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  Gone Forever

  Then something happened that, in Don’s words, “not only clinched the argument, but changed forever the way we were to perceive, protect, and manage our islands and their native plants and animals.” In March 1964, three years after Don visited Taukihepa, he heard that ship rats had reached the island and increased to plague proportions, causing the wildlife to suffer massive damage. Don and his colleagues, anticipating “a biological disaster,” wanted to do something about it, but some of the most respected biologists refused to believe that the rats posed a significant threat to wildlife, and vigorously opposed any suggestion to intervene. They argued that any intervention would “change the ecology in a way that we cannot predict: We should intervene only after research has shown there is in fact a problem.”

  Eventually, after five months of arguing, and thanks to the support of some senior Wildlife Service staff, Don and his colleagues were given permission to set off on a rescue mission. “We were successful in saving the saddleback through transferring some of the remnants to two small neighboring pest-free islands,” reported Don. But they arrived too late to save the bush wren, the Stewart Island bush snipe, and the greater short-tailed bat, along with an unknown number of invertebrate species. They were gone. Forever. However, the saddleback now numbers in the low thousands and flourishes on more than a dozen islands. It was the first bird species to be rescued from imminent extinction and restored to viability in the wild through direct human intervention.

  “The tragedy of Taukihepa was a valuable and timely lesson for this, and other aspiring conservation workers,” Don wrote to me, “and served to convince even the most skeptical that, unaided, rats are capable of inducing ecological collapse and extinction within native island faunas.” Indeed, that disaster led to the development of island quarantine protocols and methods of predator eradication and control that have made it possible to maintain biologically important islands free of pests.

  Over the years, Don has helped to save many birds from extinction. One drama still ongoing, in which Don has played a major role for many years, is the fight to save the kakapo, the only flightless parrot in the world. It is absolutely fascinating and is described in full on our Web site. Don also played a key role in the rescue and recovery of the Australian noisy scrub-bird, the Seychelles magpie robin, and other animals endemic to the Seychelles Islands of the Indian Ocean.

  An Incredible Story

  Of all Don’s accomplishments, the saving of the black robin is the one I love best. “Black robins,” said Don, “are delightful, friendly little birds that have an affinity with people—often approaching to within a meter, even perching briefly on one’s foot or head! They quickly capture the heart of even the most unenthusiastic bird observer! I just loved them and, as well as feeling very privileged, felt a massive responsibility to current and future generations around the world, to save this fantastic little life-form from the brink of extinction.”

  What a tough job that turned out to be. Since the 1880s, black robins were confined to Little Mangere Island, a tiny rock stack in midocean off the Chatham Islands, about five hundred miles east of New Zealand. Here, in their last refuge, they lived in just twelve acres of woody vegetation. It was thought that they were safe, at least in the short term, until in 1972 a team of biologists captured and color-banded every individual—and found that there were only eighteen in all. In subsequent years numbers continued to decline, and Don advocated immediate intervention. “But I was overruled,” he told me. Some thought the downward trend was part of a cycle, and that numbers would soon recover unaided. Only in 1976, “when there were just nine black robins left in the world, was there general agreement that action should be taken.”

  Don told me that he and most of his colleagues “felt very strongly about what should be done, and often there was frustration at not being permitted to get on with it.” When, finally, they got the go-ahead to capture and relocate the remaining robins, they reached the island in September 1976 to find just seven birds left—and only two of them were female. And only one of the females would prove to be productive. This female, marked with a blue leg band, would become famous as Old Blue. The tiny group of survivors was moved from Little Mangere Island, where their scrub forest environment was dying and no longer able to support them, to nearby Mangere Island. This was but the first step in a dramatic and ultimately successful attempt to rescue the species.

  Old Blue—The Matriarch Who Saved Her Species

  Black robins normally mate for life. Old Blue and her mate nested during the next breeding season, but their eggs were infertile. Amazingly, Old Blue then abandoned her longtime partner and in his place selected a younger male soon to be known as Old Yellow (because of his yellow leg band). Again Old Blue laid eggs—and now this little family became part of Don’s innovative cross-fostering program.

  It was that childhood memory of the canary fostering the goldfinch that gave Don an idea for how he might be able to boost the normally low productivity of the species. In normal circumstances, a black robin pair rears no more than one brood of two chicks per year, so the species lacks the ability to recover quickly from adversity. But if a nest was destroyed, or eggs taken, the black robins would build a new nest and produce another clutch. So Don destroyed the nest, removed both of Old Blue’s eggs, and placed them in tomtit nests, where they were successfully fostered.

  Old Blue and Old Yellow then made a second nest, and she laid a second clutch. Again the eggs were taken. Meanwhile, the chicks from her first tomtit-hatched clutch were returned to Old Blue so they would learn behavior appropriate to their species. Then the second clutch hatched. Don told me that when he returned them to join the first lot, Old Blue looked up at him with a resigned expression, as if to say “Goodness, what next?” Whereupon he reassured her, “We shall help you feed them, love, don’t worry.” I have always cherished the mental picture of Don and his team rushing around searching for suitable food for the artificially extended family of black robin chicks they had helped to create.

