Yarner Wood

This morning I paid a visit to Yarner Wood, an area of ancient oak and beech woodland on the eastern side of Dartmoor National Park.  I was planning to record Pied Flycatchers, which a few weeks ago were singing all through the ancient oak woodland. Unfortunately it turned out I’d left it too late in the season, as the flycatchers have now all established their territories and settled down to raise young. In the two hours I was in the wood I didn’t hear a single burst of flycatcher song. Luckily Yarner Wood has another speciality species which was still very much in evidence, the Wood Warbler (Phylloscopus sibilatrix). They tend to sing from high up in the canopy, and move around continuously while singing, so they’re not easy birds to record. After walking around for a while I discovered one singing from a tree on a fairly steep slope which meant that, by climbing a little further up, I could get closer to the level of the bird. The song consists of two phrases. The most commonly repeated one is an accelerating trill that is often compared to the sound a spinning coin makes as it comes to rest. There is also a descending series of whistled notes which is far more melodic but less often heard – the ratio of trills to whistles is something like 6:1.

Equipment used was a Sony PCM-D50 recorder and a pair of MiniPiP microphones in a miniature boundary array.

Hot pool at Wai-O-Tapu

We only had a few days in North Island, so after visiting the fantastic Zealandia wildlife sanctuary in Wellington and the predator-free reserve on Kapiti Island, we had a long drive north to Rotorua. We spent a night in a campsite beside the worryingly-high waters of Lake Rerewhakaaitu (so high, in fact, that we couldn’t pay for the campsite because the booth was under water!) and the next morning headed to the Wai-O-Tapu Geothermal Wonderland. This isn’t nearly as tacky as the name might suggest, and if, like us, you only have a few hours in the area it’s a great way to pack in as much of the geothermal features of the region as possible.

This is actually three different recordings each fading into the next. First we hear the calls of nesting Pied Stilt (Himantopus himantopus leucocephalus) against a general background of geothermal activity, followed by two close-up recordings of small steam vents.

New Zealand Bellbird – photo by Li-Li Williams

With the busy days, long drives and late nights there weren’t many mornings in NZ when I felt like getting up early enough to catch the dawn chorus, especially since we were only a few weeks away from the summer solstice and the sun rose before 6am. One time I did get up early was during our three nights in Marahau. The rest of the campsite was still fast asleep so I only had to go a few metres from the van to record without any disturbance. At the beginning of this recording the main singers are Bellbird (Anthornis melanura) – as far as I can tell, anyway. I find distinguishing between Bellbird and Tui quite tricky without actually seeing the birds, especially as the Tui can mimic just about anything, so if any NZ bird experts would like to correct me please do!

As the recording goes on European Blackbird (Turdus merula) and Song Thrush (Turdus philomelos) join in, along with the occasional contribution from some of the local chickens. I find the discordance between the native and introduced songs very noticeable – in a European dawn chorus the songs of the two thrush species would blend harmoniously into the other birdsong, but to me they clash with the Bellbird and make the latter part of the recording slightly uncomfortable to listen to.

New Zealand Pigeon at Grove Scenic Reserve

On our first day at Abel Tasman, we drove over the never ending switchbacks of Takaka Hill to see a few locations to the north of the state park. We visited Te Waikoropupū Springs, where some of the cleanest water in the world rises out of the ground and forms a series of crystal clear pools, ate lunch looking across Golden Bay to Cape Farewell, and hiked to the waterfall at Wainui.

Our final stop of the day was Grove Scenic Reserve, a huge jumble of limestone boulders strewn across a hillside like a sedimentary version of a Dartmoor tor. Rata trees and nikau palms grow among (and on) the boulders, and the whole place looks like it was designed by an over-enthusiastic set dresser for Lord of the Rings.

The rata trees contained quite a few New Zealand Pigeon or Kererū (Hemiphaga novaeseelandiae) and the sound of their wings reverberating off the rocks seemed like it would be worth capturing. In the end the pigeons crashed noisily away just after I started recording, but a nearby Tui began calling, so I got two species for the price of one!

Marahau

From Fiordland we made our way back to Te Anau, and then north to Queenstown, Wanaka, Franz Josef Glacier, Greymouth, Westport and through the mist-shrouded Buller Gorge into the Tasman Region, the most northern part of South Island. After several days of strong winds, fog and rain along the west coast, it was a relief to arrive at the small town of Marahau, right up against the southern border of Abel Tasman National Park, on a warm, sunny evening. We’d booked a spot at Old Macdonald’s Farm, an eclectic mix of holiday chalets and camping pitches just north of Marahau. Most of the other occupants of the campsite seemed to be French, which, combined with the balmy climate and seaside location, gave it a strangely Mediterranean atmosphere.

