Highs and lows in the big bush battle against predators
The goal of a predator-free New Zealand is a lofty one that requires many different groups to work together. Various methods are used, including stoat traps, bait stations, self-setting traps like Good Nature traps, and tracking tunnels.
Neville Thorne is one of the many New Zealanders who are outside, rain or shine, servicing trap lines.
Neville grew up in Te Anau and headed off to Otago University in Dunedin for a two-year Diploma in Outdoor Sporting Performance. He started doing predator control work in Fiordland during his summers while studying.
For the past few years he has found himself living back in Te Anau fulltime, working as a self-employed contractor. There are three key things he works on: tracking tunnels, trap lines, and research to help pest control efforts reach their targets.
The work can be irregular in between peak seasons, but during the summer months he’s often flat out.
‘‘The weather can be quite stressful,’’ he says. ‘‘You’re flying in and out of remote places in marginal conditions. The cold can be quite unpleasant, and we often land in the snow.’’
He’s spent some time working with tracking tunnels in the Murchison Range and collecting data to help rock wren. Accurate data, on both predators and native birds, helps the Department of Conservation and other conservation bodies to target eradication efforts more accurately, and to allocate resources and prioritise more strategically.
They’re working to protect the most important things in the most important places, to a level that actually reduces decline.
Neville explained how the tracking tunnels work. Each tunnel is big enough for small animals to move through. They’re placed at regular intervals, with 50 tunnels per line.
‘‘You put a piece of cardboard in, with ink in the middle and usually a blob of peanut butter to attract the animals – 24 hours later, you go back to the exact same tunnel lines and bring back all of the cardboard with prints.’’
The 24-hour checks are consistent with all tracking tunnels nationally. ‘‘The next survey may be three to five weeks later, and rabbit meat is usually used instead of peanut butter. You put a tiny piece of meat in a tea strainer, hooked on with a zip tie. You do that 50 times a day.’’
Trap lines are mostly for rats and stoats. ‘‘They’re pretty gross to clean out – you get pretty sick of it after you’ve done about 80 of them.’’
Servicing tracking tunnels and trap lines requires careful navigation between points, using a GPS. ‘‘But it’s not just about your ability to use a GPS. You need to be able to move efficiently through the bush, with the skills and endurance to continue moving through rugged terrain, in all conditions, on your own for hours on end and for many consecutive days.’’
Mostly, Neville loves the solitary job. ‘‘I love the birds, the fitness, being out in wild canyon streams by myself. I feel energised. And there’s just enough familiarity.’’ He often tries different routes to mix things up – ‘‘I’ll go down this bluff and see what happens’’.
‘‘Camping out on the tops is great. You’re dropped in by helicopter at the bottom. I’ll usually be back at camp by around 3pm to listen to podcasts and music.’’
The alpine zone is Neville’s favourite area. ‘‘One day, I got dropped off about 15 kilometres from Lake Roe. It would’ve been a solid sixhour walk without breaks, but I spent another four hours searching for rock wren.’’
He did some territory mapping, took photos, recorded the number of rock wren and their locations, and gathered data about their behaviour.
‘‘I was standing in a boulder field and four rock wren were dancing, coming super-close and curious, playful, coming right up to me. It was a stunning day, blue skies forever. I slept at Lake Roe Hut. It might have been the best work day ever.’’
Other days, life is a little harder. Neville recounted a day on the West Coast.
‘‘I was reluctant to go out in the heavy South Westland rain. You have to have a decent breakfast, ’cause you know it’s going to be a slog. I was up at 7am, left at 7.30, starting with a 40-minute drive and dropping off some other trappers on the way. I drove the truck in as far as I could, and immediately got wet boots and feet crossing the river.
‘‘I quickly warmed up with the steep ascent to the first tunnel. Then it was another 1000m vertical elevation, servicing traps along the way. Each line usually has 50 traps.
‘‘Then I drove back to Haast and repeated it all the next day.’’
Sometimes, camping on the tops, he’ll stay up really late, waiting for the kea to go away.
‘‘Kea keep tugging at the tent lines and nipping at the tent. You need to keep all your gear inside.’’ At other times. he’ll be in a hut. ‘‘It’s more comfortable with somewhere to hang wet gear up.’’
Neville acknowledges one of the biggest challenges of the job. ‘‘Your body can get a beating – feet, hips, knees, a tired back. Your toes get warm and yucky. I’ve had trench foot a few times. In Haast, I struggled to complete a job and walk back to the car.’’
During the quieter winter months, Neville often heads off on adventures overseas. Last year he completed the Great Divide mountainbiking route, a 5000km mostly off-road route that goes from Banff to New Mexico. Other years, he has been to Hawaii and Mexico, or has spent time road tripping around Aotearoa.
Neville and I were in the same team for the Godzone Fiordland multisport endurance race in 2018. ‘‘We had the option to travel on really nice spurs,’’ he says. ‘‘As a trapper, it’s much more difficult – you’re forced to go through less desirable and way more gnarly terrain.
‘‘You’re often in zones of rotten logs that you have to crawl under or over. There are Spaniards, bush lawyer, thigh-deep mud. It makes Godzone Fiordland look easy!’’
As you are reading this, Neville could well be drenched in sweat, with dead stoat juices all over his work pants, and bush lawyer scratches on his arms, servicing the trap lines.
You need . . . the skills and endurance to continue moving through rugged terrain, in all conditions, on your own.