Stilt Farewell

I have a lot of respect for the Black Stilt. These birds, the rarest waders in the world, are all but extinct. Thanks to a captive breed-and-release program, a "wild population" of about 20 birds exists, but it's not self-sustaining, and probably never will be. They're simply not up for making it on their own. But the amazing thing is, they know it.

Unlike most birds that simply give up when their population dwindles, these stilts have taken a fantastic act toward self-preservation. They've started breeding outside their species. It's not that unreasonable, I suppose. They share an immediate common ancestor with the numerous Pied Stilts found across the south pacific. Of course, this is also why the captive breeding program is doomed to failure, for despite best attempts to keep a "pure strain" in the wild, the Black Stilts know their days are numbered without their Pied cousins.

And so across New Zealand there are little pockets of Hybrid Black/Pied Stilts (above). It's cases like this that make species delineation so tricky. Is the Hybrid a new species? A "crossover" species? I think it's the future for all the stilts in New Zealand- in another few hundred years, we'll consider it "natural variation within the endemic stilt population." It's a fantastic example of how the native birds on these islands can adapt. Which is why I think the last bird we photographed in New Zealand may have been the best.

Birdlist from Rabbit Island Estuary

Leopard Seal

The seal coming up the beach looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted you get after swimming all night through a storm, and filling your belly all day on stunned fish. Which is probably exactly what she'd been doing.

She was a Leopard Seal, the arch-hunter of the arctic seas, and a rare visitor to New Zealand. Her predatory smile is decorated with inch-long canines. But rolling on the beach in the lapping waves, she looked more cute then anything else.

Birdlist from Abel Tasman

The "Rare" Oystercatcher

"Just another pair of those Oystercatchers- the rare ones." I told Josh, lowering my binoculars. It was getting to be a running joke with us- two weeks in New Zealand, and we had yet to spot the "common" Pied Oystercatcher (left), despite seeing the "rare" Variable Oystercatcher on every beach. The population of the Variable's is repeatedly quoted at around 4000 birds, and we were starting to think we'd seen every one of them.

Later that morning we finally figured it out, when we stumbled on a flock of several hundred Pied Oystercatchers. They moved as a group, taking protection from the herd model, and feeding like locusts- no clam was safe in their path. We realized this is why we'd seen so few- there may be over 100'000 of them, but since they're always together, your chances of seeing one in any given spot are low. They probably to eat their way though a whole beach and move on. What a change from the "rare" and territorial Variable Oystercatchers. With one breeding pair per beach, the population is about right to cover the New Zealand coast. No wonder we've been seeing them everywhere.

Storm

Storms may be the greatest thing about ocean beaches. It's not just the magic of the suddenly changing horizon, when a sunny afternoon of frolicking waves turns in a moment to a frothing cauldron of fury. Neither is it just the raw power of the storm, that smell of crackling ozone as the lightening flares, and the feel of wind so strong it might lift you from the ground. The best thing about a storm is how the marine life rises to meet it, flourishing in the face of devastation.

We were scouting the coast of Golden Bay for birding spots when the storm came. The crystal blue waters darkened as the grey clouds rolled over them. Wind tore along the waves, turning the sea over and tossing fish out of sheltered coves into tumultuous currents. Riding the winds ahead of the rain front were the Sotty Shearwaters, come for a feeding frenzy in these frothing waters. Dark and agile, these birds blend easily into the storms they so love to hunt in. By the thousands they spread across the sky, swooping across the ocean and diving into the fish-filled waves.

Suddenly, in the midst of these dark birds, a shining giant of an albatross appeared, white wings flashing. Then two, then four, moving so fast and diving so deep we couldn't keep track of them. The enormous Black-Browed Mollymawks had come to join the feast. We watched them ride the storm until there was too little light to see.

The next morning we stalked along the beach, sneaking up on exhausted shorebirds resting with full bellies. And this is the other reason that the violent weather along the coast is so marvelous. For on the beach among the Caspian Terns (top) we found an Arctic Tern (bottom), a rare vagrant bird, blown in with the storm, resting contentedly on the New Zealand shore.

