“Hey guys,” said Gary, “Paul Kelly’s sitting over at the restaurant right now.” The whole table lit up with impressed Australians – “What?” “No kidding!” “Here?” But Ethan and I, as representative Americans, looked at each other quizzically. “Who’s Paul Kelly?”

Apparently Kelly’s real celebrity stuff in Australia, one of the country’s greatest singers and songwriters, known especially for some rock-ish songs in the 80s. He’s a household name down undah. Anyway, he’s here, at Mornington. Michelle, Joey and I watched the back of his head as he ate his 4-star dinner last evening, sitting next to some blonde at the restaurant. Sophie, on the hospitality staff, said she cleaned his room, er, safari tent, and reported Kelly did have a guitar. But, alas, the singer was brooding and antisocial, slipping off quietly after dinner without so much as a nod, probably psyching himself up for his concert in Broome this coming Saturday – unlike Xavier Rudd, who sang songs for us around the pizza oven when he visited a couple months ago. Celebrities are an odd bunch, especially when they show up unexpectedly in the middle of the desert…

Apparently yesterday Australia instituted its first-ever female Prime Minister. “Instituted” being the key word, since she wasn’t elected. Somehow the existing prime minister got unpopular enough that the government turned him out without telling anyone until half an hour before the switch was made (imagine that happening in the US!). So the general population here is reeling with the sudden news, two months before the next real election.

All of which has negligible effect on life at Mornington Station. The fairy-wrens have mostly lost breeding colors, so males are gray instead of purple. I saw another life bird this morning – a Horsfield’s Bronze-Cuck00 – which makes two in two days!

At night, from my tent, I typically hear all sorts of noises: howling dingoes, hopping wallabies, screaming Bush Stone-Curlews, gruff Boobook owls, and yapping Barking Owls. It’s a jungle out there – or, at least, a tropical savanna.

Most of those things are hard to find during the day, though, so I’ve been happy to see the same Barking Owl twice this week during fairy-wren surveys along the north end of Annie Creek. It probably wasn’t quite as happy to see me, since I flushed it from its nap, but there you have it. Even got a photo to prove it.

I have now managed to see almost all the nocturnal birds around here on day roosts. Spend enough time outside, and you’ll flush them from hiding: Spotted Nightjar, Australian Owlet-Nightjar, Tawny Frogmouth, Southern Boobook, and Barking Owl. The only night bird I haven’t yet seen in daylight is the stone-curlew; they must hide exceedingly well, since they’re common enough on the roads after dark.

We found this mother-of-all-frogs one Sunday at a place called Bluff Pools, a permanent catchment set between massive limestone walls. It was near a Mulga Snake which seemed to be intent on hunting smaller frogs. The amphibian seemed less apt to kill me, so I stuck my camera in its face.

The frog didn’t mind a bit of wildlife paparazzi, and even smiled a bit for the photo op. It was big enough to cover the entire palm of my hand, with floppy padded feet sprawling over the sides of my wrist. James said it was a Magnificent Tree Frog (but the latin name is something to do with “splendid”). Anyway it seemed magnificent enough, pretty much the coolest frog ever, actually. I’m just glad Jess wasn’t there – the only person on station with an aversion to hoppy wet things. Don’t know how she survives with all the wriggly things in our outdoor toilets.

For Sara’s last day (today), four of us were treated to an incredible breakfast.

At 5 a.m. Butch, Swanie, Sara and I climbed into Butch’s tiny helicopter (flying with all the doors off) and rode in pre-dawn darkness to a secret overlook on a remote sandstone escarpment, where a dry waterfall cascaded hundreds of feet to a palm-covered valley, accessible only by chopper. As the sun exploded over the horizon, we were admiring the view, just finishing a bottle of champagne (three flutes each – tipsy by 6 a.m.!), and Swanie already had a good fire going for breakfast.

While it burned down to ashes, and a fresh morning breeze kept us cool, he pulled out all the stops, as if we were VIP donors: fresh pancakes, eggs, toast, coffee, and ginger tea – and we sat perched atop the cliff face, talking over the season and just feeling the best part of life, lost in an immense and empty landscape. The depth of relaxation, intensity of being – it defies description. Especially with good friends – something no tourist experience could ever capture! After a couple magic hours, we loaded back into the chopper and meandered back to the station in time for another day of field work. Just a quick morning breakfast flight!