Tag Archives: birds

In Search of the Unexpected Trogon.

Far away and long ago I was filming wildlife close by the small community of Portal in southern Arizona, travelling daily across the border to New Mexico; what I remember most vividly is having to get up an hour earlier each day to be in good time crossing into a later time zone… Getting up early has always been painful to me, especially if I’m missing breakfast!

I remember this minor inconvenience better than almost anything about Portal; certainly it wasn’t over developed – but maybe now, things have changed… I hope not, because out of the way places are at their best when they stay gently un-noticed.

My first visit was thirty years ago – I still have a T-shirt that sums it up – across the front in big black letters is written ‘Where the Hell is Portal?’ designed no doubt, by a resident with a self deprecating sense of humour, something that is sadly missing in many small communities. If Portal were in Australia it would be the sort of place where people worry about visitors laughing at them and then they’d build something hideous to make this a certainty – perhaps the world’s biggest sheep in corrugated iron – but not Portal… this is a place altogether more self assured.

To be honest, I liked Portal so much, I was soon buying a second T-shirt, and on this one there was a picture of an odd looking bird with the words TROGON COUNTRY – a surprise to me because I thought trogons were essentially tropical birds. Portal is now a popular bird watching area, but as it wasn’t busy when I was there I didn’t find anybody to advise me where to look, and set off in a fruitless search… Not only did I not see a trogon… I didn’t see another living soul.

I still have the Trogon T-shirt.
I still have the trogon T-shirt. I bought half a dozen Arizona shirts around that time and note the combined age of three and a half them is exactly the same age as Arizona and it takes only five combined to reach the age of Canada, which suggests either I’m getting old, or much of North America is still very young!

I soon discovered that the elegant trogon can be seen in this essentially arid region during spring and summer; back then I hadn’t managed many visits further south where trogons are more easily discovered.

The order Trogoniformes has only one family that contains both trogons and quetzals. To me they seem odd looking birds, with elongated bodies and poorly developed legs and feet, their toes arranged two front and two back like a parrot. They show up across the tropics in Africa, Asia and the New World, nesting in holes dug in trees and sometimes termite mounds, living in wooded areas which are often quite degraded; they feed mostly on insects, a variety of small animals and fruit.

It was perhaps my failure to see trogons in Arizona that made me determined to seek them out and my chances improved dramatically when some fifteen years later I went with my family on holiday to Tobago.

We took up residence at the top of a beach; spending most of our time in the water, but when my children were young, holidays always involved a family day out, although my children generally viewed such outings as a road trips to hell, but complaining was futile, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity of photographing local plants and animals, or deprive the children of seeing something interesting. We always left a place knowing more than when we arrived, even if in the process some of us left it feeling, well… a little more grumpy.

Tobagonian rainforest is beautiful, although not quite what it was after Hurricane flora.
Tobagonian rainforest is beautiful, but not quite what it was after Hurricane flora.

In 1963, Flora was one of the worst hurricanes ever to pass through the Caribbean – or anywhere else for that matter, it took out around three quarters of Tobago’s natural forest, and substantially damaged the remainder. The forest should have grown back naturally, but much of the available space was rapidly colonised by an introduced bamboo. Tobago has its own native bamboo species but none big enough to take over a forest. One day this forest will grow back and crowd out the invader; but at the time this rapidly growing alien, gave native birds a better chance of surviving the ecological disaster – at least in the short term. I don’t know how things will work out, but in 1999 there were tracts of alien bamboos growing across the Island that didn’t naturally belong there. 

A native blue-crowned motmot sitting on non-native bamboo.
This native blue-crowned motmot was sitting amongst non-native bamboo.

Occasionally when working for the B.B.C. a local guide would be employed to help, but when on holiday such expenses were personal to me, and that took a bit of getting used to. There can be no doubt however, that when time is limited, shelling out for somebody who knows the local area optimises your chances of seeing something interesting. In Tobago we were lucky enough to find Peter Cox who took us to a particular tract of forest when we asked him to find trogons and blue morpho butterflies.

Peter with my son at the entrance to a forest trail when we were all a bit younger.
Peter with my son at the entrance to a forest trail when we were all a little younger.

Good guides like Peter not only know where to take people, they can also avoid making repeated visits to habitats that are under pressure. Their influence is more consequential than anything I might achieve by contributing to  T.V. programmes that often preach to the converted in places far from the country where filming took place. Advice given to locals by somebody like Peter who understands the environment can have far reaching  consequences, fostering positive changes, particularly when any conservation efforts are tailored to local needs. 

We walked with Peter through the forest on a track that ran some distance along a river bank; and over the course of a few hours saw both trogons, blue morph butterflies, and many other species besides. Peter provided useful information about the local habitat and was especially good with the children which made the day a great success. Nobody fell over, got  bitten, stung or drowned, all of which are plus points when you take small children into a rainforest.

The Tobago Tourist Board will be happy to hear me say that Tobago provides a great starter tropical forest for travellers because it has very few noxious species – no venomous coral snakes, South American bushmasters or fer-de-lance vipers, all of which occur on the neighbouring island of Trinidad. The only downside to this single short visit was that I didn’t get any good shots of trogons.

The downside was, I didn't get any really good pictures - to do that in a single outing with two young children in tow was rather hopeful.
Photographing, trogons in the dense cover of the forest proved difficult, and  the bird’s habit of sitting in shadow, or contrasty dappled light was challenging. 

It would have been easy to blame the poor results on having two small children in tow, but their behaviour was never in question – they would stand still, or move carefully and quietly on request more reliably than many adults – it goes without saying that small children incapable of following instruction should never be taken into a tropical rainforest.

This was about as good as it got - altogether pretty hopeless.
This was about as good as it got – a very unimpressive photo, but at least we all managed to see a collared Trogon.

I didn’t go specifically searching for trogons again for around another fifteen years when during November 2015 my wife, daughter and I travelled from Vancouver to the Sea of Cortez, a place that I’d always wanted to visit. Seeing a trogon was in the back of my mind when on 12th November 2015 we arrived in Puerto Vallarta; the water was a pleasant 85F degrees  in stark contrast to the cold North Pacific so recently left behind.

Years earlier I had spend hours talking to B.B.C Natural History producer Barry Paine who was planning to film in The Sea of Cortez. The conversation had been very one sided as Barry had been researching his project for years, looking into naturalist William Beebe’s trip along the northwest coast of Mexico. He was also familiar with the voyage of discovery made over a six week period in 1940 by John Steinbeck and Marine biologist Ed Ricketts as they collected and recorded specimens from the tidal zone. This story particularly interested me because the resultant book became a work of non-fiction, with Ricketts name removed from later editions after his accidental death in 1948; what followed was a reworking by Steinbeck, although it was Ricketts who provided most of the research material.

The book was important because it reflected the changes that were starting to happen in the area, hinting at the ecological problems that we face today. It was one of the earliest written works to touch upon environmental concerns by actually going to a place and looking, rather than simply making armchair suppositions about how bad things potentially are. Some 15 years after our discussions Barry finally did get to make his film and I was by then working somewhere else and never managed my all expenses paid trip to the area.

The Sea of Cortez as I had imagined it.
A recent picture of a coastal region of The Sea of Cortez. It was just as I had imagined it to be.

Steinbeck knew even as he was writing, that things were taking a turn for the worse; air travel was about to change everything bringing in waves of tourism. He didn’t however foresee the arrival of cruise ships, depositing millions of people into what had until recently been a comparatively remote area. The influx improved local economies just at the time when fish supplies had become depleted; and as one major industry took over from another, pressure began to build on a whole set of other resources centring around land use and fresh water availability. The changes were rapid in the extreme, with the charm and natural beauty of many areas almost entirely lost in just a few years, although it might be reasonably claimed that bringing tourism to an area is better than leaving local people to live in poverty.

Tourists enjoy themselves and bring money to the local economy and vcertainly they are not causing direct physical damage to the local environment because few move far beyond their holiday triangle, the hotel, the beach and the bar.
Tourists come to Mexico to enjoy themselves, and in doing so, bring money to local economies. Most will not cause direct physical damage to their surroundings because few will move beyond the holiday triangle of their hotel, the beach and the bar.