After the long days of driving from one end of the island to the other we’d allowed ourselves three nights in Marahau to relax. On the second night, during a trip to the camp kitchen, I heard a Morepork calling in the distance. It  was a calm night, so I grabbed my sound recorder and began trying to track the bird down. Eventually I got as close as possible, and set the recorder up on a fencepost. Just after I started recording a second bird joined in, so there are two birds, along with the echoes bouncing back off a nearby hillside. This was recorded with the built-in microphones on the PCM-D50, so there’s quite a bit of hiss in the background, but it’s one of the most evocative New Zealand recordings I was able to get and transports me back there more vividly than any of the others. Those listening at home have the advantage of not encountering the very determined mosquitoes and sandflies which eventually made me give up recording and head for the shelter of the camper van!

Southern Beech forest in Fiordland

After a fantastic day driving up the Milford Highway, we arrived at Milford Sound late in the afternoon and found the famous fjord filled with low cloud, and the only campsite full. With the light fading, we turned the van around and headed back up the winding road, through the Homer Tunnel for the second time that day, and back down into the Eglinton Valley. Lake Gunn, the first Department of Conservation campsite we came to, was already full, but a few kilometers on down the road we came to another DOC site, Cascade Creek. Not so much a campsite as a series of pullouts along a dirt road which runs alongside the fast-flowing creek, there was plenty of room for us to park for the night, for a grand total of $12.

That night we heard our first Morepork, which woke us by calling from a tree above the van. Early the next morning I walked a short way into the Nothofagus (Southern Beech) forest which surrounded the campsite. Tui and Bellbird, the two most distinctive singers of the NZ dawn chorus, seemed to be absent from this area, but the ever-present Grey Warblers were singing constantly, along with the high-pitched calls of the tiny Rifleman. Occasionally Kakariki parakeets called high up in the canopy, and several introduced Chaffinches were lending a European note to the soundscape.

Kaka at Fuchsia Walk, Oban.

After a night in the DoC hut at Mason Bay (which included a very close encounter with a kiwi, at about 1am just as we were about to give up searching) we hiked across the interior of Stewart Island to a landing jetty on the Freshwater River. The plan was for a water taxi to pick us up and take us back to Oban with a stop-off at the Ulva Island bird reserve on the way. It was an hour past the scheduled pick up time when the small boat finally appeared around a bend in the river, and once we were aboard the skipper explained that he’d been fighting against a strong headwind and 2m swells all the way from Oban. With the wind behind us, the journey back down the Paterson Inlet was much quicker but still a pretty intense experience, and it was clear that a landing on the exposed shore of Ulva Island wasn’t going to be an option. Even tying up to the jetty in sheltered Golden Bay took several attempts and all of the captain’s skill.

Once on dry land again, we asked for directions to the hostel in town. “Go up the hill,” we were told. “Then turn left into Fuchsia Walk, and follow that until you come to Dundee Street.”

Fuchsia Walk sounded to us like the kind of name you’d give to a street in an English housing estate in order to make a row of identical brick houses sound exciting and Mediterranean. It came as quite a surprise when we turned off Golden Bay Road and found ourselves on a winding path, leading down flights of steps into a narrow ravine filled with wild fuchsia bushes. The tops of the trees still thrashed around in the gale, but down at ground level the air was almost still, and filled with the best Bellbird and Tui song we’d heard since arriving in New Zealand. We dumped our bags by the trail, Li-Li grabbed her camera and telephoto lens and I got out my sound recorder, and we each set about capturing the scene in our own way.

After a few minutes a new call entered into the mix, one we hadn’t heard before. It took several more minutes before we were able to spot the source, a large, dark coloured parrot hopping along a branch overhead. Just as we were congratulating ourselves on our first sighting of a Kaka, another appeared… and another. Within a few minutes there were at least 8 of the birds in the trees all around us, and they gradually became more and more curious, swooping right over our heads as we watched them. A local passing by told us they often get fed in that area, and when we made our way into Oban we spotted them all over the town.

This recording, made with the built-in microphones on my Sony PCM-D50, captures a few minutes of life on Fuchsia Walk, with the wind rushing through the trees overhead.

It’s possible to fly or sail to Oban and take day trips from there to various points on the island, but we wanted to do something slightly more adventurous without embarking on a multi-day hike. Stewart Island Flights’ Coast to Coast fit the bill perfectly. You are flown from Invercargill on the mainland to Mason Bay on the island’s remote west coast, where you spend the night in a Department of Conservation (DoC) hut. The following morning you walk 9 miles to a landing point on the Freshwater River, where you are picked up by water taxi and returned to Oban. You get a night in Oban and then return to Invercargill the next morning.

Just after lunch on a Monday afternoon we left our camper van in the carpark at Invercargill’s small airport and presented ourselves at the check-in desk. Checking in was a rather more relaxed affair than your average airline flight – the main formality consisted of filling out a DoC “intentions card” detailing our planned route and when we expected to return to civilisation. Not long after that we were walking across the tarmac to the 4-seater Cessna 185, and within a few minutes we were airborne, flying south past the distinctive headland at Bluff and out into the Foveaux Strait which separates Stewart Island from the mainland. Gradually the forested hills of the island emerged from the mist in front of us, and soon we were crossing the coast and flying low over a saddle between two of the northern peaks. The last few minutes of the flight and landing at Mason Bay are best described not in words but in the following video!

