Dining with the devil
So-called because of their unearthly screeching, Tasmanian devils also love to eat, writes Neil Porten
He who sups with the devil should have a long spoon or, at the very least, a decent-sized haunch of freshly butchered wallaby. Renee, our guide for an afterdark feeding tour at Devils@Cradle, a Tasmanian carnivorous marsupial sanctuary, has several in her white plastic bucket, along with other meaty morsels to tempt the animals waiting in anticipation in the enclosures below the deck we’re standing on.
The Tasmanian devil might be the only thing many people know about this most southerly Australian state, but getting to know them more intimately — the devil really is in the detail — is a true highlight of a nine-day Globus coach tour. It’s a pleasure also to get acquainted with the spotted-tail quoll and the eastern quoll, making up the threesome of Australia’s largest meat-eating marsupials.
We are on the edge of Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park, in an alpine region of Tasmania’s central northwest. We’re also on the edge of the deck’s balcony, leaning to get the best views of the devils below, who are scampering and loping around their grassy, low-fenced pen. They know what’s coming.
Tasmanian native Renee begins her commentary as she starts tossing chicken necks from a bucket. These dozen or so devils are all 2-yearold males. The mature females have their own enclosure next door. Relying on their keen sense of smell, the lads quickly find the food, running off to a quiet spot to eat.
By this time, we’ve already been exposed to the unearthly noises which led European settlers to name these creatures devils. Screeching howls interspersed with chuffing breaths must’ve sounded like the murderous approach of the hounds of Hell. By appearance, the name is not so appropriate: around 10-12 chunky kilograms of dark fur and tail, pink ears, shiny black eyes and nose, and a muzzleful of long whiskers.
Renee is down off the deck leaning over the fence of the female enclosure. She wafts a jointed piece of furred wallaby to attract the attention of the residents. Then she hops the fence and begins a tug o’ war with three of the she-devils.
Female devils are a bit smaller than males, but no less hungry, especially in the breeding season. Pregnant devils give birth to between 20-40 babies at once, which make their way to the pouch, where there are only four teats. The two or three that survive will leave the pouch, fully furred, after four months, before leaving the den after another 4-5 months.
As Renee attaches the food to an iron stake, four devils attach their strong jaws to the flesh and start feasting nicely together. They’ll start with the softest flesh and organs first, but nothing is wasted: bones will be crunched — relative to body size, devils have the most powerful bite of any meat-eating mammal — and fur swallowed.
As the morsel of food shrinks, impish tetchiness rises: teeth are bared, screeches are barked and someone will try to run off with the scraps.
Devils are solitary animals but will eat socially, especially with larger prey. They will catch and kill, but their poor eyesight and relatively slow speed mean scavenging is a more common way to score food.
And as Renee spikes another wallaby leg for the girls to devour, she explains why this is a modern threat for this endangered species.
In one recent survey of roadkill, devils made
GETTING THERE
Air NZ flies direct from Auckland to Hobart on Thursdays and Sundays. airnz.co.nz
DETAILS
A 9-day Rugged Tasmania tour from Hobart starts from $5699pp. For more, see globustours.co.nz up 40 per cent of the dead animals. Not only are they attracted to the carcasses of other animals, but their low-profile dark bodies make them harder for motorists to see and avoid.
In the next enclosure, Renee feeds a group of juveniles; males and females ages 10-11 months old.
One has been hand-reared, and ferrets in the now-empty bucket before climbing the keeper’s back and skittering along her outstretched arm.
Has she ever been bitten? Thankfully, devils’ teeth — all 42 of them — are not too sharp, Renee says, so the time one mistook her ankle for a hind leg of wallaby wasn’t too painful. The young devils are finishing off the bones, crunching at their leisure, as Renee moves to the quoll enclosures.
Looking like a sleek polka-dotted possum, the spotted-tail quoll is an apex predator that drops from on high on to its prey. The pair we watched seemed more interested in imitating curious meerkats, sniffing the audience, than on eating.
The stubbier, hoppier but no less spotty eastern quolls preferred to observe from under a rock, poking their pink noses out before gripping dinner with their front paws and chowing down.
On the short coach trip back to our lodge, our tour director pointed out bright blue flashes of light in the bush on the edges of the road.
This stretch of road is part of a virtual fence trial. Vehicle-activated sensors set off the lights in sequence. The aim is to startle and freeze any wildlife before they wander on to the tarmac to be dazzled by the headlights of lethal cars and trucks.
It’s hoped that, for Tasmania’s dearly loved devils, it will no longer be a highway to hell.