There is of course no going back now. Most high rise condos are within easy reach of a well watered golf course, which in arid regions isn’t sustainable as visitors increasingly consume water and generate waste. Local needs have already made a huge difference to natural habitats; farmers have always struggled to grow food in this arid region. Many places idealized in our dreams as clean and beautiful are now anything but, as agriculture followed by the development of tourism has taken a toll. Trash – in particular plastics – are steadily making their way into what until recently, were pristine ecosystems.

The reality of the Sea of Cortez. Not every fishing village has turned into a holiday resort, but many have and others are going the same way - this Los Cabos at the southern tip of Baja California
The reality of the Sea of Cortez is that not every fishing village has been turned into a holiday resort, but the many that have are now changed beyond all recognition – this is Los Cabos at the southern tip of Baja California.

On our visit, to be certain of finding viable natural habitats we enlisted the help of Geraldo. It wasn’t long before he was driving us through the outskirts of Puerto Vallarta, heading inland towards the hills, passing through numerous villages and the agricultural land that surrounds them until eventually we arrived in an area of woodland, mixed vegetation and pasture to begin our search for butterflies and birds.

As Geraldo drove he outlined his background. As a child he’d looked after his mother’s aviary, providing food and water for the birds he’d steadily developed an interest in them. Then somebody took him to see birds in the wild and he was at once impressed by their beauty, especially when he first saw an elegant trogon; these experiences encouraged him to try and conserve them.

On a track he stopped to speak with a local riding out to tend his stock; when we drive on he explains how important it is to develop the trust of the people who live gere. He has often spoked to farmers about vultures, telling them the birds kill snakes, although he admits to exaggerating on occasions saying, ‘especially the poisonous ones’. Once they understand this link farmers are less inclined to kill the birds to protect livestock. Vultures are scavengers that play an important role in cleaning up the environment, but because they have predatory hooked bills, suffer serious persecution worldwide. 

You have to go some way out of town now to see old Mexico, but many don't get much further than a local bar.
Visitors need to travel a little to experience old Mexico, but most do not move far beyond their resort, irrationally fearful of dangers that are rare outside of major cities.

A local says he saw jaguar paw prints recently, there are also pumas here, but strangely most people show very little ill will towards them, perhaps because they are not as commonly seen as they are deep in the interior. This live and let live attitude hasn’t always been a usual response to big cats – the son of a restaurant owner recently told us that when he was a boy his father was out every night hunting jaguar and puma. The current state of affairs is that there are occasional signs of big cats moving through, but in general they are scarce and rarely seen.

Our guide Geraldo, birdwatching with my wife and daughter.
Our guide Geraldo, birdwatching with my wife and daughter.

Without question Geraldo speaks passionately about Mexican wildlife, he clearly sees environmental problems increasing and the need for conservation, and contributes positively by giving talks to encourage the locals to take an interest in their wildlife. He undoubtedly has influence and is one of a steadily increasing number of unsung heroes of local conservation.

We watch a female golden-cheeked woodpecker busily working a rotten tree close by the track.
We watch a female golden-cheeked woodpecker busily working a rotten tree close by the track.

Many years ago Geraldo decided that he would like to conserve mountain habitat, and as he wondered how he might achieve this, the Government stepped in to conserve several areas of concern, but the lowlands through which we are travelling have no such protection, other than the conservation of some larger established trees.

The loss of lowland habitats to agriculture and development is a worldwide problem – the attitude that wildlife should live on the land that we can’t fully utilizie isn’t helpful because many species are specific to lower altitudes and not all can get simply move on to live in the mountains, while we, quite literally, take the lions share and strip out the lowlands. As our populations have increased, the conservation of lowland areas has become a nightmare, with frequent conflicts between landowners, large herbivores and their predators. With national parks too small for the long term viability of many species, the future does not look encouraging. We are not living in harmony with the natural world and the influence of people like Geraldo has far reaching consequences.

We manage to see a variety of butterflies and birds during our day out, many of them restricted to the dry forests of western Mexico, but, so far, we haven’t  come across one bird in particular, the Citreoline trogon which can only be seen down this side of Mexico. Then it happens, we are driving out of the forest and my wife Jen spots one in a tree… I can’t quite believe our luck and get out of the vehicle to walk a little closer, and am soon taking pictures.

The Ciroeline trogon was clearly visible in a tree not far from the track, but strong contrasty light made photographing the bird difficult.
The Citreoline trogon was clearly visible in a tree not far from the track, but strong contrasting light made photographing the bird difficult and I was a little too far away for a good picture.

The citreoline trogon has black and white bars on the outer tail feathers, a yellow belly an yellow eyes – a distinguishing feature if, as is the case here, you get to see the bird only from behind. 

A little later the bird is singing and the head, although in shadow, is more clearly defined. The bird has its back to us and it is said the bird prefers to present its back to an observer because of its belly is bright yellow... but I'm not sure that it isn't just a matter of chance.
A little later the bird was singing and the head, although in shadow, more clearly defined. It is said this bird prefers to present its back to an observer because its belly is bright yellow… but I’m not sure that this isn’t just a matter of chance.

There is a need for us to move on because we have limited time before making a connection, that if missed, will leave us stranded in this part of Mexico for sometime. As we drive on, I see a bird in a tree and Geraldo slows, before inching forward to get a better view and soon we are bogged down in sand just off the main track. We try to dig the vehicle out, my daughter and I bounce up and down on the rear bumper to get traction while Geraldo drives, but all we manage to do is to get the vehicle more deeply bogged in.

A bus which was quite a surprie to see squeezes by as I continue to work clearing sand from around the rear wheel whilst the rest of Mexico discusses what to do after I have failed to improve the situation.
To suddenly see a bus is a surprise –  it squeezes by as I continue to clear sand from around the rear wheel while the rest of Mexico gathers to discuss what to do after I fail to improve the situation.

The local that Geraldo spoke with earlier suddenly comes riding out of the forest and stops to help. He has, as one might expect, a rope, and fairly soon attaches this to a passing 4 wheel drive – the owner of which has stopped to offer assistance and soon we are dragged out. At no time during the proceedings did my wife mention time – over the years, similar incidents in far away places have resulted in her developing an increasingly philosophical approach to life… and this can only be good.

Not quite done with this trogon, in June 2016 Jen and I return to the Bay of Banderas region to stay for a time in Mismaloya, a little out from the main tourist area, so that I might more easily walk into the local forest to photograph wildlife.

We return to the dry forests of the area during the rainy season
We have returned to the dry forests of the area during the rainy season.

It is an eventful week and on our last full day in the region we spend the afternoon photographing flowers and birds in Vallarta Botanic Gardens which is rather wonderful. On arriving back at the Hotel, I leave my wife by the pool to go in search of a pair of basilisk lizards I’d seen a few days earlier close by the local river. It was early evening, the light was going, and I managed only a glimpse of a single lizard, otherwise, there was little to photograph in the fading light and I packed my camera away – which is always a cue for something interesting to happen, and this evening would be no exception.

As I wandered up from the river to rejoin the road I noticed a bird with a bright yellow belly, it was sat in a tree on the other side and this encouraged me to get the camera out to use as a scope. I usually carry it with a long 400 mm. lens attached and take a look through the viewfinder to get the best view I’ve ever had of a trogon in the wild; better still, this was a citreolene trogon, the species we’d seen with Geraldo last year only from the back, but this one was facing me. This isn’t a rare bird in the region, but I’d been looking all week and this was my first sighting – it was great to see it.

