Island’s cheep trills worth chirping about
Pamela Wadevisits an island where our feathered friends roam free in safety. Tiritiri Matangi is an avian paradise.
You get a new interpretation of time on Tiritiri Matangi. Yes, it’s a laid-back island where you’re ruled by the sun rather than the clock, and the day stretches out ahead of you with only your own desires to shape it, but most islands are like that.
Where Tiritiri Matangi differs is in the effect its vibrant birdlife has on your perception of the passing of time.
You think your teenager takes forever in the shower? Try standing patiently on a grassy track through the bush, waiting for a takahe¯ to finish its thorough wash and brush up in the inconvenient shadow of a tree.
Confident of the adequate speed of your reflexes? Then have a go at photographing a whitehead sitting picturesquely on a leafy branch until the very nanosecond that you click your shutter, only to find the frame empty and the bird nowhere to be seen.
This is why it’s such a good idea to take an overnight trip to the island. Most people come just for the day, ferried from the city via Gulf Harbour. They arrive about 10.15am, when most of them head off on the entertaining and informative guided tour. Afterwards, though, they have just a few hours’ free time before the ferry leaves again at 3.30pm.
It’s not long enough, because the island covers 220 hectares and is threaded with inviting tracks through bush, along clifftops, down to beaches and across open grassland.
And everywhere – in that bush, on those beaches, in the grass, on the tracks – there are birds.
There are more than 70 species, numbering in their thousands, many of them difficult or impossible to see on the mainland.
But it wasn’t always this way.
Tiritiri Matangi is an inspiring example of how people can undo human damage inflicted on the land and wildlife in times gone by, and bring them back close to the original.
As you learn on the guided walk, the island was first lightly occupied by Ma¯ori, but it was when the Europeans arrived that the real degradation began.
Farming from 1840 cleared all but a few pockets of the original virgin forest, and the usual story of pest introductions led to the near elimination of native birdlife.
Roll on 130 years and, farming halted, the island became the model for habitat restoration, thanks to some original thinking and huge effort by many people.
Decreed a scientific reserve and an open sanctuary, it has been accessible to the public from the start, and volunteers have been an invaluable part of the revegetation process.
In just 10 years from 1984, they planted 300,000 trees, the majority grown from seed collected on the island.
Now those trees are tall and, bolstered by shrubs and flaxes, provide food and shelter for all those birds.
A vigorous pest-eradication programme eliminated the last obstacle to the recovery of wildlife on the island, which now includes obvious treasures such as kiwi, takahe¯, brown teal and tuatara, as well as more esoteric delights such as banded ko¯kopu and the giant centipede.
Wandering along the Hobbs Beach track past rocky domes made for, and occupied by, hoiho/ little blue penguins, the first impression is of deep peace and quiet.
After the noise and chaos of Auckland’s Quay St back in the city, it’s especially welcome and soothing: nothing but the wash of waves on the sand, the rustle of leaves above and, as you tune in,
a chorus of birdsong from a massed choir of voices.
There’s twittering, chirping and trilling from the small fry; clicks, whistles and shrieks from tu¯ı¯ and tı¯eke; screeches and hoots from a visiting ka¯ka¯; and, most musical of all, the gentle calls of bellbirds and ko¯kako.
Restrained, tuneful and haunting, for many the song of this last bird is the most special – for its rarity, and for its association with happier times.
Returning to Auckland airport after a trip overseas, as you pass under the carved tomokanga, the beautiful birdcall you hear is that of the ko¯kako: an evocative and melodious welcome home.
The best time to hear it, as well as the most elaborate songs of the other birds, is at dawn.
Along with the chance to wander out the previous night to hear, and quite possibly see, little spotted kiwi, this is the other good reason for staying overnight: as light seeps into the bunkhouse, there’s a quiet stirring, and people tiptoe out into the new day to wander along the paths through the bush, listening and marvelling.
Later there will be time to walk the East Coast track and admire the bays below, the clear blue sea foaming white on the rocks.
In the valleys where ancient po¯hutukawa sprawl, 1000 years old and counting, you can follow inviting boardwalks and sit to watch hihi on feeders and tu¯ı¯ splashing in water troughs.
Sharp-eyed people might spot young tuatara, venturing out in daylight to avoid the cannibalistic tendencies of their elders.
Return to the bunkhouse, to gaze up at the oldest working lighthouse in the country where the appropriately named Ray, the last keeper before automation, might be tinkering in the museum.
Climb the steps of the unique and lovely watchtower for its wide views from Kawau to Rangitoto.
The shop will open to tempt with its goodies, and the visitor centre offers a wealth of information.
There will be just time for a swim at sandy Hobbs Beach before the ferry returns.