Jo Catch a Kiwi

Forest and Bird, Volume 18, Issue 1, 1 February 1987, Page 20

Jo Catch a Kiwi

Relocating kiwi threatened by clearance can be a dismal business. For a start, you can never be sure that the captured birds will safely settle into a new home, and you are always left with lingering doubts about whether you have rescued every kiwi. But the overwhelming feeling is one of futility as prime native habitat and unique animals are swept away — for what? Farmers saddled with high interest rates producing goods the world doesn’t want. Here North Taranaki branch chairman and farmer Peter Winter takes a wry look at his recent involvement in kiwi relocation.

B» torchlight the crown of a ponga at one’s feet gives the illusion of solid ground. The noise created by proving it is not could convince a kiwi it is time to go. The accompanying fall is rarely direct, but is cushioned by spiky branches, dead fronds, bush lawyer and finally lycopodium and copious dust or water, depending on

the state of the weather at the moment. In August, 1981, I was invited to take part in an attempt-to relocate kiwi from a mere 50 hectares of manuka on Mohakatino Station, a Lands and Survey farm development block in North Taranaki. A Wildlife officer gave me a canvas bag to carry the kiwi. The capture area was a delightful spot

above a waterfall where the steep hillsides were clothed in manuka nearing the end of its natural life-span. In the gullies and wet areas were masses of tree ferns including an impressive group of Cyathea cunninghamii, while on the ridges tiny orchids — Caladenia, Pterostylis, Thelymitra — were in flower and sun dew set its sticky globules to catch insects, thus giving it nourishment to survive in the nitrogen-poor soil. Most of the ground was carpeted in lycopodium tall enough for a kiwi to stand unseen. On the first night the objectives were to establish the presence of kiwi and estimate their numbers. The estimates ranged from seven to 12. We settled on nine, about half of them females, as a reasonable compromise, but it was likely there were pairs of birds in their own long-established territories. We drove home in the dawn.

No one broke a leg

We made five visits in all. The number of kiwi-catchers ranged from 10 on one night to four. We used our own initiatives and theories, we mimicked kiwi calls and learned to distinguish the real from the false, but we did not catch kiwi. In fact nobody even saw one. It was surprising given the terrain and darkness that no one broke a leg, or aneck. It was cold in the spring of 1981 and sometimes wet, but there was an abundance of manuka firewood to hand. The locality of each waiting, listening group was identifiable by the position of its fire, while forays in search of birds were visible because of bobbing torchlight which vanished and reappeared. Since our visits were at weekends or at night we did not see the scrub-cutters and in spite of the evidence of their presence never really came to terms with what was about to happen. We made jokes about being careless with our fires and ‘‘cutting out the middle man", but as we watched the small birds, pied tits, fantails, greywarblers and occasional bellbirds and tuis it did not occur to us they too would die in the flames.

I can remember returning a peripatus to its home in a rotting log. I may as well have crunched it under my heel. On election night, 1981, some of our party stayed at a sort of base camp under a gnarled mahoe with a portable radio, but

most of us did not know the results of the polling until long after midnight. A group of people experienced in kiwi catching came from Otorohanga bringing with them two labradors, but they met with no success. With them came farmer-envi-ronmentalist Arthur Cowan. "‘If they farmed the land they've got properly there’d be no need to clear more,’’ he muttered. I took my cattle dog with me on my next visit, but she was quite unable to decide what was required of her. She raised her hackles and emitted a challenging growl to something in the wet darkness, but did not react to kiwi calls. I was indignant, but too polite to complain when one of my companions decided he had more right than her to space out of the rain under my tent fly.

Uncanny skill

One of the party on this very wet night was a newcomer. He left us to go up the ridge ‘for a look around’’. During the night I watched the progress of his torch through the valleys and across the ridges. He did a wide circuit and shortly after midnight I saw him pass beneath us along the track back to

the cars. None of the rest of us possessed such uncanny skill at travelling across steep, unfamiliar shrubland in the dark. He was drinking tea from a thermos when | reached the vehicles. I went over to express my admiration for his bushcraft. ‘Gee, I was lost!’’ he admitted. We asked permission to be present at the time of the burn-off to take photographs and assess for ourselves the life expectancy of kiwi or for that matter of other birds. Understandably we were not informed. It was a wet autumn and the operators had to take their chances when they came. Besides, burn-offs are exhilarating occasions with helicopters and napalm-type accelerants. No one wants the spectacle marred by questions about what is dying in the flames. I returned in 1983 to photograph the orchids. It was a dismal scene. Blackened manuka stems interlaced across the hillsides in an impassable tangle, an abandoned utility vehicle was rusting out in the stream below the waterfall, but the orchids survived on the ridges where the fire found nothing to burn. I returned again in 1985. There were fences now and mustering pens, but the manuka skeletons still littered the ground. There was a yellowhammer or two and some chaffinches, but no bush birds. The orchids had gone, but manuka seedlings were enthusiastically beginning the cycle all over again.

y the spring of 1985 when questions were being asked about kiwi in the Aotuhia farm settlement block I had made a personal decision that relocating kiwi was not an option. The wise course was to preserve both birds and habitat. Bitter argument about kiwi being burned in shrubland clearance was unresolved. | sought permission from the Commissioner of Crown Lands, Alistair McIlroy, to camp out and listen. His only stipulation was that I get the consent of the farm managers. I had my doubts about the Aotuhia telephone number. The manager's house was new and | had a notion the link was by ra-dio-telephone. However I found the number in the directory. ‘You're one of those greenies. I'll cut everything I can. You blokes give me the shits. I wouldn't waste my time talking to you.’’ He cut me off. It was not Pat Ford, manager at Aotuhia. As I suspected, his number was new and unlisted. Under the circumstances | decided against Aotuhia for that weekend. However, the next block due for crushing was at Poarangi, a part of the Aotuhia settlement

plan. Nick Hendricks, the manager, gave his consent freely. We could not have chosen a more pleasant day. After a walk of two kilometres along the old Whangamomona Road we reached the 25 hectares chosen for clearing. As soon as we entered the shrubland we were greeted by birds. North Island robin, pied tit, grey warbler, fantails in dozens and silver eye. In the distance a bittern boomed. A morepork came to our camp at dusk and bellbirds supplied the dawn chorus. On the ridgetop two bulldozers and a huge roller were poised ready to recommence crushing operations. By midnight not one kiwi had made its presence known, but by morning we had identified calls from five birds. The last was at daybreak. After our next monthly meeting we sent a telegram signed by all to the Prime Minister. The DSIR did a three-day kiwi check and estimated a population of one pair to 10/15 hectares. A more extensive survey was planned for the winter months, but this has not taken place. #