Notes on a Trip to the Wongan Hills, Western Australia, with a Description of a New Ptilotis.
(Hon. Ornithologist, Perth Museum, W.A.)
Part I.
On the 14th September, 1842, or about 61 years ago, Gilbert, the intrepid field naturalist and the coadjutor of Gould, wrote from the Wongan Hills describing the nest-mound and eggs of
the Gnou or Mallee-Fowl (Lipoa ocellata), which he found for the first time in the locality indicated.
Subsequently, Gould, when writing of the Black-throated Coachwhip-Bird (Psophodes nigrogularis), quoted Gilbert as follows:—"I heard it (the Coachwhip-Bird) for the first time, together with the notes of many other birds equally strange to me, in the vicinity of the Wongan Hills."
To view scenes which Gilbert saw and to tread what may be truly termed "hallowed ground" were in themselves a sufficient object for an expedition to the Hills, but when combined with the facts that Gilbert had there heard birds the notes of which were strange to him, and that the district had not been explored, ornithologically, since his visit, the desire to go there became almost irresistible. Natural inquisitiveness, also, to see what changes (if any) had taken place in the local avifauna, helped to clinch the matter. Hence I organized a party, having the same personnel (with one addition) as that which visited the Stirling Ranges last year.
By the map, the Hills are some 100 miles north-east of Perth, and are about in the same latitude as Bourke, New South Wales. They are about 90 miles inland from the western coast, 50 miles from Mogumber, the nearest railway station, and are on the eastern verge of the characteristic rain-belt. We left Perth on the morning of the 30th September last, and arrived at Mogumber at noon, where we were met with a dray, horses, and driver, provided by Lord Abbot Torres, of the Spanish Benedictine Mission of New Norcia, who throughout our trip afforded us the greatest hospitality and evinced a lively interest in our labours. We reached the Mission Station (15 miles distant) that night, and being up betimes on the following morning completed another stage of 22 miles for the day, leaving 13 miles to accomplish our outward journey. Making a start at dawn the next morning, we entered the gorge leading up into the Hills just before noon. The whole journey was performed on foot, as also the return journey, the dray being used for transporting our baggage, provisions, and equipment. A fortnight's local explorations brought up the total of the miles covered to 250.
The character and formation of the country over which we passed are exhaustively dealt with towards the end of this article. All that need be said now is that we passed through belts of jarrah (Eucalyptus marginata), beautiful-leafed gum (E. calophylla), York gum (E. loxophleba), jamwood (Acacia acuminata) and sheoak (Casuarina) until we reached a place called Behagning Spring, which was noteworthy inasmuch as it marked the line where the coastal vegetation "petered" out and the inland vegetation began. Thence the gigantic flowering eucalypt (Eucalyptus macrocarpa), the gimlet gums (E. salubris), the salmon gums (E. salmonophloia), the morrell gums (E. longicornis), the quandongs, and the sandalwoods held sway. Two large plains were crossed—one the Bishop's Plain (named 
Haunt of the Redthroat and Chestnut-rumped Tit. Typical Wongan Hilltop.In the Wongan Hills
FROM PHOTOS. BY C. P. CONIGRAVE.
Quandong Tree, Wongan Hills, showing Scarlet Drupes, called "Emu Berries."
FROM A PHOTO. BY C. P. CONIGRAVE
after Bishop Salvado, the founder of the Mission), and the other the Y Y plain. At the base of the Hills a depressed tract of moist saline country was found, in which salt or brackish lakes formed, one of them, Lake Hinds, being several thousand acres in extent.
The Hills themselves form a very conspicuous object in the surrounding country, are about 1,200 feet above sea level, and about 8 miles in length. They are flat-topped, and composed of ferruginous conglomerate, which overlies country rock. They are seared with gullies and marked with abrupt, bold escarpments, bluffs, and declivities. A remarkable feature in their vegetation is the gimlet gum thickets, which much resemble the "Whipstick" (a species of mallee) scrub near Bendigo, Victoria. Frequently whole belts of these gums were found prostrate, caused by "white ants."
Birds.—The results of the expedition were most gratifying from every point of view. We collected 130 skins for the Western Australian Museum, included in which were those of such uncommon forms as Drymaœdus pallidas (?), Hylacola cauta, Calamanthus montanellus, Malurus pulcherrimus, Malurus leucopterus, Cinclosoma castanonotum, Sericornis brunnea, Misocalius palliolatus, Glycyphila albifrons, Cladorhynchus leucocephalus, Petrœca goodenovi, and a new Ptilotis, hereafter described. Added to this we had the opportunity of making close observation of the habits of many of these species and their young. We also secured many nests and eggs, particularly those of Micrœca assimilis, Glycyphila albifrons, Glycyphila ocularis, and Petrœca goodenovi .
