Gladesville Bridge, Sydney

By chance, I was near the banks of the Parramatta River at Henley, near Gladesville. The road curves down to the ferry wharf and near the ferry terminal there was a small pocket of grass, surrounded on three sides by sandstone blocks. In the middle was a plaque outlining the original location of the first Gladesville Bridge. Across the river at Chiswick/Abbotsford, it is possible to see the abutment where the bridge joined the land.

Sign about Gladesville bridge at Henley

Sign about Gladesville Bridge at Henley

The concrete span of the Gladesville Bridge is iconic and is recognised internationally as a significant engineering achievement. Depending on the angle, it seems to curve up and over the river, the high arch ready to accommodate the largest shipping vessels. A couple of years ago there were an estimated 81,000 cars crossing the bridge each day; a figure that will only increase. Ruth Park described the bridge as follows:

One is somewhat comforted by the lean elegance of the Gladesville Bridge. It gives the agreeable illusion that the road rushes up to the water’s edge and takes off in a 305 metre leap with Olympic ease, landing like a butterfly and whisking away in a harmonious curve over Huntleys Point. (Ruth Park’s Sydney, p. 190).

Photos of the original bridge, opened in 1881, provide a clear indication of the burgeoning growth of Sydney, and of road traffic in particular. The original bridge accommodated two lanes of traffic and a tram line, installed later. It had five spans with iron pylons and the centre span was a swing span, used to open up the bridge for the passing water traffic. This provided two channels for shipping to pass through, including ferries and the colliers travelling from Newcastle to the Mortlake Gas Works. The channels were relatively narrow and were often knocked about by ship masts and at times the swing bridge could not be closed or could be closed but the tram lines required realignment. There was no pedestrian access on the bridge: pedestrians were given free passage on buses and trams in order to cross the river.

The two Gladesville Bridges, old (middle) and new (left)

The two Gladesville bridges, old (middle) and new (left): sourced on Trove

By the early decades of the twentieth century, the bridge was not coping with the increased demands of traffic. A browse of letters to newspaper editors in Trove includes regular complaints about the inconvenience caused when the bridge was opened for ferry access (disproportionate when the number of ferry passengers was compared to the road traffic that had to wait whilst the bridge was opened and closed). There were also functional issues. When the weather was very hot, parts of the bridge would swell and the expanding metal needed to be sprayed by tugboats in order to contract. As Sydney traffic increased, access to the bridge was limited to the city-bound traffic of a morning for blocks of time. A new bridge was desperately needed.

In 1957 the tender for the bridge design from G Maunsell & Partners (Engineers, London) was accepted and work commenced in 1960. The location of the bridge was carefully considered based on the local topography. Another consideration was the bridge clearance height: heavy industrial shipping was expected and the bridge height in the centre was set at forty metres above mean high tide.

Gladesville Bridge from Putney

Gladesville Bridge from Putney

The bridge was originally planned to be part of a north-western expressway along with Tarban Creek Bridge and Fig Tree Bridge for the northern suburbs of Sydney. This project was abandoned in the 1970s due to protests about the projected freeway route through inner city suburbs including Annandale and Glebe. The construction of the Gladesville Bridge had a significant impact on the local area, including Hunters Hill which had approximately 100 houses and public buildings compulsory resumed and destroyed. There is an excellent article on the attempt to save one of the historic houses, St Malo, here.

The original arch span for the new bridge was extended slightly to 1,000 feet: there were aesthetic and prestigious reasons for doing this. At the time of its construction, the bridge was the longest single span concrete arch ever constructed. Its design was simple yet the scale of the arch was extraordinary at the time.

Taking inspiration from the Roman method of building arches using segmented units built over a temporary formwork, the engineers used hollow, precast concrete blocks which were moved into position via a railway on top of the formwork. (Source: Engineers Australia)

Under the Gladesville Bridge

Under the Gladesville Bridge

In 2015, the Gladesville Bridge was declared an International Historic Civil Engineering Landmark by the American Society of Civil Engineers. At the time, it shared this honour with three other Australian landmarks: the Sydney Harbour Bridge, the Western Goldfields and the Snowy Mountain scheme. When the plaque was unveiled at NSW Parliament, the original engineer, Tony Gee was in attendance. Gee was 22 years old when he was given the task of designing this extraordinary bridge.