  The same procedure was repeated for the next few seasons, thus giving the single family group of black robins a kick start. “Cross-fostering proved highly effective,” Don said, “but at the start the technique was untested and thus of high risk… . If we failed, we would be blamed for exterminating the species!”

  Desperately Don and his team worked to save these birds. “Old Blue, Old Yellow, and their many chicks became my extended family,” said Don. “I thought about them constantly. While in the field—often for months at a stretch—we spoke about little else.” Each spring, when Don visited Mangere Island, he couldn’t wait to find out which birds had survived the winter. “Each new nest, egg laid, or chick hatched was cause for celebration, and any deaths were almost the equivalent of a loss within the family!” He never enjoyed the times when, to ensure their long-term survival, he had to take their eggs and destroy their nests.

  Old Blue finally passed away in 1984. She lived to be thirteen years old, more than twice the life span of most robins—despite the abnormal number of eggs and chicks she had been manipulated into producing. And because her story had touched the hearts of many New Zealanders, a plaque was set up in her memory at the Chatham Island airport, and the Right Honorable Peter Tapsell, minister for internal affairs, announced the death of “Old Blue—matriarch & savior of the Black Robin species.” National and international media broadcast the story of the world’s rarest and most endangered bird who had in her “geriatric years” brought her species back from the brink.

  A Bright Future

  By the late 1980s, numbers of black robins had increased beyond the one hundred mark. Groups of black robins were then established on an additional island. After this, there was no further need for intensive, hands-on management of the birds. Don told me there are now approximately two hundred black robins on two islands. All are descended from just one pair—Old Blue and her mate Old Yellow—thus in their genetic profiles all are as
identical as identical twins.

  “Thankfully,” said Don, “there are no apparent genetic problems.” However, habitats on the two islands are at saturation point, which means that the species cannot increase in number or expand in range. Also, during and after each breeding season, there is considerable wastage—young birds die because they have nowhere to live. Don has long advocated reestablishment of a population on Little Mangere Island—the very place whence he removed the last members of the species at the start of the rescue. Since then Little Mangere’s woody vegetation has recovered, and being free of predatory mammals the island presents—in the short term at least—the only available option for black robins in the Chatham Islands. Don strongly supports this proposal. “And needless to say,” he told me, “I would love to be involved!”

  Christmas Island Park Manager Max Orchard and his wife, Beverly, have devoted the past sixteen years (and even handed over their yard and carport) to nurturing injured or orphaned Abbott’s boobies. Here Max is feeding fish to a recovering juvenile. (Corey Piper)

  Abbott’s Booby

  (Papasula abbotti)

  The Abbott’s booby is an ancient species, a true oceanic bird, living at sea and coming ashore only to breed. It nests only on Christmas Island (a territory of Australia), a fifty-million-year-old extinct volcano rising out of the Indian Ocean, ten degrees south of the equator. Abbott’s boobies are impressive-looking birds, with bright white heads and necks, long dark-tipped bills, and narrow black wings. Growing as large as thirty-one inches in length, they are the largest of the boobies—some call them the “jumbo jet” of the boobies.

  These boobies have a life span of up to forty years, and the young birds do not start to breed until they are about eight years old. They have one of the longest breeding cycles of any bird (fifteen months), so breeding occurs at two-year intervals. They nest in the tops of trees, laying just one egg.

  Their numbers began to decline when, in the 1960s, phosphate mining began in full force on Christmas Island. In order to mine the mineral, it was necessary to clear large strips of the primary forest—interfering with the boobies’ breeding, since they nest in the tops of forest trees. These tall trees often grew over the richest phosphate deposits, so that Abbott’s boobies were in direct conflict with mining interests. The boobies have thus lost the greater part of their historic breeding habitat. Their population is now estimated at about twenty-five hundred breeding pairs.

  Although the local government as well as the mining company tried to monitor and protect the habitat and nests, the Abbott’s booby continued to decline. Finally in 1977, Don Merton, well established as an island restoration expert by then, was sent to Christmas Island to advise the Australian government and the British Phosphate Commission on wildlife conservation matters. He spent two years with his young family on Christmas Island and ultimately helped convince the government to create the island’s first biological reserve, a four-thousand-acre national park built in 1980—one of the largest and least modified raised tropical island rain forest ecosystems to be protected anywhere. Another conservation initiative on Christmas Island was the plan for a comprehensive program monitoring the breeding and conservation of Abbott’s booby.

