The Little Red WattleBird

Australian photographer extraordinaire Brett Dolsen shares with us the heartwarming experience of being chosen for adoption by a wild wattlebird. Wattlebirds (Anthochaera) are members of the Honeyeater family, and native to Australia.  You'll love the photographs that Brett shot, chronicling the entire story, still ongoing at this writing.  At the end of the wattlebird tale, we are treated to a small collection of Brett's magnificent photographs.



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I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me [at this moment there are only two stories still on tap--we need YOURS!]. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!


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  Michelle Alton


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The Little Red Wattlebird

It was just another another morning and living in such a great location as Lake Cathie on the east coast of Australia my usual morning ritual is to get up early and venture out onto the verandah to see what gifts the new day has presented.  It is usually decision making time based on clouds at dawn, surf conditions or bird life down on the lake all visible from my verandah. Of course if I don’t see anything that captures my attention I head for the coffee rather than my camera.

It was the first day in February of 2011 and as I ventured outside I noticed a Wattlebird in the Kentia Palms adjacent to my home.  Usually they are very flighty so like most photographers I headed back for my camera expecting him to be gone on my return.




Little Red Wattlebird's First Appearance

To my surprise, as I moved closer for a better point of view, the bird continued with his activities and relocated to a Dracena bush where I managed to take a few quick shots.

Suddenly without warning he flew straight toward me and landed on the handrail next to me within touching distance.

As bewildered as I was, I immediately entered into dialogue with this extremely sociable wild bird, welcoming him to our house and looking for answers as to what was happening here.


BREAKFAST




Mmmm....Good?


Following our introduction and my quick lesson in bird language, my wife Janet appeared, wondering who I was talking to.

It was now time for that ever-important first cup of coffee and bewildered discussions about our welcome visitor who had now joined us for breakfast at the outside dining cable. With Janet's quick thinking and knowledge of birds, she headed for the pantry cupboard and returned with some honey. Wattlebirds are honey eaters and he appeared to be delighted as his tongue rapidly worked Janet's fingers and consumed all traces of this golden treat.




First Cup





Honey for Breakfast

And a Drop of Tenderness

A short time later he suddenly took off and left us wondering whether he would return. I headed for my Readers Digest "Complete Guide to Australian Birds" and then to the internet searching for further information regarding the Red Wattlebird.

I discovered an article in which a bird of the same species had been orphaned and raised by humans. It seems that the orphaned bird became very fond of the people that nurtured him and a favourite treat was watermelon. Some time later a female was introduced and the bird became less interactive with humans and was finally released back into the wild. Apparently he returns about once a year and knocks on the window until watermelon is brought out. Then after feasting and most likely sharing with his family, he disappears into the wild again. Wattle birds are migratory and stay in an area as long as there is a constant food supply.


That first day he reappeared on several occasions and became very comfortable, often preening himself from a perch on the top of a dining room chair. It appeared that it wasn’t just food he was after but also company and perhaps a sense of safety.



The Author and his New Friend

Over the next couple of days there were regular visits and then on the evening of the third day just before nightfall he landed in a Bottle Brush tree outside our bedroom window where he settled in for the night. This night nesting became intermittent as tales were spreading around the neighbourhood of the same bird interreacting at other households.

The following morning at day break he was off and during the day could be seen flying with other birds in the trees across the road.  He was quite distingishable as he had a certain clumsiness that made him stand out from the other birds.

We would be sitting at the outside table when he would suddenly swoop in with a gust of air narrowly missing us as he landed on a chair or sometimes on the table in front of us.




The Red Wattle Showcased



Preening


A feed of bread, honey and water and sometimes watermelon was becoming popular not only with our new friend but also with a family of eight or so sparrows that had become aware of free meals being handed out at the Dolsen’s.

Sparrow

On about the fifth day our balcony came under siege by four magpies who had become curious as to what was on offer.They had obviously been watching from the trees across the road and after surrounding the perimeter, one was sent in to check out the food bowl. On close inspection he turned his nose up and as quick as they appeared they were gone. Magpies are somewhat sinister in appearance, not unlike crows, but more threatening.



Sinister


Occasionally our little friend would turn up with others of his kind who would be too timid to stay but he was quite content with remaining behind as they continued off into the wild.

After about two weeks of constant visits it became noticeable that he was less interested in our food offerings and began hunting around the house for insects of different kinds. He would busily skip along the gutters changing feet from side to side as he searched for another treat. He began to land on the fly screens and search for moths hidden in the channels and this has now become a daily occurrence. After two months he is no longer looking for easy food but still comes and sits with me regularly and preens contentedly for around twenty minutes at a time.