Gladesville Bridge arch with Sydney Harbour Bridge in background

Gladesville Bridge arch with Sydney Harbour Bridge in background

There is a wonderful oral history available on the background and construction of the Gladesville Bridge. The history was compiled by the Roads & Traffic Authority Environment and Policy branch in December 2000 by Martha Ansara and Frank Heimans. It includes recollections from people involved in the bridge design and construction, as well as locals who watched the bridge come into existence. It recalls the excitement of the bridge opening on 2 October 1964 by Her Royal Highness Princess Marina. There are interviews with some of the characters who worked on the bridge, including insights into health and safety at the time. One interviewee estimated the lifespan of the bridge at 100-200 years.

When was the last time a chance encounter triggered a fresh look at something familiar for you?

[Photo: Gladesville Bridge viewed from Henley]

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Dr Elizabeth

I am lucky that in my job I often get to meet interesting people. It isn’t that my job is special or unique; I think it is more a matter of being in a position where I can ask questions, even in the form of small talk, which often reveals different stories and experiences. There is no underlying motive or salacious interest in personal details; it is a genuine curiosity about people and their experiences which is the trigger here.

There are some people that I get to know quite well through regular meetings, and others that are more of a one-time crossing of paths. It is surprising what people reveal, and I know that I too have been more likely at times to confide in strangers at points in my life. There is something almost of the confessional about sharing something which you might hesitate in telling a friend or loved one.

There are some remarkable stories that I have been told. There have been moments shared of betrayal or bewilderment at the actions of others, along with times of great joy and sorrow. Lots of laughs too as people enjoy sharing moments of humour and the random circumstances of life.

Lately, I have been thinking of one lady in particular who I knew in a professional capacity for about five years. A retired doctor, she would come in occasionally with some questions or seeking advice on one matter or another. We would get to talking and she told me many wonderful stories.

During one visit, she told me about an uncle of hers that had died whilst in his local bank. It wasn’t anything untoward; he died of natural causes. His wife had been waiting outside for him and she had wondered at what was taking so long. It was only when the ambulance officers wheeled him outside and she caught a glimpse of his socks that she realised what had happened.

I must confess that this played on my mind for a while and I ended up writing a short story – a work of fiction, apart from the identification from the socks peeping out on the stretcher.

I was saddened recently to learn that the good doctor had passed away. I will miss her wisdom, wit and generosity, and am grateful that for a while our paths crossed and that we were able to share some of our stories.

[Photo: camellias]

On Waratahs

Waratah, My Mountain Queen

Waratah, my Mountain Queen,
Grandest flower ever seen,
Glorious in shade or sun,
Where our rocky gullies run.
There is nothing, near or far,
Like our Mountain Waratah.

Henry Lawson

As the floral emblem of New South Wales, waratahs appear all over the place in a stylised format. From buses and road signs to state government signage, these red flowers are a constant background presence.

Waratah after rain

Waratah after rain

From September to November, waratahs are in flower in the Blue Mountains, and nothing quite compares to going for a wander early of a morning and coming across waratahs in bloom. In the photo above, it had rained the night before and there were still raindrops captured like tiny jewels in the petals.

There are several waratah trees in my neighbourhood. These are heavy with blooms, a thick collection of red flowers. I like the ones by the side of the road, or along walking tracks. They are usually more modest in the number of blooms but somehow more striking for their simplicity.

Waratahs along the Great Western Highway, Blackheath

Waratahs along the Great Western Highway, Blackheath

There is a wonderful link here to a page about waratahs by Waratah Software. I particularly like the staggered photos of how a waratah grows and develops over time.

Coming across a waratah in bloom in the bush is a special kind of delight.

[Photo: a waratah spotted along the Fairfax Heritage Walking track at Blackheath]

Writing Prompt: Dr Who on the Highway

Walter had his foot flat to the floor but still the car behind him beeped. Short, staccato slaps on the horn to register disapproval at his driving speed. He pressed down on the accelerator again but it made no difference. If anything, the speedo was slipping backwards. Now the horn behind him was continuous, a whimpering wail of displeasure. Walter watched cars speeding past; all four lanes were chockers. Damn Sydney traffic. There was no such thing as a quiet Sunday drive anymore.

A glimpse in the rearview mirror showed the empurpled face of the driver behind him. In the interests of self-preservation, Walter flicked his blinker on and limped onto the next shoulder on the highway. He was barely off the road when a half-eaten carton of fast food landed with a thump on his bonnet, along with a stream of vindictive comments about his parentage as the car that had been behind him finally passed by.

