The Wattle Bird

The wattle bird perched precariously on the rusty, cobwebbed-covered handle of the ageing lawn roller. It twisted its head from side to side; surveying its surroundings with those dark, soulful eyes. The tiny white feathers upon its breast were suddenly ruffled by a soft, southerly breeze. Holding my breath, I raised my Nikon D810 to eye level; finding the shutter with my right index finger and readying myself to take the shot. But my movements were too quick and too sharp. The wattle bird was spooked, stretched it's wings, and flew away.

Standing like a statue in my mother and father's garden, I let out a long sigh and lowered the camera to my side. My 200 millimetre zoom lens simply wasn't long enough to capture such a majestic creature from a distance that didn't give away my position. I needed to come up with a better plan.

Wildlife photography was never really a keen interest of mine. I preferred shooting people: Models, actors, performing artists. However, I was essentially trapped on my parents' property in Mount Compass, South Australia, for the next fourteen days; quarantined here by the government to halt the spread of the dreaded Corona Virus. Forbidden from leaving the property, I had to find subjects I wouldn't normally shoot. And while I enjoyed snapping pictures of flowers, gum nuts, tree branches, and even a jar of honey (in an attempt to kickstart my career as a product photographer), it was the wattle bird that I wanted to capture most. Not only was this a bird of exquisite beauty, it was also affectionately observed daily by my father who had fallen in love with the local fauna since moving to Mount Compass several years earlier. What better gift could my father receive for his birthday in August than a framed photograph of his beloved wattle bird? I knew he'd appreciate it; for not only was it an image he'd adore but also an image I had captured for him with the skills and experience obtained over years of taking photos. Any opportunity to make my father proud was one I took readily.

Luckily for me, the bird had a daily routine. At any given moment it would swoop down from the branches of a nearby gum tree and land atop the lawn roller to survey its surroundings. After about thirty seconds, it retreated to the safety of the gum tree. This gave me a window of opportunity (albeit a small one) to fire off a few shots. My only obstacle: I needed a longer lens. Not having one (or the money to buy one for the sole purpose of capturing a single photograph), I put my creativity to the test. I ordered a remote Shutter Release online, waited patiently for it to arrive, and finally got to work. I set the camera up on a tripod in the garden close to the lawn roller and aimed it directly at the bird's favourite perch. I switched the camera on, focused it appropriately, attached the receiver to my camera, and stood twenty to twenty-five metres away with the remote control in hand.

Over the next hour or so, I held the remote at the ready; patiently awaiting the moment of opportunity. I'd almost given up when, finally, the wattle bird swooped down and landed on its perch. I captured several exposures before, once again, the bird flew away. I repeated the process for the next two or three days before finally being satisfied with the images I'd captured.

I don't think a career as a professional bird or wildlife photographer is on the cards anytime soon. For starters, I'm not confident I have the patience or enthusiasm to do it full-time. But it was a pleasant experience with better-than-expected results. My friends and family, especially my father, loved the image and I still plan to frame it for Dad's birthday in August. Meanwhile, the wattle bird (to the best of my knowledge) continues to fly from the tree to the perch and back again every day.