Moth for Dinner!

It is impossible to say with certainty what has occurred with this little native bird but I have a strong feeling that he was most likely hand raised and cannot live without human companionship. He is not demanding but appears very safe and secure in our environment.




Safe and Secure

 At first one could say it was quite spiritual, but now it is more of a mutual relationship with no demands. As our balcony has become part of his personal wilderness I think the photos may tell the story better than I can.

Call of the Wild

Brett Dolsen Biographic Sketch

Growing up in Bankstown a western suburb of Sydney NSW Australia, Brett's ancestral roots date from the early 1600's to mid 1850's in North America. His great great grandfather arrived in Australia in 1851 from Chatham Ontario during the Australian Goldrush.  Brett began researching history around middle age and the more he learnt about his ancestors the more his views on the world began to change.

After 30 years in the landscape gardening business,  Brett was also influenced by the appearance of a Black Necked Stork, more commonly known as Jabiru, adjacent to his residence in Lake Cathie NSW. As a result Brett purchased a Canon D400 kit in the hope of capturing this rarely seen bird (early images below).  This relentless pursuit continued as the Jabiru reappeared almost daily for around four weeks and Brett soon realised the need to develop better photography techniques.

After four years Brett has decided to start his own photography business and very recently purchased new equipment."This will hopefully take me to another level and yes it is all about lenses. I love action captures of all types and this where I would like my business to go."
History will perhaps tell the rest of the story.

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Brett's Bonus Shots

Body Board

Eucalyptus Forest

Flight

Paddling with Pals





Jabiru in Flight

Jabiru

Peter Hudson

Portrait of a Surfer

Relentless Pursuit

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Thanks so much for visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit." If you have a free moment or two, please check out my Photography Website, Your Best Shot, and sign up for the mailing list! And also consider sending the link to this blog to your circle of friends.


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   All photographs by Brett Dolsen

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The Green Light

 

A New Yorker, through and through, Joe DiGilio has a unique perspective on most of life’s experiences. You won’t want to miss a single word of his delightful story of a teenage baseball star/budding photographer Coming of Age in New York City. Then stay aboard to view some of his amazing shots of “The City” after the story's poignant ending.

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I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!

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  Michelle Alton

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The Green Light

Waiting for the B Train

I grew up in Queens, one of New York City’s five boroughs. The son of a New York City police officer and the oldest of five, I was a typical teenager of the early 60’s. I hated school, liked ROCK N ROLL, girls, TV, sports, photography and Mom’s apple pie. I dedicated most of my time to sports, especially baseball, my first love. By the time I was 16 I had become a fairly good high school varsity baseball player. I was so fast the coach gave me “the green-light” which in baseball terminology meant I had permission to advance / steal / take the next base any time I wanted.

Like most American boys I had grandiose visions of becoming a big league ball player someday but other dreams, such as those cultivated by raging hormones, began to compete for time between my ears. I began to notice girls, the girl who lived next door in particular. Funny how that happened, this was the same freckle faced girl I teased when we were in the third grade. The same skinny girl whose braces I’d made fun of and who I'd thrown snowballs at. And the same girl who told my mother that I cursed and smoked cigarettes. All of a sudden she had become interesting. How was I going to get her to forget about our history and become interested in the new and improved teenage me? I started by smiling, saying hello, and taking the same bus she took to school. One day I sat in the empty seat next to her. I felt like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar when she caught me admiring her ample attributes. But instead of admonishing me she cocked her head in a knowing sort of way and shot me a come hither smile. Instead of the dirty look I had been getting for years,she gave me “the green-light."

Young Love

Now the lines of communication were open and “the good neighbor policy” was in force. Our chance encounters became more frequent; taking pictures at the park, at the supermarket, soda fountain, the school dance, she even came to some of my games and photographed me as if I were a star.

As time passed our attraction to one another and natural curiosity became stronger. We were spending more and more time together and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by our parents. Her father, a burly hard drinking steam fitter with an attitude, had always said “Hi Joey” to me in the past. Now he looked at me cockeyed with a, “you had better watch your P’s & Q’s around my daughter” scowl when he saw us together.

The houses in our neighborhood were close together and our bedroom windows directly across from one another. Some nights we would sit at our open windows, listen to music and talk until it was late.Aand some nights we’d arrange to take out the garbage at the same time and steal a kiss or two under the stars. The heat was on.

