Watching the Watcher

By now, I'm very used to being subject to strange glances whenever I'm out harrier-watching. Most days bring nothing unusual to this occurrence, however this week has seen two occasions that have been different to the norm.

Monday saw me heading up Mt Hobson, which, being a volcano, offers both the opportunity of a fantastic vantage point for me and a possible hunting area for local harrier. I spent some time walking around the mountain searching for the best observation point and whilst I only came across three other people, my whole time up there I was observed by a herd of cows. It may have been that I was following their grazing tracks and routines by coincidence, but everywhere I went, the cows went, too. It was like a strange, unwanted version of The Pied Piper and not surprisingly, rather disconcerting.

Yesterday saw me heading to East Tamaki where I discovered a couple of harrier hunting over a grassy patch behind a new business development area. This was a perfect chance to observe them in urban settings; using land that has been human-modified to create opportunities for themselves. My viewing point was from a public park adjacent to the business area, and yesterday just happened to be the day when the park was being mowed.

Running all over the place with backpack on, camera round my neck, binoculars glued to my eyeballs, pen in my mouth and field diary clenched under my elbow, I provided a great deal of entertainment to the men on the large ride-on mowers. Of which there were four. It was a precarious balance between keeping track of my birds (which Murphy's law dictates were not staying put in one place, but constantly moving backwards and forwards, near and far, up down and everywhere in between) and checking to see whether I was running into the path of a mower (yes, I know they are noisy, but when fully engrossed in watching I don't pay as much attention to my other senses!).

A quick glance in the direction of one of the men confirmed what was in the back of my mind as I kept track of my charges: the way I looked and my antics were hilariously ridiculous. How could I explain myself?? Would that even help me at all?? Nope, I learnt a lot earlier in the year not to worry how others perceive you when you're doing your science ... just suck it up and get on with it, your results will be your reward. I only hope that when I go back to visit that site again that the lawns will have already been done!!

A-Birding We Will Go

Over Queen's Birthday weekend, I had the pleasure of attending the OSNZ conference in Nelson. Aside from hearing about studies and projects from around the country, covering all types of birds from migratory waders to our smallest wren, there was the opportunity to take a field trip. "Falcons and Grapes" was on the list and, although I admit that the grape/vineyard part was appealing, it was the falcons that I truly wanted to see.

A fantastic, conservation-minded approach has seen Marlborough vineyard owners pair up with the Falcons for Grapes project, to reestablish New Zealand falcons into the areas of their former range. This benefits the vineyards, as falcons are fearsome avian predators specialising in taking down prey mid-flight. They actively kill pest birds such as starlings, blackbirds and silvereyes, as well as being the best scare-tactic nature has to offer. Travelling in a group where every single person is an avid birder, it is needless to say that our enthusiasm upon seeing several falcons was limitless and we were all in raptures.

An early finish at the vineyards saw us dash across to the Waihopai Valley in search of the sole black kite that inhabits the area. Although our mini-van was packed with eager and talented bird-spotters, the lone kite eluded us and we headed back to Nelson.

Not far from my thoughts (particularly when focussed on birds of prey), we observed many harrier en-route to the vineyards (an hour and a half drive from Nelson); some when there was no rain, some when there was light rain, none when there was heavy rain. Another thing to explore further back here in Auckland!

All in all, a very worthwhile weekend with enough birding delights to keep me going until next year's conference.

Private Investigations and Roost Raiding

When applying for this fellowship, I had to put in a project proposal that included, among other things, key objectives for both the project and for my personal learning. While I'm well underway with achieving the objectives that were outlined, a significant set of field-skills are emerging which hadn't been anticipated ... those skills are that of investigation.

I swear that by the end of this, I'd make a fantastic private investigator having developed the ability to quietly sit, half-hidden, in the same spot for hours on end, regardless of weather. I am trained to not need bathroom stops or food-seeking distractions. Skilled map-reading is another honed skill, as is intuitive navigation. I wonder if PI's get a better pay rate than teachers??

Snooping through the layers of human folly aside, what all these factors have combined to produce in my situation is a set of skills that are most conducive for bird watching. And the birds have, thankfully, delivered.

