Mountain Tails by Sharyn Munro

checked out the cold campfire and the garbage bag, but was disappointed in our vegetarian scraps—fruit peelings and limp lettuce leaves just can’t compete with chop bones or charred sausages.
    Having always been told that, when disturbed, goannas will run up the nearest vertical object, be it tree or person, I kept my distance, wary of those sharp claws. While goannas are not aggressive, their powers are to be respected. Males fight fiercely and in prolonged bouts for the favours of a female, clawing and biting, sometimes to the death.
    Spotting us, this one headed up the closest tree and splayed himself like a designer brooch across its broad trunk. He was so long it was hard to fit him in the camera lens. My close clicking disturbed him, and he moved higher up the tree.
    He must greet the holiday season with very mixed reactions: possibilities of interesting tucker, but what nuisances people are, never minding their own business, always staring, pointing, exclaiming, clicking, forcing him up trees when he has work to do.
    Admiring the dramatic pixellated pattern of stripes and spots on his loose tough skin, I could see where the ‘lace’ part of the name came from. It also recalled certain indigenous art styles, for which perhaps it had been the model. Its colour palette ranged from black to grey, white to cream, with touches of amber—smart and showy.
    They are carnivorous, eating any carrion. Where my husband and I used to camp at the Myall Lakes in the early ’70s, before it became a national park, there were lots of goannas, and they would wolf down the stale meat pies a friend saved for them from his takeaway shop.
    And many a farmer has cursed the egg thief in the hen house.
    I once saw a goanna catch an egg that was tossed to it. It simply opened its vast mouth, flicked its head up and caught the egg in mid-air, swallowing the whole object effortlessly. No more eggs forthcoming, it turned and lumbered away, swishing its long tail in poised arcs, defined by the fine pale-brown point at its very end.
    In the shade of a nearby ironbark, it sprawled its back legs flat and settled down to contemplative digestion of that egg which had so mysteriously arrived in time for brunch.
    P.S. I have just seen another goanna here on the Mountain—only the second in 30 years!

PRAYING FOR PREY

    One sunny winter’s morning I took my morning coffee out to the verandah, as I like to do when there’s no chilly breeze. Comfortably ensconced, feet up on the railing, I let my eyes wander idly over the remaining foliage of the vines and climbers that had provided my summer shade.
    The apricot-blooming Crépuscule Rose is the only non-deciduous one, although its corner is being invaded by a similarly evergreen self-sown passionfruit vine, whose fate I haven’t yet decided. I was considering this matter when I noticed a movement amongst the leaves of the rose.
    I put down my coffee and went closer. A small bug-eyed space creature clung there. It was a green Praying Mantis, well camouflaged, with thespines on its large forelegs seeming to mimic the serrated leaf edges. For this carnivorous insect, the main purpose of those powerful legs is akin to that of a rabbit trap: to snap shut, interlocking the spines and imprisoning the prey.
    A mantis often holds these legs in a closely folded position that resembles hands joined in prayer, hence the name ‘praying’ mantis, when actually it’s holding them ready to swiftly grab prey once within range. They are very efficient hunters, mainly by day, possessing the ability, rare amongst insects, of being able to turn their heads—300 degrees in some species—and follow prey with their large eyes. Mantids have big appetites, eating live flies, aphids, moths, caterpillars, spiders. Bigger species will apparently ambush and eat small lizards, frogs, birds, snakes or mice!
    Mantids are also known to be cannibals, eating each other or their