Hope For Animals And Their World Part 9

Another challenge of the local communities is that they have no way to manage their waste-in particular, the growth of plastic waste is inundating the area. Most noticeable are plastic bags-the kind you get at the grocery store-which are littered everywhere: roadsides, fields, and even in the tamarins' forest. But the bags weren't just an eyesore. They put wildlife at risk because animals come into contact with plastic that may have food items on it, or can transmit disease. Or sometimes animals even ingest the plastic bags, creating a nightmare.

So Proyecto t.i.ti partnered with fifteen local women who are heads of households but did not have any consistent source of outside income. These women now crochet tote bags, not using wool yarn, but using plastic from the bags littering the ground. And while this sounds small-scale, these women have already recycled more than a million trash bags in the making of the "eco-mochilas," as they are called.

This solution-based program is a cla.s.sic winwin, since the trash bags have become a valuable commodity. Anne pointed out that, "as the eco-mochilas grow in popularity, people from throughout the region know that they are helping to protect the tamarins and the forest as well."

Today there is a consortium of national and international conservation organizations working to protect the last remaining dry tropical forests in Colombia. Though the press most often references the dangers and drugs and crime in this South American nation, Anne pointed out that there is indeed hope for the future: "Most importantly, we are going to see a new protected reserve for cotton-top tamarins in coming years."

When I asked Anne what the future might look like for the cotton-tops fifty years from now in Colombia, she was optimistic. Not only have Proyecto t.i.ti and other regional conservation groups helped to s.h.i.+ft public pride and awareness, Anne said young people are taking a growing interest in conserving both wildlife and habitat. In fact, many Colombian students study wildlife biology in the United States or Europe and then return home to apply their knowledge. "What gives me hope," she said, "is to see that next generation really coming into fruition right now, developing long-term conservation plans to save species in Colombia."

THANE'S FIELD NOTES

Panamanian Golden Frog (Atelopus zeteki)

If you have never held a common leopard frog, with its strikingly beautiful striped and s.h.i.+ny skin, you have missed one of life's great joys. Unfortunately, today, you would be lucky to hear hear a leopard frog calling, much less catch one. a leopard frog calling, much less catch one.

There are many reasons for this, most of which people do not really understand. All around the globe, amphibians are under pressure-kind of like slimy canaries in the coal mine, warning us of hazards that we should heed before it is too late. Some blame climate change. Some blame UV exposure. But one thing for sure is that many amphibians are being killed by a chytrid fungus, chytrid chytrid being short for being short for Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis, which attacks keratin in the dermal tissue of amphibians and suffocates them since they breathe through their skin. Scientists believe the fungus originated in Africa and was transported around the world in the 1930s by accident before anyone knew it even existed. It came on the backs of African frogs exported for medical research and the pet trade.

Infected frogs can be treated if you capture them and give them a special antifungal bath in captivity. Unfortunately, though, you can't treat the frogs and release them back into the wild, where the fungus is literally growing everywhere in some areas.

Perhaps the most dramatic amphibious rescue effort anywhere is one now famous in west-central Panama, where the very last of the golden frogs cling to life. The frogs, which have radiant orange-gold skin, have long been an important symbol of pride for Panamanians. The ancient indigenous people even considered them to be totems of prosperity and virility. Besides being valued for their folklore and beauty, the golden frogs happen to be important members of the region's ecosystem, as they primarily prey on mosquitoes and crop pests.

In an effort to protect this beautiful amphibian from extinction, a handful of sweaty and tireless conservationists set up a "frog Hilton," literally inside a hotel. The idea was to capture the endangered frogs in the nearby rain forest, cleanse them with the special bath, and then keep them in this quarantined hotel so they didn't die from the lethal fungus. What began as a very temporary rescue effort, eventually ended up taking up four rooms in the hotel and housing more than two hundred threatened frogs, along with the additional areas needed for food storage, volunteer staff, and expedition preparations.