This was our final day and my last chance to get a shot of a trogon; although the Iight was hopeless I decided to grab a picture before attempting to set up the tripod which was presently sleeping with its legs tucked up inside itself at my feet. I didn’t even have time to put my bag down, quickly grabbing a hand held shot using the camera on its last settings. I could tell from the click, that the exposure time was long and would most likely provide a blurred image. So, I made a quick adjustment and went for a second shot which I hoped might work, then just before I took a third the bird turned its head away with indifference. This was my cue to put everything down on the dusty track, and wake up the tripod for a steady shot, but in the process I glanced up to  discover the bird had gone; I didn’t hear it fly and had no idea where it might now be. It had appeared and disappeared like the Cheshire cat in  ‘Alice in Wonderland’ but unfortunately unlike the story, bits of it would not be slowly reappearing in front of me. If the tripod had been ready I’d have got the shot without any trouble – I’d wasted my best wild trogon photo opportunity since I’d started looking in the mid 1980s. It would all be down to a single picture taken hand held in poor light on a long lens – a combination that usually results in an underexposed blurred disaster. 

Here then is the unexpected trogon. It is a useful I.D. shot , but not entirely successful - the field of focus is shallow because the light is steadily going.
Here then is the unexpected trogon. This is a useful I.D. shot , but not entirely successful – the field of focus is shallow because the light has almost gone.

On all of the occasions I have tried to photograph trogons in the past, they have been is strong dappled light creating extremes of contrast that are difficult  to deal with; and sitting amongst foliage none have provided as clear a view as this one. More important than the quality of my picture is the rate of development in this area of agriculture and tourism. The real question is, if I come back in ten years time, will there be enough dry forest habitat left to find and photograph this bird at all?

I was beginning to think that if I wanted a good trogon picture maybe I should just go to the zoo.  

A white-tailed or is it a black-headed trogon taken at Seattle Zoo. I don't have the experience to know without seeing it from the front. A lovely bird that took 30 seconds to get, and that's a lot quicker than my trying npw and again over 30.
A white-tailed (or is it a black-headed trogon?) taken at Seattle Zoo. I don’t have the experience to identify the bird without seeing it from the front. A lovely bird that took only 30 seconds to achieve – that’s a lot quicker than my wild attempts over the last 30 years.

I wrote up this story a year ago, but held it back because I’ve never really managed a good shot of a trogon in the wild and that bothers me, but just a few days ago I was visiting the Coxcomb Basin Wildlife Preserve in Belize, which is perhaps most famous for its jaguars, and things suddenly changed. This was my last day in the park and it hadn’t been a very good one for pictures. I had returned to park headquarters and was about to leave, when a passing member of staff said that he’d just seen a trogon in a nearby tree. I was about 25 feet from where it was sitting, and was able to move quite close to a bird totally indifferent to my presence. I took a few shots, and then the staff member said, “And its partner is over there”, pointing at a bird in another tree. “but I don’t know which is the male and which is the female”. His concern was appreciated, but given how long I’d waited for this moment!….  All I had to do was move a few feet and in no time at all I had fairly reasonable shots of both birds. Trogons it seems are a bit like buses – you wait ages – in my case 30 years (give or take a few days from when I first started looking)  and then two come along together.

A male black-headed trogon from the front.
A male black-headed trogon from the front.
And from the back.
And from the back.
This I think is a female - a slightly less colourful bird, but nevertheless still wonderful to see.
This is the female – a slightly less colourful, but nonetheless wonderful bird.

Job done. Thank goodness for that… now I can make a start on toucans! 

With  thanks to Peter Cox Nature Tours Tobago and Geraldo Hernandez Vazquez. www.naturevallarta.com also thanks to John Gordon.

 

Between the Tides – Photographing Waders.

 It is the first afternoon of 2016 and I’m standing in the tidal zone of a very beautiful place – Boundary Bay, which sits on the border between Canada and the United States on the north western coastline of North America. The bay  extends into both countries – geology doesn’t care about our version of the World – or it didn’t the other evening when a magnitude 4.2 earth tremour spilled piles of books and pictures across my home office floor.

There is something very special about the tidal zone, it is one of only a few natural environments that our species has trouble residing in; and where we think this absolutely necessary we will dump huge amounts of concrete onto the foreshore and re-inforce any structure against the power of the sea. In simple terms, it is difficult to live in tidal areas on the cheap. Often we will build at the top of the beach, or on the cliffs above, and sometimes that doesn’t work out so well. These are environments that are ever-changing and more often than not, best left to nature.

Looking West from Blacking Chine on the Isle of Wight where landslips are occurring - a combination of geology and water content in the cliff is dumping the cliff into the tidal zone.
Looking west from Blackgang Chine on the Isle of Wight. England, where landslips occur regularly – a combination of sedimentary faults and water in the cliff cause the frequent dumping of whole sections of the coastline into the tidal zone.

We commonly pollute such places, often in the hope that the sea will just wash it all away – which it usually does… but then the mess just shows up somewhere else, unless it is chemical waste (run off from agricultural areas for example), in which case we may not even see it. For as long as I can remember, natural places seem almost incomplete without a lump of polystyrene, a collection of plastic bags and maybe an old fridge – or that’s what you’d think if you suddenly arrived here from Mars.

When I lived in Southern England we knew exactly where to dump our rubbish because local councils made a lawn and planted daffodils as a sign of loveliness, while anything that looked the least bit natural appeared to be giving a clear signal that dumping was O.K., or at least that’s the way many places in Britain were beginning to look when I left in 2002. Hopefully things are changing.

ture dump in paradise - this close by a beach cafe in a remote region of Mexico.
A nature dump in paradise – this one close by a beach cafe in a remote region of Mexico. Even the most beautiful birds can be effetive scavengers, cleaning up potentially unhealthy organic waste.

When in Malaysia in the early 1980s I decided to spend a night on a desert island with only the bare essentials – in those days a girlfriend, a box of matches, a bottle of water, and a camera (top of the list was always chocolate, but in the tropics this just melts). The boatman considered it essential to take us to one tidal zone in particular to see houses on stilts; and I’d like to think this the exception that proves the rule – ‘you really can’t build in such places on the cheap’, but I’ve seen low tech accomodation like this elsewhere, and when a big storm arrives, this becomes a very temporary form of housing; between the tides really isn’t the best place for us to undertake longterm living.

As I was writing about the difficulties of living in the tidal zone, it came to mind that I'd previously photographed this activity in I
As I was writing about the difficulties of living in the tidal zone, it came to mind that I’d previously photographed this activity in Malaysia.

 Back to the present and I’m enjoying beautiful British Columbia as I stand on Crescent Beach. My wife is taking a walk along the coastal path, which gives me less than an hour to grab a few pictures of birds feeding on a rising tide before she returns. The problem is, this is a sunny New Year’s Day and the whole place is remininiscent of a bubbling ants nest of activity – there are people just about everywhere, but despite this I’m seeing lots of birds and that’s a surprise.

The birds here seem to have a certain indifference to people, possibly because of the pay off – there’s plenty of food – and I don’t mean chips and leftover sandwiches –  a great deal of naturally available food is on offer and I think there are good reasons for this.

The tidal area is fairly quiet whilst up on the path people are promenading and there is even a dog meet. It is however still fairly busy on the beach, with children running about and the birds, for the most part,  are happily feeding.
The tidal area isn’t too busy, but up on the path people are promenading along the front like it’s 1874, but without the crinolines and sun umbrellas; there’s even a dog meet in progress. Fewer people are on the beach, but most are active, in particular children running about. Despite this birds are present in numbers and happily feeding.

It is common in Southern B.C. to see warnings about collecting shellfish from coastal areas, although some people continue to do so illegally,  Lower Mainland beaches haven’t been over harvested, not because anybody is worried about the birds getting enough to eat, but because there has been a ban on harvesting shellfish in the region for more than 40 years. Local waters are contaminated with bacteria from human and animal sewage, and there is also an assortment of toxins from motor oil, pesticides and fertilisers. This is a real concern –  if you fancy a dose of salmonella or hepatitis, eating shellfish from this area should go right to the top of your ‘to do’ list. Essentially we don’t eat what the sea has on offer here for one very good reason… it might kill us. The birds however can’t read the warning signs and feast on shellfish and other small creatures that are readily available in the tidal zone because we leave them alone.

There is no shortage of molluscs for the gulls to break into, this bird has been flying thirty feet up into the air and dropping closed shells to smash them before coming down dropping down to extract the exposed contents.
There is no shortage of molluscs for the gulls to break into, this bird has been flying thirty feet into the air and dropping tightly closed shells in order to smash them before coming down to extract the exposed contents.

