The day after our Abel Tasman trek, we returned to Nelson
and flew up to Wellington. It was my birthday, so we ate another big hearty
country style breakfast before hitting the airport. In Wellington, we were
staying at a B&B located up on a hill in Oriental Bay, which is right next
to the city center/port area. The hill was so steep, it was extremely difficult
to maneuver the car up the very narrow road to the B&B, which was lined
with parked cars and zigzagged up to the B&B perched at the top. I
requested that we go to the New Zealand national museum, Te Papa, as a birthday
favor because Geoffrey had been there before and did not particularly want to
go back.
I thought it was an impressive and well-run museum, but I think I
should have reconsidered my plan to go for my birthday. The history of New
Zealand is a history of natural resources squandered, of wondrous creatures
obliterated through ignorance and carelessness. As such, Te Papa is a somber place to spend an afternoon.
I have never been able to get
past the first several pages of the definitive history of New Zealand, a lengthy
book that begins with an account of how humans brought about the demise of many
beautiful and unique bird species.
It begins with the description by an early naturalist of the
New Zealand forests as they were before widespread European settlement –
harmoniously filled with birdsong, with the rumble of wingbeats overhead.
This morn I was awakd by the singing of the birds ashore from whence we are distant not a quarter of a mile, the numbers of them were certainly very great who seemd to strain their throats with emulation perhaps; their voices were certainly the most melodious wild musick I have ever heard, almost imitating small bells but with the most tuneable silver sound imaginable to which maybe the distance was no small addition.
-- Joseph Banks, naturalist aboard Captain Cook's ship the Endeavour, Jan 17, 1770
Then humans come along and
systematically destroy the forests and the birds themselves, a veritable bird
holocaust. Several representative stories are featured:
- - The tale of the lighthouse keeper’s cat, who was
brought as company to a tiny offshore island and within days, succeeded in
exterminating the entire population of a bird species (a flightless wren) that was only found in
that location. Since discovered to be an apocryphal tale but still quite a sad one regardless.
- - The story of the huia, a native bird prized for
its beauty and slaughtered to make decorative robes and to adorn stylish hats of wealthy Europeans of the time. The huia was an eccentric bird that only flew short distances, had very little fear of humans, and thus could be caught essentially with one's bare hands. It reportedly could be kept as a pet and even taught to say a few words.
In the summer of 1867, accompanied by a friend and two natives, I made an expedition into the Ruahine Ranges in search of novelties. After a tramp on foot of nearly twenty miles, through a densely wooded country, we were rewarded by finding the Huia. We were climbing the side of a steep acclivity, and had halted to dig specimens of the curious vegetating caterpillar (Sphœria Robertsii), which was abundant there. While thus engaged, we heard the soft flute note of the Huia in the wooded gully far beneath us. One of our native companions at once imitated the call, and in a few seconds a pair of beautiful Huias, male and female, appeared in the branches near us. They remained gazing at us only a few instants, and then started off up the side of the hill, moving by a succession of hops, often along the ground, the male generally leading. Waiting till he could get both birds in a line, my friend at length pulled trigger…"
-- Sir Walter Buller, New Zealand's first ornithologist
85 million years of evolution to create these wonders - just a few short seasons to extinction. These stories make my heart heavy, and fill my mind with
thoughts of “if only…” And thus I found the exhibits at Te Papa, highlighting
the follies of New Zealand’s past, deeply sad. How incredible it would have
been to come face to face with a moa bird, the tallest bird ever to walk the
Earth. They look like awe-inspiring creatures. They were driven to extinction
shortly after the arrival of Pacific islanders who originally settled Aotearoa,
“the long white cloud”, as New Zealand is known in the Maori language. I feel (slightly) less angry about the Maori killing of the moas and other birds, given that they
had no other sources of protein available in many places and even had to resort to
cannibalism because of it. The fact that the ‘enlightened’ and ‘educated’
pakeha settlers came and brought all sorts of invasive species is less easy to
accept. It is one thing to eradicate a species so that another can survive, or as an accidental outcome of some natural accident, but to do so from simple lack of care is reprehensible, in my view. Initially, colonists brought new invasive species because they wanted to make their new land
more like Britain or Australia, or wanted to encourage agriculture and
hunting/trade, and later did things that are just infuriating in their
short-sightedness, like bringing stoats to control the rabbit population. These introduced stoats are now ravaging the populations of kiwis and takahe, which are
some of the most interesting and enchanting birds I have ever seen. If we cannot stop the stoat and other predators from their carnage, these lovely birds will soon be gone.
Will humans some day be able to bring moas and huias back
through the marvels of science and genetics? I wonder every time I visit here. Is there any way we can atone for our sins?
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