ae eee tat shaw hod toa Tees. ree pote tire - sal ett Ooh . Pees 3 = SSSI Boas SES Ss ats Nieto nae eae. etaneeeteree Fa he —o0 - eee Neer et Se Sana ete tstata et >t assole tte, = <3 = oi al Sree a ; a8, Carnet c— 8 oo Pak st 7 = sae Bene Pere at 2 : b . ~ pes zis eS or Spore “i eter > nee a be es tS maaeed en. Gee SEE Su Sa cea esgiecn wore Mats pba ees se reat tts ee es Boe | aroha woo ra . ANE Pa) ee ke ns Meat Mgt ein Nata Ht ? ulledY Lak ae Bn Wi fi i Le ead ae m BEY": at [ay $ ie { Sa trees y rg . a i A, YY, oY a oun * Tel enaa tee Lo COVEM FOU oS 5 oo RE eM alle NE = ip Re f : i a BIRDS of the WATER, WOOD & WASTE. H. GUTHRIE-SMITH. WELLINGTON, CHRISTCHURCH, DUNEDIN, N.Z.; MELBOURNE AND LONDON WHITCOMBE & TOMBS LIMITED 1910 eS aTicu al re cM IMOUN/ 4 A Lin. CIBRARIES To G. Mi.’G.-S. Nt ie AL REPRO ERNE » RL rity a EA ACN p i nit He Non io TOS RULE VL RMR ST Nike mat uae a) a Nyit yr i HK ii ys ay; My UA valk ay Su ANE; ANG K 8 i i Wr a el yy AA) hat ) i } * ri } . q i 7 1 ‘i i H ,, 1 5 ey PAG 4 ON eter aN nines ie ; i F RY Ma aT Wa 0 OA en hi oy Bip i j k ; Mt bt Thi Nh | ry } ail ny F Ni ry na) ty ‘ a WRN) a j RIN ‘ va th) CONTENTS PAGE Preface : : il The Lake ; a The Scaup ; : Ly The Mountain Duck : 93 The Grey Duck : 52 The Brown ‘Duck. ©. ; 36 The Kingfisher ; : : 4] The Weka : 60 The Pukeko : , 67 The Harrier ; , 99 The Falcon , ; Ae OG The Ground Lark . Ana y yd?) EIDE CLAESan eS NR aN ee Pe 21 The Waxeye . me brs 5, The Warbler. OFLA, The Fern-bird . : ; . 146 The Tui MEM 552, The Pigeon : i aap Low ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Female Falcon about to cover Young Frontispiece. Scaup’s Nest in Flax . . Facing 16 Blue Duck in Waikahau River x, 22 Blue Duck’s Nest under clump of Hill Flax . ; : 24 Blue Duck in Quiet Daal - 26 Blue Duck with Young . yA 30 Grey Duck’s Nest in Fern : 7" 32 River Scene. 5a 34 Brown Duck SERIND in siege id 39 Male and Female Brown Duck . 40 Young Kingfishers—showing Nest in Sandbank . , i 43 Kingfisher and Tailless favacd a 46 A Kingfisher Quartette . ie 48 Kinefisher carrying Lizard ks 56 Kingfisher with Cicada wi 56 Weka’s Nest with Eggs . i 64 Male Pukeko on Nest * 66 Pukeko’s Nest ie 72 “Budge” drying hirieelfe . 74 “Budge” and Chick. 7 74 ‘ Budge” feeding the little ones . by 78 ‘ Budge,” “Jill” and “ Quintus” % 80 Male Pukeko sitting . ‘3 88 Male Pukeko coming on to Me a 90 ILLUSTRATIONS “ Budge” Pukeko sitting on Higgs Young Harriers. Young Harriers aaah Harrier’s Nest in Raupo Swamp Falcon creeping on to Young Hen Falcon Sitting Falcon’s Nest Expectant Feeding Time Young Falcon Nest of Ground Lark Ground Lark Nestlings Ground Lark about to feed Yous Fantail’s Nest shewing Tail Fantail’s Nest in Manuka Fantail’s Nest Fantail Fantail Fantail Nest of Miran in putes Buel Sanitation of Nest Male and Female Waxeye Waxeye Feeding Nestlings Nothing more Hen Warbler Papresenine Nest Warblers Feeding Young Male and Female Warblers Facing Vili. ILLUSTRATIONS Fern-bird’s Nest in clump of “Cutty Grass ”’ Fern-birds by Neat Male and Female Fern-bird oy Nest Fern-bird feeding Young . Fern-bird entering Nest Fern-bird about to settle on Nest - Fern-bird and Young Fern-bird : Fern-bird inspecting Nest or Baietion Tui Feeding Young with Fuchsia hak Tui’s Nest in Tarata Pigeon’s Nest as first seen Hen Pigeon sitting . ‘“ Pidgie”’ and his Mother Young Pigeon expecting Food Pigeon very angry Hen Pigeon and Young . Young Pigeon being fed . Preparing to resist Young dis being Heal hk , Up in arms “Uncle Harry ” : ‘Uncle Harry” three weeks old “Uncle Harry ” in his Artificial Nest “Uncle Harry” and his Mother NO A teak ; ! “No. 4” at Breakfast Child feeding Pigeons PAGE 146 146 148 148 148 150 150 150 150 152 156 160 160 162 166 168 170 172 172 174 176 176 178 182 184 186 191 192 196 Preface. RICACSAYUTIRA is situated in the A ASR northern portion of Hawke’s Bay, and in most maps of the Dominion the lake, some — OROEYEZIS = miles in length, may be seen marked as a tiny speck some distance inland, and about midway between Napier and Wairoa. Certainly there is no better run in Hawke’s Bay, and probably no sheep station in New Zealand has at this date its natural advantages of barren and waste land. Kast of the lake, and running north and south, extends a range of limestone formation, with great spurs branching off at right angles, and stretching towards the sea. The hill slopes of this part of the run are exceedingly steep, and the several tiers of ancient ocean floor very conspicuous. 2 2 BIRDS OF THE WATER On the extreme west, and also running north and south, rises the Maungahararu, another and a loftier limestone range. Betwixt these two—the mountains on the west and the hills on the east—lies the bulk of the run, lower in elevation and chiefly consisting of valley lands and tilted terraces. The whole of this great trough has the rounded contours characteristic of pumaceous country, and has been probably the bed of some vast old world river system or great chain of almost stagnant lakes. The limestone range east of the lake at one time grew admirable covert of all sorts, dense fern, high tutu, koromiko, and a con- siderable area of ‘‘whitey-wood’’ bush, kowhai, fuchsia, rama rama, ngaio, kai- whiria, ete., etc., with pines in the richer and damper bottoms, and bird life was then abundant. Its value, however, during the last score of years has much depreciated; fires have swept the hill sides, grasses and clovers have become established, and except for the grazing of sheep, large areas have become WOOD AND WASTE 3 almost worthless. Even here, however, the destruction has not been complete; still on the cliffs and alongside the ‘‘under-runners’’ erow many berry-bearing trees, and the flats along the lake edge, too, are distinctly useful. They may in these days indeed be ac- counted assets of no inconsiderable value, inasmuch as they are too nearly at lake level to admit of proper drainage and ploughing, and their growth of carex, ‘“feutty grass,’’? and raupo provide excellent harbourage for the smaller rails and other interesting species. The great pumaceous region extending over the centre or trough of the run has not yet—though scrub-cutting and ploughing are in progress—been seriously affected. Everywhere over these lower lands, the subsoil is a soft clay rock, and throughout this portion of the run ramify a network of creeks. These begin as mere narrow bottomless bogs; as, however, they increase in water volume and establish a scour, the sharp pumice grit quickly wears through the soft rock beneath, and the quagmire 4 BIRDS OF THE WATER deepens into a gorge. With these advant- ages, this part. of the run is almost ideal cattle country, for the beasts that don’t break their necks reaching