Walter shut his eyes and folded himself around the steering wheel. He only just resisted the temptation to rock himself back and forth. He had to pull himself together. He was a doctor, a respected academic. He shouldn’t be so bothered by a little light road rage.

After a minute or two, he felt calmer. He turned the car off, listening to the ticking of the engine as traffic hurtled past. He wound down a window then opened the door, climbing out into the hot summer morning. He walked around his old dark green Toyota Corona. He loved his car. Every scratch and scrape had a story. So what if it couldn’t speed along like the more modern cars?

His kids mocked his attachment to Betty, as he called her. Every now and then they’d badger him to upgrade, to get something with air conditioning that worked all year round rather than intermittent heat in winter. And power steering. Imagine! When he said he couldn’t afford it they laughed at him. A Professor of Business Finance should drive something better. He’d respond with a detailed treatise on depreciation and asset values until they gave it up as a lost cause.

He headed over to a scrap of shade. He’d wait a minute or two before getting back on the road with Betty. It was his usual Sunday pilgrimage to visit Mother. Years ago the kids would join him for the drive, but as they’d gotten older they were less interested in visiting their grandmother. At times he didn’t blame them. Even he could see she was hard work.

A loud, shrill sound carried over the traffic noise and Walter stepped back to the car to grab the phone from the car door. Was he late? Mother called if he was less than punctual.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that Doctor Who?’

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’

Walter sighed. This old chestnut. ‘This is Doctor Walter Who speaking. Who is calling?’

‘Sorry, Doctor. We weren’t sure if it was a real name. Sometimes people are a little, well, creative when they fill out their entries.’

‘Entries? What’s this all about?’ Walter frowned, glancing at his watch. He needed to get back on the road or he’d be late.

‘Beg your pardon. My name is Ellie Fraser, and I’m calling on behalf of the Red Cape Fundraising Committee. I have some good news for you.’

‘The what? I don’t know anything about a fundraiser.’

‘But you bought a winning ticket, Dr Who. In our fundraising lottery. You’ve won a brand new car!’

‘What?’ Walter dragged a hand through his receding hair.

‘You’ve won a Kia Picanto. It’s the first prize in our lottery.’

Walter shook his head. He rarely bought lottery tickets, knowing what he did about the statistical chance of winning anything. But there were some tickets that his mother had asked him to buy. Funds were being raised for a new bus for outings in her retirement village. He’d paid scant attention to the prizes and had paid for a book of tickets simply to please her.

And now, with all of this kerfuffle, he’d be late. Mother would never forgive him.

This piece was written as part of a writing group activity. We each selected cards at random for setting (a busy highway), time (a hot summer morning), character (Dr Who), situation (a lottery win) and theme (forgiveness). It was challenging but fun to try and incorporate these elements in a writing prompt activity with the timer ticking away.

[Photo: writing workbook]

Zoos: No Longer Something For Me

I can’t recall the last time that I went to a zoo. It’s been a while. I think the last time was a visit to the Taronga Western Plains Zoo. This is an open style zoo: barriers are in place to keep the animals and the humans safe, but they are largely unobtrusive, and give the impression of relative freedom, even if this is on a limited scale.

Spotted tail quoll

Spotted-tail quoll

During a visit to Launceston, I had a wander through the Tasmania Zoo. It is home to many varieties of animals that I wouldn’t expect to see in the middle of a small island, such as camels, lions and tigers. It was a bit of a hike to get there, and I travelled there through the aptly named Meander Valley. As I got out of the car, I could hear sulphur-crested cockatoos swirling above, along with a mixed medley of other bird and animal calls. I paid my entry fee and had a wander about.

Wombat

Wombat

The extensive collection of caged birds began at the entrance. There was the element of novelty initially – how wonderful to see birds that to date I have only seen in books, such as zebra and Gouldian finches. But this novelty soon wore off. Seeing the glorious red-tailed black cockatoos clinging to the chicken wire netting was unsettling. By the time I saw the galahs, sulphur-crested cockatoos and long-billed corellas, I’d had enough. Seeing the beautiful Australian king parrots in cages nearly made me cry. They are a gloriously frequent sight in the Blue Mountains and other parts of the mainland: bright, bold and cheeky.

