Wild Island

Echidnas are usually solitary wanderers of Tasmania’s wild bush, quietly skirting along since frost settles on the ground. Yet during the Australian winter, roughly from mid‑May to early September, something remarkable happens, echidnas gather in what researchers affectionately call echidna trains. Suddenly, lone animals from dense populations around Tasmania converge in an unusual dance of courtship.

An echidna train unfolds when a single receptive female echidna emerges from hibernation. She is tailed by up to ten males, all arranged in single file, following her every move for days or even weeks. This is less a frantic chase and more a patient parade – an almost ceremonial procession that slowly threads across the landscape, with males either dropping off over time or reinforcing their position in the line.

Male echidnas rely heavily on their keen sense of smell, which is underpinned by electroreceptors in their snout, making them extraordinarily sensitive to subtle pheromonal and chemical cues. Even if the female is still in torpor or waking from hibernation, her scent can broadcast her reproductive readiness across metres. And so begins the pursuit: a slow but unwavering trek, with each male carefully matching the female’s pace while conserving their energy.

This extended chase isn’t just romantic spectacle, it’s evolution in peak form. The collective presence of males stimulates the female’s fertility, much like the crowd affects seen in other species’ mating rituals. Simultaneously, the longest-lasting (or strongest) males prove their fitness. Studies have found that only the most persistent and largest males tend to remain as challengers into the later phase of the courtship, essentially earning the right to mate.

When the female is ready, she stops and partially digs into the soil, guiding the males to do the same. Around her, astonished researchers have found doughnut-shaped trenches up to 25 cm deep – a defensive ring where the males jockey for position. Within this arena, they may wrestle, bump, or push, but serious wounds are rare. Once dominance is established, mating occurs in the trench. The male’s unique four-headed penis, using two of its heads at a time, facilitates multiple ejaculations in sequence, possibly a strategy to maximise sperm-competition success.

Tasmanian echidnas enter hibernation in late summer, with males emerging slightly earlier than females by around the winter solstice, timing that sets the stage for early courtship while temperatures are still low. As the female warms and reawakens, she transitions from torpor into pulse-paced breeding readiness. The male pursuit not only tests physical endurance, but may also help synchronise the female’s internal reproductive clock.

After mating, females incubate a single leathery egg for about 21 to 28 days, carrying it in a temporary pseudo-pouch created by body muscles. That egg then hatches into a microscopic puggle – tiny enough to sit comfortably on your thumbnail. The puggle remains in the pouch for about 10 days before being moved to a burrow, where it will stay fed and warm for several months.

Despite their popularity, echidna trains are a frontier of biological mystery. Key questions still include exactly how pheromonal communication triggers the entire ritual, whether females actively choose mates or let males vie for position, and why males undergo dramatic body weight loss during the months-long chase. Scientists continue to gather clues through field tracking, scent profiling, and behavioural observation, but every echidna train seems to have its own story.

These courtship parades are more than natural spectacle, they are lessons in adaptation, seasonal survival, and the quiet resilience of Tasmania’s wild bush. The fact that we still observe them is also a good sign: echidnas need healthy, connected habitat to find each other and complete their curious ritual.

Tasmanian echidna trains are a testament to nature’s patience and complexity: a march of smell-guided determination, a test of endurance that awards resilience, a bizarre but beautiful ballet of tails and spines, and a signal that Tasmania’s wild still holds wonder.

Echidna trains might not roar or dazzle like other wildlife spectacles, but that’s exactly what makes them so special. They move quietly through Tasmania’s forests and paddocks, unnoticed by many, but deeply meaningful for those who pause long enough to witness them.

They remind us that nature doesn’t always move fast. Sometimes, the most extraordinary things unfold slowly, patiently, and just out of sight.

So next time you’re out walking in the bush or driving a quiet country road during winter, keep an eye out for a line of spines trailing gently across the landscape. You might just be lucky enough to witness one of Tasmania’s most curious and enduring love stories.