Birdlist Golden Bay

Stalking the Shags

Low-tide is a wonderful moment along the coast. When the waters recede from Golden Bay, over a mile of beach is exposed, with rocky tidepools and little rivelets reaching out as far as you can see. Clams and crabs are everywhere. In the tidepools, strange barnacles reach out tentacled faces towards bits of flotsam. Tiny nudibranchs, the hillarious-looking sea slugs, slither along the rocks.

As we wandered out to sea, we caught the attention of a big bull seal, but he was more interested in fish then in us. In the distance we could see the flocks of black Australian Swans, lazing in the afternoon sun.

Then we saw the Spotted Shags. They're wonderful birds, from their brilliant yellow feet to their stripy faces. To photograph them, we would need to move with stealth and near infinite patience. It took us an hour to sneak up on the Shags, and we did it by shamelessly manipulating the herd mentality.

We approached with a young bird nearest us- one newly fledged, and obviously unsure of himself. He watched us coming, but with his elders dozing in the sun behind him didn't know what to do. Sound the alarm and risk being the boy who cried wolf? Each step we took made him waver indecisively but he kept quiet. The adults meanwhile trusted the bird on the edge to sound the alarm. In the end we'd made it so close we could have reached out and grabbed one. I've never been so close to a Cormorant before- it was absolutely amazing.

Birdlist Golden Bay

Behind the Fence

There's a $2.3 million dollar fence in downtown Wellington. It surrounds the Kaori Predator Free Wildlife Sanctuary, the only such urban enclave in the world, and it's quite a thing to see. Higher then a cat can jump, deeper then a rabbit or a rat can dig, it was the first attempt at creating a reserve in mainland New Zealand, and they put it right in the capital city, where no one can mistake it's significance.

It's wonderful inside, with native forest clambering along the walls of the valley, and the songs of the native birds echoing across the decommissioned reservoir. We spent a glorious afternoon here, making faces at Kaka, the inquisitive native parrots, and chasing the little White Heads (left) and Silver Eyes (right) as they darted through the trees.

Birdlist Kaori Sanctuary

English Countryside, Copy-Paste

When the British colonists first arrived in New Zealand, this was a really prime spot. It was richer and wetter then Australia, without all the "prison colonists," and with a successful treaty protecting them from the natives. And as soon as the settlers arrived, they began transforming the islands into the familiar sheep-filled hills of the home country.

The native wildlife suffered catastrophically. Within a few decades, the birds had retreated to the high mountain forests, and even those enclaves were being logged. Rabbits and stoats, which had been let loose in the lowlands, ate everything in sight. The sheep-filled countryside must have been eerily silent of birdsong.

In the wake of this devastation, the authorities settled on a solution that boggles the modern mind with it's arrogance and audacity. Having re-created the English countryside in New Zealand, they would now import England's birds to fill it. Thus were formed the Acclimatization Societies of the 19th century. The variety of birds they brought over is impressive: over 1000 each of Starlings and Blackbirds, 500 each of Yellowhammers, Goldfinches, and Redpolls, several hundred Chaffinches (pictured above), Mynas, Song Thrushes, and Mallards, 219 Little Owls, 100 each of Greenfinches and House Sparrows, and a dozen Cirl Buntings. Each of these birds was caught and caged in the home country, then shipped at great expense halfway across the world to be released, dazed and seasick, into the empty countryside.

We North American's are woefully aware of the effects of such actions. It is though the work of our own Acclimatization Society that we now have over 200 million Starlings on the continent, results of an attempt to introduce into Central Park every bird mentioned by Shakespeare.

New Zealand quickly became filled with old-world songbirds, and they still dominate the country. Birding along the famous Manuwata River, we saw hundreds of birds, almost none of them native. Maybe this should be demoralizing, but for the ecological devastation of the Industrial Revolution and the World Wars in England. New Zealand's old-world songbirds are themselves a protected enclave of English wildlife, and I know for a fact the birding here is better then in Britain.

Birdlist along Kapiti Coast, and in the Manuwata Estuary

Night Birding

The Kiwi is such an unlikely animal. Flightless, nocturnal, and nearly blind, they're probably the least bird-like birds. They're furry, like a squirrel's tail is furry, and not at all like the fruit. They snuffle like an anteater, digging their long beak nostrils first into the ground for grubs. When startled, they leap around erratically like a bee in a bottle, banging into things.