Landing at Mason Bay from pterodaktyl on Vimeo.

A few minutes later we watched the plane lift off the beach and vanish into the distance, leaving us and the one other hiker walking the same route standing alone on the huge, empty sweep of sand. We gathered up our packs and started up the trail through the dunes leading to the DoC hut about half a mile inland. Introduced Skylarks and native New Zealand Pipits called from the clumps of flax along the path.

The DoC hut was basic but welcoming – divided up between a large kitchen and dining area and three sleeping rooms each containing a number of bunk beds. We were there before the start of the main season and the only other people at the hut were the other hiker doing the coast to coast walk and a wildlife photographer who flew in later in the day with some very impressive camera gear. This meant we got a room to ourselves – obviously at peak times you’d most likely be sharing with other visitors.

As it was still only mid-afternoon by the time we’d arrived at the hut and unpacked, we decided to take a walk along the trail that we would be following the next day, to familiarise ourselves with the terrain and take a few photos. From the DoC hut the trail wound gently uphill through manuka scrub, before emerging on a windswept saddle at the old Island Hill Run homestead, now a bunkhouse for DoC maintenance crews. On the other side of the saddle the terrain changed to flax and tussock grass scrub as the trail begun its descent toward the distant Freshwater River.

Probably because of the constant wind we heard very few bird calls in this area. We saw an occasional Tui or Tomtit, but these mostly remained silent. As we made our way back towards the DoC hut through the manuka scrub, I noticed the gusts of wind were making the dry branches creak and groan as they rubbed against each other. I found a sheltered spot out of the wind to place the PCM-D50 and got this recording:

Royal Albatross

After several days heading south from Christchurch across the Canterbury Plains, we found ourselves standing on the windswept cliffs at Taiaroa Head late in the afternoon watching Royal Albatrosses soaring on the updrafts. Seeing these huge birds gliding past at eye level just a few metres away was a fantastic experience, a kind of natural air show conducted in total silence.

As the light faded and the rain began to fall we drove westwards, winding along the spine of the Otago Peninsula on the Highcliffe Road, through the southern suburbs of Dunedin and onto Highway 1 as it swings towards the distant towns of Gore and Invercargill. It was dark by the time we crossed the Clutha River and turned off onto the minor roads leading to the small settlement of Kaka Point, where we were stopping for the night.

In the morning, we awoke to the patter of rain on the camper van roof, and also, for the first time, a dawn chorus not dominated by the introduced European bird species. The Blackbirds and Song Thrushes which had been predominant ever since we arrived in Christchurch had at last been replaced by Tui, Bellbird and Grey Warbler.

With no sign of a let up in the rain (the Catlins area is a rain forest, after all!) we unpacked our wet weather gear for the first time and drove deeper into the hills. Passing a parking area with the now familiar green and yellow Department of Conservation sign pointing to “Lake Wilkie” we thought we’d stop and take a look. Walking through the dripping forest we discovered a small, shallow lake encircled by trees. The lake was formed between sand dunes during the last ice age and is slowly filling with silt. A series of interpretation boards document the succession from Manuka scrub colonising the encroaching lake shore to the fully grown podocarps beyond.

Lake Wilkie

Even though the rain was falling steadily birds were calling from the trees around the lake. I managed to position my Sony PCM-D50 on a wooden beam under one of the interpretation boards so it was sheltered from the rain, and captured a few minutes of the atmosphere. The recording is dominated by the sizzle of the rain on the lake and the trickling sound of water passing under the boardwalk but the occasional haunting notes of the Tui can be heard in the background.

The penguins return in rafts of 10 or more birds, first appearing far out at sea and paddling slowly towards the shore. The photo on the left, taken from the viewing stand during daytime, shows the rocky slope where the penguins scramble out the water. They then pass through the fence on the right hand side of the picture (the wooden baffles help guide them to the entrances) and into the colony beyond. Each penguin pair has a nestbox in the colony, but when they first come ashore they tend to stand around in small groups and socialise – very loudly!

All photography and recording is banned during the evening viewing sessions to avoid the penguins being disturbed by camera flashes and autofocus lights, but once the session was over and we returned to the camper van we realised that the parking area was right next to the colony boundary, and the penguins were clearly audible. Apparently some penguins cross the parking area and nest in the vegetation on the far side – colony staff warn you to check under your vehicle for penguins before driving off!

I stuck my MiniPiP boundary array on the camper van roof and got this recording – there’s a lot of noise from other visitors and vehicles, but it still captures the amazing chorus of sound these little birds produce.