The sad end of Nigel, the lonely gannet
BUT HIS YEARS OF WOOING A CONCRETE REPLICA COULD STILL PRODUCE A LASTING LEGACY
Nigel the gannet was an individualist, cut from a different feather than the other birds of his species that for decades had flown past the predator-free island of Mana, just off the New Zealand coast, without ever thinking to stop and build a nest.
But Nigel stopped, pulled to the island’s cliffs by solar-powered audio recordings of gannet birdsong — plus 80 decoy gannets — arranged in the (human) hopes a place devoid of seabirds might grow into a bird colony.
Nigel, a young male, appeared about five years ago, which is when she appeared to him: a concrete gannet, freshly painted yellow and white, that Nigel would woo. He built her a nest of mud and seaweed and twigs; performed a mating dance; craned his long, white neck, shook his tail feathers and pledged his love to her, and only her.
Gannets are monogamous. Nigel stayed true to his concrete mate, chirping in her ear, making love and continuing to nest alongside her, even after three living gannets alighted on the island in recent weeks. Nigel was aloof to these newcomers. He had made his nest and, sadly, that is where Chris Bell, a New Zealand conservation officer, and the sole human resident on the island, found him dead — just as real life had finally flown his way.
“It is a tragic story,” Bell said from his cabin on the island, where poor Nigel currently resides — in the freezer, awaiting transport to the mainland.
“His death is very untimely. The three newcomers were socializing, whereas Nigel was up on his own part of the colony, still trying to woo his concrete mate.
“We were very sad. He has had this frustrating existence, and we finally thought it was heading for a happy end.”
Some day soon, Nigel will be transported to Massey University in north New Zealand, where an ornithologist specializing in bird autopsies will pry open his chest seeking to determine the cause of death. They may find that Nigel was aged, or diseased, but what they won’t be able to gauge is the loneliness in his heart from being committed, as he was, to a relationship that was all give and no take.
Nigel’s bond, not to flesh and feather, but to concrete, is sad and cruel, and perhaps a cautionary tale — for the age of loneliness in which we humans live.
The time where text messages pass for conversation; strangers on Facebook are counted as friends; “likes”, not hugs, or actual human interaction, are sources of warmth; and coffee shops can seem as quiet as tombs, with patrons entranced by the cold, unloving glow of their laptop or smartphone screen. We’re sick, we humans, or at least some of us are. Like Nigel, we struggle to pry ourselves away from our stone lovers, failing to recognize that what is real, and beautiful, and bursting with life is right in front us, if only we would lift our gaze (spread our wings?) and see it.
Nigel the gannet died as some individualists do in the end: alone, on the cusp of something great, surrounded by concrete fakes, aloof to the arrival of the living and unable, or unwilling, to change his ways.
But his sad end is not without greater significance. Gannets only nest — save for the rare case of Nigel — where others have been before. In this way, Nigel bridged the frontier. He sacrificed. He made Mana his home, enticing those that came after.
“Nigel was a pioneer, he was ahead of his time,” Bell said. “His life wasn’t wasted, because he still played his part in bringing the new birds, who will hopefully stay, and breed and turn it into a real colony, and not just a fake colony.
“Nigel will always be the founder bird of the colony.”