Angie Abingdon — Moving to Australia Part 5: Wildlife Wonders | by Angieabingdon | Aug, 2025

I love nature. Always have. But the sheer contrast in the natural world I encountered after moving here was nothing short of profound. I knew, in theory, about Australian wildlife — kangaroos, cockatoos, possums. But seeing it all in real life, just casually hopping, flying, jumping or creeping across my everyday view… that was something else entirely.

One of my first memories was looking up and seeing a flock of cockatoos flying overhead. Not one or two — dozens. Their raspy, chaotic screeches echoing through the sky as they flapped across the gum trees. It was wild and oddly beautiful. Other exotic birds, just perching on a telegraph wire. Learning to identify those I have seen so far has been wonderful.

Then, of course, the kangaroos. The iconic creature of Australia.

Again, not on a tour or in a zoo — just casually hanging out in a field at the edge of the bush. Watching them from a distance, I remember thinking, this is actually where I live now. Not a holiday, not a postcard. Real life.

One evening, we spotted what looked like a little family of bandicoots. I’d never seen one before. In fact, I barely knew what a bandicoot even was. Apparently they are small, nocturnal marsupials native to Australia, known for their pointy snouts and rapid digging, and they often leave distinctive cone-shaped holes in lawns and gardens while foraging for insects. And there they were snuffling around in the undergrowth and then darting off before I could really process what I was looking at.

Then came the echidna.

Just spotted it ambling below the deck. I thought it might be a large hedgehog. But no this was a creature I really had to stop and Google. It was that strange. Spiny, waddling and prehistoric-looking, the echidna seemed like something from another world entirely. Turns out it’s even more unusual than it looks.

Echidnas are monotremes — egg-laying mammals. The female lays a single egg into a pouch (yes, a pouch), and when it hatches, the baby — called a puggle — feeds on milk secreted from pores in the skin. No teats. No nipples. Just milk pores. It’s one of those things you read twice to make sure it’s real.

But alongside all the wonder, I do have to remind myself that this is Australia. And with the beauty comes the stuff they warn you about. The snakes. The spiders. And probably a few others I haven’t met yet.

In the twelve months I’ve been here, I’ve seen three snakes.

The first was in the vegetable garden of our rental home. I’d wandered out to do a bit of weeding, as the beds were completely overgrown. I opened the gate and stepped onto the path. Within seconds, something fast and long swiped past my feet. At first, it didn’t quite register. Then it did. A snake. And I was suddenly very aware that my idea of gardening might need to adjust.

That same day delivered another unexpected wildlife moment. Still feeling slightly shaky from the veggie patch incident, I went down to the shed to collect some clothes from the tumble dryer. As I leaned in to pull out a few pairs of jeans and some undies, I heard a scrabbling noise above. Before I could react, something furry and about the weight of a small dog landed on my head and immediately scuttled away. I never even saw it properly. Possum, maybe. Or some kind of large rat. Whatever it was, I didn’t hang around to identify it. More on what this actually was in another blog!

The second snake turned up a few weeks later. Our house was on high stilts, with a steep fall into thick undergrowth. I was walking down the deck stairs to fetch something when a strange colour caught my eye. There, lying still and basking, was a turquoise snake — small, thin and definitely not something I wanted to get close to.

Since then, I’ve become mildly obsessed with a Facebook group called Australian Snake Identification. People post photos of sightings and “Approved Identifiers” weigh in. Each post includes the species, a danger rating (Non-venomous, Weakly venomous, Dangerously venomous), and usually a line like: Best admired from a distance. I take that to heart. However occasionally I turn off posts from this Facebook page. Somedays I just don’t want to be reminded!

The third encounter was the most dramatic.

Becca and I were out walking her dachshund, Bambi, in a local park. We decided to cut across the grass to extend the route. Bambi ran ahead, tail wagging. Then — out of nowhere — a red-bellied black snake reared up from the grass. We must have startled it.

The snake leapt. Becca screamed. She called Bambi back and, thankfully, Bambi ran straight to her. This snake was large. It had a red belly. And yes, it absolutely leapt into the air. We stood there, frozen. It was a moment we didn’t forget for a long time.

t’s funny how quickly these things become stories. At the time you’re kind of in shock. Like what just happened!? Later, you’re telling the tale and laughing, realising that you really are living in a different world now.

It’s a reminder that no matter how much you think you know about a place, living it is different. You walk past things you’d once only seen in nature documentaries. The wildlife isn’t just part of the landscape. It’s your neighbour, your noise in the night, and a tendency to check things a little bit more before you go further!

And yet it never stops being interesting.