And it isn’t just the Lower Mainland, there are many areas along the B.C. coastline with restrictions on shellfish harvesting.

 

The Greater Vancouver area has been closed to the harvesting of all shellfish since 1970. How can that be? This is beautiful British Columbia. Surely I must be mistaken.
The Greater Vancouver area has been closed to the harvesting of all shellfish since 1970. How can that be? This is beautiful British Columbia. Surely I must be mistaken.

This was the first of many warning signs dotted along the coast that I noticed after moving to the region nearly six years ago, it was on a beach close to Victoria (the capital of British Colombia) which is located on Vancouver Island. This warning was a real surprise – I naively thought that this place couldn’t be anything other than pristine… An important city where government sits that doesn’t have sewage treatment seemed very unlikely to me, especially because the province trades on its natural beauty – I mean it’s written on our number plates.

The City’s dumping of raw sewage and the run off from pesticides into the sea without appropriate treatment isn’t something that most locals go on about, but one of them did… and to me. Well, obviously this fool was mistaken. I mean who in their right mind would allow that to happen in one of the most impressive natural environments on Earth? After all, this isn’t a ‘developing’ or what we used to call a ‘third world’ country – this is Canada, and that really couldn’t happen here?

Earlier, during a warm summer there were hardly any people swimming here - even in the cordoned off swimming zone and there were birds along the tideline.
Earlier, during a warm summer there were hardly any people in the sea off Crescent Beach – even in the cordoned off swimming area, while birds were obvious along the tideline.

During the warm summer of 2015 there were also warning notices posted around the Bay about ‘swimmers itch’. This condition is due to the presence of parasitic schistosomes concentrated in the water which is a nuisance to bathers. In the tropics there is another more dangerous form ‘schistosomiasis’ or ‘bilharzia’which is a serious threat to people, but the tiny parasites that occurs here are little more than a nuisance. When the weather is hot their numbers increase and they burrow into the skin of seabirds (their natural host). When they burrow into the skin of humans (the wrong host), they die but will sometimes cause irritation – an itching of the skin. People are therefore disinclined to go into the water during the summer months and in winter, when the water is clear, it is just too cold to bother. The presence of this parasite is another factor in reducing human disturbance to shore birds and they have quickly taken advantage of the situation.

A combination of food availability and less disturbance provides a more user-friendly if not cleaner environment for marine birds in this otherwise developing area. The tidal zone has become at least one natural environment where wildlife and humans live in close proximity without disastrous consequences, and that at least is encouraging.

A juvenile yellow legs walks towards the camera, when birds re disturbed by photographers often they are pictured moving away.
A juvenile greater yellow legs walks confidently towards the camera. If birds are disturbed by photographers they are often pictured walking hesitantly away.

When I was younger my earliest attempts at filming waders was from a toilet tent staked out above the water line in the tidal zone. I’d rig it before the birds arrived and then get in and wait for the water to rise. This would provide about 20 minutes of  ‘waders feeding closely’ time on the incoming tide without the birds being aware of my presence; then as I got flooded out – there would be a slight disturbance as I moved my gear out and saved the tent from the waves, but my retreat was only a brief inconvenience and the birds would soon return to feed.

I later graduated to a hide or blind as it is sometimes called, but I always thought the waterproofing of the toilet tent gave it the edge, even though if it returned to its original use, I’d cut holes in inconvenient places. I once spent several days filming from a floating hide in Cornwall, a one off metal construction that had been made and positioned way down into the tidal zone, but once in place there was no possibility of getting out until the tide had run a full cycle and you’d have to sit it out, no matter the weather, until the water receded.

A western-crowned sandpiper on a beach in the West Indies. I do my best naming waders, but some are so similar and can be found in so many different places I often need help.
I do my best at naming waders, but just like warblers the similarities between species can be overwhelming and many waders have a wide geographical range. This western sandpiper photographed on a beach in the West Indies might just as easily have been photographed in California or coastal regions of Central and South America, and I might also have expected to have seen it today.

My preferred choice is not to use a hide at all but rather to repeatedly return to an area, wearing similar clothes and a hat which usually singles me out from other people. I wear nothing camouflaged as I am not overtly hiding and hang out at a distance until the local birds begin to ignore me; usually I allow them to approach me rather than the other way around. This is a good technique for many animals, but there are always some that it is impossible to get close to without a hide. Some species of birds (on the nest) will desert their eggs or offspring with very little provocation and it is wise to be careful when videoing or photographing any creature and adhere to any legal requirements. Professional photographers on a tight schedule will often hide away in a tent because the stand and wait technique in full view can require a lot of time and patience, although in busy public places where the passage of people is constant the opposite may also be the case.

Photographing waders in particular, by standing out in the open can be very tricky because they live in open environments – just standing next to a bush can make a difference, but there is no chance of that out on a beach and most birds will avoid coming too close if you are an unfamiliar form, or if they have previously been shot at – long lenses and guns have a certain similarity, although most birds can tell the difference. Certainly none of the birds are twitchy today, nothing is bothering them – there is plenty of food to be had and they are just getting on with it. 

These birds I initially thought were Western sandpiper, but more likely they are dunlin. These have flown in to feed quite close to me. I remain in one place about thirty feet away and their indifference to me is encourging.
Initially I thought these birds were western sandpiper, but more likely they are dunlin – they have flown in to feed quite close to me. I remain in place at about thirty feet and their indifference is encouraging.

The most interesting thing is that I can see what they are eating – a variety of small invertebrates, the one on the left has a little crab in its beak; a camera often allows you to catch what you might otherwise miss during a rapid capture, manipulate and swallow. Presently, there are many hundreds of dunlin feeding here in discreet flocks, sometimes as few as a dozen but in many cases in far greater numbers. Across the whole bay area there will be many thousands of dunlin overwintering or passing through.

The great thing about these little waders is that despite their numbers most people don't notice them unless they are disturbed and fly.
The great thing about these little waders is that despite their numbers most people don’t notice them unless they are disturbed into flight

These birds are really well camouflaged once they are amongst the rocks, with heads down their curved backs and disruptive colouration give the impression (from a distance), that they are just part of the shoreline.

The biggest problem I usually have when working with waders is dog walkers – the ones who permanently have their dogs off of the lead. They know their dog won’t harm the birds, but forget that every five minutes there will be another enthusiastic dog charging into the water. Taking flight is one of the most efficient burners of energy that a bird can undertake and that’s really bad news on a cold day – essentially waders are feeding through small windows of opportunity usually on a rising tide, taking advantage of prey emerging from places of hiding as water flows around them. The birds need to use their time efficiently and being chased by dogs isn’t very helpful. 

A minor disturbance puts these waders to flight, but they are soon feeding again fifty metres along the shoreline, but continued disturbance can be life threatening.
A minor disturbance puts these waders to flight, but they are soon feeding again fifty metres along the shoreline, nevertheless repeated relocation can be a life threatening activity during cold weather. 

If we more easily recognised the feeding regimes that waders are programmed to use and acted accordingly, these birds might be even more tolerant of our presence. We are no longer completely wrapped up in the primitive mindset of can we eat it and how should we cook it?  Many of us just like watching birds. Prior to the mid-20th Century, natural science was primarily concerned with the collection and identification of specimens – certainly a necessary phase in our understanding, and then ecology, conservation and animal behaviour were in their infancy.  There is no doubt that we have come a long way in a very short space of time. Sadly, the main threat to wildlife today lies in our increasing numbers, this causes problems that range from pollution to habitat destruction with human disturbance the predominant feature along coastlines. 

Common goldeneye passing through as the tide comes in.
Common goldeneye passing through as the tide comes in.

Today however is an exceptional day – most people have their dogs under control and none of the children are actively chasing the birds, which is mostly how it is in Canada where people are defined by their considerate and tolerant natures. Ignorance is always the enemy and it takes only a small percentage of people not thinking straight to cause unnecessary disturbance to wildlife.

