Westland Black Petrels

Paparoa National Park contains the world's only nesting area for Westland black petrels, a very rare sea bird. Their colony is on the cliffs just inland of the coastal highway south of Punakaiki. The petrels have the habit of all returning en masse, right at dusk, from their daily feeding trips out on the ocean.

One of the coolest experiences of my entire life was hiking into a bat cave outside of Santiago de Cuba and sitting at the entrance as the bats swarmed out, literally funnelling up out of the cave in an enormous, thick tornado of bats. As they got out of the mouth of the cave where we were sitting, some of them broke ranks from the swirling mass and flew around us and into us (including up the boys' baggy shorts!). I've wondered since then how they manage to catch insects if they can't even tell when they're about to run into an object as big as me. But obviously they manage somehow. And oh, what an awesome experience to sit there with bats all around us, above us, below us, on us, and still more coming up out of the cave! So I was picturing the petrels something like that, only I figured that I probably wouldn't be right in the midst of them. But definitely an enormous rushing cloud of them, no doubt. I couldn't wait!

So at sunset, I drove down to the Westland Dolomite Mining Company buildings across the highway from the Nikau Scenic Reserve. One might expect that the petrels would nest on the scenic reserve side of the highway, but that's the coastal side. They actually nest up behind the old mining buildings. I thought that was just a bit ironic. If you park beside the highway in the driveway to the mining buildings, the petrels fly right overhead to their nesting area on the cliffs.

Despite being right on the road, it was very peaceful sitting there and watching the birds fly overhead. As I mentioned, I was expecting a full-on rush to follow the slow mass of petrels that I was watching, turning circles above my head, lazily making their way back toward their nests. Darkness came, but the huge cloud of petrels that I was expecting did not. I waited for another hour or so, sitting the on hatchback of my car and then moving on to doing calf raises, balancing exercises, arm strengtheners, leg lifts... very productive relaxation time!

When I talked to the guy at the DOC office the next morning to check that I'd seen the extent of the return and hadn't happened to miss an enormous flock of petrels swooping overhead, he confirmed that what I had seen was the extent of it. He told me that at this time, mid- to late April, the petrels are just starting to get into their full-on flocks coming in. The flocks won't get to be much bigger than what I saw. It was good to know that I'd seen what I'd set out to and hadn't missed thousands of petrels swooping by behind my head as I turned around to look for them in the opposite direction!

My visions of the bird version of our Cuban bat cave were a little out of proportion with reality on this one. But it was still cool and totally worthwhile, sitting on the back of my car, watching the darkness gather, picking out pictures in the clouds and listening to the petrels calling from their homes in the cliffs behind me. Definitely a good evening.

Minneapolis

Yeah, I bet you didn't all know that Minneapolis is on the West Coast of New Zealand's South Island! Just kidding. I figured I ought to tell you what's up here. I am home in Minneapolis now. And as you can probably tell, I'm super far behind on writing everything up on my blog because of that whole lack of computers thing. But, luckily (I guess), I have horrendous jet lag and was up until quarter to four in the morning yesterday (quarter to 9pm in NZ time). I was sorting through my stuff, unpacking and such, but I decided that if I'm going to be awake anyway, this would be a good time to work on my blog. So here I am! So if you see all the posts at 1, 2, 3 in the morning, don't worry. I haven't changed THAT much! I am still a morning girl. That has resulted in a major lack of sleep for me here, but oh well. Back to some more posts for ya here...

Paparoa Coastline

After I left Hokitika, I decided to continue up the West Coast and then turn around and come back. I don't know if I mentioned before that the West Coast Highway is a big dead end. The most beautiful dead end you can think of, but the highway is literally a dead end. It doesn't connect to anything, just runs into Kahurangi National Park. Thus why I had to turn around and come back.

But anyway, Punakaiki, in Paproa National Park, is known for its formations of "Pancake Rocks." I decided make Punakaiki my first solo West Coast stop. The borders of the park were fairly indistinct and one of the park's trails, the Truman Track, ran right down to the beach past my hostel. So on my first day, I headed out the back of the hostel and after taking a little side track through the bush, I ended up on the Truman Track down to the beach.

I walked through the jungle-like rainforest bush in the direction of the coast, not knowing what sort of beach or coastline to expect. One of the things that I've come to love most on coastal trails is the moment when you first hear the waves of the ocean while still deep in the bush, unable to catch sight of the ocean through the trees. Then comes the moment when you are close enough to see the glimmering of the sky and water through the trees and as you keep going, you come out to the coast and the ocean and skies take over your vista, surrounding you and energizing you with their power and presence. On this hike, the contrast was exceptionally powerful. I reached the coast on a rise, looking out to sea and down onto the beach, which was surrounded by eroded cliffs, forming overhangs dripping with water from the rain that had stopped only moments before. I followed the path down a set of stairs onto the beach and wandered down along the pebbly shore for a while, getting eaten by sandflies as I rolled up my pants to wade out on a slab of rock just below the water's surface. After letting my feet play in the rounded sea-smoothed pebbles of the beach for a bit longer, I couldn't bear the sandflies anymore and climbed up the stairs to retreat back into the bush, out of reach of the nasty little critters. As I reached the top of the stairs, however, a wind blew up, chasing away the sandflies and I stood there marvelling at the view before me.

The sun was shining on the ocean far out on the horizon, making a glimmering silver patch that divided the grey, clouded sky from the rolling grey seas. Closer in, the waves were much the color of greenstone (pounamu, which the West Coast is famous for), or jade, with that same translucent quality of the thin pieces of stone. The most beautiful coloring and texture. I watched them roiling as they neared the base of the cliffs, their jade crests mixing with white bubbles beneath me And even on top of the cliffs, the ocean wasn't quite ready to stop yet. There were two lone blowholes puffing up their mist of crashing waves just a few meters from the path.

There was a sign stating quite clearly not to go over near the blow holes because the area was very slippery. And to DOC's (Department of Conservation) credit, it WAS very slippery, but my curiousity got the better of me (thus why I know how slippery it was!) and I had to go over and see the blow holes for myself. The blow holes were widened cracks in the rock at the top of the cliff that continued down almost to the surface of the water. When the waves crash just right below them, part of the mist that normally goes into the air as the waves break against the cliff face gets funneled up the crack, building pressure in the small passageway and shooting out in a puff at the top.

I stood up there in my rainsuit, the wind blowing back the mist of the blowholes to cover me lightly from my face down to my toes. I watched the blowholes puff, huge grin on my face and hands clasped in excitement and anticipation, appreciation at watching the blowhole, the changing color of the swells as they crested and broke below me and the glimmering silver on the horizon as the sun shone down on the water. I was totally happy and awed by the magnificence of it all. I didn't head back to the hostel until the wind died down and the sandflies started to find me again. And at that point, I have to admit that I hurried back into the bush as quickly as I could!