Our great disappointment was to find that the Gnous (Lipoa ocellata) and the Black-throated Coachwhip-Birds (Psophodes nigrogularis) had abandoned the locality. Even up to recent times, the former must have been numerous everywhere in the Hills for we met with hundreds of their old nest-mounds. These had been constructed not only in the rich red alluvial soils at the bases of the Hills, but also in the pocket-gullies on the hillsides, and even on the rocky brows of the hills in the broken conglomerate and gravel. Sites of the last-mentioned description, it is conceived, would not have been chosen by the birds if more suitable ones had been available. One is prompted to ask, "Why have the birds deserted the locality?" I conjectured at the time that it was owing to the pastoral lessees "firing" the scrubs from time to time in the summer season so as to obtain a growth of sweet "feed" for stock after the first autumn rains—a practice much in vogue in Western Australia.[1] On stating my theory to an old resident of Mogumber, who had been a frequent visitor to the Hills in search of minerals, he disagreed with it, and expressed the opinion that the desertion was due to the severe drought which afflicted the country some eight years ago. His theory has received confirmation from my friend Mr. B. W. Leake, of Kellerberrin, who states that previous to the drought mentioned the Gnous were numerous in his district (some 150 miles south-east of the Wongan Hills), but that during the drought not only the Gnous but also all the smaller marsupials disappeared, and have not since been seen there. At my request, Mr. Conigrave very kindly photographed one of these nest-mounds which had been constructed in the conglomerate on a hill-brow. The photograph is here produced, and shows in the foreground, on the rim of the nest-crater, some pieces of conglomerate used in the construction of the mound. One piece measured 6 inches × 4 inches × 4 inches and weighed considerably over a pound avoirdupois.[2] Obviously the birds must have experienced great difficulty in breaking through the inhospitable and dense surface and afterwards in excavating and removing the heavy fragments. I have at all times held the opinion that these birds, in constructing these mounds, do not use their wings for transporting material, but their feet only. In the particular mound under notice it would have been impossible for the builders to have seized and transported the rock and gravel by their wings, and doubtless their stout claws were the sole agency. Whilst at the Margaret River, in the south-west of this State, I had the opportunity of seeing one of the birds at work "coning" the saucer top of the mound (see Emu, vol. ii., page 76), and on that occasion the feet only were used.
In vain Mr. Conigrave and I strained our ears to catch the sound of the inimitable notes of the Black-throated Coachwhip-Bird. The low-growing scrubs of the locality formed ideal homes for them, but evidently they had left or perished simultaneously with the Gnous. It is noteworthy that the members of both the species named are found in close companionship in the scrubs between Capes Naturaliste and Leeuwin. Notwithstanding the absence of these two feathered friends of Gilbert's, we found pleasure in meeting one of his discoveries—Malurus pulcherrimus—at its scientific "birthplace." On our first day's outing on the Hills the first two birds shot fell to my gun, the second of which was a handsome male bird of the Wren in full nuptial plumage. We found the species very numerous in the general tracts or rock patches in and about the hills. I had ample opportunity of observing them in their native haunts, and frequently brought the little families to my feet by imitating the calls of a young bird in distress. Great rivalry appears to exist between the males in their song, and on one occasion I found two of them in fierce combat. It would have been possible to shoot at least a dozen males without trouble, but after killing the second male I felt that I had done enough "murder" amongst these charming creatures. We were too 
Old egg mound of Lipoa ocellata, in Conglomerate, Wongan Hills.
FROM A PHOTO. BY C. P. CONIGRAVE
late for their nests and eggs, as all their broods were out. I caught several young birds at different times, but after examining them returned them to their parents' care. I have now found and have recorded this species at two different places in Western Australia—the first at the Stirling Ranges, in the south (see Emu, vol. iii., page 14), the second at the Wongan Hills. These I take to be the most southern and northern limits respectively of the species, but I shall be surprised, indeed, if the species is not afterwards found at elevated rocky places between the above limits. They undoubtedly are not only lovers of stony and rocky places, but also of mountainous ones.
