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Published: November 7th 2008
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here's one I prepared earlier....
a young great spotted kiwi, about six months old, that I photographed earlier this year. They do actually exist. When you're a birder there are always certain birds that just refuse to let you find them. One of my nemesis birds is the great spotted kiwi, the largest of the kiwi species and the one voted at Kiwi High School as the one most likely to remain hidden from sight. My latest attempt of many to find this bird in the wild was at Bullock Creek in the mountains above Punakaiki on the West Coast. I'd been there before and heard only calls and seen only footprints ; this time I was hoping for better luck. But a story isn't worth telling if everything goes dawdling along according to plan. You either need to succeed and succeed well, or fail and fail spectacularly. I got the latter. There is of course a sort of perverse pleasure in re-telling adventures that go wrong. Its not great at the time, when you're simply hoping that you're not going to die, but so long as you get out alive then your misfortune makes a tale worth telling.....
The Paparoa National Park, where Bullock Creek is situated, is one of the last strongholds of great spotted kiwi. It is honeycombed everywhere underneath by caves and sinkholes, and blanketed everywhere over-top by temperate rainforest. Some people might complain about the rain in the area, but you can't have rainforest without rain. The high rainfall is also the reason the kiwi are still hanging on there, because there aren't so many of the nasty predators like stoats and cats that have wiped them out in areas of lesser precipitation. Unfortunately the rain does also have a downside in terms of flooding. The rivers and creeks can rise within hours, drowning unwary campers and washing away roads. There is actually a sign on Bullock Creek Road, the no-exit access to the walking tracks higher up, warning that the road is subject to severe flooding in heavy rain and not to use it if there are storms. The sign isn't really all that specific with details though and, given that the road is on the side of a mountain, rather gives the impression that the result is just water rushing across the road and that unless you have a four-wheel drive you'll get bogged. Turns out the reality is a lot worse than that.
I guess I was lucky that I didn't have a vehicle. Instead I had walked up the access road to the top and pitched my tent in the bush so that I could hang around up there for nights on end until I stumbled across a kiwi. Not only did I not see a kiwi, but I didn't even hear any calling which was somewhat unusual. They must have heard I was coming up there. Not finding a kiwi is par for the course, but this time it wasn't just the kiwi against me. Mother Nature herself was conspiring to put a stop to all this birding nonsense, and this she achieved by a grossly unseasonal blast of Antarctic weather, unleashing millions of gallons of water from the sky in the midst of gales that threatened to rip my tent from the forest and hurl it into the stratosphere. The morning after the storm great pools of water lay scattered about the waterlogged forest, the walking tracks had transformed themselves into foot-deep white-water rapids, and Bullock Creek itself was topping its banks with foaming waters. With the situation becoming dangerous I quickly packed up my tent and gear and set off out of the bush and headed back down the access road. Within a short while I came to the first stretch of flooded road, where a torrent had burst in from the side and turned the roadway into a rushing creek for a hundred metres or so. Thinking it would be maybe ankle deep I strode in, only to find that the road happened to dip right there and the water was in fact thigh-deep. I continued onwards, and ten minutes further on found another flooded area. Except this one was where a swamp sat beside the road and, being a rare area of flat land, the river had filled the swamp and overflowed it for hundreds of metres all around and I couldn't see the other end. Within a few metres of having entered the water it was up to the tops of my legs. I noticed the road marker posts, about waist-height, were completely submerged a few metres ahead. And with no road markers visible I had no real idea of where the road was and where the swamp edge was. Nevertheless I had no choice but to continue, so I took off my pack, balanced it up on my shoulder, and waded further into the murky waters. That's when the hail started, thundering out of the sky with a fury. It almost made me throw up my arms at the heavens and cry out "Why!!?"
At this point of the story I should let it be known that I can't swim. Not only can I not swim, but I also possess a rather hefty phobia of water. It stems from being swept from the beach as a wee bairn and being rescued in the nick of time by an unknown heroine. I have since then considered a fear of drowning to be quite healthy and for ever after have refused to enter water of any depth. In Fiji my erstwhile girlfriend managed to lure me into the ocean up to my knees, which was a great accomplishment for her. But this wasn't Fiji -- for one thing the water was from a flooding mountain river ; throwing ice in would have only warmed it up. The road continued sloping downwards until the water was up to my chest. I was picking my way slowly forwards, feeling for the gravel of the road surface with my feet, trying to stay on course. One false step and I'd be off the edge, into the swamp, and certainly drowned. To my credit I was keeping as calm as possible, although I really had no clue what I was going to do if the water got any deeper. If it got too deep then I couldn't go on, but at the same time I couldn't go back because then I'd just be soaked, chilled, and stuck on the mountain with no way out. Sort of a Catch 22 really. Just the kind of situation that makes a good story. But at least the hail had stopped. For half an hour I waded through the freezing swirling chest-deep water until finally I saw the road emerging ahead. Funnily enough this was the worst bit, seeing the way out but needing to stay calm, hoping that the water wouldn't suddenly get deeper, so close and yet so far away. And then I was there, on the road, out of the water, not dead. Excellent result if I do say so myself. All I can say now is that those kiwi better watch out next time!
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Peter Ericsson
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swimming lessons
How about having your girlfriend give you some swimming lessons in the privacy of some in door pool for starters? I am sure you'll get your Kiwis one day. You are not know to be a quitter.