What a beautifully still and sunny afternoon the first day of January 2016 provided for photographing the waders on this agreeable stretch of coastline and a good deal easier than my woodland woes of yesterday (see previous post – Into the Woods). Every outing into the natural world is different and that’s what keeps it interesting. The more you learn, the more you discover there is to learn; and once in a while you discover things that make it difficult to remain upbeat and optimistic.

A merganser - one of perhaps a dozen, moving down this beautiful coastline as the sun sets.
A merganser – one of perhaps a dozen, moving down this beautiful coastline as the sun is setting.

In the act of taking a picture you become witness to future change, and if at some stage southern British Columbia cleans up its act and people once again harvest the tidal zone and re-set the ecological balance, it would be ironic if this ended up as just another way of competing with the birds.

With thanks to John Gordon and Chris Packham for advice on bird identification, although if mistakes have been made they are entirely my own, and neither John nor Chris can they be held responsible for the views expressed above.

Their Websites:

www.johngordonphotography.com/

 www.chrispackham.co.uk/


 

Into the Woods – Wildlife Photography as a Surrealist Nightmare.

In Search of the Varied Thrush.

The varied thrush is not a rare bird where I live on the Lower Mainland. B.C.. Usually it overwinters in lowland forest and scrubland, but with ever increasing urbanisation many of its natural habitats are disappearing. Worldwide, woodland birds are under pressure as our numbers continue to rise and many natural areas are given over to agriculture, industry and housing.

Once, when a student, I went for a jog in Central London. Setting out from my hall of residence in South Kensington at 5.00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon I ran diagonally across Hyde Park to Marble Arch and back. It took a while, and on returning I lay on my bed for several hours wondering if I might be dying… I was 21 and my condition wasn’t down to over exertion, it was carbon monoxide poising, along with an unhealthy cocktail of other exhaust pollutants which then included lead. In those days, running in a town or city was a death wish… and probably, it still is.

If you Jog across Hyde Park, it is difficult to miss the George Frederic Watts sculpture 'Physical Energy'. Whatever the rider is looking at, he's been doing it since 1907 and won't have seen great changes apart from the trees growing. It is then odd and a little worrying that the wilder the surroundings I have lived in the greater the changes to my surroundings I have seen during my lifetime.
Crossing Hyde Park, it is difficult to miss the George Frederic Watts sculpture ‘Physical Energy’. Whatever the rider is looking at, he’s been doing it since 1907 and won’t have noticed a lot of change over the years, apart from trees growing. It is disconcerting that outside of city parks so many natural areas have disappeared in my lifetime.

I remember a time when only sporty people in training went for a jog. Ask my father when he last voluntarily ran and he’d look at you as if you were crazy. Working a sedentary office job for most of his life he didn’t even do walking for exercise, unless there was a ’99’ at the end of it –  that, if I remember correctly is a cone of soft ice-cream with a chocolate flake shoved into it.

My father is now 93, has always been active, but has never ‘run for fun’, and remains in reasonable health for his age. Without the hook of an exercise induced endorphin rush, he’s managed to hang onto his own hips and knees, which is more than can be said for a great many of old joggers.

And that’s what I’m seeing today – lots of joggers of all ages, shapes and sizes as I walk through the urban reserve in search of varied thrushes, for no better reason than they are beautiful. I’d prefer to do this in wilderness, but that’s a good hour away. I live in suburbia now, and visiting a local reserve is altogether more practical. Nevertheless, this will be my worst day photographing wildlife for a very long time – it appears a group of people have met up in the car park to organize a major surrealist experience for me… but I don’t know that yet.

I watch a woman jog by; she’s wearing the sort of clothes that others sport if they want to look smart when out shopping, except few will wheeze like she does even walking through a mall let alone running. Well, I say running…  if I left the camera I could walk three times faster, and possibly backwards. Like the frog that halves it’s distance with every jump across the path, logic suggests that given infinite time, this woman will never make it back to the car park.

I’m not complaining you understand, this is after all a public place – so what can you expect…More importantly, what might you hope for – fewer dogs perhaps. I think back to my childhood, to a time when dogs jumped over garden gates to exercise themselves, usually inappropriately, as without supervision they invariably get into mischief. It is of course much better now that they are on leashes and accompanied by responsible owners. But when did this mass dog walking thing start? I’ve never seen so many. It’s two in the afternoon and suddenly finals day at Crufts.

Usually I wouldn’t mind, but after a long search I’ve found a small group of varied thrushes coming down from the trees to feed; they are on the opposite side of the path working around the base of a stump and sometimes feeding on top of it. I’m trying to get a few shots, but with the constant procession of people and pets, my chances have been fleeting.

There is for a moment a lull and it looks as if I might get something, then suddenly a coyote dashes though in the back of frame. Perhaps it’s the big one I saw this morning crossing a wetland on the boardwalk, the one that eyed me with complete indifference. But this ‘Wile E.’ is the wrong colour, and I soon recognize it as a big brown dog crashing through the undergrowth with considerable force. There is a flurry of activity as two squirrels dash past, and the back ends of three thrushes rapidly diminish in size as they missile away. Seconds later, the dog flashes past me as well, and he’s having the time of his life. Then his owner comes into view around a curve in the path.

‘Is that your dog? I ask, sounding indignant, which I do really well.

‘Yea it is, and he just loves those squirrels!’

I’m guessing he means in the same way that I love a prawn curry. As quickly as the dog and his man arrived they disappear and after a few minutes things settle down again – just like one of those few happy scenes in ‘Bambi’, the animals return to the space in front of where I am sitting.

Birds working for insects in the trees above like this chestnut-backed chickadee, are less bothered by all the fuss below them.
Birds working for insects in the trees above, like this chestnut-backed chickadee, seem less bothered by all the commotion going on below.

Just as I’m thinking that all is not lost… I realise I am mistaken… Another dog, this time a grey one, comes dashing around the corner and it looks like a pointer – the sort of dog that has most of its brain connected to its nose with not a lot left over for everything else; he’s moving at speed and co-ordination appears to be a problem; there’s never a time when this creature doesn’t look as if he is going to crash into something. Miraculously, the dog stays on its feet as he passes me, and fortunately there are no small children around to take out. Then, as quickly as his arrival, the creature has gone and the madness over… But no… he’s back and passing me again, this time in the opposite direction, and at breakneck speed only just re-takes the corner.

Thank goodness, it’s finally over… But hang on, it’s not… Like a bad case of deja vu, this doggy nightmare has returned to do it all over again, but now with a  seven foot chunk of tree in his mouth. The strength of this animal’s neck is incredible – the branch is held at one end, with the rest barely touching the ground – and he’s still coming – which is troublesome.

The path is about five feet wide and if Muttley stays on course, both the tripod and camera will be toast. I can either grab the tripod or my camera bag… I opt for the tripod because most my money is on top of that. At the very last moment, as I prepare to jump into the undergrowth, the dog veers across to my left and into the woodland, sything everything in his path. It has been freezing cold for days, and up until now, the ferns have managed to withstand the onslaught of permanent frost, but they are no match for this new threat. Fern fronds and frost flakes flash and fall in the sharp light of a sun now dropping ever lower into the trees.

A winter visitor the varied thrush is the bird I have really come to photograph.
A winter visitor in lowland forest, the varied thrush is a real treat to see.

Not long after, as things quieten down again, a young woman rounds the bend.

‘Is that your dog?’… my words of indignation are now well practiced.

‘Yes, he’s mine’, she says with pride.

‘He should be on a lead. This is a conservation area.’

Is it? I didn’t know that.’

Shortly after, as she passes by, the young woman becomes embroiled in conversation with an older lady who is walking a dog in the opposite direction – the pointer is long gone, and the older lady offers friendly advice.

‘It is as well to have your dog on a leash’ here. she suggests, ‘The wardens were around yesterday and they take a dim view of dogs away from their owners.’

‘Missed it by a day’, I’m thinking. The irritation hasn’t subsided yet, and feel obliged to say,

‘I don’t mind your dog off of the lead so much as it being totally out of control’.

There’s no response to this, which at the very least, saves a lot of time.

