the shadow of Protea to escape the burning sun. Success for the day was marked with the capture of three Victorin's Warblers, and around 50 Cape Sugarbirds, which ranged from handsome long-tailed males, to small and scruffy immature birds.

How we had energy to continue our search for more Protea eximia in the afternoon I have no idea. We bounced our way slowly along the mountain trail the contours around the mountains until we found another extensive patch, only 7km away, but 45 minutes of driving time. With the new target acquired, it was back to camp to rest and psyche ourselves for a 3am start for the Thursday. With the skies now clear, and with daylight from the long summer to use, we hiked further up the Kammanassieberg in search of flowers and Cape Rockjumpers. The golden sunset reminded me of honey, a sensation enhanced by the smells of buchu and other Fynbos plants.

By 3.30am Thursday morning we were on the trail again, braking only for a Red-tailed Rock Rabbit. The Nescafe instant coffee kept me alert enough not to plummet off the narrow track and down into the rocky ravines, and perhaps luck kept the wheels intact from rocks hidden among the long vegetation that concealed much of the road. But we arrived in time to set up our nets, with before the break of the red dawn. With the light we found we had set up our nets in the wrong location! Instead of the wide valley we had been headed for, our nets were adjacent to a small patch of Protea on a ridge. Pushed on by a brisk morning breeze, we dismantled our nets and headed off to the more extensive patch of Proteas. However, they were not as extensive as we had first thought, and did not expect a big haul from the day, especially with our delayed start. But the weather turned in our favour – the wind dropped, and clouds covered the sky – ideal ringing conditions. Over the next six hours we netted close to 40 birds, which included our 95th Cape Sugarbird from the 3 days.

So how many is that really? Well, my background calculations are as follows: the Kammanassie range is about 50km long and 10km wide, so 500 sq kilometers. My research says that there is a background Sugarbird density close to 20 individuals per square kilometer for the Fynbos generally, so there are 10 000 Cape Sugarbirds in the Kammanassie. So we caught close to 1% of the Kammanassie Sugarbirds. Now to see how many I can respot during point counts, and how many we recapture in subsequent visits.

To finish off the story, close to exhaustion, we headed back to camp to take down the tents and head triumphantly for Uniondale and a well deserved break (but we did have to stop to identify a mystery bird that turned out to be a juvenile Sentinel Rock-thrush).

Tent with a view, the base camp in the Kammanassie

Protea grandiceps - although widespread in the Fynbos, it is classified as Near-threatened  as it recovers slowly after fire

Gladiolus c tristes - but it doesn't look sad to me (triste - sad in spanish)

Erica densifolia highlighted by the setting sun

Magical Sunset over the Outeniqua moutains

Protea eximia by the light of the dawn

Disa lugens  - classified as Endangered. The pollinator of this incredible orchid is unknown (maybe extinct?!)

Juvenile Sentinel Rock-Thrush

Another pretty sunset

a magical Watsonia - species of this beautiful geophyte are hard to tell apart (to an ornithologist), but many species are useful, albeit occasional, sources of nectar for most of the nectarivores, including Malachite Sunbird, Orange-breasted Sunbird and Cape Sugarbird