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One night I noticed her blinds weren’t completely closed. I could see her changing, slowly into her pajamas. The show became a regular thing, more revealing and theatrical as time passed but we never spoke of it. I think she even had her father rearrange her bedroom furniture for my benefit. I was going to bed earlier than I had in years!

Behind the Blinds

On Saturdays we would tell our mothers we were meeting friends at the movies and rendezvous in the darkest row of the balcony where we would kiss until our lips were swollen with passion. One rainy afternoon, while sitting on the big wrap-around porch of my parent’s home, listening to music, looking at pictures, and discussing what we wanted to do with our lives, she told me she wanted to be a model and asked me to take a couple of B &W head shots of her with my Argus. She liked the way they came out and asked if I would photograph her wearing a two piece bathing suit too. She didn’t have to ask twice. I took my time, focused again and again and double checked my light meter too. They were all keepers. I can still see them through my mind’s eye bathed in the veil of the green-light.

Argus C3. An Oldie but a Goodie

One day when both our families were out she invited me in. The conversation turned to her modeling career. She told me she had a new two piece bathing suit for me to photograph her wearing. I had no 35mm film for my camera but she had a little Kodak that used 127 film and Blue Dot flash cubes. She changed and came out wearing a little number that was skimpy for the times. She was only 16 but she filled it out well. We kissed between pictures. It was getting very hot in there. She told me she trusted me and wanted me to photograph her topless. I thought I’d died and went to heaven. She had her father’s Playboy magazine and imitated some of the poses. I fired away with that little Kodak. Then without warning she turned around dropped the bottoms and posed with her back to me, just like the women in the magazine. It was only a 12 exposure roll; I was out of film in no time. She pulled the bottoms back up and turned to me, the “the green-light” brighter than ever. We embraced passionately and trembled with excited anticipation. Without breaking our hold we awkwardly climbed the stairs to her bedroom peeling my clothes off along the way. But before we could surrender to one another we heard a car door slam. Her mom and dad had returned home. We scampered around like frightened mice gathering our clothes, flew down the stairs and out the back door. We put our shoes on in
my yard then hopped the back fence and went around the block, buttoning our clothes along the way. Once we felt safe we laughed nervously about our close call and wondered when our next opportunity might come.

The following day she gave me the film. I took it to school and developed it in the lab where I discovered it wasn’t ours. These were family party pictures. She searched for our film but couldn’t find it.

3

The next day when I got home from school I heard her mother screaming next door. I opened the window in my room to hear better. I clearly heard her mom ask her, “Who took the pictures?” The lost film had been found. She didn’t give me up right away but when I heard her mom yell, “JOEY!” I knew I was dead meat.

Then it became quiet. I saw her standing at her window. We looked at one another with tearful eyes. Our lips moved in silence and our young hearts broke.

Veil of the Green Light

I thought about her father too and what his reaction might be so I went down the block and waited at the corner for my own father to come home from work. Dad was a tough guy but he was always fair. The truth went a long way with him. I flagged him down and told him I was in trouble and we had to talk privately. I told him the whole story. He just sat there and listened.

When Dad and I walked in the house together Mom knew something was wrong. Dad told me to go to my room and to stay there until he called for me. A short time later I heard my mother crying. I also heard roars from the house next door. Her father had come home. About a half hour later he rang our door bell. Her father and mine went out for a walk alone. They returned about an hour later but there was no call for me until late that night, after I’d had plenty of time to think.

Dad was solemn as a judge and Mom wore a stern expression. I got the third degree punctuated by smacks to the back of the head when Mom felt it was appropriate. I was put on a short leash and my camera was taken away. In addition I received a steady stream of punishment jobs around the house to occupy my time. As for the girl next door, well she became taboo, strictly off limits. Our parents didn’t want us seeing each other anymore. Dad said if I didn’t stay away from her he’d let her father kick my ass. I never caught much more than a fleeting glimpse of her after that. “The green-light” was out “the good neighbor policy” history, and the blinds never opened again. The house next door was sold a month later.

I’m sure our story would have ended differently had we been born a little later, in the age of digital photography where running out of film is no longer a concern.

I will never forget the girl next door. She was part of my education in so many ways. I never saw the pictures either except through my mind’s eye where they remain to this day bathed in the veil of the green-light.


