In the canopy, the Red Wattlebirds use bully-boy tactics to repel the interloping smaller honeyeaters. The bush echoes with their coarse language. Floral rain drifts from above as the lronbark flowers are carelessly discarded or dislodged by the Wattlebirds in their greedy pursuit of more nectar. The call of a lone Golden Whistler adds a civilised tone to the proceedings, the beauty of the notes wasted on the garrulous wattlebirds.

A splash of red from a flock of Crimson Rosellas flashes against the darker background and I follow them further downhill. This is the habitat of the Powerful owl, but my straining eyes cannot locate any today. I am attracted towards the sounds of many honeyeaters. This is a border zone with multiple canopy layers surrounding a small clearing. Ironbarks give way to the smaller Messmates with a denser understorey of Wattles. Below them is a ground cover of Bracken.

Each species favours its own particular zone, but a few adventurous types wander beyond the norm. The Wattlebirds occasionally attempt to evict the White-naped Honeyeaters who stray to the top of the Ironbarks at this site, but they are heavily outnumbered and seem only half-hearted in their efforts. Most of the White-napes are carefully picking over the Wattles, chattering to each other with soft buzzing notes. Yellow-faced Honeyeaters prefer the Messmates, but they too annoy the Wattlebirds by trespassing in the Ironbarks. Crescent Honeyeaters are also seen amongst the Wattles and the bright colours of the Eastern Spinebill flash amongst the Messmates.

A single warning call is enough for silent panic to encompass the scene. The Yellow-faced Honeyeaters fly low and swiftly through the Wattles. White-napes drop rapidly into the Bracken, whilst some species flock together and speed zigzagging amongst the lronbark canopy. The whole area is now silent and still.

It takes at least ten seconds for the cause of this fearsome panic to appear. Flying at speed, only inches above the canopy is a Brown Goshawk. It dives low through the clearing but the early warning has left no victims available for the powerful talons to snatch from the air. The goshawk wheels and returns to perch beside a large stick nest directly above my head. It is only after I have studied the bird for some time that it becomes aware of my presence and takes off to terrorise a new area of the Basin. Within thirty seconds of the departure of the danger, the honeyeaters reappear and the scene again fills with the feeding activity of many birds.

Further down the slope the scenery changes rapidly. The Ironbarks disappear and the Messmates become smaller. Grasstrees thrust their elegant fronds skywards and the tinkling call of the Buff-rumped Thornbill is heard. A hundred metres further and the undergrowth changes to the spectacular heathland flowers. Careful examination shows many individual species but, as with many things in nature, the pattern of the whole is more admirable than the sum of the individual parts.

A bird flies amongst the undergrowth. The white eyebrow is prominent and the tail is cocked - probably a Chestnut-rumped Hylacola (Heath wren) but I cannot be sure as it has disappeared into the under growth. A careful scan cannot locate the Tawny-crowned Honeyeater which is another bird often seen here. The 'squeaky wheel' call of the Rufous Bristlebird issues from a distant patch of heath, but after twenty minutes patient waiting I realise that today will not be the day for me to get a good view of this secretive bird.

My patience is rewarded by a faint call from the heath in front of me. By making my own high pitched notes I am able to entice the originator of the call to see who is invading his territory. A beautiful Southern Emuwren perches on a branch only metres from me and scolds me for daring to impersonate its call.

All too soon I must leave this place and return to the rush and demands of urban living. But I return renewed, my spirit alive and optimistic after the tonic of Basin magic.