a platoon of crows

[Larry]

The Richmond River is poisoned with rank freshwater, drums of fertiliser, spilt diesel, sewerage, mud and town runoff … the waves are breaking in rancid water, the beaches littered with timber and dead fish, a couple of jewfish the size of an overweight man, slowly deflating, their distended stomachs almost ready to burst.

Silver bream, mullet, catfish, small sharks, tailor, flathead, trevally, blackfish, toadfish all white and ballooning and covered with spikes looking like something you could hang off a Christmas tree.

Everything stinks.

Seagulls too used to fresh to bother picking apart the days-old carcasses, sand crabs almost too wary to spot as they disappear into their holes holding gobbets of decomposed fish in their claws and further down the beach a walking platoon of black crows comes your way. Slowly. Stopping and stooping here and there before walking closer, unafraid, sleek, well-fed, confident.

They only take the eyeballs. And there’s hundreds of dead fish without them today.

Like oysters, Sightless. Liquid. Viscous. Putrid.

Pluck.

A banquet.

[Yuke Hunt]

Thats one hell of a tourist brochure !

[offshore1]

What are the real estate prices like?

[Larry]

Not as juicy as Lennox Head. Byron’s a tragedy and Mullumbimby a tough choice, Avalon needs help and the back of Bangalow has gone nuts.

[Beanpole]

Thats one hell of a tourist brochure !

Decomposing carcasses in front of expensive beach front dwellings.
Reminds me of finding a dead seal on the beach at Rincon.

[bobjs]

Not really

[Beanpole]

A group of crows is called a Murder of Crows.

[bobjs]

Stop it

[Beanpole]

You were going so well too bobjs

[bobjs]

Arg

[Larry]

I’m watching a bloke carving off a chunk of 4 day old dead fish before putting it on his hook and casting out … thinking he’ll need acid to wash the stink off his hands tonight.

[alakaboo]

Sounds like murder.

[offshore1]

Speaking of stink, a humpback whale washed up on the deserted island just south of here coupla days ago.

[steve shearer]

It's gunna take a while this time Larry.

[Thud]

Speaking of stink, a humpback whale washed up on the deserted island just south of here coupla days ago.

I hope he finds a Wilson.

[Skipper]

The Richmond River is poisoned with rank freshwater, drums of fertiliser, spilt diesel, sewerage, mud and town runoff … the waves are breaking in rancid water, the beaches littered with timber and dead fish, a couple of jewfish the size of an overweight man, slowly deflating, their distended stomachs almost ready to burst.

Silver bream, mullet, catfish, small sharks, tailor, flathead, trevally, blackfish, toadfish all white and ballooning and covered with spikes looking like something you could hang off a Christmas tree.

Everything stinks.

Seagulls too used to fresh to bother picking apart the days-old carcasses, sand crabs almost too wary to spot as they disappear into their holes holding gobbets of decomposed fish in their claws and further down the beach a walking platoon of black crows comes your way. Slowly. Stopping and stooping here and there before walking closer, unafraid, sleek, well-fed, confident.

They only take the eyeballs. And there’s hundreds of dead fish without them today.

Like oysters, Sightless. Liquid. Viscous. Putrid.

Pluck.

A banquet.

opening title sequence for Mourning The Earth

[Larry]

….. and there, by the shoreline and almost overcome by the incoming tide a corroboree frog, alive, waiting to be picked up and settled by the freshwater showers at the northern end.