for serub on the cliffs, mostly bog themselves in search of the rough grasses grown on the quagmires. No runholder who wishes to get the utmost out of his property should own eattle. The damage they do is enormous, spreading grasses everywhere, opening up the rough corners of paddocks, and smashing down the smaller species of scrub so necessary for covert for birds. On the far west Tutira reaches to nearly 3,000 feet above sea level, and the upper slopes and tops are covered with valuable woods—timber impossible to get out for milling purposes, and which even if felled could not be got to carry a fire. The soil is indifferent, the climate humid, and in the natural forest ciearings wineberry at once springs up. ‘These range tops, perhaps, may be reckoned as my best country, for they are well stocked, and carry a good head of rare native species. They are, moreover, for long likely to remain intact and unspoiled. The photographs shown were taken through- out the seasons of 1908 and 1909. During WOOD AND WASTE 5 the latter I had Mr. J. OC. Mclean as assistant for several months, and have to thank him for help, both in the dark room and field. All the prints from which the blocks have been prepared were done from my negatives by Mr. G. F. Green. I have therefore the satisfaction of knowing that the utmost has been got out of often very indifferent material. I have also to thank Mr. Green for the friendly interest taken in the preparation of this little volume, and to acknowledge many suggestions in regard to its outward form and appearance. t am obliged to Mr. Frank Stopford for having carefully gone over the proof sheets. Finally, one word in regard to the illus- trations themselves. Many of them, I am perfectly well aware, are unsatisfactory. [I have, nevertheless, thought them worth producing, not for themselves, but as illustrative of some interesting point in the bird’s life history or as proof of its perfect domestication. The photogravures and tone blocks have been excellently done by Messrs. Hood & Co., Middlesbrough, England. ree ‘dine ed \ Aa re, : De : ee i ht Rr iis KU ea tM) = 1 Pha ye ag ry mM ww aly i noe aio hn Ri in) 1 + in) 7 ‘ K if eh i hay i ea ee At ra ie a Pre ha PATA ' \ eet y r i) re Me nth Se Vi sk oe ie BO ie if veh F Aeon Maes BN) Vey ss aes i K ie Te US er ds cian uke i ere | ah ae Ni ANT, pine i BIRDS OF THE WATER, WOOD, AND WASTE The Lake aaa A) HE lake on Tutira may be VA tai-\ considered the heart of the a run. It is the centre of all the station’s life and energy; Re 5 all roads, sheep paths, pack tracks and stock routes lead to it. The little homestead, the married shepherds’ houses, the men’s quarters look on to it. On the peninsula, Te-rewa-a-mapoutunoa, which almost bisects the lake, stands the woolshed. Every one of us sees the lake first thing in the morning, clear and shining ir the sun, or still wan and clay stained for weeks, and even months, after one of the torrential rain storms that strike this part of Hawke’s Bay and bring the hill- sides down like melting snows off a roof. We see it last thing at night, the moon marking its narrow silver path, or in dark, clear weather the stars reflecting themselves. 8 BIRDS OF THE WATER The briefest morning glimpse at its surface serves to inform us what kind of a day is to come, and when in summer the hills are browning—an event which happens once in about ten years—and there are hopes of grass fires, a glance lets the eager shep- herds know of that rare event, a good ‘*burning’’ day—a gale from the west and north-west blowing out of a cloudless sky. Too often, however, the lake looms out unpropitious, and we can trace the day’s disaster on its morning face. At its southern end rises the Racecourse Top, Te ahi-titi, as least as reliable as the average meteorological prognostication. If, when a change is evidently coming up from the south, no mist rests on its rounded top, the change will pass off as a ‘‘dry souther,’”’ a skiff of big cold drops blown up in fierce raw gusts; even when rain continues and the fatal cloud cap remains away, our auguries are hopeful, and though half an inch or so may fall, we do not anticipate a ‘‘buster.’’ When the cloud cap settles heavy rain always follows. WOOD AND WASTE 9 Then three-quarters of the work done on the station is accomplished within eyeshot of the lake, all the fertile hill country where the ewes run hes round about its edges, all the smaller paddocks slope to its shores. On the homestead side winds the public road; the other side is the main thorough- fare of shepherds and their sheep, that pass in mile-long, loose-linked, stringing mobs. In fact, fair weather or foul, daylight or dark, at water level or from the range tops running parellel, the lake is always the prime feature of the landscape. The name Tutira signifies a row or file, and there can be no doubt that ages ago there must have been three lakes in a line running north and south, firstly Waikopiro to the south, in dry weather separate from the larger lake, then Tutira, and thirdly a swamp Tauringa-miro-miro, of several hun- dred acres, now filled up with slips from the hills on the east, and with pumaceous deposits and sand brought down from north and west by the Papakiri stream. This ancient lake, Tauringa-miro-miro, would have been nearly cut off from the waters 3 10 BIRDS OF THE WATER of Tutira by the peninsula Te Puna, on the east, and on the west by the ridge Te Korokoro-o-te-hine-rakai. These three sheets of water might quite well, therefore, have been considered separate lakes, and given rise to the name Tutira. The natives, on the other hand, declare the word Tutira is taken from a particular stance assumed during the spear- ing of eels, and this, I believe, is the more probable derivation. These sheets of water were probably pools and backwaters of a vast old-world river system that at one time flowed rapidly, and at a later period oozed in chains of lakes at the base of the western mountains behind the present Maungahararu range, and which have left the conglomerate deposits that everywhere crop up throughout the centre of the run. Then at a later geological period the lakes must have drained themselves directly towards the ocean from the southern end, and not as at present from the nor’-west corner. It is impossible to fully enter into this subject here, but a bit of corroborative evidence may be considered—the evidence WOOD AND WASTE 11 of the eels. During floods these creatures assemble in multitudes at the extreme southern end of the lake, and can be there heard splashing and flopping, or seen noseing along the shores. Apparently they are gathered in obedience to ancestral habit, acquired perhaps during scores of centuries and which still compel this attempt on a long-closed route.