Most recently, I have been on sunset-timed excursions in search of harriers flying in to roost. Kahu are different to the majority of flying birds, as they do not roost or nest in trees; both activities take place on the ground, in swampy clumps of raupo, sedge grass and/or rushes.

One harrier, let's call him Horatio, was observed approaching a section of raupo one evening, but passed over the raupo and landed in the reeds. Two nights later, he did the same thing. As harrier tend to keep the same roost site for considerable periods of time, I was confident in proclaiming I'd found my first roost!

A further two days later, I set out to physically locate the roost, as it had only been observed from a distance. This was done during daylight hours when Horatio was far away hunting. Accompanied by a very knowledgeable field minion/assistant we set out, gumboot-shod, into the bog. The reeds were up to our armpits and although it was fun to stomp about, we were very mindful that we were treading through a delicate eco-system.

Horatio's roost was successfully located and, very excitingly, contained several pellets. These were bagged and labelled as, with analysis, I may be able to determine what he's been snacking on. The great thing about the location of this roost is that it is a very short walk from two residential streets. This proves harriers are not just day visitors to our urban areas.

Not sure how useful the skills of private investigation and intrepid bog-searching will be when I'm back teaching, but I'm sure I can make them fit ... somehow.

Facts, figures and flying things

It's been eleven weeks since the harrier population of Auckland officially came under my scrutiny. So it's time for quick summary of the numbers:

9 weeks of active field observations

64 sites

36 successful sites

59 sightings (some with more than one bird)

17 sightings from people other than myself

8 possible roosting locations

5 harriers in one day (my highest daily count, so close to my 'brave little tailor' moment)

4 harriers in one place (the highest density so far, and a very exciting moment for me!)

2 field minions (a kindly-bestowed name for someone who comes to assist in a field excursion)

1 confirmed kill (rat)

????? hours sitting in wait

Success? I'd say so!

An Ecology State of Mind

Over many years, I've become used to being known as the 'nature person', the 'science geek', or, personal favourite, the 'tree-hugging greenie.' The friends, colleagues and family who (lovingly) bestow these nicknames on me are well used to spirited and passionate stories of animals seen, or environmental injustices occurred, or tales of nature of unfathomable beauty.

I like to think that, like most of the people who I share the planet with, I hold a decent grip on reality, but the events of last weekend may have many questioning this. My latest 'nature story' goes a little something like this ...

It was my cousin's wedding. The wedding was just over an hour's drive from Auckland, at a beach accessible by one of those most faithful of unsealed gravel roads. Picture a car-load of wedding goers: beautiful summer dresses, gorgeous heels, hair and makeup completing the look.

I, who was designated driver, was paying close attention to aforementioned twisty turny road, when, rounding a corner, noticed a large clump of feathers up ahead. Always one to avoid getting such muck on my tyres, I moved over so as not to run it further into the ground, where upon I realised that the large clump of feathers was actually a large clump of dead, squashed harrier hawk.

A lot of discussion ensued as we slowly continued down the road, until I decidedly pulled into a driveway, adamant that there was enough time for me to go back, collect this unfortunate specimen of a bird and get to the wedding all with time to spare.

"You can't!"

"Where will you put it?"

"OMG, everyone will see you!"

"What would you do with it, anyway?!"

Peer pressure, I caved in. We continued to the wedding, sans roadkill.

However ...

on the way from the wedding to the reception venue, we were to pass the flattened raptor again and this time, I was determined to collect what would be my first sample. Why, on God's earth, would I do this? Well, the main reason being I could have taken it back to the lab and checked out the gizzard to see what it's diet consisted of and, being that it was already dead, I would be doing no further harm (thinking and acting like a responsible scientist, I thought to myself).

So off we went. Being a windy gravelly country road, there wasn't space to pull over right next to the 'site', which meant a 20m hike from the car to the carcass. Not a problem, although remember the formerly mentioned wedding attire!

My companions refused point blank to accompany me on such an outlandish quest and stayed in the car, where they could not be seen or incriminated (obviously I had completely lost my mind in their opinion). I grabbed a few plastic bags that were floating around the boot, as I had no inclination to get putrefied hawk guts anywhere near me, and teetered down the road towards my flattened friend.

