Kiwi Death March

Alright, sit the kids down and take notes; this is an educational piece.

I will have to admit, I have been spoiled over the last ten years with the amount of diverse and unique wildlife I have had the chance to encounter/interact with while in Costa Rica. New Zealand is not known for a wide variety of exciting wildlife. It has been separated from the rest of the world for so long that there are no large carnivores, no massive amounts of snakes or other “creepy” things, and its main focus revolves around birdlife. The obvious bird of choice for New Zealand is the Kiwi – its national bird. The problem with this is that the Kiwi is extremely endangered. Because it cannot fly, it has become very susceptible to the introduced species – the possum from Australia and a ferret like animal from Europe. These two were brought in to help control the rabbit population (another introduced species) but wound up preying upon the Kiwi. Kiwi’s only have one egg at a time (they lay the biggest egg per body weight of any animal, approx. 20% - Youch, that’s like having a 25 pound baby!). They also mate for life, and it can sometimes take years before they can conceive. All this added together with habitat loss and the predation from household dogs and cats has put the Kiwi on the brink of extinction. Not all is lost though. New Zealand has undertaken a massive campaign to educate people, eradicate the pest species, and improve the mortality rate by aggressively finding Kiwi eggs or hatchlings, removing them to a safe environment until they are large enough to defend themselves, and then reintroducing them to different areas to insure the health of the gene pool. With all this, the Kiwi is the toughest animal to see in the wild because it is nocturnal, mainly live in remote national forests, and are very territorial, only one or two birds will live in an area equal to the size six football fields. This is what has brought me to Okarito – a very remote and pristine environment that hosts the largest population of brown Kiwi’s (the most rare) in the world – approx. 350 birds in an area about the size of New Jersey.

Upon arriving in Okarito, I met up with the owner of Okarito Kiwi Tours – Ian Cooper. Finding him was no problem, there are only thirty houses in town and his is in the middle with a Kiwi Tour sign out front. I explained that both myself and my nine year old (Charlie) wanted to do that evening’s night hike. Ian asked how experienced Charlie was in the wild and even though I explained the amount of time we have spent in Costa Rica, Ian was not sure if it was appropriate for him. I was wandering how Charlie could trek through a dense Costa Rican jungle for an entire night, come face to face with twelve foot crocodiles or a large pack of potentially vicious wild pigs and not be able to handle a three hour night walk looking for a flightless bird. Ian explained to me that seeing a Kiwi is not about tracking it down, but rather putting yourself in a place where the Kiwi might come to and maintaining a presence that does not alarm him or make him change his normal behavior. Now I do not consider myself a “birder”, but I do know that “birders” are VERY serious about their bird watching and will go to extremes to see their desired species. Basically what Ian was saying is that nine year olds are not known for their ability to stay quiet and motionless for long periods of time. What he didn’t ask was “What was my ability to do the same???” After some fatherly convincing, Charlie gave in and agreed to stay behind, while I went into the bush searching for the elusive and rare Brown Kiwi, also known as the "Rowi".

I went back to Ian’s house just before sunset and met the rest of the “team”. Now I use the term “team” because Ian used it all night long and operated the tour more like a military exercise then a friendly walk in the woods. The team was made up some French, Italians, Germans, and me (the loud American) – kinda like a mini United Nations Peace Keeping Force . Since I was only one that spoke good English, I was appointed assistant guide and given the second walkie-talkie. I would bring up the rear and notify Ian if a Kiwi came up from behind. I was now wandering if I should have brought my knife! Ian also informed us that taking pictures of Kiwi’s are illegal, unless you have a permit, because they are very sensitive to bright light. We wouldn’t want to blind the last horny female, now would we!! Before we headed out, Ian instructed us how to “march” in line, stay off any noisy gravel, and how we would huddle together if a Kiwi was spotted. Apparently Kiwi’s are not afraid of a bunch of people if they are bunched together like a rugby scrum. At this point, we loaded up and drove deep into the national forest just as the sun was setting. Now even though we were in the middle of nowhere, that was not good enough; we continued to walk another two miles until we reached the first kiwi den. Kiwi’s will have up to thirty dens that they stay in on any given day. They will forage all night and then go to sleep in their nearest den. Supposedly there was good “intel” that the most recent mating pair were holed up together. All we had to do is get set up and wait till they came out. Bingo! Birds seen…. night over. Well it didn’t really work that way.


We assumed our positions. The two French chicks sitting on the ground in front; Ian and the older Germans couple sitting on camping stools in the middle; and me and the two other guys standing in the rear, shoulder to shoulder. Everyone except for me and Ian donned their mosquito net head gear. Europeans are such wimps!!! I did take a few pictures which I have included in “Dr. Doolittle”, but I really wished I had taken a picture of this setup. We looked like a small band of fleece covered (Gore Tex was too noisy and not allowed on the hike) tennis umpires – staring intensely at the same spot in the woods, waiting for something to happen.