At dusk on Kapiti Island we set out to find the rarest kiwi of them all, the Little Spotted Kiwi. Our first Kiwi turned out not to be a kiwi at all, but instead a Little Blue Penguin, tramping exhaustedly up the hill with a belly full of fish to share with his family. But then the most ridiculous thing happened. A Kiwi ran out of the bush, straight into the boot of the Welshman crouching next to me and bounced back with a hilarious little shriek. We were too delighted to move, though with his hurried movements there wasn't any chance of a photo anyway.

Weka, Prince of Theives

Since the last of the giant Moa birds were hunted to extinction on these islands, the Weka has believed himself king of New Zealand. His conviction could not be more incongruous, as he is a small flightless rail, thoroughly convinced of his superiority, invulnerability, and entitlement. If you have food, or something shiny and interesting, it was clearly meant for him. When you put your pack down to photograph him, it is only the natural order of things, that you should present your belongings for him to pick out what he likes, while delighting in his appearance.

We fell in love with them instantly. They're everywhere on Kapiti island, the oldest of New Zealand's Predator Free Island Reserves. Every time you turn around there's another of these adorable little birds and their even more adorable offspring. The little black balls of fuzz are almost as bold as their parents, though they lack the experience and height to successfully plunder your bags. Instead, they follow their mother around, nabbing tasty snacks off the ground that she clears for them. We watched incredulously as Mom casually flung aside a meter-long log roughly four times her weight, exposing fat grubs underneath. We glanced back at Dad nervously, wondering if he would decide to take the whole camera bag home as a prize. Fortunately, he found our shoelaces far more interesting.

Birdlist from Kapiti Island

Parrots

Australia is full of parrots. Since long before human settlement, this country has been parrot territory. The cheeky Lorikeets and bossy Cockatoos own the forests. The social Galah's, australia's most common parrot, scatter across open fields like big pink flowers. In the rainforest, adorable little Fig-Parrots and elegant Rosellas decorate the jungle canopy. There are even parrots in the desert, the adorable and talkative Budgerigars whose voices can be heard echoing across the outback.

Parrots are perhaps the smartest birds on earth, and they're social, vocal, and long-lived. When the humans moved in and began building cities, most parrots took it in stride. Sulphur-Crested Cockatoos can be found all over Sydney, gabbing atop buildings or swooping along streets. They're not city birds, they're Australian birds, and while they don't deign to interact with the invasive mynas and pigeons, they clearly assume that Sydney remains their turf, just like the rest of Australia.

Birdlist (Downtown Sydney)

Melbourne Cup

Sydney is full of uniforms, from the matching coveralls of the city workers to the nearly-identical grey suits worn by the office goers. Nearly the only people out of uniform are the strikingly well dressed women whose high fashions decorate the city. The're always beautifully attired, with designer shoes, cute skirts, and colourful fabrics.

Today the women look more like fanciful birds then ever, as every one of them is wearing feathers in her hair. As near as I can tell, the entire country has taken a day off, dressed to impress, and headed out to a pub to watch the Melbourne Cup horse races. There are even, I'm told, contests for the most Ascot-style outfits, and competition is fierce. Ostrich and plumes droop elegantly from tiny hats. Little tufts of dyed feathers top elaborately sequined hair clips. A few women have simply embedded peacock plumes in their elaborate hairstyles, the feathers sticking up in the air in a way that reminds me of agitated Wrens.

Toronga Zoo

The Toronga Zoo is fantastic. Built along a hillside overlooking the Sydney Harbor, this is probably the best place on earth to see Australia's native wildlife. The birds alone are worth the trip, as Toronga boasts four walk-in aviaries, with something like 100 native species. By comparison, the best aviary I've ever seen for North America held perhaps 20 different birds. The Australians are proud of their continent's diversity, and well they should be. The country includes tropical rainforests, antarctic zones, deserts, forests, and rolling hills of farmland. The only other country on earth with this much climate diversity is America.

Josh and I spent most of the day in the aviaries, checking out native birds and exotic imports alike. It's quite magical to have the birds so close, and several are quite tame. Perhaps my favorite was the Victoria Crowned Pigeon, the largest pigeon in the world. Patrick, the resident pigeon in the Wild Australia Aviary, greeted us with a spectacular head-bobbing and whomping display, before hopping up to join me on the bench.

