Flightless takahē take off to island paradise as semi-retirement looms

Friday, 31 July 2020

Two rare takahe are relocated to Kāpiti Island to settle in for semi-retirement after successfully producing chicks seven times while living on nearby Mana Island.

Stuff reporter Joel Maxwell exits the mainland for a few glorious hours of freedom, finding swarms of kererū, midlife angst, and a surprisingly large bird that was once dead, but lives again.

There’s no better midlife crisis than a takahē midlife crisis.

Two takahē – the once extinct, now very-much alive native bird species – were choppered this week to Kāpiti Island, offering them a new lease on semi-retired life.

I was given a chance to tag along and witness this famous species arriving at an island that was a Ngāti Toa bastion, now also a fortress against invasive pests.

Two takahē are released on Kāpiti Island by Te Akauroa Jacob, and Hine Raumati Hawkins, both aged 15 and of Te Kura Kaupapa Māori o Te Rito, in Otaki.

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John Barrett, left, Manaaki Barrett, Amo Clark and Grace McDonald arrive at the island by boat before the takahē touch down.

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Pania Barrett and her daughter Pipi, 8, watch two takahe being released at Waiorua, Kapiti Island.

The island sits about 5 kilometres from the west coast of the mainland, across a strait and an about-20 minute boat trip.

I kī mai te kai hōpu-whakaahua, i mua ō tā māua wehenga, mō te haerenga ki te motu: Mēnā he āwhā, ka noho tonutia e māua ki te motu – tērā pea, mō te katoa ō te pō.

“Ka taea te whakamahi ō ngā waea pūkoro?” I pātaingia e au.

One of the two takahē bolts for freedom inside its enclosure after being released from its carry-box.

Once arrived I discovered there was cellphone coverage: every now and again I felt alerts pinging inside my jacket.

We waited for the helicopter on a hushed flat between hills and trees and huts. There were kākā and weka everywhere. Once, a flock of kererū blasted off from the branches – maybe 20 fatties hitting the air with a thud.

Pania Barrett, left and Joe Kelly carry the two takahē, Rodney and Raewyn, to their enclosure on Kāpiti Island.

Department of Conservation island ranger Lee Barry said the takahē came from Mana Island, to the south, one of the most successful breeding grounds for the bird.

“These two birds have retired, almost, to Kāpiti Island. They’ve been successful seven times in giving us new chicks for the takahē population. And it’s time for them to have a bit of a break.”

Peace and quiet at Waiorua Bay, at the north end of Kāpiti Island.

Barry said they were 13 and 14 years old – early middle-aged. They were still producing eggs, but they weren’t viable – maybe with a change of scenery on a new island, they might succeed.

Kua whiti mai ā Tamanuiterā, kātahi, ka tīmata mai te werawera. I te mau au he koti taumaha, hei whakahaumaru te tinana i tēnei wāhanga ō te tau – arā te hōtoke.

One of the many resident kererū on Kāpiti Island as two new birds – takahē – arrived.

Engari, kei whea te makariri? Kei whea ngā hau? I te whakaaro au.

When it finally arrived, the helicopter blasted cool wind into our faces – we, a group of about 20 including rangers, Ngāti Toa iwi folk, island whanau, media, standing around in paradise waiting for two flightless birds.

The arrival of the two takahē was witnessed by a group of iwi members, island whanau and rangers.

The two young people who released the birds were Te Akauroa Jacob, 15, and Hine Raumati Hawkins, 15, both of Te Kura Kaupapa Māori o Te Rito, in Ōtaki.

They opened the hatch and gently tilted the boxes till the birds bolted. The two young humans were nervous, they said afterwards, and didn’t want to tip too hard in case one of the surprisingly-large birds dropped on its head.

The second takahē was reluctant to get out. I think this was the guy - the one they called Rodney. I only say this because he looked confused and tired, like he was struggling to summon the energy to move.

I’d seen those same glazed, beady eyes in my reflection on the screen after a Netflix binge.

In the end he sprinted off after some gentle tipping of the box. Another middle-aged guy forced up from the sofa of life, I thought.

The pair would get fed, and stay in the enclosure for two weeks, giving them a sense of home, and once released they would get extra food to “key” them into the area in the north, Barry said.

I te whakaaro au – i te wā i oma atu ā Rodney – ‘he aha tēnei taonga, te manu takahē? E hia ngā takahē e ora tonu ana i te taiao i tēnei wā? ‘

There are only 418 takahē left, after they were found again in 1948 in the Murchison mountains in the South Island.

Everybody thought they were extinct, but then takahē were spotted, after 50 years of radio silence, by an Invercargill doctor, chasing their funny-looking footprints up into a valley.

Barry said the last few years were good for breeding – predator-free islands allowed resident takahē to take on the role of “advocacy birds” for their species. There were about 15,000 annual visitors to Kāpiti Island, and now they had double the chance of seeing them.

The previous pair of takahē on this north end died of natural causes a few years back, and by then, old Bellamy was blind, and his girlfriend Mingi used to lead him around.

Now, Rodney and his mate Raewyn would have the silence, the lapping water, the birds, the clear spark of sunlight setting over the hills to the west.

I geared up and headed back to the boat. Emails, phone calls, Slack messages were piling up, demanding to be answered.

Nothing stops on the mainland – the sun just keeps rising, and it sets elsewhere.