Not all bad - a Christmas tree decorated in the forest is certainly in keeping with this odd afternoon
Not all bad – a decorated Christmas tree in the forest is in keeping with the oddness of the afternoon.

Earlier in the day I heard somebody ask a dog walker to put his dog on a lead because there were young children about. The request was accompanied by a please and the dog owner immediately complied. Not the sort of response I would get when living in Britain, where asking a dog owner to leash their dog was frequently greeted with a hostility more in keeping with an assault on their mother.

But this is Canada and most Canadians are relentlessly reasonable – in fact, they can wear you down with their reasonableness – but you can’t help but like them, although often, when out in the nature some will speak very loudly and you hear them coming a mile away, but I’m guessing that’s to scare the bears away, because it scares away just about everything else. When the voicesters eventually pass, invariably they apologise, presumably for being alive and too close to you, even though they have every right to be. I always feel bad about this, because nobody should be expected to have to deal with such nice people.

I really am running out of light now – as the sun drops things get increasingly cooler. I’ve been out all day, and can no longer touch the camera without shaking it. There’s still a little time though, so I take the obvious course and attach a flexible cable release.

The frost has been around for days - nothing thaws and the birds are suitably fluffed up - this song sparrow is't singing now - but if he makes it through to spring he will be.
The frost has been around for days – nothing thaws and the birds remain suitably fluffed up. This song sparrow isn’t singing now, but if he makes it through to the spring – he will do so then.

The thing is, the joggers, the dog walkers and me… we will all get to go home for our evening meal. But right now, the birds are on the brink of roosting and if they haven’t fuelled up adequately during the day, some will not see tomorrow’s sunrise. When you live in a centrally heated condo and have totally lost contact with the outside world, understanding the most obvious things about nature is a big ask. We simply lose awareness. It all looks so beautiful; the birds are all in fantastic condition, and that’s because, those that aren’t… are already dead.

I begin to feel as if this is my last chance with the thrushes. It seems odd that I should feel this so repeatedly. A nun goes by and she smiles as she says hello, and I’m thinking – now I’m in a ‘Monty Python’ sketch, but this is no man dressed up as a woman, she’s authentically normal and quietly reading something. I really want to know what it is, and strain my neck to see. I’m guessing it is a religious text, but hoping that it might be ‘Catcher in the Rye’. an altogether more appropriate read for this particular afternoon. Sadly, I will never know.

The Douglas Squirrel is a true native to the area and one of my favourites
The Douglas Squirrel is a true native of the area and a favourite of mine.

Then the reason I am here shows up. Or rather the husband of the reason I am here shows up; soon to be followed by the reason I am here. Just as I’m getting a good shot of the thrushes, a voice behind me says. It’s a tui isn’t it? because whatever I am doing appears totally inconsequential to the voice owner.

‘No!’ I say, but nothing follows, because I’m thinking that a tui is a bird that isn’t even on this continent. Much later I realise that he must be saying ‘Towee’, but not before my wife has worked this out and explained it to me.

Then his wife and I  say in unison: ‘It’s a thrush’.

Which is quite something, because as yet I still haven’t seen her.

A New Zealand Tui. A Brit. might consider a Southern Hemisphere more appropriately upside down, but in this case it's just coincidence. appropriate upside downto be a
The New Zealand Tui. A Brit. might consider a Southern Hemisphere bird more appropriate upside down, but in this case it really is coincidental. 

  

This is the local Southern B.C. spotted towee.
This is the local Southern B.C. spotted towhee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A tall man of some age moves past me and what is most striking about him is that attached to his front is a harness and pulling at the harness is a dog. In this ‘Alice in Wonderland’ world I am now living in I begin to wonder if this is the way that old people get around now. I’ve seen plenty of people dragged along by their dogs, but this is the most novel method of increasing mobility for the aged I’ve come across and wonder if it will catch on. I hope so, because presently the old gentleman is standing right in front of the camera.

Then his wife passes by and moves ahead of him, scattering peanuts and seed to either side of the track as she goes, which immediately reminds me of ‘The Sower’ – a picture by Jean Everett Millais. An artist who was born in the same place as I was – Southampton, England. Although at the time of writing I’m around 124 years younger than he is, which doesn’t seem unusual on a day when anything seems possible.

Sower and Seed by Millet reminds me of the woman casting peanuts and seeds as she walks along the path.
‘The Sower’ (a theme often repeated in art) by Jean Everett Millais, comes at once to mind. This wood engraving is sometimes confused with ‘The Sower’ by Jean Francois Millet which might be a more appropriate surname under the circumstances.

Once the couple have gone, the birds return and begin to feed more unpredictably in all of the places the woman has cast her nuts and seeds. I have been picking off shots through the afternoon as birds and squirrels come and go, essentially because they are finishing up the remains of her previous food drop, but now she has provided too many options for me to cover.

Feeding wild animals can be a problem. Knock up the grey squirrel population and they’ll be eating young birds in the nest come spring. It’s difficult to know what best to do. For much of the year feeding is unnecessary anyway, but without doubt, this activity gets more birds through the winter, especially in this very cold weather with all the human disturbance they have to endure, and with so little natural habitat left in the surrounding area. Present regulations no longer provide a completely sustainable environments for wildlife in suburban areas and how we conserve what remains is open to question. With well meaning people out feeding local ferrel cats, it is apparent that bird conservation is not top of the list for everybody. Some just have other priorities.

O.K. So I'm getting a few shots of the bird I came to photograph - this, with the more delicate plumage colours is a female varied thrush.
It hasn’t been easy, but to be fair I am getting a few shots of this lovely thrush –  a more delicate plumage colouration, indicates that this is a female.

There are now birds and squirrels all around me picking off the food that has been scattered – a last chance to feed before nightfall. With only a few minutes before the light goes altogether I set to my task with renewed enthusiasm – I just want to get a little more, but a group arrives and stands right in front of me as if they haven’t noticed my existence, even though I’m crouched almost at their feet. They have chosen to have a meeting, which they are perfectly entitled to do, but it’s a dog poo moment for me. Clearly this isn’t my afternoon.

‘Sorry,’  a girl has already said as she passed me on the path, at just about the same time as a lady from the approaching group of five recognised her. What are the chances of that eh? My lucky day!

‘Hey there! I know you. You’re Wendy… I nearly didn’t recognize you. You’ve really grown. Where are you now?’

I think I know the answer to this one, because it is written in big letters across her chest, but all I can see from my position is the end of a word and that spells GINA, which sets alarm bells ringing.

I’m at Regina’, says the girl.’

A university! Thank goodness for that, because people put the oddest things on t-shirts these days.

‘And what are you doing now.’

‘Running, I’m soccer training.’

I’ve lost interest in the birds by now and am thinking, ‘Wake up girl! … she doesn’t mean ‘RIGHT’ this minute’. ‘University education isn’t what it used to be’, thinks one of the older people – the old one that was me.

The conversation continues for two or three minutes, mostly at cross purposes and I’m still getting colder – which I didn’t think possible. I’ve lost the feeling in several of my fingers. Then everybody moves on and the birds return once again, but just as they do, a couple of lads come around the bend. One is swishing a stick at the fern fronds ahead of him (as if they haven’t had enough trouble today). The other boy is not so erratic in his movements, and seems calmed by something on a wooden support by the path – he’s completely transfixed by it, and kneels down to undertake the improbable task of unscrewing the object using only the palm of his left hand. What has happened is clear. I have been bombed by a group of special needs teenagers.

Am I allowed to say that this is really inconvenient? Even if really it isn’t. The circumstances just provide the impetus for me to say what my brain needs to hear. ‘I’m out of here’. It’s beyond cold now, the boys have done me a favour. It is almost dark as I pack up my gear. The lad with the stick has apparently dropped it and as I leave, is looking at something in the sky that doesn’t appear to be there. A bit like my whole afternoon to be honest.