Birdlist (Toronga Zoo)

Dangerous and Deadly

Australians have made a strange peace with the deadliness of this continent. Wandering through the "Dangerous and Deadly" exhibitions in the Sydney Wildlife World and Aquarium, you can see the world's most poisonous snakes, octopuses, and Jellyfish. The biggest man-killers are also on display- the Saltwater Crocodile, a whole tank of sharks, and the world's only man-killing bird, the Southern Cassowary.

The signage is an odd overlap of sensationalism and perspective, gruesomely describing how many of Australia's creatures can kill you, while reminding you it's far more likely to be hit by a car. For the Southern Cassowary enclosure, this means a feature on it's giant bony head crest and 3 inch raptor-style claws. Nevermind that the Southern Cassowary is a fruit-eating bird whose criminal record includes only a single manslaughter, when close to a 100 years ago a fleeing bird accidentally stepped on a 14-year old boy who had been poking it with a stick.

Nonetheless it's true that the critters here can give a nasty nip. Take the Spurwinged Plover, Australia's only upland plover, which is found across most of the continent. Plovers are fiercely territorial, and these guys will take a spurs-first dive bomb at anyone who comes near their nest. Fortunately they issue unmistakable warning cries well before you get too close.

Birdlist from Wildlife World

Master of Disguise

In a country this deadly, it's no wonder that most animals forage under cover of darkness and spend the day hiding. The Tawny Frogmouth is a perfect example. Rare among birds, he is a nocturnal insect hunter, flying around with his huge, bristled mouth wide open, and snapping it closed whenever he catches a snack. During the night he is lord of the skys, but by daylight his sole defense is desperately convincing predators that he is a treestump.

Their plumage varies across the continent, with the eastern birds favoring the grey bark of the local eucalyptus trees, and the interior birds taking on a rufous hue more in line with the outback. This particular frogmouth is unhappily situated in the Sydney Wildlife World, where he matches nothing at all, which is the only reason we were able to spot him!

Birdlist from Wildlife World

Battle for Booderee

The Fairy-Wrens are some of Australia's most beautiful creatures. They're also some of the most socially interesting birds out there. Fairy-Wrens are cooperative breeders, with several promiscuous pairs of adults helping raise each other's offspring. While they're capable as a group of fending off predator birds from their territory, between each other they're more of a "make love not war" sort of bird.

Which is why the heated territory battle over the flower-bearing bushes of Booderee National Park Botanical Gardens was so unusual. In a frenzy of fast-flying feathers, the males dove between bushes, singing loudly and flashing their reflective faces. The diminutive brown females were no less engaged, calling out with tails arched high. Repeatedly they circled the area, each group vying for dominance with the most spectacular displays they could summon.

This is one of those places where the range of the Superb Fairy-Wren (left) and the Variegated Fairy-Wren (right) overlap. It seems that in these usually free-loving families, speciation has made distant cousins unwelcome. For the moment, at least, the Superb's seem to have triumphed. As we were leaving one pair had already resumed their usual pastime, squeaking loudly within the bushes.

Birdlist from Booderee Gardens and the Sapphire Coast

Saphire Coast

The Saphire Coast was exactly as promised. The white sandy beaches are nearly deserted, so that there's nothing to distract from the sound of lapping waves rolling off the endless blue ocean.

A faint menthol scent wafts down from the eucalyptus forests on the cliffs above. Inside the forests, there are giant termite mounds and exotic plants. The canopy is full of Kookaburras, perhaps the most famous of Australia's birds, and their laughing call echoes through the trees. Best of all, there were Kangaroos everywhere.

The wildlife in Muramarang National Park was extraordinarily tame, with big Eastern Grey Kangaroos and sleek Bushy-Tailed Possums all around our rented cabin. One big momma Kangaroo practically chased me home, an oversized joey hanging halfway out of her pouch. Later I spotted some teenage girls feeding them lettuces while patting them.

In the morning we found Wallabies frolicking on the beach. Black Cockatoos swooped along the cliffs making striking silhouettes against the rising sun. Within the forest, Exotic little birds like the Spotted Pardalote and Eastern Spinebill flitted among the trees, chirping happily. It was glorious.

