Last night, as the sun was setting, I went for a walk to the front of our block. Swathes of golden sunshine bathed tree tops to the south, dramatically back-lighting trees in the west.

Gangs of Cockatoos appeared as white specks in distant paddocks. Every so often a blast of a bird scarer would scatter them chattering and screeching.

I walked around to the back of the block and made my way down to the dam. 

Seeing the water level higher than it had been in months was a very welcome sight, the reflection of the darkening trees on the surface an added bonus.

Magpies chortled to each other high in the branches and tiny birds flitted, twittering among the leaves.

Far across the open ground where the pine plantation once stood, came the plaintive grunt of a koala in heat.

November to March is the breeding season for koalas and, in no uncertain terms, they let any prospective mates know that they’re up for it. 

This strange mating call is known to keep people in bushland areas awake at night. My own introduction to it gave me nightmares.  

When we first arrived down here, all the windows in the house were filthy. After we’d sorted the inside of the house, I carried the ladder up from the shed, filled a bucket with water, armed myself with old newspapers and set to work on the outside of the windows.

I was standing on the ladder on the east side of the house, when I heard an almighty bellowing coming from the bush at the end of the block. It sounded like a cross between a very loud pig and a rampaging gorilla. Curiosity overcoming my fear, I descended the ladder and followed the direction of the noise, hoping I wouldn’t be confronted at any moment by a wild boar. 

The noise came from high in the trees. I hurried inside, to tell my partner, and insisted that he come and listen to it, too. We must have stood there for at least five minutes. Nothing.

I felt sure that my partner suspected I was suffering aural hallucinations, precipitated by our move from the city to the back-of-beyond.

Soon after that, the car broke down and we had to have it towed to the garage. On the way into town to pick up the car, I described the sound to the cab driver. I asked if she had any idea what creature might have made it.

‘That’ll be a koala,’ she said, ‘they make the most godawful racket when they’re in heat.’

Once that little mystery had been solved I began to relax, safe in the knowledge that there wasn’t something huge and hairy lurking out there in the trees.

During subsequent Springs and Summers, we saw a few koalas – on our block and on adjoining properties. They sit so still and look so cute, they could be toys that have been carefully placed in the forks of trees. 

On our way into town one day, we spotted an elderly koala, with a few fur-less patches, walking purposefully along the side of the road, looking for all the world like an extremely bow-legged dog having an excellent adventure.

In fact, he was probably desperately searching for trees. And that was before even more eucalypts had been savagely cleared from the part of the neighbourhood where we spotted him. 

A koala faces many threats during its life but help is at hand. To learn more about one of Australia’s most loved marsupials, and the perils that it faces, click on this.