Carnaby's black cockatoo

Carnaby’s black cockatoo

There was a camel, just the one, on site. I passed by the growling, hissing, spitting, fussing and fighting Tasmanian devils, who had just been fed and were busy crunching on something feathered (it really was time for me to leave). A highlight was a pair of wombats, very sweet to look at in their lumbering kind of way. And I detoured to see a short-beaked echidna snuffling with great intent before raising its beak. I was surprised to see a red panda moving about an enclosure. Apparently, they were discovered before the black and white pandas that we usually think of these days.

Tasmanian devil

Tasmanian devil

There were small family groups walking around the park, and I’m sure it’s a great way for kids to learn about animals and birds and the like, but I found the whole experience unsettling.

It may be a reflection of the changes within me more than anything else as the birds and animals were cared for. I feel such pleasure in spotting birds in the wild, watching them in adaptive capacities in areas filled with people, and seeing them go about their own thing. Seeing them caged along with animals was just too much for me on the day.

Red panda

Red panda

Zoos have an important role to play in conservation and education, but I won’t be heading back to one anytime soon.

When was the last time you visited a zoo?

[Photo: short-beaked echidna]

NaNoWriMo Learnings

I decided in mid-October to join in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in November. It was time to do something about some of my longer writing ideas, and NaNoWriMo seemed like perfect timing.

Due to other commitments, I didn’t have time to plot out the idea that I was intending to write about. I had some vague thoughts about character development and some of the key characters involved, but not a definite idea as to how it might all play out. But I put these concerns aside and decided that it would be good to write and see where the story took me.

I kept my preparation simple. I watched a couple of videos about NaNoWriMo, specifically around time management. Advice that I adopted included turning off banner notifications on social media and hiding the apps that I tend to go to for a quick distraction fix.

I made sure that I had writing software Scrivener synchronised across my devices. I needed to be flexible and to be able to write wherever I was. For part of NaNoWriMo, I was travelling about and didn’t always have great mobile or WiFi reception. I was able to keep working on my phone or tablet as I went from place to place, and even in areas of indifferent reception, I was able to synchronise my work so I could pick it up again when needed. I found that I was writing in really small time slots. Waiting for a couple of minutes? Time enough to tap out a line or two, or make a note as to where the next thread of the story was to go. It helped to keep me connected to the story and feel that no time was wasted.

One of the things that made the biggest impact was using the Pomodoro Technique. This involves working for 25-minute blocks with short breaks. This can be repeated for a set number of cycles before there is a longer break. I started using this on a Sunday afternoon when I really wanted to nap rather than write. But I could sit for 25 minutes and write a word or two, surely? When the ideas were flowing, I was surprised to see that I could type about 1200 words in a 25-minute block. Over time this averaged out around 1000 words and it showed me that I could write effectively in short blocks. This tapped into writing under time pressure, and knowing that I only expected myself to concentrate and ignore everything else for less than half an hour made it much easier to adopt this approach.

From the outset, I knew that whether I hit the word target or not, I would have written more by the end of the November than if I hadn’t participated in NaNoWriMo. This was certainly the case. What I didn’t expect was to be able to sharpen my writing approach in ways that provide confidence for the future. I can use some of these learnings to maintain my writing practice, and many of my preconceived notions of obstacles to writing have been satisfactorily undermined. It was well worth the effort to discover this!

When did you last participate in a creative challenge, and what surprised you?

[Photo: old typewriter]

Tamar Island Wetlands, Launceston

During a trip to Launceston, Tasmania, earlier this year, I ventured out to Tamar Island Wetlands Centre and Reserve. On a windy day in the middle of winter, it wasn’t perhaps the optimal time to have a look but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I trotted to the visitors’ centre and paused for a moment to watch black swans on the water. There is something mesmerising about watching them dip deeply into the water for food with their impossibly long necks. I had been spotting them around most bodies of water that I’d passed in northern Tasmania, but it was nice to be able to pause and really watch them for a while.

Tamar Island views

Tamar Island views from the boardwalk

A boardwalk travels across reed beds, winding its way over bodies of water. The boardwalk is well designed and wire ensures slippage is minimal. This matters, particularly as the walk is a long one and it was busy enough on the day I was wandering about. Along the long bridges across the waterways, there were inset areas for resting or watching, which came in handy.