Birdlist from Muramarang National Park and the Sapphire Coast

The Countryside

You know that feeling when things are superficially familiar, yet different enough to be a little unsettling? The Australian countryside is like that. Driving out of Sydney through the farmlands of New South Wales, you are surrounded by pastoral hills full of grazing cattle, with streams and little copses of trees. But the birds gliding above these farms are not sparrows and blackbirds, they're parrots and ibises.

We drove along progressivly smaller and smaller roads, until the road ended abruptly at a little car ferry which was to be our passage to Coomerong Island and it's renowned Predator-Free Reserve. It's a beautiful spot, with white sandy beaches backing up on an inviting forest. But again the familiarity is a thin disguise. The "coastal pine trees" of the forest are in fact Casuarnia Sheoaks, a strange tree with segmented needle-shaped leaves that look like clumps of swamp reeds. And the lovely "poplars" are just another one of Australia's 700 species of eucalyptus.

Perched on a post in this almost-familiar landscape was an almost-familiar bird. The Willie Wagtail is a bug hunter, watching from an exposed perch until he leaps up with acrobatic skill to nab a insect mid-fight. When he lands, he characteristically bobs his long black tail. This is precisely the behavior of North America's own Eastern Kingbird, a favorite back home, and a near twin in plumage, size, and behavior of the Willie Wagtail. Despite this striking case of convergent evolution, the Eastern Kingbird is more closely related to the Scissor-Tailed Flycatcher with his striking white-on-pink plumage and ten inch tail. Nonetheless, the Willie Wagtail's is an invitingly friendly sight.

Birdlist from Coomerong Island and the Sapphire Coast

Hat Country

The ozone is thin here. You know the "hole in the atmosphere" that we used to talk about before "climate change" became the phrase of the day? It's right here, hovering over Australia and New Zealand, leaking ultraviolet rays down on the continent. It must have made things pretty bad for the British colonials who settled here. The Anglo-Saxon complexion is not well suited for these conditions and the "white" faces in Australia range from mildly sun-swept to blotchy-red and bleached.

There have been some adaptations. This is a nation of hat-wearers, where Rafia's and Fisherman Caps are fashionable, and a whole industry is devoted to men's hats such as Akubra's, Barmah's, and Kakadu's. Sun hats of various sorts are integral in children's uniforms, and in this British-style education system, nearly every school has one.

It's quite a sight to see a school field trip, which consists of a crowd of matching wide-brimmed hats, moving like a school of fish down the sidewalks. The inevitable flock of seagulls follows them, hoping for an easy snack if a lunch crumb falls from somewhere. And herding them along are the school matrons, red-faced even beneath their caps, trying not to loose any of the little ones.

City Birds

There are a lot of birds in Sydney, and while several of them are beautiful and well loved, most of them are the reviled urban sort. At the top of the pecking order is the Australian White Ibis, a stupid, filthy, garbage-eating bully of a bird. He's big, which is his only real advantage in the city parks, and as far as I can tell there is one Ibis per trash bin, throughout the city.

Next up you have the Australian Raven, clever, tool using birds, that hang out in packs like the bad boys they are. Their close relatives, the Jungle Crows of Tokyo, are the reigning lords of east Asian city parks. In Australia they are no less fierce. This morning I found one disemboweling giant 40cm rat (that's about the size of a desktop keyboard, if you were wondering). I'm afraid of finding myself surrounded by them in a dark alley one night.

The Indian Mynas are the next bossiest, and it's all attitude, as they're small, awkward, and disorganized. They're also the most hated bird in Sydney, as I learned on my last trip. The vehemence with which locals describe the influx of Indian Mynas their ousting of Australian Mynas has an uncomfortable edge of racism.

Silver Gulls are everywhere in the city, and while they're just as dumb as you'd imagined from Finding Nemo, they're somewhat clever as a pack. Of course, all camaraderie is off the moment one of them gets a crust of your sandwich.

Pigeons are even less organized. It's a shame that the city birds have become so inbred over the years. Their ancestors, who dispersed throughout the world as valued messengers, would no doubt be dismayed to see the utter foolishness of their progeny.

At the absolute bottom of the pecking order are the House Sparrows. It's not their fault- the're not stupid birds, nor are they dirty or unpleasant. It's just that they're so small, even a pigeon is willing to take liberties with them. In Sydney they at least seem to have a leg up- while other birds are forcefully ejected from cafes and open air restaurants, the sparrow is welcome to help with the cleanup.