As I wander off, the other boy is joined by a helper who is clearly trying to think of the best way to tell his care that trying to unscrew whatever it  is, is futile, but words fail him; instead he stands waiting for the boy to discover the inevitable for himself. There is something rather soothing about this – the carer smiles philosophically as I walk by – there is a lot to be said for waiting for things to take their natural course, but I for one, never seem to have the time. ‘Happy New Year’, I say as we pass.

Perhaps the nicest picture I managed of the varied thrush before I lost the light, but nevertheless a third leg appears to have fallen onto the ground beneath the bird, which is entirely in keeping with this surrealist afternoon
This is perhaps the nicest picture of a varied thrush that I manage before losing the light, but nevertheless a third leg appears to have fallen onto the ground beneath the bird, which is entirely in keeping with a surrealist afternoon.

I’ve spent the best part of a day and a half,  frozen to the bone,  looking for thrushes, followed by an afternoon photographing them, and my success has been fleeting, but I’ve enjoyed being out there – any time with nature makes you feel more alive, even when you’re cold.

On this interesting afternoon all the ingredients were available for a perfect shot – the light was for a time quite beautiful and the birds were present. But in the end, fate conspired against me, although that’s an egocentric viewpoint that probably has no basis in reality.

In retrospect, this, the last day of 2015 has been the most surreal and interesting afternoon of the year for me, but when 2016 arrives… please… not another one quite like this.

N.B. Species diversity is the best measure of the health of our Planet and inevitably, that has consequences for us all. Human populations continue to expand in almost all inhabitable lowland areas of the world and nature reserves have an essential role to play in supporting wildlife, but increasingly, as our numbers increase, reserves are under pressure and it may be necessary to reconsider how much land we put aside to make the word ‘conserve’, meaningful. Presently, we do little more than congratulate ourselves for having reserves at all – in many cases these are multi-purpose and are sold to the public as amenity areas. In truth there are few politicians who have grasped the reality that sometimes you can’t conserve wildlife successfully in areas where people have other priorities – it only works if everybody understands what is required and behaves accordingly – a situation that politicians either can’t comprehend or simply don’t chose to. It would of course be different if birds had the vote – and in my parallel alternative surrealist world… they would.

The preservation of our lowland forests is essential to our well being.
The preservation of our lowland forests is essential to our well being, but we need to look beyond that and ask whether we should do more than simply manage these areas for our own needs.

The truth is, we can do more or less whatever we like, providing we don’t reduce species diversity. In the end, whether a single species of bird continues to overwinter at a local reserve, wherever that might be, has far-reaching effects, because what happens radiates out in a three dimensional ball of environmental consequences. If wildlife is decreasing (and we know, broadly speaking, that it is) we must either provide more reserves, or limit our own longterm expansion. If we fail even common birds like the varied thrush, the results could be far reaching and make my surrealist nightmare of a day look like…  Well…  Just another walk in the park. 

So Long New Zealand and Thanks For All the Sheep. Part 2.

Any European botanist arriving in New Zealand for the first time might just as well be landing on a different planet – so extraordinarily is the plant life on these South Pacific islands.

Looking from our mountain to another - this is Kakepuku.
Looking from our mountain to another one – this is Kakepuku.
It took four or five years to see any positive results when trying to establish our native New Zealand garden. The one thing that grew easily was flax, and this was encouraging, because I’d seen nectar feeding birds visiting flax flowers elsewhere – so, it wasn’t difficult to join up the dots… soon I was dividing and planting out as many locally grown flax as I could get my hands on. 
Alice dividing a native flax for planting in early 2010 several months before we leave for good.
My daughter Alice dividing an old grubbed out flax which might provide 20 starter plants or more.
One day I looked out of my office window and noticed the beautiful dusky red flowers of rewarewa blooming in the bush behind the house; and not long after an excitable tui began visiting several times a day to feed upon the nectar, but as soon as the flowers went over, so did the bird, quite literally – it flew over and away without hesitation. This was disappointing, but suddenly it dawned on me that we should be providing a whole range of appropriate flowering plants to attract birds in through spring and summer.

Tui feeding on Rewarewa in trees behind the house. 

As nectar appeared to be the key, I started playing detective, following tuis to see what they were feeding on. In spring one of the first visits they made was to the beautiful sulphur coloured flowers of kowhai, and there the guilty bird’s faces were soon covered in pollen.  Almost everybody in New Zealand must have seen this, but it was a revelation to me. On the day of my discovery, I set about searching for kowhia seedlings, which were easily found growing close by adult trees and were soon potted up and placed in a shade behind the house to establish.
Kowhai flowers are perfectly shaped for pollination by the curved beaks of tui and bellbird and once our first flowering kowhai were over, the birds moved quickly on to fresh rewarewa flowers in the trees behind the house. They sought out the colourful blooms just as our first visiting tui had done a few years earlier. I was excited by this minor progress –  the nectar timeline availability had been doubled with the planting of a single species.
These are kowhai flowers and the tui love them and will travel some distance to find them - that is, if native pigeon haven't already stripped out the buds, which eventually  happens, but not until we have left our New Zealand home when the trees become big enough for it to be worthwhile for the pigeon to bother.
Tui love kowhai flowers and will travel some distance to find them – that is, if native pigeon haven’t already stripped out the buds, which eventually happened to ours, but the trees have to be big enough for the pigeons to bother. So now there are native pigeons taking their share, the answer is to plant more kowhai.
Next in line was the mountain flax, which flowers after rewarewa, and filled a gap until the familiar New Zealand flax started to provide a nectar bonanza in early summer – this progression carried us through the period when tui and bellbird rear their young, and if we could get them to stay and nest we were home and dry – tui feed their young primarily on insects and spiders and there is now no shortage of these. Things were looking up. My flax planting habit now bordered on an obsession, with hundreds of plants going in over just a few days – a hopeful invitation to a future nectar feeding frenzy.

 

Flax goes in wherever there is space - here below the garden banks where it is interspersed with clumps of toi toi grass.
I begin planting flax wherever there is space – here on gully banks below the garden where they are interspersed with clumps of native toi toi grass.
As summer progressed, the nectar feeders (insects as well as the birds), moved onto pohutukawa that had been planted around the garden. Tui more naturally feed upon closely related rata flowers in the bush, but possum stripped them out before our arrival, although now the possum are under control the ratas are growing back.
Pohutukawa are susceptible to the frosts we get each winter until they are around a metre high; so these trees don’t grow here naturally and are more usually found in coastal regions where the climate is milder. I would cover our young plants every evening through winter until they were old enough to survive.
Pohutukawa flowers brought our nectar feeding season to a close and the birds would then leave in search of other now plentiful foods in late summer. Despite this tui and bellbird became permanent residents for five months or so through spring and summer, and in addition, they started to nest in our bush… Bingo!
ABCD
December 2007. Pohutukawa or ‘New Zealand Christmas tree’ flowers on an establishing tree.
 Increased nectar availability is a major step forward, but ground cover is also important and I begin to measure success in terms of whether I can see cows in the next door pasture; the flax is beginning to screen them out now, and this is the plant of choice to form corridors along the fence line for birds to move along.
During 2007 we began to see more native birds. As I had hoped, our garden was developing a symbiotic relationship with the bush, and I wondered if this process might be applied more generally to some other conservation areas – providing the gardens can be prevented from moving into adjoining ecosystems.
Looking back at the house from the neighbour's pasture in 2009 it is apparent that I am getting there - the this have arrived as have bell birds - they are hanging around and now nesting in the bush.
2009: Looking back at the house from the neighbour’s pasture it is apparent that we are getting there – tui have arrived in numbers, bellbirds are also showing up, and both are now nesting in the bush.
 Mixing wild areas with gardens is usually frowned upon, but if gardens are planted entirely to natives they will provide a concentrated food source for many birds and insects, and do no harm to recovering environments that are still very much out of balance.
And there was a lot else to establish on this land besides flax. Manuka had died out altogether due to a disease that hit the local area sometime before we arrived. 
Eventually the manuka were re-established by collecting seedlings from locations where they grew densely, these were potted up to joined the kowhai seedlings behind the house and in a year or two, all were planted out. I learned the hard way that manuka are brittle plants and will snap in a high wind if there is no other growth to shelter them.
wwwwww
When in flower, manuka trees are covered with masses of beautiful tiny white blooms which attract thousands of native insects – these in turn are eaten by a variety of native birds that get a boost from yet another valuable food source. In addition manuka honey is medicinal and highly valued – we set up a bee hive… but never stole the honey.
 By 2010 eight acres of land was supporting a considerable number of birds, even bellbirds were moving along the edge of the paddock through corridors of flax, spreading the birds out and reducing competition.  
The bush occupies half the plot with the rest divided between paddock and garden. It would have been great to get rid of the paddock altogether, but in reality this would have reduced our properties resale value. Conservation is often constrained by practicality and it is better to work within such limitations than make life miserable.
In many parts of New Zealand, the old growth forests have largely gone and there is less natural food available in the young densely growing secondary forests that have replaced them. In consequence nature reserves often provide feeding stations to supplement the diet of native birds, but these may also be an invitation to disease, whereas a natural garden has the advantage of providing a super source of food with far less chance of transmitting parasites and pathogens.
 2010.
2010. From the living room window we can now see no cows at all in the neighbouring paddock. Fanbloofytastic. I've never felt so at home. It seems a pity to leave.
2010. From the living room window plant growth prevents a clear view of cows in the neighbouring paddock. Fantastic! I feel much better now that I can no longer see livestock munching grass… but I can still hear them on a calm day.

