Birding New Zealand
David Callahan experiences countless seabirds up close on a trip of a lifetime
Perhaps no style of birding demands more patience and tenacity than a pelagic trip – watching mythical seabirds in their deep ocean habitats, while trying to keep your breakfast down and prevent thousands of pounds worth of optics from becoming irrevocably salt-damaged.
In many parts of Britain, some emotional fortitude is needed for this, as you may only see a couple of Sooty Shearwaters and a Pomarine Skua for your efforts. However, impressive hordes of oceanic birds are found in the southern hemisphere, and there is one place where pelagic birding is not only breathtaking, but accessible and even relatively affordable: New Zealand. I was fortunate enough to visit this Pacific seabird Eden in the austral spring, in November 2019, and discovered how astonishing deep-sea birding can be in the southern oceans.
The majority of birds I was likely to see were unfamiliar, so I began with a cruise at Akaroa to familiarise myself with commoner species – and even these were thrilling. We’re glad of a few windblown Manx Shearwaters in the UK, but in New Zealand, large, noisy rafts of Hutton’s Shearwater can be seen, frothing above panicking fish shoals, which also lure in the near-identical Fluttering and betterlooking Buller’s Shearwaters, along with Red-billed and Kelp Gulls.
With some Sooty Shearwaters and Arctic Skuas (which winter here from the Northern Hemisphere), we were soon gawping at the profusion wheeling around the boat, even as we “ooh-ed” and “ahh-ed” over the fur seals on the rocks. Add the first pallid, darting White-fronted Terns and an escort of graceful endemic Hector’s Dolphins, and lingering memories were hardwired.
Growled and hissed
I’d found my sea legs, and needed them for two voyages from the northern town of Kaikoura. A 6am start in near-darkness found us bounding over big waves, neurotically chewing crackers to stave off digestive turbulence. The sun was soon out and the first groups of Northern Giant Petrels and Antipodean Albatrosses glided across our wake with stiffly bowed wings.
Fortunately, Kiwi pelagic leaders use freshly filleted fish bones to lure in the birds, rather than the rotting chum used at home, so digestive stability was sustained as giant petrels growled and hissed, raising their wings like glowering umbrellas, attempting to scare the albatrosses away.
More birds dropped in – Salvin’s and White-capped Mollymawks, Northern Royal Albatrosses and Westland Petrels – with the feeding melee starkly dramatic against a widescreen background of snow-capped peaks stretching down to the shoreline two miles away.
After a few hours, we headed back to port, trailed by Cape Petrels and flanked by Dusky Dolphins. It was hard to leave, but I’d booked a longer trip for that afternoon. There is a high turnover of species at Kaikoura and a later trip promised an even wider selection.
Ever-changing ocean
Leaving coastal Caspian Terns behind, we chummed three times. Northern and Southern Royal Albatrosses now came close, along with a distant Campbell Islands Mollymawk, while medium-sized species included White-chinned and Grey-faced Petrel and Short-tailed Shearwater, both close enough to assess the subtle differences from Westland Petrel.
Smaller, greyer seabirds appeared on the periphery: three Fairy Prions curious about the fracas but not alighting between the grappling albatrosses.
Sooty Shearwaters were also present, but one struck a melancholy chord towards the day’s end. A danger for smaller species diving for scraps of chum is that, when surfacing, Northern Giant Petrels mistake them for food and peck their heads. We rescued one such moribund bird but it soon died and was given an honourable burial at sea.
The ever-changing ocean lifted our spirits after. Tacking inshore, a cry of “Orca!” went up and two sleek, black-andwhite forms broke the waves, close enough to smell their fishy spouting. They rolled and dived around us for five minutes, before leaving us transfixed behind.
Dive bombing skuas
Appetite whetted, I eagerly seized another chance, taking a nine-hour trip off the coast of Stewart Island some days later. Even the ferry journey from Bluff was eventful, with endemic Foveaux Shags and dozens of White-capped Mollymawks drawing attention from leaping Bottle-nosed Dolphins – you could find your sea mammal list on these trips rivalling that of your seabirds!
Our first stop was a stack of rocks offshore, where Brown Skuas divebombed us like delinquent harpies. Chugging close to shore, swimming Little and Fiordland Penguins emerged from the waves as Common Diving Petrels
and Little Shearwaters shot past, riding microclimates just above the deceptively gentle waves.
I say ‘deceptive’ because the winds were starting to stir, though we were distracted by a Large-billed Prion zooming pole-wards, closely followed by several Cook’s Petrels and a Mottled Petrel – both local endemic breeders.
A Buller’s Albatross, some Westland and White-chinned Petrels and a couple of Wedge-tailed Shearwaters also joined the chumming throng, as we glimpsed daintier birds using the swell: Grey-backed and White-faced Storm-petrels pattered on the surface, making tiny concentric ripples on the bulging wave surfaces. As the water walls grew, more than 50 Fairy Prions were logged, darting past at eye level.
The waves were now rising above the highest point of the boat, the spray becoming a serious danger to our optics – and perhaps even to ourselves.
The boat jolted and I hit the deck and had to stay sitting until conditions settled down enough for me to crawl to the cabin, to the mirthful concern of those
already sheltering. After the winds had passed, most birds seemed to have moved on – but there was still one more surprise: as we mounted the waves on our way back to port, a Black-bellied Stormpetrel repeatedly circled the boat, enticed in by a trail of fish oil, until it floated low into the distance.
Seabird ecosystems change with the latitudes in New Zealand, but my last trip wasn’t quite the serious pelagic I’d hoped for. With no birding trips available, I hired a snorkelling boat out of Sandspit Wharf (north of Auckland) to Little Barrier Island and the Mokohinaus, hoping to see New Zealand Storm-petrel – rediscovered in 2003 after a 108-year absence. Despite a distant ‘maybe’, we had no luck, but logged at least four Black Petrels (another of the country’s endemic breeders) to make up for it.
Bottle-nosed Dolphins acted as outriders alongside the motorboat, as we left harbour, and we were soon astonished by the sheer numbers of commoner seabirds beyond the Hauraki Gulf: ever-present Australasian Gannets, dozens of Fluttering Shearwater rafts, and pale White-faced Storm-petrels and Cook’s Petrels flecking the turquoise water as far as the horizon.
Shearwater
We were allowed ashore onto uninhabited Burgess Island which has a historical lighthouse at its highest point. However, a tragic sight awaited us as we completed the climb. Attracted by the automatic light, several fresh Cook’s Petrels and White-faced Storm-petrels corpses lay on the path and in the bushes – a reminder of the fragility of what otherwise seemed a primordial paradise. On the long journey back, our bodyguards changed shift and we were accompanied by Common Dolphins to within sight of Sandspit. We still hadn’t birded the area’s full potential, and, half an hour before docking, I picked out a single Flesh-footed Shearwater from among hundreds of Fluttering Shearwaters. New Zealand’s seas are an incredibly rich reservoir for seabirds, with many species thought of as ‘Antarctic’ being accessible to a visiting landlubber.
After such a physical and mental rollercoaster ride, I’ll carry the memories of intimate views of albatrosses, penguins, dolphins and smaller seabirds with me, forever. And, with a suitable windfall, I’ll be back to see that New Zealand Stormpetrel at a moment’s notice!