Birdlist (Darling Harbor & Surrounds)

Sydney

I'd forgotten what a big city Sydney is. Part of it's just contrast- there are more people in this one metropolitan area then in all of New Zealand. Also it's just so diverse. Less then half the conversations on the street are in English, and much of the signage is in Japanese, Chinese, Korean, and other languages I don't even recognize.

It's strangely like London, if London was transplanted into East Asia. Where else in the world would you find a tiny corner store that sells "Sushi, Gelatto, and Espresso?" Or a "Korean BBQ and Donut shop"? It's delightful. And let me tell you, the sushi here is absolutely first rate!

Birdlist (Downtown Sydney and Darling Harbor)

Birding on the Run

The trouble with birdwatching on a deadline is that the birds seem to conspire against you, appearing right when you need to leave, and posing temptingly for photographs. This is even more of a problem when the bird in question is, say, the kingfisher, which up until recently had been Josh's nemesis bird. Or, for example, a newly hatched Little Shag peeking out at the world from beneath mom.

Cormorants are called Shags here, for reasons that no doubt amuse the British colonials who re-christened the birds. This little fellow was no less ugly and awkward then baby cormorants the world over, yet mom couldn't have been more proud and possessive. It was almost as though she wanted to show off her hatchling for the camera.

Which, of course, was why it was so difficult to tear ourselves away, despite needing to catch a flight to Sydney. We managed, barely, with wheels rolling about 90 seconds after this shot...

Bird List (Tahuha Torea Reserve, Auckland)

In Search of the Monkey Bird

We woke before dawn in our sleeping bags and crept out into the brush to witness "dawn chrous" on Tiri. The birdsong that greets the rising sun here is truly extraordinary, and the elusive Kokako has perhaps the most beautiful song in New Zealand. This is who we were here to find.

The Kokako is a really strange animal. You hear him coming well in advance of his arrival- he crashes through the treetops, swinging from branch to branch. He uses his feet (with their opposable thumbs) to snatch leaves and fruits of interest and raise them to his face while he nibbles. If you ignore the feathers, it's hard to believe he's actually a bird. In this mammal-free environment, the Kokako is New Zealand's monkey.

The Kokako's nearest cousin, the Saddleback, is much more believable as a bird. He spends a reasonable amount of time actually flying, and his distinctive brown "saddle" of feathers is a frequent sight on Tiri. Of course, like most of New Zealand's endangered birds, he spends a lot of his time lounging on the forest floor while singing loudly. It's a miracle there were any left when they started the protection program. Their third cousin, the Huia, wasn't so lucky; the last pair was probably eaten by a stoat in the 1920's.

Of course, some birds are actually doing better since most of New Zealand's forest was cleared for farmland. The Paradise Shellduck, one of the most beautiful ducks in the world, is flourishing. We saw 5 balls of stripy fuzz trailing their parents on Tiri. And the Bellbirds and Tui (honey eaters both of them) had no trouble at all with the influx of European flowers that came with suburban development. All of which means it's still possible to see great birds on the mainland too.

BirdList (Tiritiri Matangi)

Fearless Island Birds

Predator-free islands are the most amazing places to birdwatch. I was overcome with delight when the endangered, nearly-flightless Brown Teal waddled out of her pond and began casually eating clover a few feet from me. She's normally nocturnal, but having just finished a 30-day brood, she's eating as much as she can while her chicks are safely asleep with dad in the forest.

Perhaps the most fearless bird on these islands is the New Zealand Robin. This adorable little grey bird is incessantly inquisitive, following trampers through the forest, and frequently landing in your path to stare at you.

In fact, you can almost tell which birds are native by their reactions to people. The fluffly little Brown Quails that dart into the underbrush the moment they see you? Introduced from Australia. The gawky, red-faced Pukeko that starts pecking the camera as soon as you turn your back? Native.

Birdlist (Tiritiri Matangi)

New Zealand Herald

Newspapers tell an awful lot about a place. For instance, the national paper of New Zealand (the Herald), is full of interesting insights this morning. Rugby, and specifically the progress of the All Blacks national team, is of prime importance, with coverage taking up 6 full pages of the 36 page paper, including the front headline. That's actually about half the information content of the paper, since most other pages are some 80% advertisements.

