Everyone assured us it would be very easy; the mountains around, they said, were full of Keas, every vally bulged with them. You could not park your car for fear that several dozen would descend on it and take it to pieces with the enthusiasm of mad motor mechanics. All you had to do was to go anywhere up into the surrounding mountains - but simply anywhere - and shout 'Kea... kea... kea...' in imitation of their cries, and before you knew where you were, Keas were swooping down on you from all directions. Well, we tried. The day of our arrival we drove round and round Mount Cook, stopping at every conceivable crevasse and crag to should 'Kea... kea... kea...' in the prescribed manner, but the barren terrain remained Kea-less.
The above passage is from a marvelous book titled Two in the Bush, by the beloved naturalist, conservationist, and writer, Gerald Durrell. It documents a journey that Durrell, along with his wife and a small team from the BBC, made in the 60s to Australia, New Zealand, and Malaysia. The group's goal was to film as many endangered endemic species as they could track down, and like any good travel narrative, it's rich with adventure, humor, and discovery. When in NZ, Durrell's encounters included visits with many of the country's most fascinating and exotic birds, including Wetas, Takahes, Kakas, Kakapos, and finally the cheeky - and frustratingly elusive - Kea. Keas are gregarious enough that they readily explore human settlement - they are also tenacious enough in their curiosity that they are regarded by locals as troublesome vandals. Strangely, to those who make a dedicated effort to travel the South Island specifically in search of them, they have a crafty habit of making themselves scarce. Suffice to say, Durrell's experience 50 years ago was very similar to ours in 2011.
Keas are the world's only alpine parrot - they inhabit the craggly mountainsides of New Zealand's Southern Alps, including grand Mt. Cook, and the steep, olive-colored forests of Fjordland. In response to the challenging nature of survival in such an extreme environment, the Kea has evolved into one of the most intelligent and adaptive of birds. Using play behavior as a vehicle for quick learning, the name of this bird's game is "investigate everything" - and since the only tools at the Kea's disposal are a talon-like beak and a handful of actual talons, the results of most Keaxperiments are, by human standards, frightfully destructive (unless of course you study animal cognition, in which case shredded hiking packs, tortured garbage bins, and gnarled spare tires are most fascinating bits of evidence).
Such an incessant fascination with novelty, in conjunction with a generalist diet, has allowed the Kea to succeed on an island where so many other, much more specialized (and perhaps more daft), endemic birds have nearly disappeared under the threats and pressures associated with human sprawl. Rather than retreat flapping and squawking from an advancing tide of civilization, the Kea met change with the mind of an entrepreneur and figured out how to make the most out of living amidst people (and all their assorted bright, shiny, soft, sharp, colorful, tasty things). Lo, insatiable opportunism can also be dangerous, and this "Clown of the Mountains" became the "Feathered Wolf" when the Kea set it's investigative prowess on sheep...
During the summer, a Kea's diet consists of plant shoots, seeds, nectar, and the roots of sturdy alpine flowers, supplemented with beetles and grubs. During the winter, the Kea's grazing habits abruptly shift to carnivorous scavenging, and even hunting... found animal carcasses are readily nibbled at, and at least one colony of Keas has developed a taste for the fattened chicks of sea birds that nest on the coastal cliffs of Fjordland. In the 1850s and 60s, when sheep farming expanded into the highlands of the South Island, the Kea was suddenly able to capitalize on a bountiful new source of food. Animals downed by starvation during merciless winters were an easy meal, but when farmer's began noticing open wounds on their live sheep, they quickly claimed that Keas were to blame.
It would have been an extreme accusation - that in almost parasitic fashion, the parrots would alight on and rake into the backs of grazing sheep to feed on the fat beneath the wool - but the farmers were adamant. Naturally, in the long tradition of stockmen reacting to the threat of wild predators, NZ shepherds demonized the Kea and worked with local councils to establish a bounty - as many as 150,000 Keas were killed before the government lifted the bounty in 1970, and a census revealed only about 5,000 remained. Not until 1986 was the Kea given full protection by law.
Remarkably, it has since been documented that the shepherd's charges of sheep predation were in fact spot on (if you're dying to see this phenomenon, it has been caught on video - and it's a touch... creepy... *and mildly graphic*). Despite this macabre tendency and resulting persecution, the Kea fortunately survived into the present era of conservation, and even though it's numbers continue to decline due to new threats from invasive species like possums, awareness and efforts to safeguard the species are thankfully strong.
Eventually the determined Mr. Durrell did have an opportunity to film Keas at Mt. Cook - some of the results can be found in this charming short film clip (how thoroughly entrancing is the Kea's squeaky little nicker of a call??). Of note, the view from Durrell's Mt. Cook lodging looked precisely like ours, only ours, through the magic of modern photography, was in color.
Above: 1. A Nicaraguan stamp featuring a Kea; 2. Kea portrait; 3. a kea amid the moonscape of Mt. Cook, by photographer Pete McGregor; 4. a vintage clipping of the great shepherd's nighmare - a Kea attacking the back of a sheep; 5. a more contemporary, and way more trippy-looking illustration of a Kea attempting to take off with a lamb; 6. a beautiful old natural history print of a Kea; 7. and another stunning photo, this one clearly showing the blaze of scarlet feathers that are only exposed when a Kea outstretches it's wings.
That was one of my favorite bird. I do really wanted to have a close look onto them. Great!
Posted by: essays | December 09, 2011 at 08:59 AM