The best books that will open your eyes to Australian birds

For great feats in nature the epic migrations of millions of wading birds are difficult to beat. Immense stamina is needed for days of non-stop flight, plus sophisticated navigational skills – which remain improperly understood – to guide birds by day and night and through storms that blow them off course.

Andrew Darby begins on a beach in South Australia where two grey plovers are fitted with radio transmitters shortly before their migrations north. He follows their travels, flying after they do to Broome in north-western Australia, then to China to see the mudflats they refuel on, then to their breeding habitat inside the Arctic Circle, then back again to northern Australia.

Important to his story are the dedicated and sometimes obsessive people Darby meets in each location, many of them unpaid, who use innovative technology and intellect to work out where, exactly, the birds go on their travels and what threats they face. During his work on the book Darby is told he has stage 4 lung cancer and only 12 to 18 months to live.

"I looked to the profound migratory power of my bird, the Grey Plover, to inspire my survival," he writes. "Think about your birds," his wife says. Darby beat the prognosis and is with us today. This is an intelligent, well-written, and empathetic book that deserved its accolades, which included a shortlisting for the Prime Minister’s Award for Non-fiction. Darby writes grimly about the problems waders face in Asia today, but offers optimism as well.  

This is not strictly an Australian bird book but is so rich in Australian content it might as well be.

American science writer Jennifer Ackerman takes us into the minds of birds and delivers surprises on every page. An explosion of recent research has shown birds to be far more sophisticated than was thought possible and Australian birds epitomise that. In her introduction Ackerman says that Australian birds crop up throughout her book for their extreme behaviours, intelligence, and ecological diversity.

She travelled Australia to see them and to interview experts, including me. Asking ‘Can a lyrebird lie?’ she offers evidence that they do. She tells of fairy-wrens and zebra finches communicating important information to their young while these are still inside their eggs.

We learn of brush turkey chicks, after hatching from the egg, spending more than two days digging to escape from the nest mound, then receiving no parental care at, and even hostility from their father. Equipped for independent living, they can fly at birth.

Ackerman is a lively entertaining writer who can explain scientific findings in clear engaging language. No book is better at showing that birds are worth getting to know.

Twitchers pursuing long lists of bird sightings can seem to be fixated rather than appreciating nature in a sensible way.

Sean Dooley achieves something unlikely by showing that a world ruled by a "near-autistic obsession for list-making" has a lot going for it, because birds are wondrous things that lure birders to amazing places, providing access to something transcending everyday life. Dooley’s quest is to break the record for the number of species seen in Australia in one year.

His parents died young of cancer leaving him at age 33 with enough money to buy a comfortable house in the outer suburbs of Melbourne but instead he blows it on a four-wheel drive and a year of bird-obsessed travel that entailed 80 000 kilometres of driving, 60 000 kilometres in the air and 2 000 kilometres by boat. (Meaning, regrettably, a large carbon footprint.)

Dooley scored a record 703 species at the end of his year and for the first time felt totally comfortable in his skin. This is a book about a quest but the birds and their habitats inevitably play a big role. Dooley for a few years earned a living as a television comedy writer and some of his prose is laugh-out-loud funny. 

Leila Jeffreys treats the birds in her photography studio like celebrities destined for the cover of Vogue. She takes time getting to know them and letting them know her, so that instead of just seeing birds she sees into them, and they into her.

Her book of bird portraits is a testament to trust between divergent species. She mentions a black-breasted buzzard coming to accept her photographic gear then suddenly becoming very focussed on her: "It’s an exhilarating feeling when a bird makes this transition and we begin to communicate silently as we study each other. The intelligence of this bird was profound."

The birds in her portraits look variously intense or relaxed, curious or knowing, engaged or merely comfortable, soulful, intelligent, refined, and so much else. As a child, Jeffreys was ‘besotted’ with animals and saw them as people, imagining they could talk to her. That shows through in her art. We see birds as if for the first time.

This is a book of photos with text at the end where Jeffreys describes each species and often the circumstances of photography. Many of her subjects were brought into care after injuries, explaining how she obtained sessions with eagles, owls, the rare grey falcon, and other celebrity subjects.    

English naturalist John Gould is recognised as the father of bird study in Australia.

During 19 months in 1838-1840 he travelled in NSW, South Australia, and Tasmania, seeing the birds and landscapes before they had been affected much by Europeans, and leaving insightful descriptions that provide a unique window into a past when, for example, regent honeyeaters, endangered today, flitted about in the middle of Adelaide city.

Gould introduced the budgerigar to Europe, was the first to describe the bowers of bowerbirds, and the first in so many ways. His book appeared in 1865 but remains relevant today. I quoted him many times in my bird book for his unique insights and observations. But the common names he used can be difficult to swallow. He praised the regent honeyeater as ‘one of the most beautiful birds inhabiting Australia’ but called it the ‘warty-faced honeyeater’.

This book (or pair of books when first published), is not Gould’s famous Birds of Australia series (1840-1848) which is renowned for lavish colour plates but contains far less information, which in my view makes it far less interesting.