The march of the brush turkey

This tenacious bird has been defiantly spreading across the east to reclaim much of its pre-European range.

AT FIRST I THOUGHT I was seeing things.There had definitely been no over-indulgence the previous evening, but I nevertheless awoke bleary-eyed to the sight of a very large, blackish bird perched awkwardly on the wall of my upper storey balcony. Because I live on Military Road, one of Sydney’s busiest thoroughfares, it seemed a strange place for an Australian brush turkey to roost.

The natural range of the bird – also known as the bush or scrub turkey – stretches along the east coast from far north Queensland to the Illawarra, south of Sydney. It has never been endangered, but after several centuries of habitat loss and predation by cats and foxes, it did become scarce across large areas.

So what was this prehistoric-looking creature doing in the concrete jungle of Neutral Bay, 4km from the city’s CBD, rather than in the deep shadows of the forest? Until the past 20 years or so, turkeys were virtually unknown south of the Hawkesbury River, but, as I soon discovered, they have been on the march in recent decades, determinedly reclaiming their likely historic range. Some Sydneysiders greeted their arrival as a wildlife good-news story, but for others, it meant the outbreak of war in the suburbs.

The brush turkey is one of about 22 species of megapode, which means ‘big feet’.These birds don’t sit on their eggs to incubate them, but rather lay them in large mounds of decaying vegetation, relying on the heat generated within (see page 48). Megapodes are only found in the Indo-Pacific region, with three species in Australia – the malleefowl, orange-footed scrubfowl and the brush turkey. Unique among all birds, megapode parents are the ultimate delinquents, and play absolutely no part in the rearing of their young.

But back to where things begin: the male, with an almost obsessive purposefulness, constructs his mound. These mounds can take on gargantuan proportions as sand, soil, leaf-litter, sticks and twigs are raked into a carefully shaped compost heap with the aid of those big feet. A typical brush turkey mound can measure up to 4m in diameter and stand 1.5m high. Each male will then mate with a number of females, and his mound might eventually contain up to 50 eggs. A female may produce between 20 and 30 eggs in every six-month-long breeding season.

Once the female lays her egg 40–150cm down, however, that’s it – her progeny is entirely on its own, effectively orphaned before its shell has cracked. She plays no part in tending the mound, with the burden of maintenance falling entirely to the male. Climate control is his obsession, and rotting compost his tool in sustaining an even incubation temperature.

At Kincumber, on the NSW Central Coast, Sophie Warman and her dog Jasper watch as a brush turkey steals food from the dog’s bowl. Uneaten pet food provides a ready food source for these undiscriminating foragers.

A female brush turkey (at rear) defends herself against a male. A male will act aggressively towards a female to ensure she lays her egg quickly, so that his mound becomes vacant again for the next female ready to lay.

Sitting beside a turkey mound, writer Alasdair McGregor watches on as Dr Ann Goeth explains – with the help of a museum specimen – how a chick faces life on its own from the moment it emerges from the egg.

Similar to the brush turkey, sulphur-crested cockatoos have readily adapted to the suburbs and are often regarded as pests, damaging seedlings and trimming their beaks on garden furniture and cladding.