KAKAPO

Forest and Bird, Volume 17, Issue 4, 1 November 1986, Page 10

KAKAPO

by

Gerard Hutching

ARE THE BOOM YEARS OVER?

"He is doomed to extinction long before the kiwi and the roa are a thing of the past. ’" (Charlie Douglas, 1899)

like 100 years ago with all those males booming." Apart from the hoarse cry of a kiwi and the shrill whistle of a weka, silence greeted Wildlife Officer Dick Anderson's words as the gloom gathered over the vast Transit Valley — proof that 1986 was not a good year for kakapo breeding in Fiordland. Anderson, Park assistant Chris Hughes and I settled in for the evening on a rock almost 1000m above sea level. It was 10 pm; to the west we could just make out the silvery sparkle of the Tasman Sea, while some kilometres away at the head of this inaccessible valley a great waterfall spewed out of a cleft in the rocks below Lake Morton. Immediately to the left loomed the rock outcrop popularly known as ‘The Kastle’’ by those who had come since the mid1970s to the Transit Valley in search of kakapo, and behind us higher up lay Lake Liz, where we had out base. This, then, was kakapo country, 1986. A straggling remnant of a once numerous species now occupied this outpost — the only mainland area with perhaps the exception of North-West Nelson where it is still known, although at one time much of New Zealand had belonged to this timid, flightless bird, before humans had crossed its evolutionary path. It is estimated that perhaps only six of the world’s largest parrot remain in Fiordland, all of them probably male. So far none have been sighted in North-West Nelson, but indications are whatever population may live there will be male and ageing. Only on Stewart and Little Barrier Islands are the kakapo in any numbers — fewer than 50 on Stewart but their 6000hectare area is threatened by prowling wild cats, and 21 on Little Barrier, none of whom are breeding. "This is one bird that’s in a hell of a lot of trouble,"" Anderson muttered as, the evening watch over, we made our way back up the 100 metres to base camp. | think what it would have been @ fx beginning of the kakapo’s decline is traced back to the arrival of Maoris in Aoteoroa and the introduction of the Polynesian dog, kuri, and the rat, kiore (Rattus exulans), although Gordon Williams considered its numbers and range had shrunk before humans affected it. Explorer Charlie Douglas observes that ‘‘dogs are

very fond of kakapo hunting, not alone for the fun, but because they are good eating." When Maoris first landed, kakapo would have been everywhere throughout the three main islands, and may have even lived on the Chatham Islands. Dr Phil Millener’s studies of cave deposits in the King Country have shown that at one stage the kakapo was a common bird in that region. The kakapo would have been easy game. The ever quotable Douglas provided this colourful description: ‘‘The birds could be heard, coming along snarling and squealing as is their wont. When the Maorie (sic)

knew that a bird was close, he suddenly flashed a light with a torch, the bird stopped and glared with amazement and sO was easily caught. At other times they could be caught in the moonlight, when on the low scrub, by simply shaking the tree or bush till they tumbled on the ground, something like shaking down apples. I have seen as many as half a dozen kakapos shaken off one tutu bush this way." (Birds of South Westland 1899). By the time Europeans came to New Zealand, the bird’s range had contracted considerably, although it lived in parts of the central North Island and was abundant in the Nelson district, on the West Coast and in Fiordland. As late as 1879 it was still

found in the Marlborough Sounds. The introduction of the stoat and ship rat spelled disaster for such vulnerable birds as the kakapo, which, having no knowledge of such predators, also had no defences against them. During the 1950s to the 1970s, the search for survivors of these catastrophic changes narrowed down to the Milford catchment in Fiordland. However, the exciting discovery of about 200 on Stewart Island in 1977 gave kakapo watchers fresh hope; their optimism suffered a setback, though, as cats have whittled down this number and caused the Wildlife Service to shift some of the population to Little Barrier Island for the species’ safety. Early spring, 1985, the signs had been encouraging, pointing to the possibility of a ‘booming’ year — a reference to the curious breeding behaviour of the kakapo. The male fashions out a bowl high up ona ridge, usually with some natural reflecting surface such as a rock behind. The naturalist Richard Henry describes how the male then develops an air sac which canbe . puffed out like a balloon or drum. "They start with a couple of short grunts, and they utter five or six deep measured notes like the sound of a muffled drum, the loudest in the middle.’’ Recent field research has shown that the female is then attracted through this booming to the mating arena — the kakapo is the only New Zealand bird, as well as the only parrot and flightless bird in the world to exhibit such "lek" behaviour. Booming years to kakapo watchers are like the rut to the deer-stalker — the time when the animal makes itself most obvious. Because kakapo are essentially shy, secretive birds (and nocturnal, as the ‘‘Collector’ Andreas Reischek lyrically observed: ‘‘they leave their burrows after

Xtinction of this Kenankasle qananenke, ladl ` e Ss (Den Meon The Kakapor 74 Recoveny ela J

sunset and the moon is their sun,’’), and because they boom only every two years, it is vital that these times be observed.

