So there we were at 9:30pm, standing in a rainforest with moreporks calling into the twilight, near
Okarito (pop. 30), South Island, New Zealand. The air was filled with the drone of an entire army of mosquitoes. I felt sure I was immune. I had, after all, dressed myself from head to toe, including gloves, long sleeved jumper, a good layer of strong insect repellent and mosquito net over my face. I didn’t count on the little buzzers being capable of drilling through my nylon hiking trousers. I should have worn my thermals, but it wasn’t cold enough for that. Worse still, I didn’t feel them bite and it wasn’t till the next day, the bites started itching: all seventy-five of them on my stomach and thighs. A week later, they’re still glowing red – a hilarious memento. I’m hoping they weren’t the sort that carried
Ross River Virus.
But, so far, so good. If I don’t come down with a raging fever (which I'm told is highly unlikely because, due to an eradication program, NZ hasn't had a case since 2007), I reckon the skirmish was worth it. We were in the rainforest for a good reason. We were out to catch sight of a wild kiwi :) Not just any kiwi but a species endemic to Okarito of which there are only 300 left, though fortunately, due to a rescue program, their numbers are increasing.
According to our two enthusiastic guides from
Okarito Kiwi Tours, we had a 90% chance of sighting a kiwi. The birds were tagged and the guides had tracking equipment. So we headed out at sunset, careful not to make any disturbing noises such as tramping on gravel or chatting or coughing or laughing at badly concealed gastrointestinal sounds. The secret to finding kiwis (apart from electronic tracking) is to let the kiwis think they are alone. Eventually, they come out foraging.
About two kilometres down the track, we heard the kiwis before we saw them. First the male, calling loudly and shrilly and then the female, sounding much like an anxious bullfrog with a squeaky voice. We could here her foraging in the bush, tramping through the grass, one step at a time. Then the guides trained their infrared lights into the bush, and we could see her – a real kiwi, foraging. I’d always thought kiwis were magpie sized, but was surprised to see they are as big as your garden-variety chook.
Unfortunately I couldn’t take a photo, because kiwis are nocturnal and, naturally, camera shy. So here’s a nice picture of one and a bit of info at
wiki.
A few more hours in the bush and we sighted another kiwi, foraging as before. But it wasn’t until we’d turned around and walked most of the 2km back home again, that we reached the evening’s highlight: yet another kiwi in the bush – a curious female. We stood in darkness, a line of a dozen weary people on a bush track at 11:30pm, with the Milky Way in all her splendour glittering above us. I wondered why the hell we didn’t just go to a zoo. As if in answer, the kiwi burst out of the bush and made its way towards me, stopping six inches from my boot. I was too excited to even breathe. The kiwi was checking me out. Then she cruised down the length of the line, as if to say, I know you’re there, you can’t trick me. I guess she was used to visitors.
All that waiting and all those mozzie bites were suddenly worth it.