Minding solstice
Blogger: Kakapo nest minder, Jeremy Beck.
I recently returned from what will always remain a highlight in my life adventures— two weeks on Codfish Island with an anxiously monitored population of kakapo and a phenomenal group of fellow volunteers.
Our mission began with a short but exhilarating helicopter ride to Codfish Island—a 14-square-km retreat 3km off the west coast of Stewart Island. Completely free of stoats, rats, and other pests, and predominantly vegetated with native bush, Codfish Island is the perfect safe ground for the struggling kakapo species.
Approximately sixty kakapo now inhabit the island, and our job was to oversee the efforts of several females as they laid, warmed, and watched their eggs —precious treasures in the operation to save this severely endangered bird.
As nest minders, we were each assigned a tent strategically placed near the nest of a laying female and fitted with live video directly from the nest. Every evening, we hiked out from the base hut to our individual tents, to spend the night monitoring the birds’ comings and goings. A motion sensor alarm would wake us when our bird left the nest and when it returned. While it is normal for the birds to leave in search for food, if they stay out for more than two hours, this can be a problem for the eggs, which must be kept warm.
I spent week one monitoring a female named Solstice, who was sitting on three eggs. After getting situated in the tent, I lay awake listening to the deafening chorus of seabirds—mainly petrels flying overhead. When that noise lulled, I was excited to begin picking up a sound I had long anticipated—the bass boom of the male kakapo’s mating call. Resident males, Arab and Luke, were busy at their task around the island. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep amidst the resonating booms.
Suddenly, the motion sensor alarm woke me: Solstice had left the nest. Following standard procedure, I radioed the base ranger to let her know. Vacant nests provided rangers the opportunity to candle eggs to check their progress. Using a torch, they can make assessments on the development of the egg and even watch the moving embryo. I set a separate alarm, so I could check Solstice’s whereabouts after two hours; however, before long I heard a soft scratching past my tent, and Solstice returned in good time to nestle back over the eggs.
Another nighttime task was watching out for other kakapo or petrels causing trouble in the nest. I had some visits from a curious juvenile kakapo, Tiaho, who set off the alarm snooping around the nest and tent, so after a couple nights of this mischief, we captured Tiaho and moved him to a more remote section of the island.
In the mornings, we reviewed the last twenty-four hours of video footage at the nest, scanning and making notes on all activities— leaving and returning to the nest, rolling eggs, and any other incidents. We then hiked back to hut, where we had lunch and worked further on compiling paperwork. In our remaining time, we were also encouraged to help out with other maintenance activities around the island, including track repair and weeding. Evenings were spent getting to know each other over dinner—served by a fabulous volunteer cook.
Waking on my last full day on the island, I didn’t know the rare treat I had in store at the nest of Rakiura, my assigned female for week two. Turning to the monitor, I noticed a funny white ball of fluff in the nest—the very first chick of the season. The birth announcement caused a stir of joy in the camp, and a ranger came to inspect and weigh the chick. With luck, several more will hatch and grow this year. Those hopeful for the long-term survival of the kakapo will be keeping earnest watch over chick survival.