To sum up:

• the hawk was not newly dead
• it was, in fact, at least a day or few old
• it smelt
• the carcass was completely linear, almost two dimensional
• it smelt bad
• everything was all mushed up together, individual internal parts were indecipherable
• it was stuck to the road (and the roadkill that it had chosen not to give up)
• it smelt reeeaaaal bad

Wearing plastic bags over my hands and trying to peal the hawk pancake off the gravel I had a few vehicles pass, slowing to a crawl, the occupants giving me rather 'special' looks. I gave up on the carcass and turned my attention to the plumage. The majority of the feathers had road damage, however there were a few primary (main) flight feathers that were in decent enough condition. But they would not come out. I managed to take one tail feather before succumbing to threats that I would be left on the side of the road with the poor dead bird if I didn't get back to the car immediately.

If any of the other wedding guests had observed me on the roadside that afternoon in all my crazed weirdness, no-one mentioned it, at least not to my face. As is usual, we ate, drank and danced the night away in celebration.

... back in Auckland, reflecting on such an unexpected (and slightly strange) situation ...

I still think I have a pretty decent grip on reality, with just a touch more scientific reasoning showing itself from time to time; as every harrier knows, you have to take opportunities where you find them. However, I truly lament the loss of this particular hawk; although a brazen and opportunistic alpha-hunter, his reluctance to give up an easy dinner led to his untimely demise.

Becoming the Brave Little Tailor

When you spend the majority of your working hours without any interaction with other people, you are bound to develop a strange fixation or two. My current focus (I won't go so far as to call it an obsession - I'm not there yet!!) is on becoming like the Brave Little Tailor: "seven with one blow."

Over the last week that I've been out and about looking for harrier, I've had a rather pleasing hit rate: at least one a day, every day I've been out. Which, admittedly, is a great result, however I'm waiting for the day when I can proudly say I've seen seven different harrier all in the space of that one day. So far my total has been three. (Almost half-way!)

Of course, it's not a competition. And even if it was, I'd be the only competitor. As I gain more knowledge of the types of habitat in which these hawks may be found, it would be easy for me to skew the results in my favour. But I won't. I want my genuine Brave Little Tailor moment. I may not sew it on a belt and parade around the town seeking fame and fortune, but I'll be mightily chuffed all the same.

The Little Engine That Could: Perseverance

Child-like enthusiasm is a wonderful thing; it binds you up and carries you along on a terrific high, but the tiniest factor can cause it to fragment and fall apart. Case in point: one child I taught was writing the most fantastic narrative, complete with incredible drawings (he was ridiculously talented in creative areas), but upon realising he'd made a mistake, screwed the whole thing up into the tightest ball imaginable and tossed it into the paper recycling. He then sat immobile, staring despondently at his empty desk for quite some time.

Never a fan of sulking or such-like, I pulled it out of the bin and made him articulate exactly what had gone wrong and we problem-solved a way to fix the error. (He didn't want to then start all over again; turns out I'm a dab hand at ironing creases out of paper!!)

In teaching, we often have moments or situations that stay with us, that stick out beyond the normal day to day happenings (although there is hardly much room for normalcy) and teaching a child perseverance is no mean feat.

Perseverance plays a large part in the success of my project. I get up in the morning. I prepare and plan. I'm ready. I arrive at my first site and wait, full of joyful expectancy, for a harrier to arrive. As the day goes on, the expectancy stays though the joy tends to slip a little. I sit through hours of: cold, sun, wind, mosquitos, sandflies ... all with the hope of being rewarded. Some days I see a harrier, some days I don't.

When I do sight one the joy comes rushing back, a huge wave of it, that makes me want to grab the nearest person, shove my binoculars in their face and shout "Look! Look!" (I have so far managed to practice restraint in this area, safe to let that response live only in my head!)

Perseverance can be a real pain. If the end-point becomes obscure, if things turn to custard, if you make a mistake, if it's taking too long ... there are so many ready excuses to give up. But if you don't give up, if you persevere, nothing beats that feeling of success, pride and self-belief. It tops up the tank and renews you for the next round.

The once-screwed-up-but-now-ironed-out-and-completed story?? It was finished and proudly presented to his grandmother for her birthday.

Me and my harriers? We're doing just fine.