Our first clay's outing in the Hills was also productive of another rare form in Drymaœdus pallidus (?). When emerging from one of the dense scrubs into more open country I heard a series of clear, thrush-like notes just ahead of me. The author of them I found sitting on a dead branch of a fallen shrub. Quite unconscious of my presence, he continued his song. It was, I confess, with some qualms of conscience that I shot the bird, but the exigencies of science had to be satisfied. On picking him up, his mate came running up quite close to me and for some time fed about unconcernedly within a few feet. I need scarcely say that I did not molest her. Other specimens were obtained subsequently, included in the number being an advanced fledgling. On comparing the skins obtained with the Eastern form (D. brunneopygius) I cannot detect any differences between the Eastern and Western forms. Certainly, in one or two skins of the latter the under parts are a little lighter in colour than in the former, but on the other hand one of the adults we secured was very much darker on those parts than the Eastern bird.
On the same day's outing we met with a family of the Rufous-rumped Ground-Wrens (Hylacola cauta), one of which Mr. Conigrave was fortunate in getting. The locality in which they were found was a flat-bottomed gully of rich red soil with dwarf scrub growing upon it. We found the members of the family most fearless and familiar. On my imitating the cry of a young bird, these bright, coquettish little fellows, with tails elevated, would approach me by short, rapid runs, scrutinizing critically at each brief stoppage, and then fearlessly run over my feet as I stood. Running off again in the scrub, I would bring them back again and again with the same device. The birds do not resort to flight, but run along the ground like mice, and thread their way through the undergrowth, the tails always being carried vertically. When first disturbed, the adult bird utters a single scolding note, and repeats the same at intervals while the intruder remains. They possess, however, a spirited, clear song, which is uttered when perched on a bare limb in a low bush. They appear to be very local in habit, for the only place except one we found them in the Hills was in the gully mentioned, which we named after the genus. The broods evidently were all out and well advanced, for two of the birds we shot were strong fledglings.
We were fortunate in observing in the same gully, in the early stages of our explorations, a pair of Cinclosoma castanonotum. To observe them, however, was one matter, but to secure them was quite another. We found them always in the same spot, but after once flushing them it was almost impossible to sight them again. Hour after hour and day after day were spent in earnest but unsuccessful quest until, on the last day but one, Mr. Conigrave, after an hour's waiting, managed to shoot a male. A second bird was shortly afterwards secured, which proved to be a young male, and subsequent to that again I shot a young female. The thick undergrowth afforded them the best of concealment, and they were never at any time slow in availing themselves of it. To accentuate the difficulty of capture, they do not utter either an alarm note or song. The only sound we heard them make was a faint "tsee, tsee," and this only appeared to be a call-note to the young after we had separated them—a habit common with Turnix varia in similar circumstances. The plumage of the young did not, as might have been thought, resemble the adult female. Instead of the light slate-grey breast of the latter, they were blotched diffusely with dark brown and greyish-white. The back, however, showed the cinnamon colour very distinctly. Probably they assume another phase of plumage more nearly approaching that of the female before they reach maturity. The species seems not only local in habit, but very sparsely distributed. Excepting those mentioned we only saw another pair, and those not in the mountains but in some casuarina scrub on the brackish saltbush plains.
A very common bird everywhere in the Hills was Sericornis (Pyrrholæmus) brunnea. During the first morning's outing in the low scrubs I met with a family of them. The whole brood, headed by the parent birds, passed where I stood, hopping swiftly along the ground and through the undergrowth, each uttering a subdued, plaintive, single note, which produced a singular effect. The song of the adult bird when not en famille is quite different, and consists of a series of loud, cheery notes frequently uttered whilst hopping through the scrubs. They enlivened the hill-lands very much with their distinctive song. We found, too, that they were not above borrowing their neighbours' notes. One morning Mr. Conigrave and I followed what we took to be a Calamanthus, or Field-Lark, through the dwarf scrubs on the hillside. After some time we espied the bird sought for sitting at the foot of a small shrub and uttering the same notes. My companion shot him, and on picking him up found him to be, not the species his song denoted, but Sericornis brunnea. The Wongan Hills bird is slightly smaller than those from the north-west and the interior, and the throat-patch is much less extensive, and is a deep rusty-red.
