Travel – B
Windsong – a trip to Tiritiri Matangi
~ Sandra Kyle
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It’s a picture-perfect Auckland day and we are on our way to Tiritiri Matangi, an open sanctuary for rare and endangered birds. Auckland’s skyline fades as we round North Head and plough out past Motuhuie and Waiheke. It’s already Autumn, yet so hot that there are people on Cheltenham beach, and the Cancer society is supplying sunblock to the ferry’s passengers. I am troubled with the thought that global warming affects not only us, but other, more innocent species, less able of adapting to a changing climate.
The Quickcat skims over the sunlit waters as the outline of our destination appears on the horizon. The Skipper announces points of interest. Over to the right a feeding frenzy; small fish hurl themselves out of the ocean, sparkling in the sun for one glorious moment before being picked off by excited gulls. Off to the left a group of fluttering shearwaters. A slender, long-winged brown and white seabird, (also known as the muttonbird) it breeds only in New Zealand. As we watch, they fly low with fast, rhythmic wingbeats interspersed with a long glide, on the lookout for sprats and krill chased close to the surface by predators.
The boat approaches Gulf Harbour Marina in the Whangapaoroa where it picks up more visitors, and the Skipper announces: “Dolphins to our left”. The boat slows almost to a standstill, and a duo come within a few metres of us, but today they don’t feel like playing, and having satisfied their curiosity, swim off again. It’s the closest I’ve been to dolphins, and I’m delighted. I grew up with stories of Pelorous Jack, and Opo, and three years ago visited Opononi on a pilgrimage. The stories of friendship between our species and others have always profoundly moved me.
The journey from downtown Auckland takes about one hour, and at 10:30 we enter the lee of Tiritiri and walk across the jetty to awaiting DOC staff. As I walk I hear the distinctive call of the Saddleback, now extinct on the mainland. The Island’s Manager and Chief Ranger welcome today’s group of about 50 visitors, including six Tiri supporters, acting as guides. The supporters of Tiritiri Matangi are major contributors to its development. Involved from the outset in planting thousands of trees and translocating species, they also provide financial and physical support for the ongoing scientific work on the island. The Manager tells the assembled visitors there is a “pack in” and “pack out” policy – no rubbish can be left here. Precautions have to be taken, too, that no predators are accidentally introduced, and we are asked to check our luggage for vermin. A trailer takes heavy baggage up the hill to the Visitor’s Centre, and we set off with just our day-packs, binoculars and cameras. Our guide is an older man in a Ranger hat. Before we start he gathers our small group around him to explain the big picture. “Everything’s connected to everything else”, he says. “If you take things out, you need to put things back”
We have come to Tiritiri Matangi (the name means “tossed by the wind”) to see some of our endangered birds – the Kokako, Stitchbird, Saddleback, and the rare Takahe. As we walk, our guide points out especially constructed nest boxes for the little blue penguin, who come ashore at night after hunting in the shallow waters for small fish and squid. We walk along greywacke-strewn Hobbs beach, named after a family who farmed there up until the 1970’s – and hear the loud, rapid chatter of the Kakariki (“small parrot”). native to New Zealand, endangered as a result of habitat destruction by introduced predators. Vivid green, with a crimson forehead, a noisy pair fly into some vegetation and disappear. I keep wishing I was a better spotter. Some fanciers can spot the most camouflaged of birds.
We follow our guide along the boardwalks of the Kawerau track into the young forest. I glimpse a tui sitting in a rimu, and then a saddleback, tieke, with its brown “saddle” of feathers and orange wattle. Sacred to Te Arawa, it’s said the saddleback served as pilot on the journey out from the Pacific. A couple of fantail, piwakawaka, follow us, chirping to get our attention, flicking their tails as they look for insects. I think of a school emblem I recently saw, showing a fantail and the motto: “Make them proud, who follow”.
I love birds. I have always loved to watch them, and feed them, but I became a true bird fancier when I bought my first bird, Coco, a small yellow cockatiel. Coco’s antics proved endearing to all who came in contact with him. He would deliver “Coco’s blessing” to visitors to my home by flying onto their head or shoulder and singing to them, or exercise his nest-building instincts by playing with their hair. . Once Coco breathed onto a mirror, leaving a patch of mist where his breath had been. I had an epiphany that day.. We are often so arrogant towards other species, refusing to see how similar they are to us – a denial that is very convenient when you consider the way they suffer at our hands in factory farms, and in feedlots. In the wild too, as we destroy their habitats through “development.”.