* The depth of Tutira is some eighty feet, and its original star shape must have been very beautiful, the rays then running deep into the hills and the whole country under dense forest. | Notr.—A few miles distant from Tutira there is a big coastal lagoon, shut off in fine weather from the ocean by a shingle ridge, and here I have often watched the natives take advantage of the eels’ migratory instinet. When, after rain, the lagoon has become very full, and is about to break out, whole pafuls of Maoris arrive, and, scooping out narrow trenches of seven or nine feet long in the beach, allow the lagoon water to flow seawards. The eels, waiting in thousands for the anticipated bursting of the ridge, feel the draw of the escaping water, and enter the narrow trenches. As they are seen to pass the watcher at the lagoon’s edge blocks for a moment the seaward flowing stream. Instantly it percolates into the shingle and leaves the unlucky eel wriggling in the trough of the dry channel. In this manner thousands are taken in a night, the victims, entering the shingle, are sccoped out not only singly, but often in pairs; this continuing hour after hour. 12 BIRDS OF THE WATER These arms or branches are now, however, and have been for ages, filled up with land slips, and each century adds to the rounded appearance of the lake. Even in my time the hundreds of thousands of tons of slips and silt brought down in floods have notice- ably filled up the bays Kaiteratahi and ‘Kaihekanui. This process of filling up, though slow, is nevertheless more rapid than during the past ¢enturies, for then forest and serub, tall raupo and flax, blocked the bulk of the silt. The destruction of much of this indigenous vegetation now allows this mud to reach the lake more rapidly and more directly. This process must always continue, and the lake is destined ultimately to contract itself into a narrow, crooked creek flowing on the west edge of its present formation, for on the west the hill slopes are less steep and the slips washed down enormously less in volume. Even this, however, would not be the last change in the area now filled with water and called Tutira lake. In imagination we have seen its waters eone and its basin completely filled with WOOD AND WASTE 13 washings from the hills, but peering even further into the future, we shall find not only the lake gone, but its very base vanished, and the alluvium collected for centuries onee more displaced and carried direct to the sea. Through the centre of the lake will then run a long, deep valley, with arms extending up each of the branch flats, every one of which will have again become a gorge. At present, as has already been mentioned, Tutira is drained from its nor’-west corner by the Papakiri, which stream after a tortuous course of half a mile through level flax swamp, reaches the old native crossing. Immediately below this crossing begin a series of overfalls and waterfalls, culmin- ating in a leap of over a hundred feet. This fall may be some sixty chains from the lake, and the ledge over which it rushes is to some extent eroded year by year. I imagine that the fall has receded lake- wards some two feet since the eighties, but exact accuracy is impossible as the land- marks, by which I have tried to gauge the 14 BIRDS OF THE WATER wear and tear, have themselves moved. There is, however, growing on the stream’s edge, immediately above the fall, a certain kowhai tree, whose bole is, I believe, a foot or two nearer the chasm’s rim than twenty- five years ago. At all events, there can be no doubt that the action of the water is slowlv tending lakewards, and although this is at present almost imperceptible, vet there are reasons to suppose that under certain possible circumstances it might become rapid, and that thus the alluvial deposits of the lake basin, accumulated during centuries, might be washed away in weeks. At any rate, because there has been almost no movement for years, it does not necessarily follow that such conditions will continue, and many instances of sudden erosion have occurred on Tutira even in my time. One will suffice. After years of quiescence the ditch, three feet deep and two feet wide, draining Kaihekanui flat, became in a single flood and in a few hours, a chasm. one hundred and forty feet wide, fifteen feet deep, and three hundred feet long. ‘The water had at last, after thirty years, got WOOD AND WASTE 15 into softer strata and gutted out in a few hours this great weight of soil. Some such catastrophe might likewise happen in the far future to the big waterfall. Already there is a cavern extending far beneath the ledge over which the water flows, and proving thereby the existence of a softer rock beneath. Should, therefore, the hard upper crust give way or wear out—as must eventually happen—and should the stream’s course continue to tap a soft material, the progress lakeward of this deep rift would be relatively rapid. The lake basin itself in time would be reached, and its contents of soft alluvium very quickly washed out. Each little rill and brook draining the branch flats would eut out into a gorge; the flats would dis- appear, and the foothills resting on them would in their turn begin to move, until in a short time a steep valley similar in all respects to others in the district would be formed. The lake, in fact, is no more a permanency than are the great conglomerate cliffs of our pumaceous lands, whose every 16 BIRDS OF THE WATER pebble, aeons ago, has been frost fractured on the heights of old world hills and rounded in old world streams. Now again they are crumbling into modern river gorges to be carried down to modern seas and ground to grains of sand. ‘‘The thing that ‘‘hath been, it is that which shall be; and that ‘‘which is done is that which shall be done: ‘Cand there is no new thing under the sun.’’ This account of the lake may not perhaps be thought too lengthy when its bird life is considered, for besides three species of rail, the White Heron, two kinds of Shag, Bittern, Grebe, and many species of ocean straggler, every mainland Duck except the Wood Duck has been, during the last twenty-seven years, identified on its surface, the Grey Duck, the Mountain Duck, the Scaup, the Brown Teal, the White-eyed Duck, the Paradise Duck, and the Shoveller. PEATE. V- Flax in aup’s Nest oc The Scaup SHE SCAUP, the Grey Duck, ~\ the Mountain Duck, and the Brown Duck breed on the run. Although much reduced x) in numbers during the last einer century, there still winter with us one or two. considerable flocks of the first-mentioned species, perhaps in all 180 or 200 birds. About mid-August the majority of these Scaup leave the run, the remainder staying on the lake and breeding round its shores. Nowhere else on the run do they nest, and during my stay at Tutira I have never seen at any time of the year Scaup either in the open river beds or in the deep creeks. This year, on September 10th, the largest flock still with us numbered 48 birds, and there may have been another 20 birds scattered about the different bays. 4 18 BIRDS OF THE WATER The Scaup’s breeding season extends over many months, the first lot of little ducklings appearing last year on November 27th, and within a few days, several other broods, also just hatched, were noticed on the lake. The last lot observed were a day or two old on March 7th, and on March 12th a pair were known to be sitting. In early autumn they begin to reassemble from all quarters and reunite in one or two large flocks, spending the hours of daylight in deep water, and far from shore, and only at nightfall venturing into the shallows and raupo beds. Four nests were obtained during last season, and from the first discovered, when deserted by the old birds, the eggs were taken, placed under a hen and duly hatched on November 27th. The eggs, of a brownish olive green colour, and considerably polished, are large for the size of the duck, as big, in fact, as those of a Buff Orpington hen. They are slightly flattened at the blunt end, and average 1107 grains. WOOD AND WASTE 19 A second nest when found contained two addled eggs, and had just been vacated, the parents taking off with them seven young ducklings. Within a couple of yards of this nest was built another holding eight fresh eggs. The fourth, taken on 4th of January, con- tained three addled eggs. The birds had just left it, their brood still hanging about the raupo in its immediate vicinity. Although comparatively easy to locate the whereabouts of a Scaup’s nest, its actual espial is by no means a simple matter. Indeed, the bird almost seems to disdain concealment of herself, so much does she rely on the difficulties of the discovery of her nest. Often she can be seen openly leaving the lake edge and swimming straight out from shore. You may be sure she has just quitted her eggs, and after a few trials be almost equally sure of your failure to find them. The nest is buried among flax roots and fallen blades half supporting layers and layers of rubbish of ten, fifteen, and twenty years’ accumulation. 20 BIRDS OF THE WATER Often the bird sits entirely covered, deep in this dark mat of rotting fibre, and with barely room to raise her head. The bolt holes are so narrow and perpendicular, and the runs so tortuous that no rabbit would ever willingly take refuge in a thicket so liable to be blocked. The Scaup sits, more- over, with extraordinary nerve. Before I spotted the third nest of the four found this season I had burrowed—corkscrewed— deep into years’ accumulation of old flax, and had actually got my nose within a foot of the sitting Scaup. It was, indeed, the smooth shining horn of the bill that first drew my attention to the bird, motionless in the gloom beneath these mats of shredded fibre. This duck allowed me to gently remove much of this half-rotten stuff, indeed, her head had become visible, and I was roughly focussing the position with a white hand- kerchief when at last she scrambled up her bolt hole, hustled along her narrow run, and presently splashed into the water. Another nest I found by microscopically eareful examination of the lake edge, at WOOD AND WASTE 21 first discovering a very indistinct trail from water to flax, then in the dark shade of masses of fallen blades, a fairly distinct passage free of all cobweb, winding beneath the dead stuff. I became more sure again, noting the traffic route, and especially where the birds had squeezed between a fork of manuka and an exposed flax root. The discovery of an infinitesimal shred of brown down that could only have come from the covering of the eggs made me certain, and presently the glimpse of eggs was my reward. When the nest has been carefully covered by the Scaup before going off, discovery is even more difficult, as the brown down admirably matches the flax waste. The proper gear for this kind of bird nesting is pickaxe, spade and lantern, the oldest possible rig-out, and a hat that can be glued to the skull like a cowl. The little Scaup hatched out by our hens were tiny brown creatures with dispropor- tionate feet, enormous for their body’s size, and reminding one of children wearing their father’s fishing brogues. They were 22 BIRDS OF THE WATER not particularly wild in the sense of being timid, but rather only perfectly indifferent to their foster hen, deliberately leaving her when the netting was removed, and not attempting to return, or even evincing any sense of being lost. None of them survived. Next year I intend to place among any young Scaup hatched a ducklmg of domesti- cated breed.. The wild birds might thus be induced to more quickly take to the strange food offered them, and would also, I think, more readily accept the alien mother. y) : YZ VE atc ; Zee ees “92 Sy UNMET The Mountain Duck Tutira conglomerate and limestone superposed on ‘‘papa’’—is well suited to ORAS > ‘the. “Blue,” or 4° Mountain Duck.”? Throughout. ‘the: centuries: our streams have chafed through the harder lmestone and deeply eaten into the soft clay rock. The more open and_ larger streams are full of immense limestone boulders borne down on land slips, the narrower gorges quite precipitous are mostly pebble paved, their little tumbling streams completely over-arched in parts with tutu, koromiko, and fern. In many of these latter every stretch of three or four miles supports a pair of Blue Ducks, whilst in our largest stream, the Waikahau, there is a far larger carry- ing capacity, and several pair breed there S35 24 BIRDS OF THE WATER on a mile or two of water. This species lays early, and there must be many nests in August. This season our first lot of ducklings were marked on September 27th—a _ brood of three or four—the young being then about a fortnight old. On October Ist another brood was seen about the same place. On October 8th some miles up the river I watched for long a family of four —ten days old, I daresay, the ducklings showing much white about front of throat and breast and side of face. The glassy, cool, translucent stream en- abled me to easily follow these little divers to its pebbly depths, their white mark- ings showing very distinct as they explored the river floor or rose with a plop to the surface. Above water, too, they were equally active, skimming after flies on the surface and scrambling half out of water after insects on the damp cliffs. Again and again at a pool’s tail I was sure the strong water- draw would