7 Years of Black-flanked Rock Wallabies

Ever since I've had a heart (about age 14), I've loved rock wallabies.

It's become a habit. When I travel to a new place, the souvenir I unfailingly try to collect is a photo of the local rock wallaby species. If I go to the Atherton Tableland, I'll find Mareeba Rock Wallabies. Magnetic Island, and I'll find the Allied Rock Wallaby. Parallel universe, my own father as a rock wallaby. If they're there, I'll do my best to find them, and photograph them. And it all started with the photo below. A Black-flanked (or Black-footed) (when scientists run out of discoveries they change the names of species) Rock Wallaby (Petrogale lateralis), in Ormiston Gorge at sunrise. I remember proudly showing a disinterested grandmother when we got back to the motel. At the time I felt it was quite the story.

It was 2010, I had just bought an SLR camera with a couple of starter lenses, and had been devouring mammal field guides as disproportionately as the carbs I was just beginning to truly live off as a then-14-year-old. We were in the West Macdonnell Ranges, our family had headed out there on a trip to show our grandparents some of Australia's best before they punted the bucket. And not in the gambling sense, although that's an understandable mistake because, well, Australian old people.

We headed off before sunrise ,an exciting novelty at the time. I was having heart palpitations. About 10km down the road was Ormiston Gorge. Ormiston Gorge is very much the definitive outback red-rock gorge. Steep-sided red cliffs hem in a coursing desert river like stereotypes to a minority. White Ghost gums stretch themselves out across the river, limbering up in the morning for a big day of not moving, because they're trees.

And perched on the cliffs edges, thirty or so metres above the ground, were little grey spots on the side of the gorge, like pockmarks on the character of an otherwise gentlemanly wall - Black-flanked Rock Wallabies. Having spotted one or two high up, I slowly crept up the cliffside, eventually getting the first image below. It was a terrific morning. It was also a trust-building exercise with Mum, who had sat at the bottom watching her only son climb closer and closer to certain death. Obviously, though, that's what zoom lenses are for (Getting close but not physically located at death) (Where is death?) (Woah).

So let's pick it apart. There really is so much to dislike about the image. Probably first up is the watermark, presumably made out of puddle water or the water that sits in the flushing compartment of a WC. Yet another aspect is how heavily cropped the image is - there's less detail in this image than there are fingers on my hands. Only 12 detail! And yet, it's an image I love SO much. That morning was big for me. It was one of my earliest (successful) dawn shoots, which are a staple in wildlife photography. And a lot of it is found in that image. That's one of the 12 detail. And now, returning seven years later in 2017, I had the chance to get at it again (see bottom image). And I'm a lot happier with the results. To begin with, the angle is different - the wallaby in the image is physically lower than I am as the photographer. When dealing with a species normally found on vertical surfaces, that's something to be happy about. Albeit I cheated and had this wallaby coming down low to feed, but dealing with wildlife obviously isn't about having a conscience - that's why so few wildlife lovers are vegan.

But this image is special in that it provides such a direct comparison: same species, same place (this was sunset rather than sunrise - I caved), but seven more years of experience under my belt (in my underpants? In my legs? What does that mean?!). I like to think it goes to show that if you just wait seven years, the animal will probably turn around.