By Phil Jarratt
“Noosa’s only ever had one real celebrity – a white bush turkey named Albi.”
A bloke called Tom Ellison wrote that in a glowing review of a little book called Why Did The Bush Turkey Cross The Road?
Published by Andrew and Leesa Watson, owners of the Lamington gift store on Hastings Street, it is indeed an unusual and well-crafted book, with humorous text and great illustrations by Chloe De Freitas.
Since it takes a slightly blue approach to the telling of a turkey love story, I’m not sure whether the target market is young or old, but it is sure to appeal to the legion of local lovers of the world’s worst-behaved bird.
As Tom Ellison writes: “Forget the former Prime Ministers, billionaires, and business barons who live here – they’re a dime a dozen. Albi is (or was) the real deal. He might not have been an Instagram influencer or soap opera star, but he was still a legend. Albi was the King of Hastings Street. He ruled the glitter strip. Albi was a boss. Bush turkeys are fantastic birds. Last year, they ranked fifth in an Australian best bird survey”.
While I have to disagree with this praise on the basis of bitter personal experience [about which more later], I can’t fault the publishers for creating a well-deserved tribute to the late and lamented white brush turkey called Albi who strutted his stuff between Peppers and the Hastings Street roundabout for more than a dozen years before his untimely death last July, “killed in a street fight with a Porsche Cayenne SUV with Vic number plates, apparently chasing chicks,” as the book tells us.
Told in the words of the slightly slutty Alectura Lathami [the scientific name for the brush turkey], the book relates the story of her escape from a Pomona refuge and long road trip back to Hastings Street to reunite with Albi.
Spoiler alert: she’s too late! When she finally makes it to Noosa Junction, she notes: “Guess what? There’s a bar there named after me. The Village Bicycle. Albi liked to affectionately call me the village bike.”
All of this is good, not-so-clean fun, but it can’t quite match the real story of Albi, who first came to our attention in 2010, believed to be a rare albino turkey, which turned out not to be the case, but he was pretty special anyway.
When the media got a hold of the story, the president of the Hastings Street Association, Jim Berardo [himself something of a rare species, seldom seen outside New York City] gushed: “This is one turkey we won’t call a pest – we’ll call him a hero because we love him.”
Not everyone loved Albi but the tourists sure did. He had a home mound up the hill at Peppers and an away mound on the roundabout, where tourists would trip over each other to get his photograph as he posed while foraging and rooting around.
But he was playing a dangerous game and got swiped by a car for the first time in 2019. Cared for by the vets at the RSPCA wildlife centre in Eumundi, Albi made a remarkable recovery.
A spokeswoman finally announced that he had fully recovered and would be taken back to the location of the accident, the Hastings Street roundabout. Perhaps this was not the wisest decision in the annals of animal welfare, but that’s what happened, and where the little legend met his maker soon after. However within a few weeks a second Albi made his appearance, almost identical, and continued the good work until last winter.
I never had a personal altercation with either Albi but I did have a few run-ins with his kind, which I recounted in these pages a few years back. In brief, I first became acquainted, rather too closely, with the lifestyle and breeding habits of the brush turkey some years ago, when our then next-door neighbor decided that he would help them build their enormous mounds right next to our common fence.
Along with their many other failings, bush turkeys are not particularly good at flying, but with a bit of assistance from a large mound underfoot, they were soon able to flutter over the fence and make themselves at home in our pool and garden, digging holes and pooing randomly, as is their wont, until called home by their master at feeding time. Why would a brush turkey ever leave this country club existence?
Since those halcyon days, the turkey population of Noosa has increased at least tenfold. I see them strutting like peacocks through town, and on the access track to the beach, it would be a rare day you didn’t meet a dozen or more, rooting around in the undergrowth, moving leaves and compost around like they own the place.
But they’re protected. I’m all for live and let live, and as long as they’re not invading my home, I’m good with that. But there are limits, and last week a turkey crossed a line in the sand, literally.
In the middle of a working day, I decided to hit the beach for a run and a swim. Parking at the usual Woods secret spot, I hit it for the sand, where I wrapped my keys in my tee shirt, which I then wrapped in my towel, which I then placed my thongs on top of. Yes, a turkey was scratching around in the undergrowth behind the beach, but there always is. You know where this is going, don’t you?
Feeling invigorated after a run-walk-run to First Point and back, some stretches on the wet sand and a refreshing swim, I jogged back to my belongings, looking a little askew it’s true, perhaps the result of a gust of wind. Quick inventory: both thongs here, towel here, tee shirt here, keys, keys… no damn keys! A couple was sunbathing not 20 metres away. Excuse me, did you see anyone messing with my stuff?
“No, but a very cheeky turkey was annoying us so we shooed him away, and then we saw him at your towel.”
Great.
When turkeys steal from you, they mean business, and if they can’t eat it or otherwise destroy it, they’ll bury it. I made my way back to the car park, half expecting to find a bunch of turkeys in my car, yahooing as they hoon up and down Claude Batten Drive.
But the car sat untroubled by turkeys, with my wallet and phone locked inside it. There being no such thing as a taxi in Noosa in daylight hours any more, and since you can’t call an Uber without a phone, I walked the two kilometres home and a neighbour kindly drove me back with the spare keys.
But don’t let this put you off buying this great little book, just don’t leave it anywhere near a turkey. Available at Lamington on Hastings. Book sales help support Wildlife Noosa.