suck them down, but they would cross it safely above the very break. Every now and again from the parents ‘XPLy [HH jo dwmjo sapun jsayy syonq ang WAS ALV Id Se wo Sen I ee Seen. Svinawceted WOOD AND WASTE 25 would come the rattling note or the sibilant ‘*whio,’’ ‘‘whio,’’ one of the most delightful sounds of wild nature in New Zealand. The two old birds, while the ducklings played and dived and fed, floated motion- less, or paddled slowly about the calm, unruffled surface, every now and then one of them in play making hostile feints at the other. Above the great rock where I lay, a shining Cuckoo hawked for flies, a Warbler trilled at intervals in the tall manuka, and the shadows of great white clouds darkened in patches the whole country side. On October 13th I got a nest just vacated. There was still one whole egg— addled—and a dead duckling half out of the shell, quite undecayed, and not even flyblown; the nest must have been tenanted within two or three hours of my discovery. It was situated close to the Waikahau stream, and hidden under an immense rush bush on the very edge of a sandy cliff. There, cosy, warm, and dry, beneath this natural thatch, was the hollow contain- ing the nest. 5 26 BIRDS OF THE WATER On the upper side of this ancient rush bush passed an almost imperceptible trail, which doubtless the duck would follow when entering her nest. Along it she would steal in the dim lights of morn and eve, and just opposite the nest fade herself away and disappear on to the beloved eggs. On the river side, and just overhanging the cliff was the flight hole from the felted growths of rush. The duck would reach her eggs as I have suggested, by the trail, and leave them on the wing, dropping quietly into the pool below. Round these eggs there was rather less down than is usually found about the eggs of the Scaup or Grey Duck. The nest hollow was shallower, too, and elose by it was another similar cavity, suggesting that possibly the male had spent part of the period of incubation in close proximity to his mate. Their cliff was of flood sand, built up in past years by the stream, and now again in process of demolition, and its composition just such as the Kingfisher also loves, velvet soft and warm. These Mountain Duck may use the PLATE. VII- Blue Duck in Quiet Pool. WOOD AND WASTE 27 same nest in recurring years, for on the river brim, and directly beneath the nesting site, the tiny bits of broken eggshell that first drew my notice were of last year’s eggs. Immediately after leaving the nest, the young are very carefully hidden by day, and in our streams chance only discovers them. In these boulder cumbered creeks there are endless harbours and refuges, ceilings of limestone, with only room for the birds to crouch on the water floor, potholes scooped by the action of sand and grit, hollows and arches gouged by the current’s force, and everywhere along the banks thickets of water erowth and hanging fern. On October 15th a second Blue Duck’s nest was got, and this one also was placed just about though not above high-level flood mark. Certain types of this river silt are apparently so great an attraction that the Mountain Duck will risk abnormal floods for its advantages. These birds had chosen for cover a bush of mountain flax, and beneath old dead 28 BIRDS OF THE WATER blades and on the warm, sweet, moist river drift were deposited the four nearly fresh eggs. The down about these eggs was largely mixed with particles of soft bark and fibre, perhaps inadvertently picked up in the daily uncoverings of the nest, or perhaps to eke out the rather scanty quantity of down. This nest was deserted, the duck having been badly frightened by the rabbiter’s dog that flushed her. After photography, however, the nest was left undisturbed for twenty-four hours, in the hope that the birds might yet return. The colour of Mountain Duck’s eggs is pale brownish cream, and their average weight 1088 grains. On October 29th I find in my diary another entry of Blue Duck marked on the same river reach as the three already mentioned. This brood consisted of five birds almost full fledged. Four is about the average, perhaps, but three years ago on a forest stream some miles from the homestead there was one brood of six and another of nine. ge ag ort en Sag te WOOD AND WASTE 29 On November 2nd we experienced for about the seventieth time seven how many a slip there is between cup and lip in this kind of photographic work. Often and often have I gently driven for amusement or to show to friends some family of Mountain Ducks up or down stream to some convenient crossing or open reach. We did this on the 2nd, quite easily driving them down the creek and sweeping them from pool to pool till the selected spot was reached. Then, while the camera was being adjusted, an eye was kept on the parent birds, and we were satisfied from time to time with glimpses of them half hidden in the bastard flax that drooped into the stream. Alas! however, when all was complete, the young were gone, vanished! We never again saw them, and the parents only hung about the spot till they knew their brood was perfectly safe, when they, too, decamped. Later, an examination of the opposite river bank, where we had foreed the ducks to pause, proved that they had been blocked by il luck exactly at one of their bank 30 BIRDS OF THE WATER refuges. The edges were quite paddled with trampling, and no doubt the young had escaped by some well-known run up the. rough cliffs, and dropped again quietly into the stream above or below us. A similar catastrophe all but occurred again a few days later. Another brood had been marked and gently drifted down stream to the chosen pool, yet even while the camera was being unpacked and fixed, the birds were gone. After long search, how- ever, I found the two youngsters hidden between great limestone rocks, a_ strong stream breaking over them, and only their heads visible. It was not until my hands were upon them that any movement was made, then they splashed off, diving like frightened trout. After their reappearance, however, there was no further attempt at concealment. They never again tried to escape by flight or by diving, and quietly allowed us to photograph them. Although thus plentiful on the run, only twice, and each time after heavy southerly gales with rain, have Blue Ducks been IX. PLATE centre) J in young Duck (two Blue WOOD AND WASTE 31 seen on the lake. They never, in fact, willingly leave the haunts peculiarly their own: the rushing shadowed creeks half blind with fern and koromiko. Dipping in summer’s heat from the fern clad downs and terraces of pumice grit, often have I enjoved the cool damp of his fern-hung gorge, and have paused long to watch