Our little group passes some feeding stations where my companions and I remain for some moments, watching the stitchbird, hihi – called for the tzit tzit sound they make. Endemic to NZ, thought to be fewer than 1,000 left, these little honeyeaters have the distinction of being the only bird that mates face-to-face. Our guide points out the male, strikingly more handsome than the plain grey female, with a bright yellow band across the chest, and black head. As well as the tzit sound, they have a high pitched whistle, and around the feeding station these extremely active little birds chatter to each other the whole time.
We emerge from the forest and walk up a grassy hill to the lighthouse, New Zealand’s oldest, built in 1864. Those staying overnight go to the bunkhouse to eat, the rest sit at wooden tables at the visitor’s centre, or picnic on the grass. A fan of the pukeko, I look out for the Takahe, who it superficially resembles. I don’t have to wait long. A giant purple and red bird appears from behind the building, placidly walking among the visitors. Suddenly, a very ordinary scene becomes extraordinary. “That’s Ross”. says the Manager. “Come here, Rossy” and he runs his clumsy chicken-waddle towards her. In the 1800s there were only a few sightings of the Takahe and in the first half of last century the species was considered extinct. Then in 1948 an amateur ornithologist came across a small population deep in the South Island’s interior. Now, thanks to breeding programs such as that on Tiri, there are more than 200 Takahe world-wide.
Lunch over, we go back to the ferry along the Wattle Track. After a few moments I hear a noise like leaves snapping, and turn to see two Kokako feeding in some Broome. As we stand and watch, they dart from branch to branch, plucking and eating leaves. Without strong wings, they are like a flying squirrel, gliding from tree to tree and running up trunks on their long legs. These endangered wattlebirds – they appear on the reverse side of the $50 note – also feature in Maori mythology. It was Kokako that gave Maui water as he fought the sun. Kokako filled its plump blue wattles with water offering it to Maui to quench his thirst, and Maui rewarded him by making his legs long and strong, enabling him to cover more ground in his search for food.
My companions and I check our brochure. We have seen most of the birds we came to see, and more besides – white-eyes, tomtits, blackbirds. But we still haven’t seen the North Island Robin. Look for them on the forest floor, our guide said, as they feed on invertebrates. Suddenly we come to a rest area in front of a feeding station, and there he is, Toutouwhai, mistakenly named robin – no relation to the European variety but the name has stuck. I am fascinated by this fellow –slightly bigger than a sparrow, with a large head, plump grey body, white and yellow breast and belly, he stands upright, sentinel-like, on his long thin legs. I approach closer; he continues fossicking under the leaves. Fearless, he rummages near our shoes as we photograph him, stopping every now and then to look around, all curiosity, all legs. Seeing Toutouwhai I realise what I have been trying to understand since I arrived on the island. Picture-perfect day, lapping water, native forest, crystal birdsong; we have been on a journey through New Zealand’s soul. Thankful for this realization, I compose a Haiku for Robin:
Diminitive gem
I want to know about you
What is your true name?
It’s Kokako, not Robin, who answers me, as we emerge from the forest, with his haunting, mournful farewell. Our last encounter with a rare species is with a lone brown Teal duck, (Pateke), feeding at the side of the track. Once in their millions, now fewer than 1300, the brown teal is thought to have evolved from the very beginning of life in New Zealand. As we wave goodbye to DOC staff on the jetty I think of the birds of Tiritiri Matangi this night, perched high on branches of manuka, and totara, kanuka, and pohutakawa, totara and puriri, their beaks nuzzled into their back feathers to keep out the cold, and to rest their necks. As sunlight crowns the horizon, they will break into song, a communication that is natural and direct, and, unlike our own species, without malice and without duplicity. Unlike our species too, these innocent creatures have done nothing to damage the Earth, or threaten the environment.. At least global warming means that more birds will survive the winter. My thoughts again entertain Haiku’s minimalist cadence:
Bird settles on branch
He sings and then flies away
Ka kite, little Bird.
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