Black Swan

A black swan landing in the estuary

Guides suggest an hour and a half to two hours for the walk out to Tamar Island and back, and with some dawdling it took me about the two-hour mark, although I was quite a bit quicker on the way back courtesy of a strong tailwind.

Tamar River

Tamar River views

But what of the birds? Apart from black swans, there were ducks, lots of fairy-wrens, strident purple swamphens, Tasmanian native hens and chestnut teals, amongst others.

Common starling

Common starling on Tamar Island

Tamar Island is about seven hectares, and there are signs of earlier use around the island. A number of exotic trees can be spotted, including cedar, elm and an English oak tree. The oak tree has an old plough embedded in it. There are some fruit trees and pathways which provide hints of the occupation of the island before usage of this Crown Land was returned to the government.

Swamp paperbark

Swamp paperbark

This was an enjoyable walk through estuarine wetlands with many highlights including the common reeds along the boardwalk, the swamp paperbark and, of course, the birds. The Tamar Island Walk is another of Tasmania’s 60 Great Short Walks.

[Photo: black swan in flight above the Tamar River]

On The Joys of the Written Word

Recently I had my blog posts for 2017 printed. My usual process is to print off a draft copy, edit, reprint, edit and hopefully have a final version of the post that I’m happy with. This copy, in a rough black and white form, is kept in a folder. Occasionally I go back and reprint a post in colour, especially now that I am using more photos in my posts.

Last year I looked into having some of my posts published in a format that I could keep handy. I ended up having three small books printed: one for my alphabet adventures, one for mountain musings and the final one on words and creativity. They were in A5 size, soft covered and a delight to receive. It really was a different experience to see the posts arranged in order, especially as when I was writing them I was alternating between topics.

Months pass by and many blog posts later, I thought it would be good to have a copy of the posts from 2017 in a single volume. One of the things about content is that it accumulates. There are times when something comes to my attention and I remember that I’ve written a post on that topic. WordPress is great with the ability to search a blog using a keyword and it is easy to be reacquainted with something that has been written previously. But in this format, the posts are still, well, virtual. Being able to flick through a body of work with it in hand is a different experience to scrolling through links online.

So I had a look through the BlookUp site and selected a hardcover book style to hold a year’s worth of words. It is simple to export the posts from a set period, and there is some scope for editing the content for things like formatting errors. I then designed the front and back cover, adding a little content and photographs, and saved the work. I thought it best to leave it overnight as I contemplated the cost for the physical printing and postage from France. Was it self-indulgent to go down this path?

The next day I felt no different. A cursory glance through the book content – I had amended what I could, within reason – and I proceeded to order the book. The timeframe for delivery was 15 days which I thought was generous. The last order had taken seemingly ages to arrive, but this time I had the book in my hands within a fortnight. Not bad considering it had to be printed and sent to Australia.

It is perfect. Well, I should say that any errors in the book are mine as my hastiness in editing and ordering could have been tempered a little. But it is hard to convey the buzz I felt when holding this book which represented a year of words and photos that meant something to me. The pages are glossy and the photos pop with colour. Already I am looking to my 2018 edition, and I haven’t finished the year off yet!

My learnings would be to run a draft copy and really look closely at the formatting of quotes and poems in particular. I had picked up one photo as a header early in 2017 but couldn’t work out how to fix it without updating the post itself and running the export again. At the time it was too much effort. I might take a bit more time with it next year.

But to say I’m really impressed with the results is an understatement.

Do you keep a copy of any of your favourite posts?

{Photo: front cover of blog book for 2017}

Dove Lake Circuit, Cradle Mountain

One of the most exhilarating walks I’ve done this year was the Dove Lake Circuit at Cradle Mountain. It is one of several walks available in the Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park in northern Tasmania and is one of the more manageable walks for visitors with limited time in the area. The park is part of the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area and is regarded as a place of unique beauty with diverse vegetation in an alpine setting.

Mt Roland topped with clouds on road from Sheffield

Mt Roland topped with clouds on road from Sheffield

Getting to Cradle Mountain takes about two and a half hours from Launceston, about the same from Hobart and slightly less from Devonport. I travelled from Launceston via Sheffield, fortifying myself with a cup of excellent Tasmanian coffee in this tidy town of murals before continuing on. The road to the park spiralled about with many hairpin bends during the ascent. I had picked the day with the best weather outlook, but even so, there were light showers along the way and there were stretches when I was seemingly driving through rainbows. The vegetation changed from rich green fields with cows grazing on stubbled fields to low growing heath with the shift in altitude.

