by Annie Hill for Russell Lights

I love birds and get endless pleasure watching them. They’re a great joy in life: ubiquitous, adaptable and wondrously varied, ranging from tiny, jewel-like humming birds, which can be mistaken for a butterfly, to enormous long-eyelashed ostriches, that can’t conceivably be mistaken for anything else. Many birds are highly resilient, but those more highly specialised tend to be more vulnerable to human threats, as are those confined to islands. This is especially the case with our own endemic birds, having evolved without land-based predators. I wonder what predator had ever threatened a kiwi or a weka before humans arrived.

When I heard about the aspirational plan to make New Zealand predator free by 2050, I was astounded at its ambition. In fact, the goal is to remove most mammalian predators by this date, but it doesn’t include feral dogs and cats, or hedgehogs and mice, all of which do some damage to our wildlife, including some of our flora. However, even with this caveat, it’s an audacious goal. The fact that kiwi are once again living and nesting around Wellington, and that the halo effect of Zealandia means that kaka are almost commonplace in there, gives one hope. Having experienced the joy of encountering tieke (saddlebacks), kakariki, and pōpokotea (whiteheads) on Urupukapuka and Moturua, the thought that they might be seen again around Russell was enchanting. For this to happen, it will be necessary to remove the predators that attack them, and to keep them away. I wanted to be a part of this project, but I’m a small woman, well past middle age, and lacking the strength to cut tracks or carry heavy equipment, so I felt there was little I could do physically to assist. Then I heard of something with which I could help: assisting in establishing a database of some of the birds in and around Russell, which not only gives scientists an idea of how heavily they are impacted by predation and the presence or lack of food sources, but provides a benchmark with to measure the effectiveness or otherwise of the eradication programme.

At first, it seemed straightforward to sit somewhere and tick off birds as they fly by. In reality, it’s quite another thing. For a start, you need to observe from the same place on several occasions, at different times of the year, and in varying weather conditions, to compare observations: maybe one day there are dozens of silvereyes about but none at all on another. As to why that should be – this isn’t the observer’s problem! But more to the point, birds don’t obligingly fly past, slowly, and in clear light. A lot move around in scrub or up in trees, and if you do see one sitting still long enough to get a good look, the chances are it will be against the light. The primary sense we use is listening for our birds.  

The scientific team want data on eight birds in all: tui, kereru, piwakawaka (fantails), riroriro (grey warblers), miromiro (tomtits), kotare (kingfisher), tauhou (silvereyes), and weka. A lot of these we see on a daily basis; we often hear riroriro, and those of us living on and around the peninsula are fortunate in having a local population of weka. Most people are unaware that in the North Island, weka are only otherwise found on a few islands (Kawakawa Bay and Opotike-Motu) and they are rarer than brown kiwi. One of the advantages of weka is that both the bird and their call are pretty much unmistakeable, especially in daylight, when kiwi are absent. The same could be said of tui and kotare and – once you ‘have your ear in’ – of the grey warbler. You may think you could soon learn the song of keruru, piwakawaka, miromiro and tauhou, and indeed, some diligent listening to recordings convinced me I’d recognise them. Unfortunately, kereru don’t often coo, so are most readily identified by the clapping noise of the wings, but tui make a similar sound so it’s not easy to be certain. I had thought the other three little birds had clearly different calls, until I was sitting in the bush and listening. There were many times I was certain I had heard piwakawaka or tauhou, but even more often, I realised it could be something else, and this is the challenge. It isn’t ‘just’ a case of learning what the eight birds sound like: you need to know what all the other birds in and around Russell sound like too: the blackbirds, thrushes and sparrows, rosellas, swallows, starlings, several varieties of finches, and the yellowhammer, mynas, dunnocks and (possibly) robins. I came to realise there is a difference, and sometimes a big difference, between the song – which is to defend the territory – the call, which is to locate another bird – and the contact call, which to my unscientific mind sounds like general chitchat, and is especially noticeable with tauhou.

Identifying our birds, native and otherwise, is both frustrating and rewarding. Frustrating because I know it’s important that we have an idea of how many there are, and I know I can miss or misidentify them during the five minutes that we sit in silence, looking and listening. Sitting in silence, though, listening to and concentrating on what is going on about you, is something we do all too rarely. It is ‘mindfulness’ with a vengeance. Now, when I’m walking around on my own, I try to identify the birdcalls I hear, and I have enjoyed learning different songs and calls. It’s also rewarding to do my bit to help our native wildlife, even if I’m not fit or strong enough to be in the bush, trapping predators. The best two things I’ve got out of being on the counting team, are the pleasure of being with interesting, like-minded people, and sharing with them a delight in better getting to know and appreciate our wonderful wildlife. It is a project that could do with more ears and eyes, so if you like the idea of joining in, contact Russell Landcare Trust’s Predator Free Russell. We have finished the autumn count, but will be doing more in the winter.