Birdwatching in Australia - Big Bird Gone Bad (Cont.)

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Outside Magazine February 2003

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Big Bird Gone Bad (Cont.)

BEFORE CAMERON AND SHAYNE started this job, their house was owned by an old German couple named Frieda and Joseph Jorissen. They made a fair go growing lemons, mandarins, and oranges, but mostly they tended the birds, and over their 42-year tenure in Mission Beach, Frieda became the grande dame of cassowary culture. In 1977, the Jorissens donated the property to the National Parks and Wildlife Services and, by extension, to Cameron and Shayne. Little did they know that the deal came with a history, and a price.

"Basically, there were generations of birds who had grown up getting handouts off this veranda," says Cameron. "And, mate, they were more than a little upset when we put up the fence."

One giant female paced a deep trench around the perimeter. Others harassed their car when they came back from the grocery store, pecking the glass, scaring the kids, chasing the dog, making life hell.

"I tell you, it was a bit of a pissing contest at first, but we've got an understanding now," he says, outlining a complex "understanding" program involving trash-can lids.

"Bird!" cries Shayne. She's been out back, examining a giant python that has eaten a neighbor's cat—you can still see the kitty's pricked ears through the snake's skin—and has spotted a 150-pound, six-foot-tall female.

I push up from the picnic table for a glimpse. And, yes, there is something in the woods over Cameron's shoulder, a spot of red. Then a head, or what looks like a head, sticking out from the jungle like a sock puppet through a stage curtain. Then it pulls back, lost in the bush.

"Did you see her?" asks Cameron, cracking me another beer.

I have to admit: I'm really not sure.

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