Nature Notes: The Ospreys of Geraldton

There are birds you go looking for, and birds that simply take hold of your attention.The osprey is the latter - always half in the sky, half in the sea, and wholly stitched into the identity of Geraldton’s coast.

From Beresford to the Marina to the exposed edge of Point Moore, these birds build their stories in sticks: high, heavy nests perched on poles or lights, looking out over wind, water, and the long curve of the Indian Ocean.

At Point Moore, the nest sits on a pole installed nearly two decades ago. A local man I met - also named Danny - told me he was part of the group who helped organise it. The ospreys have been breeding there for 19 years, he said. Nineteen seasons of returns, storms, rebuilds, fledglings, and wind-battered summers.

Today, I got to witness a small piece of that history.

One of the adults perched on a nearby light pole, eating a fish with the efficiency of a specialist - talons locked, beak working methodically, a spray of salt glinting on its feathers. From the nest, the juvenile called up to it in sharp, repetitive cries that carried across the wind. A begging call. A “don’t forget me” call.

The adult kept eating, purposeful and unhurried - as if teaching the young bird to watch, wait, and read the world. When it finished, it did something quietly beautiful: it lifted off the pole and glided down to the water’s edge, where it waded in and washed itself.

A cleansing. A soft ritual.

A moment of bird-logic that makes perfect sense when you see it.

BirdLife Australia notes that ospreys (Pandion haliaetus) show extraordinary site fidelity, returning to the same nests year after year. The City of Greater Geraldton lists them among the region’s most iconic raptors - known for their fishing dives, their distinctive M-shaped wings in flight, and their loyalty to particular coastal perches.

But while they are tolerant of salt, wind, and distance, they remain sensitive to disturbance. Local Danny mentioned that drone users have hovered above the nest recently, stressing the birds and interrupting feeding and rest. Even a brief hover can cause an adult to flush, leaving eggs or chicks vulnerable.

Watching the Point Moore pair today - one feeding, one calling - the pole felt like more than infrastructure. It felt like a shared agreement: a place built by human hands, used by wild ones, and now in need of guardianship.

Nineteen years of birds choosing the same pole.

Nineteen years of this coastline holding space for them.

Nineteen years of migration, memory, and return.

And still, they remain - resilient, alert, stitched into the shifting edge between land and ocean.

If you stand long enough, you can feel the rhythm of their work:

fish, feed, teach, fly, clean, repeat.

A life lived on the wind.