One of the gems of the collection was Malurus leucopterus, which was comparatively speaking numerous on the moist, brackish, sandy tracts in the vicinity of the lakes and also on the plains. As M. pulcherrimus loves the dry, stony country, so does M. leucopterus love the inland sand areas. We found it most difficult to get sight of a male, although we could frequently hear their singular "reeling" notes. On the other hand, the females were most fearless and trusting, and could always be brought to foot with a decoy note. The broods were all out, and on many occasions I caught and examined young ones. We managed to secure two males during the trip, but neither fell to my gun, although I chased one from bush to bush at full speed and with much enthusiasm for fully half a mile. They appear to be always on the alert and at the same time very distrustful. No doubt these unenviable but life-essential qualities have been developed and made constant by their being continually harassed by their enemies, their brilliant plumage making them conspicuous objects in the landscape. The habit of elusion has eventually become a second nature with them. Colour to this surmise is given by the fact that the females, who are sombre in colour, are quite fearless. When being chased the male bird adopts highly intelligent tactics. Dropping into the first convenient bush at its base, he quickly passes through to the other side of it, and immediately takes wing and flies with great rapidity to the next shelter, thus interposing the quitted bush between the pursuer and pursued, with every advantage to the latter. On comparing the skins of the two male birds we secured with some skins of the same species obtained at Day Dawn (some 200 miles farther north),[3] the former was of a distinctly darker blue; and on a further comparison of both the above with the skin of a male obtained at Yule River, in the north-west, the last was much paler blue than either, and in addition was larger, and had brown legs and bill instead of black ones. The difference between the Wongan bird and the Yule River bird was very marked indeed, but the Day Dawn bird helped to bridge in a slight degree the gap of difference. The female of the Yule River is a clear biscuit-brown with whitish under parts, whilst the females from the other two localities named varied from an obscure brown to greyish-brown.
On one of the large shallow lakes we met with a company of Cladorhynchus leucocephalus numbering 80 or thereabouts. Desirous to make sure in the first place of securing some specimens for the spirit tank, I approached them, under cover of a shrub which was distant some 50 yards from them, with the intention of giving them the first barrel whilst they stood and the second when they arose. Imagine my astonishment, when, after raking them with the first barrel, they stood stock still. Acting on impulse, I fired the second barrel into them, and still they stood, notwithstanding that numbers of their companions lay dead and dying beside them. Eventually I had to enlist the services of Mr. Conigrave's dog to chase them around the lake so as to get a shot on the wing. We afterwards waded out into the lake, the water in which did not reach above our ankles, and picked up 17 birds, the result of four barrels. Without the slightest difficulty I could have shot the whole company, as they were so tame and stupid. I regret that the instincts of sport should have so dominated the higher ones of humanity as to cause me to shoot more birds than were necessary for scientific purposes, but as the birds were a welcome addition to our larder, in which tinned meats, local kangaroo, and damper played the most prominent part, the cruelty was to a great extent justifiable. The whole plumage of each of the 17 birds was white, excepting the wings, which were brownish-grey. Not one bird of the 17 shot possessed the chestnut breast-band, or even the faintest indication of it, and none of those who escaped had it, so far as I could see, and I had an excellent opportunity of observing them when stalking them, and subsequently on their passing me. The three birds which we selected for skins were found on examination to be young birds, and I regret now that I did not examine every one that was shot. From what has been said it may be deduced that each bird of the company was a young one, and the neck plumage of those shot, evidenced by bunches of feathers in course of development, supported the deduction. One of our party, who claimed to have an intimate knowledge of the Old World Charadriidæ, asserted that it was not unusual for the young broods of the European Stilts to unite themselves into large companies and remain together. If so, it is the first time that such a habit has come under my observation. Singular to say, the bills of many of the birds shot were straight, but others again were slightly upcurved.
Mr. Conigrave was fortunate enough to obtain, on the second day's exploration at the Hills, an ornithological "godchild" of mine in the form of Calamanthus montanellus. This was shot in one of the dwarf scrubs on the hillside. Owing to the running, secretive habits of the species, specimens were hard to get, although the birds were numerous in every part. Their beautiful, clear, warbling notes, uttered usually whilst perched on the top of a low bush or running along the ground, were always charming. We secured altogether some half a dozen specimens, included in which were two young ones in very much advanced plumage.
When returning one afternoon to camp, I flushed a pair of Parrots from the base of a small bush, just on the verge of the lake country. Following them to the tree in which they alighted I shot one, which turned out to be a non-breeding male of Psephotus multicolor, remarkable inasmuch as his bill was pale pink and that the cere at the base of the upper mandible was quite flexible and soft to the touch. The humeral feathers were very red, and the partially concealed transverse black band on the under surface of tail feathers was very clearly defined. In another instance I saw the parent birds and their young flying about.