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Joe DiGilio’s Bio

Born, raised and formally educated in Manhattan and on Long Island, I could hear the fans screaming from my bedroom window when the Beatles played their first concert at old Shea Stadium.


I am a Viet Nam veteran. I have been married to Linda for 39 years. We have 3 children and 5 grandchildren. We still work but who knows for how long. At this stage of the game we take less and less for granted. Linda works in the accounting department of a non-profit organization and I manage a central monitoring station for a full service security company in Manhattan.


Photography has always been a part of my life. At times it’s played a greater role than it has at others but it has always been somewhere in the foreground or the background. At this juncture it’s fair to say photography qualifies as a passion. I’m self-taught but after 50 plus years of practice even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while. I took my first picture at the tender age of 7 with mom’s Brownie Box camera. A Nikon man, I use a D200 exclusively.  I’d like to trade up to a D700 but I have to sell a lot more pictures to justify it.

The streets and architecture of Manhattan are favorite subjects of mine. Our grandchildren, sporting events, wildlife and the great outdoors are also favorites but I’ll try my hand at just about any subject if the spirit moves me.

Michelle stirred my interest with this great idea of hers, a story to accompany a few of my images.
 
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Bonus Images


I have been admiring Joe’s growing collection of images of Life in New York City for several years now. They are wonderful, so I persuaded him to share a special grouping of them. Hope you enjoy the show!
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  Michelle Alton


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Happy Birthday Mr. President



30 Rock

Lightning Striking Again

Peggy Sue

Break Time

Broadway

So Long!

Big Apple

Joe has posted another story to Relentless Pursuits.  Here is the link to "The Blue Ladies"

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Thanks so much for visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit." If you have a free moment or two, please check out my Photography Website, Your Best Shot, and sign up for the mailing list!

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All photography in "The Green Light" by Joe DiGilio

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The Hoot Owl

Southern Californian, Robert Bemus, has a unique and refreshing writing style that works perfectly with his story, "The Hoot Owl."  I think we've all had a similar experience; I know I, personally, flushed with embarrassment as I recalled one of mine! I'll think you'll appreciate this tale on April Fools' Day too!

Along with the photos that accompany the story, we've included a sampling of some of Robert's outstanding photographic work, for your enjoyment.



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I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!



By the way, you may get a better view of the photos and the text if you enlarge your browser screen.


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Michelle Alton

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THE HOOT OWL

On a cool, crisp and clear January evening in 2004, I made my way up to the school. From the elevated viewpoint of the campus I was certain to get some great night shots of all the sprawling metropolis we know (and love) as the OC--as in Orange County, California. The '949' {the telephone area code for central and southern Orange County} to the initiated like me. Homeland of the beautiful people.

I had owned my Canon Rebel DSLR for about three months by now and was well past the 'shutterbug' stage of shooting anything animate, inanimate or dead. I wasn't just taking pictures. With each click of the shutter there emerged not just a photo but a visual interpretation, a social commentary of life as I saw it...a tour de force of composition, light and soul.

I pulled into the driveway and parked. Always an adventure when I shoot. Up in this deserted reach of pavement there could be coyotes...Cougars...mountain lions...rabid squirrels...Newport Beach policemen. I took a deep breath and proceeded to unload my gear. I walked across the deserted football field with the sure stride of someone who has taken a prodigious 1500 shots in just three brief months. Amazing.

When I got to the viewpoint I set up my gear for THE shot. I had the aforementioned camera. I had the tripod. I had the Canon 75-300mm lens with Image Stabilization. Last but not least, I had the one gadget that set me apart from the rest of the yammering herd and cast me in the Zen-like aura of a Serious Lens man-- I had the cable release mechanism.

So I've got the camera mounted and locked into position. I've zoomed in on the subject. I’m wondering what the 'Av' and 'Tv' mean on the dial. Screw it. I'll learn that stuff later. For now just set the dial to 'B', mash the cable release button and feel the shot into existence. Almost a birthing experience. Like a mother before she squishes out a bouncing baby whatever except there is no pain here...only inspiration. There. That should be long enough. Wait for the camera to write to the card...and...look at that...beautiful. I love that searing yellow glare caused by the city lights...I'll call this shot, Tungsten Fire. Or Nookular OC.




Nookular OC

I took a few more shots and then checked over my shoulder to make sure no other creatures of the night had crept up behind me. Hmmm. Look at that school building. Architectural Digest would want a shot of that. I turned the tripod around to capture the edifice and snapped a few more masterpieces. What's this? There in the viewfinder...what is that? It can't be. I reason for a moment. I have lived in Southern California most of my life. I have never seen an owl. Therefore, there are no owls in Southern California...but there it is still as a statue and perched on the roof.




