CHILDREN’S PAGE.

Forest and Bird, Issue 13, 1 September 1927, Page 7

CHILDREN’S PAGE.

(By “Manu.”)

A WEKA EPISODE.

A good many years ago, I was one of a party of three who were mining for gold and tin, near the southern end of Stewart Island. It was a lovely spot, far removed from any settlement, but that was a minor drawback; everything else was in our

favour. We had thousands of acres of forest-clad hills, beautiful and rugged scenery, and numbers of native birds. We had a comfortable camp, wood and water handy. Whilst engaged in pitching our camp, we were visited by a pair of wOodhens (weka), and they eventually became part and parcel; of our home. Although a bit shy at first, and very much afraid of the dog, they soon found out that we were friendly, and the dog was trained to leave them severely alone. After a time they became very tame, in fact, quite part of the outfit; very jealous of their camp rights, insomuch that they would not allow any other wekas to come near, but, with outstretched wings and sharp cries, would drive them off. Then came a period of partial absence on their part, until they made their appearance one morning with a brood of five young ones, funny little fluffy black chicks. But not for long did we have the chickens with us. One by one they disappeared, until one chick only was left. The wild cats, both numerous and fierce, a legacy left by miners of the great “Tin Rush” days, many years before, must have accounted for them. A good many times I have noticed wekas with only one chick, and blame cats and rats for their destruction. The one chick grew fast, and in time became a lusty youngster, much greyer than the old birds, and always hungry. At that time, we were sluicing in a gully considerably over half a mile from the camp. We had no regular track to the claim, but the way led over a semi-open expanse of peaty ground, clothed with coarse grasses and numerous bushes of stunted bog-pine, the prickly leaved styphelia, and clumps of manuka; and the only indication of a track was our footprints showing here and there in some boggy place. We were, therefore, considerably surprised one day to see our three wekas—father, mother, and chick—bearing down upon us. How they found us out is a mystery, as neither the place —nor the smoke of our fire at dinner-time—-could be seen from the camp. Anyhow, there they were, and soon proceeded to have a royal time. Our sluicing operations washed out numbers of large worms; and these, floating down the tail race soon attracted the wekas, which took up their station where the tailrace joined the creek. The parent birds waded into the muddy water and dragged out the worms which they then broke up to feed the youngster. That work went methodically on for quite a long time, until their baby couldn’t possibly hold any more. Then they mooned about for a while, taking stock of everything of interest to a woodhen —our coats, the billy, and the tuckerbag—everything in fact —very little escapes the eye of a woodhen. Then they wandered over the ridge, and we found them waiting for us at the camp on our return in the evening. Their trek to the claim then became a daily occurrence, and their stay with us was gradually extended

until well on in the afternoon. No doubt their increasing knowledge of the road to take permitted that. Things went on for some weeks without alteration until we decided to shift camp across the range to the west side in order to work some more promising ground there. Regretfully we said good-bye to our faithful wekas, and I often wondered how long they continued their pilgrimages to a deserted gully, .and whether their untutored but active minds ever registered a regret for our departure.