Now if you don’t know by now, I have a healthy American sized dose of ADD. I even have a hard time staring at a Playboy Centerfold for more than thirty seconds. I try to make it work for me – like planning a four month, thirteen country trip, but sometimes I meet my match. After about forty-five minutes of no one moving, speaking, yawning, stretching, or scratching and still maintaining a constant stare into the same small section of woods, I thought I had been captured by the enemy and not told about it. What the f*** people, let's just go in and drag the little mothers out. Ah, the typical American way…. But I was part of the “team” and was not going to ruin it for everyone else. Some people plan this trip a year in advance and a few of our team had come five days in a row only to be turned away due to bad weather. Kiwis apparently don’t like the rain.

Then I remembered Ian’s earlier Zen-like advice. “Take control of the moment, embrace the silence, enjoy the anticipation of things to come”. He even had a comment just for me “Dad, enjoy this time when nobody is speaking to you or asking you questions.” That was it! This is my time, my Nirvana. This helped for about ten minutes. After one and half hours of absolute silence and no movement from the “team” (or the Kiwi couple), I knew Ian was right about Charlie not being able to handle it, and if I could have remembered the way out, I would have made a break for it. Not to give in to temptation, I mustered all of my self control and kept staring into the bush (I bet they’re inside their little den right now, doing the nasty, and laughing at us stupid humans). At the two hour and fifteen minute mark of no one uttering a word or moving a muscle, Ian’s real assistant came up with the radio tracking antennae and informed us that the Kiwis have gone out the back door and were moving through the forest. Sh**!!, I knew I should have stayed home and drank myself to sleep. Ian quickly headed down the dark trail, leaving us huddled together, wandering what to do next. In a few moments, Ian gave us the ole’ two quick flashes from his red-lensed flash light. Now the Europeans just looked at each other, but I knew what this meant. “Get your ass down here, and quick”. I broke formation and headed to our leader. As I approached, Ian turned and pointed his light onto the trail and at that exact moment a Brown Kiwi stepped out of the woods and walked directly towards us, about twenty feet away. It was so surreal, almost like Ian had called him out. At this point, the rest of the crew shows up, makes too much noise, and the Kiwi hops back into the woods, disappearing into the darkness. For the next thirty minutes, we follow the Kiwi’s moment in the woods by blindly listening for his footsteps and then moving to where he might come out. He was never seen again. At this point it’s about midnight and about thirty-five degrees out. Not a cloud in the sky, no moon, and a dizzying amount of stars and a few satellites. The Southern Cross shone brightly above us and for a few moments I forget that I’m looking for Kiwis. The New Zealand night is so quiet and stunning that all else drifts away.

The crackle of Ian’s walkie talkie breaks the silence. His assistant has picked up the signal of another pair back towards our trucks. We get into formation and march back out, double time. As we reach a hilly section, Ian’s assistant appears and shows him the instrument. Ian studies the signal and then takes us another hundred yards down the trail. At this point, for no apparent reason, he tells us to stop and start listening. With all of your other senses muted, its amazing how acute your listening can become. In a few moments, we can hear the rustling of the leaves just uphill from us. It’s definitely a Kiwi – Ian perfectly described how they sound earlier as a three year old bumbling through the forest. They have unusually large feet for their size (25% of their body weight is their feet), and it makes them rather clumsy sounding as they walk/hop. We are all in single file, and I am once again at the rear of the group right next to the real assistant. Ian is at the front, flashlight at the ready. I am a little mad to be at the rear, because my chance of seeing one past all the Europeans is slim, but I saw the first one and don’t want to hog all of the sightings. Five minutes go by and we can still hear him but can’t tell where he is going. Without warning and for the second time tonight, Ian shines his light on a section of woods at the edge of the trail. As if on cue, Beaumont (I would later learn that all of these Kiwis are named) hops out of the darkness directly across from me. Ian’s light makes his brown feathers glisten and his long slender beak glow. I remain motionless hoping not to be noticed. Beaumont walks directly towards me and the assistant. He too has a flashlight, but he doesn’t move a muscle. This bird comes from over ten feet away directly at me and hops right up to my boot. He stops momentarily, and it even looked like he gave it a smell.

I was staring directly down on one of the most endangered and prized birds in this entire country, and I didn’t know what to do. One part of me wanted to bend down, grab him, kiss him, and rub my face in his feathers before letting him go. The other part of me wanted to respect his place in the world and leave him be. For too many creatures, our humanly interest or desires have wreaked havoc on their lives, either destroying them completely or making their only safe habitats small controlled enclosures. I left him be, and he quickly hopped off the trail into the darkness. Now anywhere else in the world, on any other nature hike I have ever been on, we would follow the animal with the light; trying to maximize our viewing of it. Not Ian. He truly believes in the natural condition of these animals and will not pursue them, call them, or feed them. He turned off his light and said we should leave. He did not want Beaumont to come back out and see us there. As we approached the trucks, the assistant told me that was the closet a Kiwi has ever come to him. Ian and I talked about the tour and his love of these birds on the way back into town, and I realized a few things. The first is that there are special people in this world that gravitate to special animals – usually ones that are in danger. There are other people who yearn to learn more about the natural word and will seek out these special people to educate them on specific species. It is this second group that bears the larger burden in protecting our fragile natural world. We most use what we learn and pass it on; so others are excited about what’s out there and are willing to invest in protecting it. By seeing the big picture, which is made up of a lot of smaller pictures, we realize that the whole is worth a considerable more than the sum of the parts.

It’s amazing what seeing a three pound flightless bird for about 45 seconds can do for your inner Zen.