him in his solitudes. The little waterfalls dash into diamonds on his slate blue plumes. He is thoroughly at home on the bubbling champagne pools. Where the swift stream shows each polished pebble clear he can paddle and steer with ease. When not thus occupied in getting his daily bread he and his mate will climb on to some rock islet, feet above the water, and there stand for hours on alternate legs, preening their feathers, stretching out their necks, and generally enjoying their otiwm cum digni- tate. The Blue Duck’s startled, sibilant whistle belongs to our New Zealand wilds as peculiarly as the Curlew’s call to the moor and wasteland of the Old Country. On lands like Tutira, cut up into innumer- able inaccessible gorges, the Mountain Duek is certain to survive. The Grey Duck eet the compara- : tively large area of water on Tutira, the run breeds a ; very small number of Grey wee 7 Duck. Even in winter only small parties stop for any length of time. Large mobs resting on the lake, when shoot- ing is going on elsewhere, invariably leave after a few days. No doubt the food supply of this breed is scanty, owing to the absence of shallows in the lake. During the breeding season, perhaps 19 or 20 couples haunt its edges, though their nests may be often at great distances from water. Besides these, a few clutches are hatched each season in the open riverbeds. When, however, the whole number breed- ing on the place are counted, the result works out to a duck to each five hundred acres. As, moreover, a quarter of the run 1s PLATE XI Grey Duck’s Nest in Fern. WOOD AND WASTE 33 waste land, the chances are heavily against the discovery of many nests. Now and again, however, they are dropped upon. One nest found in January, 1909, not very far from the lake edge, and just off an open grassy ride between flax and fern, contained ten eggs of a dull yellowish green, much the hue of those of her domesticated cousins, except that the greenish tinge 1s more faint in the wild bird’s eggs. In size the eggs of this Grey Duck were about two-thirds as large. Unfortunately, I came on the bird very suddenly, and she flew off, badly scared, and without any time for concealment of her eggs. From the great depth of this nest—fully six inches—when sitting she must have been completely hidden from all sides, and only her back and head visible from above. The six-inch sides were walls of down tightly compressed into a thick felt. Hoping to photograph the bird herself, I set up that afternoon a rough prelimin- ary screen, and as the eggs were much in- 6 34 BIRDS OF THE WATER cubated and as I was fearful of losing my chance. I may have erected it in too close proximity to the nest. At any rate next morning, when revisiting the spot, I found that the eggs had been thrown out of the nest on all sides, and its edges trampled and flat. The blunt breaks on the ruined eggs, and the presence of the whole clutch uneaten in any degree pointed to this destruction as having been the work of the duek herself. No hawk, or rat, or weasel would have thus wantonly destroyed them. Had vermin been at work, most of the eggs would have been devoured, and one or two probably missing. The holes, also, would have been of different shapes and sizes. During this past season another Grey Duck’s nest was got, found accidentally by one of a party of serubeutters. It was placed among fern nearly half a mile from the nearest water, and as the bird had returned after being put off, I had hopes of getting a picture of her sitting. To effect this it was necessary to clear away a good deal of fern in the foreground, and our work PEATE. VII. River Scene with Blue Duck. WOOD AND WASTE 30 must have attracted the attention of a pair of Harriers in the neighbourhood. Anyway, when returning a couple of days later we found the clutch tumbled and devoured, the shells lying about and two eggs alto- gether gone. During the last twenty-eight vears I do not think the Grey Duck has either increased or decreased on Tutira. The Brown Duck Sy ea species of duck under the camera this year has been the Brown Duck. Of it one: or’ two fairly successful studies have been got, the birds caught in characteristic attitudes on half submerged logs in deep shade. But although this tame little duck is far from uncommon on the run, his breeding habits are still quite unknown to me. On_ several occasions I have chanced on their broods, but when they nest and where they nest is still a mystery. Often during the past season have McLean and myself lain hidden at night about their feeding grounds, and heard the birds fly in to others already lurking there; we have never yet, however, found the nests. The Brown Duck’s flight is strong and rapid, yet these very birds, a few minutes ee =~! WOOD AND WASTE 3 after alighting, would suffer us to. get within three feet, bending over them in the dark as they lay in some tiny pool off the roadside. We could slowly follow them, too, as they moved a few feet ahead in single file across the dewy pasture. The female is an excellent mother and can hardly be scared into desertion of her young. More than once I have caught the hen on some little pool, hidden in tall swamp growths, one, perhaps, of a chain of waterholes half overarched with carex, raupo, and flax. The Brown Duck’s note is extremely distinct and quite unlike that of any other breed. When quietly floating in shaded waters and many of the birds together, the Brown Duck has a curious habit of sometimes striking the water violently. This appar- ently is done with its foot, and does not seem to be a signal of any sort, for after the considerable splash thus caused no excitement or suspicion was noticeable among the other members of the flock. This season my acquaintance with the 38 BIRDS OF THE WATER Brown Duck began on October 13th. Returning late that night from watching for Blue Ducks, and riding past a marshy spot on the road, I noticed something skulking in front along the watertable. Flushed, it proved to be a Brown Duck, and had scarcely relit a few yards distant, when, with a great quacking another bird —one of three—flew down and joined com- pany. It was evident from their mutual excite- ment and interchange of greetings, that they were mates, and after waiting a little I rode home, arguing that there must be a nest in the vicinitv, that the flushed bird must have been sitting, and that she had temporarily left a not very distant nest to feed. Next day, however, systematic search revealed nothing, and twice later we were equally unsuccessful. Each night we lay out, Brown Ducks, just after dark, could be heard coming to the marsh, but each night, also, other Brown Ducks were there before - our arrival. “apeyg ul SULSoy YOu UMOIG xX aL