Another surprise was to find Eopsaltria gularis at the base of the Hills in the heavy timber. The species, however, was very rare, and it was not until the last day but two before leaving the Hills that I secured one, which happened to be attending to the wants of a young Bronze Cuckoo. On the following afternoon I secured another specimen, which turned out to be a young bird. Comparing the one adult bird obtained with a number of adult skins secured at different times on the coast, I found the former to be much smaller and the yellow colour of the upper parts to encompass the upper tail coverts only, and not the lower back. In the absence of a series of skins nothing can be done at present but to record the differences.
Of the Honey-eaters deserving note we shot several specimens of my ornithological "godchild," Melithreptus leucogenys. In every specimen the eye-zones were yellow and the orbits bluish-emerald, and the other characteristics upon which I distinguished it from the Eastern form were also constant. We obtained several skins of Ptilotis cratitia, which were fairly numerous. Glycyphila albifrons were very numerous, and we obtained and saw many nests and eggs. They are restless, vivacious, swift-flying birds, with a variety of call notes. One in particular (their feeding note) resembles the repeated monosyllables "chink, chink." I shot two young birds in different localities, each of which had a bright yellow throat. The bill of one of these two birds was abnormally long, even as compared with adult birds of the same species.
The Psittacidæ family was not well represented in either species or individuals. We obtained three specimens of Platycercus icterotis. I was in hopes when shooting them they would prove Count Salvadori's Platycercus xanthogenys, having cherished the notion for many years past that this latter species, which up to the present is only represented in the cabinet by one skin, will be found in one of the dry inland areas where the eucalypts are not found. This notion was grounded on the theory of protective colouration. The green colouring on the mantle of P. icterotis (the absence of which establishes P. xanthogenys) would in such areas make its possessor always conspicuous, and in consequence an easy prey for its enemies, and in time would lead to its extermination. Birds of the same species without such colouring, and less conspicuous, would have an infinitely better chance of surviving. Two of the birds shot were fledglings. I saw another adult bird entering a hollow in a salmon gum with food in its mouth, evidently for its young.
One of the novelties obtained during the expedition was that of the Western form of Ptilotis leucotis. The first specimen was shot by a member of the party on the Hills, and at first sight I pronounced it, but with reservation, to be Ptilotis leucotis, although it appeared to be much smaller and not so brightly coloured as the Eastern form. Subsequent comparison showed distinct modifications in structure and colour disposition, hence I intend to separate it from P. leucotis. At a later date I shot a young bird in some sparse timber in one of the deep gullies in the Hills. Shortly afterwards I shot, near the same spot, an adult bird, evidently the parent bird of the former. At the time I was surprised to see it running agilely up the trunk of a tree, extracting, as it ran, insects from the bark crevices. Its pace was quite as quick as that of a Tree-creeper, but instead of ascending spirally, after the manner of that bird, it ran vertically up the face of the trunk.
Afterwards we secured many more specimens, including fledglings. Objection may be taken to my elevating the new bird to the rank of species. The scientific name I appropriate for the new bird is Ptilotis novæ-norciæ; the vernacular one the Western White-eared Honey-eater. The specific description is as follows:—Similar to Ptilotis leucotis except that the hindneck, mantle, and back are greyish-olive, not rich yellowish-olive, and that the remainder of the plumage is not so brightly coloured. The black colour, also, is confined to the throat, sides of the head, and cheeks. The white cheek-stripes are very narrow, and not so conspicuous. The secondaries are brown, without olive wash of the tail; the upper pair of feathers are blackish-brown, without similar, wash, and the remainder of tail feathers are almost black as to one longitudinal section, as in P. leucotis. Iris dark brown; bill black; legs and feet greyish-black. Total length, 6.5 inches; wing, 3.5; tarsus, 0.8; culmen, 0.5. Type, Western Australian Museum, Perth.
- ↑ Too much so in Australia generally. —Eds.
- ↑ The size of these stones is remarkable.—Eds.
- ↑ This affords some food for study. In Australia, speaking generally, the rule has been, the farther one goes north the brighter and more conspicuous the colouration of the birds—a fact only in accordance with and accentuating the law of environment. Proofs of this are forthcoming along our eastern coast until the "bond and verge" of our "region" in New Guinea are reached. In the instance cited an exception comes in, and from it a question arises: Have former observations been faulty, or is there a zone in which Nature hangs in the balance and may go either way—in this case to a fainter shade? Such a question as this, more is the pity, is often lest sight of in the enthusiasm of a collector in the field. There observation is not close enough.—H.K.