  Destroyed Habitat and Chicks in Peril

  By the mid-1980s, it was estimated that some 33 percent of the habitat formerly used by the boobies had already been destroyed, and mining activities had created at least seventy clearings in the forests. Not only had this deprived the boobies of nest sites, but it was found that birds nesting near the clearings suffered from wind turbulence. Sadly, this caused unfledged Abbott’s booby chicks to be blown from their nesting sites. Strong winds can sometimes blow fledgling and even adult boobies from branches, and if a bird falls to the forest floor it will die unless it manages to climb up through the vegetation. These birds can take off from the ground, but with great difficulty. They need sufficient wind from the right direction and a clear “runway” to get airborne. Unless found and rescued, they are normally doomed.

  Ultimately, it was decided that the best way to protect the boobies was to protect and expand the island forests, by returning precious topsoil and replanting areas cleared for mining. Hopefully this would reduce the wind turbulence that is so detrimental to nesting boobies. Thousands of seedlings were raised and planted, using funds from the mining companies negotiated as part of their agreements.

  The Restoration Program Comes Under Attack

  Shockingly, three years later, the area given top priority by wildlife biologists was selected by the government for an immigration reception and processing center. Not only that, but the section of the mine site that had already been reforested was cut down. This has sparked a great deal of anger in the conservation community, particularly among those who have worked so hard on this restoration program.

  The National Parks Australia Council has denounced the plan as “illegal” and requested that work on the site should cease immediately since it did not have proper approvals. “There are more suitable sites on the island that do not have such severe environmental impacts, and already have infrastructure provided,” said Andrew Cox, president of the council.

  And Monash University biologist Peter Green, one of those originally involved in the Abbott’s booby monitoring program and with a long association with the island, commented that “the Abbott’s booby birds were the focus of a commonwealth-funded rehabilitation program, which had been taking place at the site of the new detention center. And now,” he concluded, “they have just put a bulldozer through it.”

  Not only this, but the government is actually negotiating new deals with the mining company. In 1988, the federal government had ruled that there would be no further clearing of rain forest on Christmas Island; the company is now appealing that ruling, and has recently sought permission to expand its lease to include new areas of old-growth forest. “It’s crazy,” said Andrew Cox. “Christmas Island is a jewel in the environmental crown of Australia [with] the world’s only population of Abbott’s booby birds and other endemic creatures … and we should protect it.” It’s one of very few raised tropical island ecosystems remaining anywhere.

  For now, the Abbott’s booby numbers seem secure. But this latest environmental blow could prove harmful.

  The Orchard Nursing Home and Orphanage

  Meanwhile, for the past sixteen years, amid all this Christmas Island turbulence, Max and Beverly Orchard have been rescuing the island’s injured and orphaned endangered birds. Max has been a wildlife ranger for more than thirty years, working initially in Tasmania. He and Beverly have spent most of their adult lives rescuing and caring for orphaned or injured animals, with a special interest in endangered species. When they were in Tasmania, they used to care for wombats, wallabies, and Tasmanian devils.

  I have talked with them on the phone, and the warmth and passion of their caring personalities reaches me all the way from Christmas Island. Beverly explained that every time a big storm hits the island during nesting season, many of the young ones fall out of their nests. It’s during the monsoon season that there are so many casualties—that’s March through August. But the injured and orphaned keep coming until Christmas. Visitors to the park and local hikers find the birds and are always guided to Max and Beverly. Nestlings grow exceedingly slowly, remaining in their nests for about a year, so they are vulnerable for a very long period.

  Beverly Orchard is the “heart and soul” of the operation, according to her husband, Max. “She can get along with the fiercest of them.” (Max Orchard)

  When they arrive, “they are often dehydrated, starving and completely depleted—but they can be resilient,” said Beverly. The Orchards take the little ones and those that are injured into their home and put them into small nesting boxes. Then Beverly nurses them, giving them water and small fish from the huge stock that they keep in the freezer. She soaks the fish extra-long in water so they’re easier for the young ones to swallow. If birds are injured, Max will try
to heal them—say, trying to repair a broken leg. One time he managed to surgically remove a fishhook from an Abbott’s booby gut.

  Of course, inevitably, a number of her patients die. But Beverly is amazed by the boobies’ resiliency. “We’ve had a number of them come in that I didn’t think had any chance of making it,” she said. “Some couldn’t even lift up their heads.” When she left them for the night, she’d felt “sure they were breathing their last breaths.” But after her nursing and a night’s rest, she’d check on them in the morning “and they’d be peering out at me, talking excitedly—hungry for breakfast.”

  Nesting in Plastic Chairs

  Each patient has its own nest—an “old plastic office chair” kept outside under Max and Beverly’s carport. They realized that this was the most comfortable spot, especially as feeding time can be very messy. At any given time, there are dozens of plastic chair nests lined up out there. After an injured or orphaned booby has been nursed back to health or come to a certain stage of maturity in its box inside the house, Beverly and Max try to transition it to a plastic chair as soon as possible.

  Some of Max and Beverly’s family of juvenile boobies waiting for breakfast.(Bev Orchard)

  Young patient recuperating on its office chair nest in the Orchards’ carport.(Dr. Janos Hennicke)