Snow capped peaks around the lake

Snow-capped peaks around the lake

Parking is available at the entrance of the camp, along with a cafe and tourist information centre. I bought a day-pass which included shuttle bus rides to various points of the park, and this took me to the edge of Dove Lake. It is recommended that all walkers register their departure and return at a cabin, so I did this before heading off in a clockwise direction around the lake after taking a moment to soak in the vista of snow-capped mountains.

Fungal growth on branches

Fungal growth on branches

The circuit is mainly crushed stone and gravel interspersed with wooden steps, requiring some tricky manoeuvres around errant tree roots and the like. There are some stretches of boardwalk but the main track is the gravel pathway.

Tea tree blossoms

Tea tree blossoms

There were quite a few people also walking the circuit, and polite greetings were exchanged as we moved past each other. Early on in the walk, I was impressed when a couple ran past me; this impressed me more the further I went on. There are some stretches of the circuit that are steep and stepped in parts, tricky enough to navigate at a measured pace.

Water and mountains

Clear lake water with mountains in the background

Clouds were apparently drawn to the top of the peaks, but it was still something out of this world to marvel at the mountains curved around the lake. As a contrast to the sheer magnitude of all that rock, I found delight in spotting different flora along the walk. There were pink mountain berries, tea trees, hakea shrubs and little bell flowers. The lichen also caught my eye – so many different colours, and there were parts of the walk where it was like walking through a bright green world. I was also fascinated by the warm tiger tones of one of the gums, luminous against the green. This walk would offer different delights in every season.

Tiger stripped trees along the boardwalk

Tiger stripped trees along the boardwalk

Along the way, there were some places to stop, rest and take in the surroundings. Some places were covered in snowy ice, but the sun kept peeping through the clouds to offer warmth between the cooler moments.

Trees with unusual shapes throughout the ballroom forest

Trees with unusual shapes throughout the Ballroom Forest

Towards the end of the circuit, there is the beautiful Ballroom Forest. It is a cool temperate rainforest with myrtle-beech trees in a moss-covered world, with wonderfully clear water crossing underneath the boardwalk in parts. The final stretch, reached after a steep climb, winds its way around the boathouse which was built in 1940 by the first ranger at Cradle Mountain. From there it was a short walk back to the carpark and a return to reality.

Boathouse on Dove Lake

Boathouse on Dove Lake

The circuit is about six kilometres and takes about two hours to walk, longer if you take your time to take in the beautiful surroundings. It was an amazing experience and is one of Tasmania’s 60 Great Short Walks.

[Photo: cloud-topped view of Cradle Mountain from Dove Lake]

Flash Fiction: Owl

Owen wasn’t the sharpest owl in the tree, but it wasn’t his fault. His Mum said it was because he fell out of the nest when he was only a few days old. She reckoned that he landed on his head and that was why his eyesight was a bit out of alignment. It certainly made flying a challenge. He could still remember his first few attempts. The sense of trepidation, the trembling of his wings as he flung them out, mimicking the deep swoops and thrusts that he’d seen the others do. The first few wing beats were spectacular, or so they told him afterwards. Or perhaps they were spectacular when compared to his spiralled tumble to the ground.

But over time he’d found a way to adapt. By squinting, just a little, his vision seemed to balance out. When the others took off at night he was the last to leave. It was better that way. Less chance of somehow tangling his way into another owl’s flight path. This had happened a few times and the indignant squeaks and squawks were worse than any trapped prey that he’d heard.

And Owen found it easier to whistle, just a little, as he flew. This had caused rumblings of discontent within the parliament and he’d been lectured several times on the importance of silence in flight. It wasn’t all about the stereotype, or so he was told, but there wasn’t a lot of tolerance for an owl who whistled.

He had to admit that it was impressive to watch other owls go about their nightly hunts. The extraordinary vision and finely tuned senses picked up any movement within microseconds with a degree of accuracy which was breathtaking, especially for the prey. The typical image of an owl was still, quiet and wise, but he knew that it was their ability as honed killers that deserved praise.

Over time he trained himself to whistle after the kill. He had learned the importance of fitting in, mostly, with his fellow owls.

{Photo: three green owls}