A Study of Architecture and Nature

And there I was knowing that I had found myself in the moment they can't teach you in Photography School, the moment that neither money nor political influence can buy, the moment of being in the right place at the right time. As if the heavens had opened up, the angelic host sang in F sharp major and God Hisself smiled down and said, "You got the gear. You got the goods...Go ahead, Jethro-- take the shot."

I get the capture of the owl on the building. There's even a setting, waning moon in the shot. Classic. I was thinking if paparazzi can get twenty thou for a shot of Madonna, how much will National Geographic pay me for the first photographic evidence of an owl in So Cal...maybe fifty bucks? Dare I get closer for the money shot? I crept closer. The bird didn't budge. I'm golden. I zoomed in and captured the bird. Just a couple of shots. That's all I need. I'm a pro and I'll soon have the money to prove it. Being environmentally conscious and realizing that my lumbering around might be scaring away the owl's supper, whatever the hell they eat, I decided to pack it up knowing I had the shots in the Billingham camera bag.




The Classic Shot



The Money Shot

I was just a tad disappointed when I downloaded the shots. The shots of the OC turned out fine. The shots of the school turned out fine. But the money shots of the owl were a bit blurry. How could that be? I had the cable release so the camera was still. Damn. The owl moved. I had to admit to myself then and there that I should have taken a few more frames. Surely when I learn Photoshop, I'll still be able to fix the jittery images and then sell them to Nat Geo...When I learn Photoshop...A bit saddened and a little wiser, I retired for the night.

A few weeks passed and I found myself in a Lowes looking for flowers to shoot. Once in the garden section I saw it. My face flushed in embarrassment and shock. You need to know that up until that night I had never seen an owl in the wild. Sure, I had seen them on the nature shows but it's different seeing something on TV and then actually seeing it in person. And I had other, indelible images of owls in my mind. Sam from the children's book, Sam and the Firefly. The Snowy Owls in the film Dumb and Dumber when Harry and Lloyd attend the Preservationist Benefit. Or the guy in the film, Heat, when Vincent Hanna (Al Pacino) asks him, "Who? Who? What are you, a @#$%ing owl?"

There next to the Miracle-Gro and the indoor plants and for just $24.99 stood the Scarecrow Owl. A lifelike replica of the real thing to scare away birds and rodents from buildings. My face turned the color of that red croton plant and I rushed out of the store a few feet smaller. Kind of like Yosemite Sam had he been crushed by a one ton Acme anvil, just a pair of boots and a hat trudging out to my ride. Not only had I been duped, but I was severely depressed that there was a rift in the brotherhood of birds and that greedy Corporate America, as fronted by Lowes, was using a puppet owl to bully and intimidate the wrens, chickadees and bluebirds of happiness away from their happy homes. It would take months of therapy and how did you feel when you saw the Scarecrow Owl and I felt like crap that's why I'm paying you $70 per hour to fix me, Doc. I finally got better when the good doctor convinced me that I was no dumber than the birds and rodents who had been fooled by that dummy owl and that most of the time Mother Nature is cool but sometimes she can be a heartless wench... a 'biatch' as they say in the housing projects of Newport Coast.

It has been just over 7 years since I shot the owl. After that incident I began to focus more on moving objects for my photography subjects, like surfers. I have shot one or two statues during this time but I made damn sure that you knew that I knew it was a statue. I have not had the opportunity nor inclination to shoot an owl since that time...


Bonus Shots

Ten

Tucking In

Native Californians

 



Frozen July




Up!



Robert Bemus’ Bio

In October, 2003, Robert was taking a Journalism class at a local college when a reporter from the Orange County Register gave a lecture on photo journalism. Robert went out the next day and purchased a Canon Rebel DSLR. He forgot to go back to the class and has been taking photographs ever since. He has received various awards on website contests such as Betterphoto.com and Digitalimagecafe.com. His work has been published on Surfline.com and he recently won the Surfline Photo Challenge for November, 2010.

He has a BA in English from Cal State University, Long Beach, has five grown children and currently works for a large cellular service provider. He spends most of his free time either surfing or photographing surfers. 
 
 
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  All photography by Robert Bemus

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Thanks so much for visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit."  If you have a free moment or two, please check out my Photography Website, Your Best Shot, and sign up for the mailing list!




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