As the garden fills out, the number of bellbird and tui increase in number through spring and summer.

ANCEDE
Tuis are not uncommon birds – they have declined in some areas but are now making a comeback. A sure sign that conditions suit them is the successful rearing of young – here two recently fledged birds chortle to one another on flowering flax stalks.
The young tuis are everywhere now – they are hanging out at the local nectar bars behaving boisterously and are making a lot of noise. In late summer, things will become quieter as the birds move off to feed elsewhere.
Young Tuis playing at being territorial.
Tuis and bellbirds return in the autumn to feed upon insects, spiders and sap flowing from trees in the bush; they will pick off food mostly at the forest edge where it is warmer, and we see them regularly.
As autumn arrives bellbirds feed behind the house.
 Soon after we arrived, fifty lacebark trees were planted down the drive, they are old enough now to flower and supply food for large numbers of insects. In turn, some insects become food for the birds.
ABCDE
Lacebark flowers are attractive to native butterflies, but I like to pretend that Monarch butterflies should be here, rather than just in North America where they are truely native.
 Establishing the strangling plant Muehlenbeckia australis behind the house has increased the number of New Zealand copper butterflies that live here; there were very few when we arrived. The adults are now common through January as the females go about laying their eggs on tiny Muehlenbeckia leaves.

 

ABCDE
Adult New Zealand copper butterflies favour a native broom behind my studio where they feed and perform territorial behaviour. Hopefully planting more broom plants about the place will increase copper numbers even further.

 

I have tried to seal the bush line with native shrubs and trees and this is already reducing wind damage. In future this growth will increasingly protect the margins of this little block of bush.
ABCDE
Viewed from my office window at the back of the house, the garden flows effortlessly into the bush and provides protection from wind damage – this can only sensibly be done with non-intrusive natives plants.
So that’s the way it ends for us, we are moving on, although I refuse to say ‘to pastures new’. We can’t claim to have saved any species facing extinction, but when rare birds re-establish in the adjoining mountain reserve they will certainly travel down the spur of bush that ends close behind the house.
Currently there is a higher density of native birds here than further up the mountain due entirely to a super abundance of food provided by a diverse and concentrated garden planting regime. In the past at the onset of winter it is likely that birds would have migrated down from the mountain to the lush forests and bogs on the plains below, but almost all of this has now been drained and given over to  pasture. Tui will venture further afield for food, but this is as far as most native birds will get.
Some of the birds we have attracted in were previously uncommon. Tomtits showed up in 2009 which was a first for us. The next on the list might be robins, recently re-introduced to the national reserve (further up the mountain) by a dedicated group of conservationists.
Rowdy kaka parrots have been seen on the lower slopes of the mountain and I am confident that they will show up here once the trees mature and begin bearing quantities of fruit.
As the bush matures other rare birds (once common here) will also return  – no doubt to the delight of future residents living in this carefully sited home.
It is already possible to see natural New Zealand treasures from the house. A few weeks before we moved out, I counted (within a few minutes), seven species of native bird moving around the garden while I was sat on the deck – a truly rewarding experience.
As the trees mature some will provide a fruit bonanza for kaka and the parrots might then return.
As trees mature some will provide a fruit bonanza for kaka parrots which might one day return.
With a reduction in pests and an increase in food there has clearly been a positive response by visiting and part resident native birds. Our neighbours have also noticed an increase in activity. 
Bellbirds are now regularly seen where once there were none and although they are less inclined to leave the bush line than are tui, they do now cross an open paddock to feed in our neighbour’s garden, which is a small thing, but an indication of positive change.
We have left this tiny piece of New Zealand more diverse than we found it; something that almost anybody might do with just a small block of land, if they think clearly about what they want to achieve, don’t keep a cat, control pests, and put a little work in.
This kind of project might be achieved almost anywhere in the world, although not necessarily involving nectar feeders, the priority might for example be to establish a greater abundance of seeds and fruits. Certainly planting for the provision of fruit as the bush matures is an important consideration for us. Tui and native pigeon are key birds for seed distribution in the New Zealand bush and it is clear that they are driving regeneration here.
Returning diversity is essential when attempting to conserve ecosystems that have been degraded, and getting the birds and insects back is a necessary but small part of a far bigger picture.

Flowers are the key to feeding a great many animals in the New Zealand garden.

 

Our family’s carbon foot print has been covered by planting hundreds of trees and shrubs around this property, while the bush has been left to do its own thing, and now that there is no livestock grazing, the under storey is coming back. Parts of the bush are now impenetrable and there is extensive lush regeneration.
Half the land, which includes all of the bush area and quite a bit that was previously sheep pasture is now protected in perpetuity by a QE2 Covenant, and in theory, nobody will be able to fell trees or graze stock in the protected area again.

Each of our actions should  be driven by what is realistically achievable, but we must also be hopeful for the future.

The house with establishing garden and protected bush behind.
The house with establishing garden and protected bush behind.
Results have not been achieved on this site by using a purists approach, and to a degree there has been a push to move things along. In many conservation areas, the rate of recovery needs to pick up, because for some plants an animals it is a race against time. Whatever the choices we make, it is essential to retain species diversity as our population numbers increase, and natural areas disappear.
I can only hope that future residents enjoy whatever achievements they manage in this extraordinary and interesting place, and that they will find time in years to come to ‘take a picture’, and make comparisons that might lead to further improvement, and in some small way help ‘save the planet’.

 2002. Bird species seen in the bush on our arrival: fantail (Maori:- piwakawaka or tiwakawaka) ; grey warbler (Maori:- riroriro) and morepork owl (Maori:- ruru). Species occasionally seen or passing through: silvereye (Maori :- tauhou), tui and the bellbird (with two Maori names :- korimako and makamako).

2002. Bird species occasionally seen: Welcome Swallow (Maori :- warou) – these increased in number by nesting on the eaves of the house – two or three pairs would regularly rear two to three broods a year 20042010.

 2002 and 2010. Birds species common and nesting: Kingfisher (Maori:- kotare)  and Pukeko (the latter a grassland species which is not truly native).

2010: Bird species very common through eight to ten months of the year either in the garden or the bush and also nesting: fantail, grey warbler, silver eye, tui, bellbird and New Zealand pigeon (Kereru).

No change: more pork owl – occasionally seen and often heard.

Occasional: shining cuckoo (Maori:- pipiwharauroa), tomtit (Maori:- miromiro) and New Zealand Falcon (Maori:- karearea).

With thanks to my family and neighbours – especially Alice for helping with the planting in the final stages of our stay.

For the second half of  ‘A New Zealand Odyssey’ numbers Six to Eleven in approximately 5 minute sequences, please see below. For Numbers One to Five please view ‘So Long New Zealand and Thanks for All the Sheep’. PART 1.