Td WOOD AND WASTE 39 Once or twice, searching for Rail’s nests, I have fancied I heard Brown Ducks in the tall, wet raupo beds, and these birds may have had young with them. On the other hand, on January Ist, and weeks after that date, there were sixteen Brown Ducks, male and female, in mature plumage on the southern portion of Tutira lake. Of these a couple of pair seemed to be keeping to some extent apart, but the remainder flew together and swam together, as though flocked for the winter. Each of these four kinds of duck has its own peculiar haunts and habits. The Blue Duck will be found in the deep, cool gorges and rushing, bouldered streams, and nowhere else. The Brown Duck breeds probably near the little blind creeks that percolate rather than flow through the marsh lands. There during the daytime he quietly rests, or if on larger sheets of water, lurks until dusk in deep shadow and almost motionless. The Scaup seems to breed only on the lake’s very edge, during the winter months to con- gregate in great flocks, to lie in deep 40 BIRDS OF THE WATER water during the daytime, and under no circumstances to visit the river beds. The Grey Duck’s nesting sites are more diffuse: by lake edge, river brim, and far from water, even not very rarely on trees their eggs may be discovered. During the day they often rest on flat shore lands, or swim close along the raupo edge. No one of these breeds interferes with the other, nor do their nesting places overlap. PLATE XII Male and Female Brown Duck. The Kingfisher MLTHOUGH in parts of the Y run distant from the policies three or four pairs of King- fishers have always bred, it seh) is only of late that they have begun in any numbers to frequent the homestead and house paddocks. In_ the earlier days of the station, the birds would arrive in late autumn and remain during the winter, all of them, however, until two years ago leaving us in spring time for various scattered breeding: sites. In 1908, however, one pair remained after the usual date of departure. During early October we could see them flashing from tree to tree in the sunshine, or in the dewy mornings perched on the Stevenson screen and the raingauge, ap- parently deep in meteorological calculations and scientific reflections, but really quite alive to mundane promptings and _ not ~J 42 BIRDS OF THE WATER missing one chance in competition with Thrush and Blackbird for the early worm. Later in the month, as they were still with us, I became certain they would nest, and watched the various banks and euttings for the circular hole where claw marks on the lower edge denote the Kingfisher’s breeding chamber. On this occasion, how- ever, the choice of a nesting site fell on a half rotten willow knot, and _ presently their secret betrayed itself by the little vellow skee or slip of tunnelled wood-grain piled up against the knot’s base. This gnarled willow snag lay on the narrow strip of turf betwixt the lake shore and the public road, which here winds along its western edge, but neither riders, waggons, coaches, nor mobs of travelling stock seemed at all to scare the birds. It is doubtful, indeed, if they were even noticed by the wayfaring public, and the precautions taken by the birds—the low warning note sounded upon the approach of riders and the care taken to lure them away along the road by short decoy flights —were probably quite unnecessary. ee et ot ee ; li PLATE Young Kingfishers—shewing Nest in Sandbank. WOOD AND WASTE 43 Sitting birds may easily be scared from their nests, so it was not until the eggs were hatched that I ventured upon closer inspection; in fact, my first assurance that the smooth, very round, white eggs had changed into naked nestlings was gained by happening suddenly on one of the parents bearing a small inanga (I think) in its bill, We were scarcely five feet apart— for an instant face to face—the next the inanga was gone and the bird was regarding me with the brazen innocence of the school- child detected and who has swallowed his sweetie. It was only upon a deeper knowledge of his worth that I could forgive the bird for the deceit thus attempted on a friend, and mentally afford him the more honour- able similitude of the faithful pursuivant, who, rather than betray his sovereign’s trust, swallows the incriminating document. J may say here that these Kingfishers were my first attempt at bird photography, and that in addition to inexperience I had to contend with a shutter altogether too noisy. 44 BIRDS OF THE WATER I knew something of the habits of birds, but nothing of the camera’s. For me the perfect instrument is not yet in the mar- ket, the camera that will give good results through cap, closed shutter and undrawn slide. To this day a glow of joy pervades my frame, when, in the developing dish, the first faint image dawns upon the plate. Humbly I thank Heaven for its appearance there, and plume myself on not being such a very great idiot after all. After the completing of a hiding place, it was my custom in the morning to walk down to this shelter with a companion, enter it quietly while he retired whistling ostentatiously, and otherwise taking eare that the birds should notice his retirement. Birds apparently cannot count, and this simple ruse was successful, but though it was easy enough to deceive the Kingfishers’ sight, their sense of hearing could not tolerate the burr and click of the machine —one whole morning, indeed, was spent winding up and_ freeing the garrulous shutter to accustom them to the sound. WOOD AND WASTE 45 Finally I broke the birds in so _thor- oughly to the shutter, that it was accepted as normal, as one of the sounds of nature, the rustling of grasses, the patter of leaves, the lapping of water. When our acquaintance began, the lizard season was at its height—the first brood being almost entirely reared on_ them. Later, lizards were practically ‘‘off’’ the bill of fare, and dragon flies ‘‘on’’—lizards, say, during December; dragon flies during February. At any rate, lizards during the former month would supply the piece de resistance, and during the latter, dragon fly. Cicada and locust were also served up from time to time, but rarely. While the parent birds were still shy of my shelter, I used to notice that after one or two attempts at the nest—they would balk just like boys ‘‘funking’”’ at high jump—the particular lizard carried during these unlucky attempts would be got rid of and another substituted. This, I could tell by the differing sizes of the little beasties. It was pathetic, indeed, to watch 46 BIRDS OF THE WATER these poor reptiles held always by the seruff of the neck—if scientifically lizards have necks—and with their toes—if they are toes—clearly defined against the light. They were very, very limp, too, for it is Kingfisher fashion to beat and batter his prey before presentation to the nestlings. The Kingfisher’s vocabulary does not seen. to be voluminous—a jarring screech, not translatable into human speiling, al- ways greeted my appearance from _ the tepee, and well expressed terror and rage. Cli-cli-cli, several times repeated, signified ‘‘safe now,’ and always immediately after this note one of the parents would light on the knot, momentarily pause, and then, with a quick little run, enter the hole with supphes for the hungry garrison. Then there was the low note of warning already mentioned, and another cry similar to that of rage, only lower in pitch and less harsh. It expressed caution, ‘‘All right I think,’’ from the male perched high on the broken cabbage tree; ‘‘All right? All right?’’ from the hen to encourage her- self. Then the male would eall again, ‘plezZi] ssoaypie] pure seysysury EN AW Sid WOOD AND WASTE 47 ‘All right! All right! But, you try first’’ (just like a man!) and the hen would pitch within a yard of my head right on the log, hesitate, and her heart fail, perhaps, at the last moment, or perhaps she would successfully run the blockade, an action, when you came to consider it, really ap- palling to her imagination for as these King- fishers always backed out tail foremost, there was the dreadful chance of being caught defenceless by the rump. Then there were, besides, long, low-toned, earnest guttural conversations of ‘‘klue-e, klue-e, klue-e,’’ repeated or exchanged again and again and again. Jn emerging from the screen, my sudden reappearance must have been an amaze- ment to the birds beyond any amazement experienced by Kingfishers since the world began, and no doubt when, as racial eustom ordains, and the birds repair to winter quarters, these two will secandalise’ the respectable community with their tales, They will relate how a leafy cocoon grew up in two days near their willow snag, how their nest was investigated, vet spared, 48 BIRDS OF THE WATER how for hours a single unwinking Cyclopean eye would glare at their front door, how the four nestlings were taken out of their troglodytic home and placed in a row before the magic optic, how the strongest youngster, resenting the uncanny rite, flew fully thirty yards on his first flight, fell into the lake, and was rescued by a_ boat, how on two oeeasions their nesting hole was blocked at dusk, and other stories so much stranger than truth as to be in- dubitably false. With a reverence for science—almost a passion it might be said for the sereen and raingauge—it is sad to have to relate the Kinegfisher’s neglect of the elementary duties and decencies of life. The birds know neither how to keep a cleanly house or rear a mannerly family; in fact, the schoolboy’s condensation of some work on savage life—manners none and _ customs beastly—would be strictly apposite to their housekeeping. ‘The nest swarms with gentles, and from it there emanates a really noisome stench, the young sometimes sitting amongst ‘aHalIeENe) Joysysury Vy DIP aly ad WOOD AND WASTE 49) food unconsumed and in the last stage of corruption. Jt may here be added that owing to the tumultuous sanitary habits of the nestlings, close inspection of a Kingfisher’s burrow is a highly adventurous method of learning wisdom. Then the young birds quarrel without cessation from daylight to dark, hour by hour, girning like bad-tempered children, the squabble alternately dying to a drone and heightening to a twangling chorus of treble shrieks. The nestlings might be Jews’ harps, loosely strung, and perpetually twanged. I imagine that in their dark chamber, when the bickerings have sunk to a sleepless drone, the least movement of a single bird awakens the savage circle again to recrimination. The young literally never stop quarrelling, girning when on _ their best behaviour, and screaming in sibilant chorus when at their worst. My experience with these wild Kingfishers bears out a friend’s statement that they make the most ereedy and most fierce of pets, fighting Q 50 BIRDS OF THE -WATER incessantly, and even chewing off each others tail feathers. At night neither parent stops in the breeding chamber. After dark, if their snag was jarred or shaken, the indignant nestlings used to twangle and hiss and shriek their loudest. If, however, the jarring continued, they would lapse into dead utter silence. The winter habits of Kingfishers here at Tutira depend on weather conditions; cold spells will drive them coastwards, and they will return with warmer airs. Twice during the present winter this has occurred. Up to mid-June the whole ten seemed to be about the orchards and lawn, then on the night of the 13th the thermometer dropped to 31 degrees in the screen, and next morning apparently every bird was gone. I was able to obtain several medium photographs from this nest, of the parents carrying in lizards and later in the season cicadas, and also one of the four full- fledged nestlings seated in a row on a wil- low stick. WOOD AND WASTE. 5] AS) have said), this’. parr. and) them numerous offspring hung about the policies during the winter, but as spring came on again, disappeared one by one, until at length, in September, only the origina! pair remained. On the fourth of the month they began to work on the old willow snag, their nesting site of the previous year. It was now that I again and again re- gretted having tampered with the hole in order for purposes of photography to get out the four young nestlings. The part removed, though carefully re- placed and apparently secure, had during the winter shrunk and curled up, and the chamber itself was dank and damp, good enough still, perhaps, for vulgar Starlings and Minahs, but quite unfit for the fas- tidious Kingfisher. The pair, now again thinking of nesting, were, I am convinced, identical with the birds of the previous season. Readers will be convinced, too, when they hear of the sites attempted, sites no birds would have thought of not thoroughly wT | r bo BIRDS OF THE WATER accustomed to man and broken to belief in him. On September 4th, then, these Kingfishers were at work at the old original site. This was almost at once abandoned, and the birds then tunnelled in the same snag two other bores, each, alas, terminating in the old breeding chamber. There is practically no rotten timber on this part of the run, but I did get, after some trouble, a dry willow block at about the proper stage of decay, also two other logs, which, though rather waterlogged, I hoped might do. The first of these was securely wedged into a living willow’s fork some five feet above the ground and within twenty vards of the original site in the willow snag.