Wild about Kāpiti
Where our rare birds roam free
It’s probably the namby-pamby times we live in, but setting out on a solo climb to the summit of Ka¯ piti Island felt like a real adventure.
It wasn’t because of the daunting nature of the track, which was impressively well maintained and definitely towards the inviting end of the easy-challenging spectrum. No, as I followed it steadily upwards, each zig and zag giving a new angle on the mature bush, it was being alone and trusted to be sensible that was so refreshing.
‘‘Bye!’’ Rochelle, my Ka¯ piti Island Nature Tours guide had said as I left. ‘‘See you back at the boat.’’ And that was that: nearly four hours of solitary exploration ahead to see for myself what she had just been describing.
Welcoming our small group of visitors at Rangatira Point, a 20-minute boat ride from Paraparaumu, Rochelle had started with the island’s history. A long and lively Ma¯ ori occupation, including acting as the stronghold of Nga¯ ti Toa chief Te Rauparaha, was followed by whalers, farmers and a population reaching 2000: very different from today’s half-dozen permanent residents.
Inspiringly, it was in 1897 that an early version of what became Forest & Bird achieved its aim of having the island declared a nature reserve. Pigs and deer, cats, possums – all 22,000 of them – and finally rats, were eradicated, with the island being declared pest-free in 1996.
In the meantime, the vegetation had regrown, seeded from virgin bush in untouched gullies and, now, Ka¯ piti’s 1965 hectares look – and sound – as they should. They taste pretty good, too: part of our nature walk with Rochelle involved nibbling on vegetation. The kokihi – or bush spinach – was especially tasty. Mainly, though, she talked about the birds.
Though the island is famous for the many hundreds of little spotted kiwi that poke and prod through the bush each night, on my midday walk she predicted sightings of tui, ka¯ ka¯ , stitchbirds and saddlebacks, takahe¯ , weka, bellbirds, and kereru¯ . Warned to beware of being mugged for food by ka¯ ka¯ and pickpocketed by weka, I set off up the track.
Diverted by tall kohekohe trees in luxuriantly full bloom, their flowers growing directly out of their trunks, and by glimpses of the coast increasingly far below, I was serenaded by the birds every step of the way.
It was glorious to hear, and compensated for my not being sharp-eyed enough to spot many of the performers up close. The tui were very visible, of course, and blundering kereru¯ , and even ka¯ ka¯ swooping through the branches. It was a treat too to see rare stitchbirds – or hihi, drinking sugar water at a feeding station – though the voyeur in me hankered after a sighting of their face-to-face mating technique, as described by Rochelle.
Finally at the top, 521m above a turquoise sea foaming white at the cliffs directly below, I was greeted by a hopeful weka, beady eyes watching my every move as I looked in my bag for my lunch. His disappointment equalled mine at finding I’d left it behind – but a rapidlymoving and dramatic front sweeping in from the north had us both scuttling for the shelter of the trees, food forgotten.
Emerging into the open back at the bottom, I was rewarded by sunshine again and the sight of two takahe¯ peacefully feeding on grassy seedheads around the edge of the bush.
Thanks to Rochelle, I knew these were Ihi and Blitzen, hopefully future parents to more of these extraordinarily sturdy, colourful birds: currently, there are just four on the island.
The Ka¯ piti Island Nature Tours boat was waiting with its ramp already down on the stony beach, and took us up to the northern end of the island, where members of the local iwi own the only private land, in their family for generations. The comfortable lodge
provides simple accommodation and plenty more birds. On the way to my tent I saw ka¯ ka¯ , tui, whiteheads, weka, saddlebacks and bellbirds; plus kereru¯ calmly squatting on the grass, grazing like sheep – apparently a common behaviour for them in predator-free environments.
The earlier storm had left its energy in the waves, which were crashing in on the rocky outcrops below the nearby cliffs as I watched the sun set in sepia splendour. All things considered, it felt time to make up for that missed lunch, and back at the lodge there was – naturally – Ka¯ piti cheese to accompany free-flowing wine while our host Wayne told us all we needed to know about the little spotted kiwi.
It’s not actually that little, but there are spots, plus whiskers, and the feathers he passed around were fabulously soft and silken. It was pleasing to hear that after the female has laid the egg (so big that it equates to a human birthing a 6-year-old child), the male is in sole charge of incubation. There are 1200-1500 of the birds on the island, the biggest population anywhere, and they are translocated from here to refuges around the country.
After a delicious home-made dinner, we set out with Flora into a still and starlit night to see if we could find any for ourselves. Following her closely through the pitch-dark bush, we heard their distinctive calls and saw a burrow, but sadly spotted no actual kiwi – though there was plenty of other bird activity, as well as we¯ ta and geckos.
So far from man-made lights, the sky was the star of the show, the Milky Way draped overhead, the constellations sharp and clear. It was spectacular.
Tucked up in the big bed in my tent afterwards, it was hard to get to sleep: partly because I didn’t want to miss anything, but also because of the sheer volume of the bird activity that continued throughout the night.
More kiwi calls, the hooting of moreporks, ka¯ ka¯ screeches and, rowdiest of all, the growls and squawks of an endless succession of little blue penguins – or korora¯ – apparently scuttling right underneath the floorboards. It was all very unrestful. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.