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Darkness crept in over Kingfisher Park campsite as we hungrily devoured Vegemite sandwiches and shared our last Carlton Cold stubby. It was easy to ignore mosquito bites, the sogginess of the bread and the warmth of the beer as we reflected on our highlight of the day - a Duck-billed Platypus.

"Sit quietly at the back of the orchard around five o' clock this arvo," Ron the warden had suggested, "You stand a good chance of seeing a Platypus." As if to order, at three minutes to five, one came paddling downstream. It worked its' way efficiently along the stream-edge in front of us and we pondered on what strange quirk of evolution had produced this charasmatic creature - it was like watching a throwback to the ancient Gondwanaland. In the evening still, we could even hear it dabbling its bill quietly on the rocks.

"What shall we do tomorrow?" I asked Chris, the buzz from the Platypus sighting still coursing through my body. "I say we walk up Mount Lewis, try for the Golden Bowerbird," he replied, setting up our tent in torchlight. "It's a fair stomp that, mate." "Yeah, but we'll save wear and tear on the car and I reckon it'll be worth it."

Decision made, we hammered in the last peg and were coaxed to sleep by low croaks from frogs, the 'falling bomb' call of a Lesser Sooty Owl and excited trills from Bush Stone-Curlews.

We awoke simultaneously at dawn; the air felt fresh from an overnight shower and light began to radiate from behind the rainforest. It was one of those mornings where you feel blessed to be alive. "G'day, how are yer?" enquired Ron as he fed an orphaned young Wallaby.

We cruised in our Ford Falcon station-wagon to the bottom of the Mount Lewis road, parked where the bitumen ended and packed our ruc-sacs. Binoculars were plucked from the back seat and we embarked on the descent.

The dawn chorus was in progress. Though not as tuneful or 'dense' as in our native England, it provided an atmospheric soundtrack combined with the buzzing and screeching of rainforest insects. Suddenly our senses were alerted to a series of rasping, scolding shrieks. We looked up and saw two Pied Monarchs - black and white flycatchers - fighting for territory; claws entwined, wings open, spinning towards the ground like a large sycamore seed. They were so embroiled in battle they failed to notice us and dropped onto the dirt road beside our feet.

By late morning, the sun was warming up appreciably so we chose a picturesque spot to take a 'smoko' break. Beads of sweat dripped onto my notebook as I made notes and sketches in between gulps of water.

Following directions we crossed a white bridge and took the track to the left; there were birds everywhere - nondescript, endemic Atherton Scrubwrens and Mountain Thornbills, an iridescent black and purple Satin Bowerbird and an Eastern Spinebill, dressed in exquisite pastel colours, jabbed its aptly-named bill in the flowers for nectar. Two White's Thrushes flashed by and a Victoria's Riflebird displayed using loud whirring generated by its wings. A heavy rustling in the leaf-litter led us to a party of Chowchillas. These strange-looking forest floor dwellers were vigorously 'karate-kicking' leaves out of their path in a quest for insects. Tagging along behind was a Fernwren, picking up missed or discarded morsels.

We came across a heap of fruit pulp and seeds - Cassowary droppings. Despite this evidence we knew our chances of seeing one here were slim. Unlike 'humanized' birds in more urban areas the small population on this comparatively remote mountain behave in a much more natural, wary manner.

As we neared our target we spotted an Echidna. We stood motionless and it trotted fearlessly up to us, its nose inquisitively twitching around my trainers before carrying on its way.

Obeying the map drawn for us by Ron we 'swung' a left past a large fig tree. From here we could see the bower - a mass of twigs and moss that lay on the ground between two upright trunks - and sat patiently for the Golden Bowerbird to arrive. Whilst waiting we wondered how long it would have taken him to build such an intricate structure and hoped that the females would be impressed by his craftsmanship.

Eventually, this thrush-sized supreme architect and labourer, clothed in brilliant 'buttercup' yellow and olive 'bandits' mask, appeared and put on a fine show; attending his bower, warbling away and showing at very close range.

Finally, we arrived back at Kingfisher Park after dark. Round the barbie we told a group of naturalists from Townsville about our recent exploits. They heartily congratulated us in inimitable Queensland fashion; "Good on yers, that's not bad goin' for a coupla pommies!"

For more information on Kingfisher Park contact www.birdwatchers.com.au or Ron and Susanne Stannard at stannard@tpgi.com.au