The Rescue Records: A Hunter Valley Hitchhiker

By Sydney Wildlife Rescue volunteer and Beaches COVERED. team member, Kayleigh Greig

With study, work and a whole host of other commitments, the life of a young wildlife rescuer is chaotic: squeezing in an extra rescue when you should really be finishing that report due tonight, calculating a time slot to buy more Biolac, and playing tetris with all the bush regen and rescue gear in the boot (and back seat, and passenger seat...) of my car. One of my favourite challenges is squeezing a batch of possums into the equation.

On more than one occasion, I may have stashed a basket of babies in the office of my uni publication while running off to classes between feeds. But my most recent raising experience was delightfully unexpected.

It was shortly after finishing my last exam, marking the end of my fourth year of uni, and I was ready to collapse into a heap. My partner and I had barely seen each other between our crazy schedules, and our fourth anniversary was fast approaching. So, we had planned the perfect getaway: a three-night trip to the Hunter Valley for a Mystery Picnic. I couldn't wait for the chance to sleep in for once. Only, the night before, I got home from a hot day of weeding in the sun, flopped on the couch, and promptly had a possum plopped in my lap.

"Dad and I are going away over the weekend," said my Mom, also a wildlife rescuer. "She's all yours!" I was quick to stammer protests that I, too, would be travelling. Unfortunately, I was driving. My parents? They were flying. Check mate. I stared at the fuzzy bundle in disbelief. The fuzzy bundle that would need hand-feeding four times a day.

Grumbling but resigned, off we set on our romantic getaway: my boyfriend, me... and our third wheel. We quickly dubbed her 'Valley' after our destination, and fashioned a make-shift sling so we could bring her around on our adventure, incognito. Thank heavens she was well-behaved! The only challenge was feeding time. One does not simply whip out a baby possum in public, especially at the Hunter Valley Gardens when they're crawling with tourists. Naturally, as a foster mother and father, our only solution was to head to the parents' room!

As darkness fell, I skulked about with secateurs in one hand, and a bundle of fresh foliage in the other. But for all my harvesting efforts, I could not distract her with food. Poor Valley cried at night, missing her mother, and would not stop until I got up to console her. To anyone who has never heard a baby possum cry, it is a heart-breaking ts-ts-ts-ts, sometimes too high-pitched for older people to even hear.

Thankfully, as soon as we returned from our trip, we quickly found buddies for Valley. After many nights of munching fresh foliage and lapping at special milk formula, the babies grew to juveniles and eventually, adults. Now, Valley, Volcano and River roam the bush, as wild as the names we gave them. It's always a moment of bittersweet relief, an end to the sleepless nights and foliage runs, and a goodbye to the babies you have raised by hand, but it is one I'll choose to experience again and again.

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Hotline: (02) 9413 4300 | sydneywildlife.org.au | @sydneywildliferescue