Westland herons easier to reach

Press, 31 January 1989, Page 13

Westland herons easier to reach

By

NICK HANCOX,

of the Department of

Conservation, Hokitika. Photographs by DAVID ALEXANDER

The white heron, or kotuku — an embodiment of all that is rare and beautiful — has long been a symbol of unspoiled Westland. For while New Zealand’s 150 or so white herons range over estuaries and lagoons all over the country during autumn and winter, it’s to Westland they return each spring, to nest and raise their young on the same quiet, forest-fringed comer of the Waitangiroto River, about 15 kilometres from Whataroa.

Westland’s tourist promotions regularly feature the white heron, but in the past few people actually got to see the bird. The colony is usually described as being "near Okarito.” But if you go to Okarito, you wind up at the wrong end of a pretty long road — with a good 10km of lagoon, wetlands and forest between you and the herons.

Even if you do get the right directions, to an obscure side road off the dairy-farming flats north-west of Whataroa, then you’ve still got a six-kilometre trudge on muddy tracks to get

near the colony, assuming of course you’ve armed yourself with the required permit and can find the reserve warden who must accompany you. But this season, the Department of Conservation and a local tourist business have taken the hassle out of getting to the white heron colony. The department has granted a concession to White Heron Sanctuary Tours to take guided parties to the reserve by jetboat, and has spent the past winter building a new viewing hide at the colony, plus a jetty and a boardwalk through the kahikatea swamp forest for easy access. White Heron Sanctuary Tours has been set up by the Arnold brothers, Ken, Milan and Peter, of Whataroa and Franz Josef. Their tour sets off from the bank of the Waitangitaoana River; the Arnold brothers handle permit arrangements and transport from Franz Josef or Whataroa. Their jetboat is sleek, white and named — of course — The Kotuku. The first 20 minutes is a fast

run down the Waitangitaoana River, mostly through farmland with cattle looking on curiously. Milan Arnold handles the jetboat with the ease of the expert, weaving past logs and islands which are the only obstacles in a river he obviously knows well. It’s exhilarating without being thrillseeker stuff: “People can

get that on the Shotover if it’s what they want. We’re hot here for that,” Milan says. What we are here for is soon obvious. We pass three herons feeding at the shallow river edge, quite unruffled by the boat’s passage. Black swans lumber off the water as we approach and then fly downstream above

the nose of the boat as if in escort. Paradise ducks and other waterfowl that I can’t name are abundant. We stop briefly in the lower reaches of the Waitangitaoana to pick up the reserve warden, Gary Ayburn, from a small hut oh the edge of the reserve. The department keeps a warden at the reserve for the duration of the nesting season, to guard against disturbances and ensure that visits are properly supervised. Then it’s downstream again, to a coastal lagoon which links with the Waitangiroto River. Turning upstream into the Waitangiroto, we’re suddenly in a different world. The water is deep, dark and slow and leads into the heart of the ancient kahikatea forest. At a nod from the warden, Milan slows the boat and cuts the engine to a gentle murmur for the remainder of the approach to the colony. Milan lands the The Kotuku at a jetty some distance from the nesting site and it’s back on to dry land for the final approach on foot. Well, perhaps not so much dry land as a dry boardwalk. This is swamp forest, and the ground seems to be mostly liquid. The boardwalk is essential to prevent the tread of visitors’ feet from creating a hopeless morass, and it also provides a rare opportunity to view the interior of a forest like this without a grim battle against mud and supplejack vines. The first sight of the birds is from a clearing about half way along the boardwalk. At a distance they look bizarre — not so much the elegant birds we’d seen stalking the riverbank, but more like big blobs of cotton-wool scattered incongruously through the vegetation.

But the final view from the hide is stunning. The hide is on one side of the river; the birds are in the low trees directly opposite, only 20m or so distant. At first we seem too close, and we all tread lightly and talk in whispers. But the warden, Gary, is quite relaxed and says that noise is no problem. Once they’ve settled in for the season the herons are “good as gold,” he says. The hide can accommodate a boatload of people and assorted camera gear for the holiday snaps of a lifetime. It’s a cunning structure, with all manner of latches, hinges and peepholes, from which you can see birds in all directions — and not just the herons.

This tiny corner of a small Westland river is also one of only three nesting sites in New Zealand for the Royal Spoonbill — just as big and just as white as the herons, but with a black face and black spoon-shaped bill which make it look more comical than elegant. The herons have one clump of trees, the spoonbills have another just a few metres downstream. There’s also a resident colony of shags for good measure. Once the obligatory photos have been taken, you start to feel some of the magic of the place. What is it that brings the kotuku to the same river — the same trees — every year?

Somehow these birds carry an ancient message that calls them back, generation after generation, to this one place that meets their needs perfectly: good fishing on the surrounding lagoons, shelter from the sea winds, a safe distance from the heavy rains which pound the hillcountry further inland. The kotuku look vulnerable in their delicate breeding plumage, but this warm forest enclave seems to guard them in a protective embrace. By early December the first chicks are on the wing, and the colony will gradually disperse during late summer. On their foraging through the autumn and winter the kotuku show an odd mixture of habit and adaptability during journies to feeding grounds as distant as Rangaunu Bay in far Northland. One checks in for a few day’s rest each season on a balcony of Greymouth’s' tallest hotel. Another favours the fishing from a perch in the willows beside the Inangahua River at Blacks Point. The goldfish pond in the gardens of Mona Vale, .Christchurch, is an occasional haunt. But it’s to Waitangiroto that these creatures of habit will return, as long as we continue to cherish their ancient sanctuary. Visits to see them can be a part of this, provided there are safeguards to ensure that the visitors themselves don’t create a disturbance. In this sort of situation, close co-operation between the tourist operation and the Department of Conservation is crucial — and it seems to be working here. Milan Arnold sums things up in his cheerfully laconic ’ way: “There’s plenty of jetboat rides in this country — but none of them end up in a place like this.”

Spoonbills and shags also