But Kiwis apparently have other passions beyond Rugby- page 3 is an article on the potentially devistating effects that fungus could have on the palm trees on main street in downtown Auckland. That's followed up on page 6 with a separate article concerning the same tree species' vulnerability to fungus in the suburbs. Fungus on palm trees is clearly a big issue here. There's also a full page devoted to "green issues" above and beyond the looming fungus disaster.

Other fantastic tidbits include the successful cultivation of vanilla beans for the first time in the country, and the fact that the government is giving away free good quality clay, on a "shovel it yourself basis," in order to clear ground for a new rail line. Imagine that- free clay, and all you have to do is backbreakingly dig it out of the ground. These people are a little strange. Oddly, there's not one mention of sheep in the whole paper, despite their fluffy ranks outnumbering the humans 4 to 1 on these islands.

And then there's the classifieds, perhaps the most delightful section of any newspaper. Apparently in New Zealand, if you wish to say, renew your liquor license, or apply to become a real estate agent, or any number of other things, you must advertise a public hearing on the matter in the national paper. Furthermore, there's a full page of "death notices." In a country of 4 million people, 60 obituaries each day amounts to almost 75% of the expected daily mortality rate. And the announcements aren't automatic either- you have to specifically inform the paper and pay for the notice.

I wonder what it says about New Zealand that 3 out of 4 deaths are announced daily at a national level, but not one marriage?

A bit of the Commonwealth

Houses of Parliment Steak Sauce, By Appointment to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, more commonly known as "HP Sauce," appears to be a staple condiment in New Zealand. And well it should be- it's delicious. I was delighted to find a favorite childhood flavor sitting on the deli tables at my luncheon spot, in the place usually reserved for Ketchup and other lesser sauces.

The HP Sauce and a classic steak and mushroom pie made for an scrumptious lunch in downtown Auckland. Nothing could have completed the commonwealth experience better then the entertainment just outside the cafe. Yes, that's really a street-corner bagpiper, and he was really quite good.

Birdlist (downtown Auckland)

Working Remotely

I could get used to this whole "working remotely from New Zealand" thing pretty easily. Monday morning rarely begins with new endemic bird sightings out my window, and I have to say I like it. This morning a Spotted Shag was fishing just under our balcony. There also appears to be a Black-Backed Gull nesting on the skylight of the warehouse on the next wharf over. The binoculars have a comfortable home next to my laptop, and and work is looking up...

Birdlist (from hotel balcony)

Tiritiri Matangi Sanctuary

"Can we stay here forever?" I asked Josh. "I don't mean in New Zealand, I mean right here, this exact spot." Our grinning was interrupted by the resident male Stitchbird buzzing past us in pursuit of an interloper. He had spent most of the morning making impressive displays and chasing off other males away from this prime spot, particularly away from his female who was busily nest building right in front of us. He has reason to worry, I suppose- female Stitchbirds are not known for their fidelity.

Tiri is just as fantastic as we remembered from our last trip two years ago. Greg, the resident Takahe who looks like an enormous blue chicken, was there to say hi. The outlook for these critically endangered birds is looking up, thanks mainly to predator-free enclaves like this island, where their complete fearlessness doesn't get them eaten.

Bellbirds and Tui are all over the place, with their eerie musical calls punctuated by sounds concerningly reminiscent of someone choking or of some heavy equipment jamming up. This only adds to the exotic-jungle feeling of the Tiri forests, which are full of prehistoric fern-trees and enormous rambling podacarps snaked with thick vines. We searched the thick canopies in vain for the Kokako, a strange grey bird that scrambles through trees like a monkey and sings like a church organ.

Still, not bad for our first day in New Zealand. And not to worry, we'll be back to Tiri.

Birdlist (Tiritiri Matangi Island, including ferry ride)

Arrival in Auckland

Josh and I have just arrived in Auckland for a whirlwind 4 week work/vacation trip in the Antipodes. The jetlag isn't as bad as it could have been considering the 14hr flight.

Our hotel room in Auckland overlooks the ferry for the island of Tiritiri Matangi, a predator-free sanctuary and birdwatcher's paradise (you can see the Tiri ferry on the far right).

Touchdown: 6:10am. Cleared customs: 7:00. Checked into hotel: 7:30. Checkin for the boat to Tiri is at 8:30...

Let the birding begin!

Birdlist (between the airport and hotel):