A expedition of about a dozen Wildlife Officers and volunteers assembled at Te Anau in mid-January 1986, and with the aid of helicopters were removed from the comfort of motel beds to perches thousands of feet high on mountain fastnesses within minutes. Some were more fortunate than others; their homes for the next few weeks would be huts supplied by BP as part of the company’s $23,000 contribution to the kakapo project. The remainder would have to settle for tents, come rain or snow. The first morning of my stay in the Transit Valley, we decide to tackle ‘‘The Kastle’’, so named for its impregnable appearance. From our camp, the safest way up to it is via a fixed rope suspended down a steep gut. Access to this natural promontory is extremely hazardous for humans, but kakapo have clambered up such steep ridges for eons towards their rendezvous with their mates. Perhaps only here have predators failed to penetrate. Signs are apparent of kakapo feeding but disappointingly they are old, possibly several months or even longer. Tales of kakapo feeding and "‘housekeeping’’ habits are

legend. "They are quite fussy about their booming areas which they like to keep clean and tidy. If twigs are placed at right angles on their tracks they take pains to place them aside — its a good way to work out if they have been in the vicinity recently," explains Anderson. Strictly vegetarian, their favoured foods are spaniard, celmisia, dracophylum and tussock, of which they eat large amounts to gain a weight of up to 3.4 kg. "In July they are in splendid condition, those found having as much as two inches of fat on them. They used frequently to plunder the vegetable garden I had established near my lonely camp, and one morning I actually came across one asleep

under a cabbage. He had so gorged himself during the night that he could go no further.’ (Reischek, Yesterdays in Maoriland.) The following three days are spent in exhaustive and exhausting searches for kakapo sign. Distances are measured in hours rather than mileage, for leatherwood makes for uncompromising travel. By the end of the week we have seen a little sign but a fraction of the valley, and one understands why helicopters have become such an important part of Wildlife work. At night the news of the day is broadcast to Burwood Station at Te Anau, which receives from all the kakapo searchers in Fiordland as well as those on Stewart Island, staff working on takahe in the Murchison Mountains and on black stilt in the

Mackenzie Basin. During a ‘‘pit day’’ Dick Anderson tells me how the Wildlife Service intends to save the kakapo from extinction. Like many Staff, he feels strongly about the bird’s survival, having been involved in numerous expeditions since the mid-60s. ‘The kakapo’s a remarkable animal which must be preserved. The big hope for the future is transferring them to large, pre-dator-free islands and the two most suitable are Little Barrier and Codfish Islands (the latter near Stewart Island). "Those birds that have been taken to Little Barrier are doing well, but they haven't bred yet. In March 1986, 15 track and bowl systems were discovered on the summit ridges of the island, and at least seven males boomed during February and March. This is the first sustained booming since their transfer in 1981,’’ Anderson says. Codfish Island is possibly even more suitable for kakapo as the climate is closer to what the present population is used to, but it is yet to be completely cleared of possums and wekas. It is estimated that perhaps two years will see the last of these and the island will become fit for kakapo habitation. But as the only breeding population lives on Stewart Island, where fewer than 50 birds are still at risk from cats despite the vigilance of Wildlife staff, isn’t that a sufficient threat to remove the kakapo from there immediately and transfer them, even temporarily, to a safe haven? Anderson answers that they are satisfied the cat problem is under control, at least

enough not to warrant upsetting the birds by shifting them. Furthermore, even though the kakapo on Little Barrier are not breeding yet, there are high hopes that they will do so. Finally, time is on their side, for it is estimated that kakapo could live as long as 50 years although they breed perhaps only at one to four year intervals in normal situations. t is the second to last day of my all too brief stay in the Transit Valley. The chances of finding kakapo in time-hon-oured ways are evaporating; modern technology takes over as we decide to locate one of the males (dubbed Talbot) fitted with a radio transmitter. Talbot’s booming area lies only a 100 or so metres below the camp, and so we start from there, pointing antennae shaped like a TV aerial in the most likely direction — but instead of descending, the ‘‘beep beep’’ signal comes from the right, across the valley. Se the next five hours we sidle across, through predominantly rata-beech forest inhabited by flocks of noisy kaka and where the going is much easier than the tortuous sub-alpine scrub not too many metres above. Finally, about two kms from where we have started, the signals tell us Talbot is just below. As silently as possible we descend until the signal is arriving from all directions — the transmitter will not lead us precisely to the bird, but only provides a vague direction of its whereabouts. Usually

dogs find it at this point. By descending further, we soon realise that Talbot is now above us. We are ona dense beech-covered ridge, one side of which drops away sharply down to a waterfall. Every fern or moss under every rock and fallen tree becomes a kakapo . . . suddenly, a flash of wings and there he is under a log, attempting to bury himself deeper into his secretive world. Anderson catches him at an awkward angle and cannot prevent the bird from gnawing painfully into his hand. After a bout of hoarse croaking Talbot calms down and placidly sits, his owl-like countenance seemingly expressing the wisdom of many years. It is a special moment. The anthropomorphic sentiment that this and other Fiordland kakapo must be very lonely cannot help surfacing, nor the feeling that such a unique animal must be preserved. In less than five minutes our business is done; Talbot is somewhat lighter than he should be for booming and breeding purposes, but otherwise he is in good condition. The moment he is placed onto the ground he crawls back under the log and adopts the freeze position characteristic of the species. It is the only defence it knows. Up until now that posture has been no safeguard against marauding predators; today humans hold the key to the survival of this ‘old New Zealander’’ in what has become a battle against time. The boom of the kakapo has sounded out for thousands of years. Will it continue to do so in the 21st century? 94