This fascinating Hotel Campestre is also a favorite overnight destination for backpackers because of its immediate proximity to the forests and mountains at the edge of a dormant volcano's crater, about fifty miles southwest of Panama City. The two princ.i.p.al players in this unusual frog spa are Edgardo Griffith, a Panamanian biologist who has worked for years with endangered amphibians, and Heidi Ross, a Wisconsin native who first came to Central America as a Peace Corps volunteer. When they go searching, they often find more dead frogs than live ones, but they refuse to give up. After a year in the Campestre, the collection of frogs totaled more than two dozen species, all of them threatened by the fungus.

So this remote hotel became somewhat of a phenomenon for hikers and tourists as the legend grew that if you wanted to hear the raucous calls of male frogs, this was your last, best shot. Ross and Griffith ended up experts in amphibian husbandry-fixing filters and air pumps, as well as rearing tadpoles and various-size crickets and other insects to feed their brood. All the while, there was the nagging challenge of the long term. How would two people and a borrowed hotel make this work over the long haul? After all, Campestre couldn't house these frogs forever-and yet it wasn't safe to release them into the wild, where they would surely become infected.

Enter Bill Konstant and the Houston Zoo. Bill is the director of science and conservation for the zoo, and was able to rally support for the golden frog efforts. The support came in the form of volunteers and funding from numerous American zoos and botanical gardens, including the Buffalo Zoo, Cleveland Metroparks Zoo, and Rhode Island's Roger Williams Park Zoo. Amphibian experts not only joined the rescue mission but also helped to design the special facility that would hold the frogs and toads after their temporary stay at the Campestre. The new facility, called the El Valle Amphibian Conservation Center (EVACC), opened in 2007 and is located on the grounds of the El Nispero Zoo.

Bill is a combination rare in the field of wildlife conservation. Like many field biologists, he is highly educated and experienced, but he is also a sc.r.a.pper and a doer. As he puts it, "Just because circ.u.mstances are dire for the golden frog and other amphibians, there is no reason to give up. In fact, it is time to raise the clarion call to action, because as long as there are frogs, there is hope." With a smile, he adds, "Besides, frogs know how to be frogs. That's their job. Ours is to figure a way to solve this mess so they can get back to their forests, streams, and wetlands."

Until it's safe for the golden frogs to return to the wild, the state-of-the-art facility will be the only safe haven for Panama's golden frog. In fact, organizers imagined the facility being a model for other threatened species that might need to be temporarily or permanently removed from the wild to be saved.

The question now remains-when will it be safe for the frog to return to the wild? Or will it ever? With persistence and gained knowledge, perhaps the streams of Panama will ring with the hopeful call of male frogs again. Time will tell.

PART 4

The Heroic Struggle to Save Our Island Birds

Introduction.

Ever since that time long, long ago when humans first set off in flimsy boats to explore the Seven Seas, island species have been at risk. Many of these animals, insects, and plants evolved over millions of years, perfectly adapting to the environment in which they lived-an environment without compet.i.tion from terrestrial predators or trampling herbivores. Some birds, like the well-known species on the Galapagos, never needed to develop flight-or-fight behaviors, never learned to fear.

And so, from the start, seafaring humans-whether they stayed and colonized an island, or merely paused in pa.s.sing to stock up on water and food during long sea journeys-found island birds easy prey. The flightless dodo was eaten to extinction; the flightless kakapo nearly was.

Settlers brought their livestock with them, mainly goats and pigs. Rabbits were introduced to provide food and quickly multiplied. Stoats, imported to hunt the rabbits when their populations got out of hand, found island fauna easy prey. Cats initially provided pest control services when rats disembarked from visiting s.h.i.+ps but soon, adapting to a feral lifestyle, began to hunt the unsuspecting birds. Many alien species of plants were introduced, some of which adapted quickly to the new conditions and spread. The native animals and plants simply could not cope with such unexpected invasions. The delicate balance of nature was interrupted, again and again, with disastrous results. Countless island species disappeared along with the dodo; countless others were brought to the brink of extinction.

While doing the research for this book, I met and spoke to some extraordinary and dedicated people who have been fighting to turn back the clock on these islands. I have been learning about the Herculean efforts required of them as they struggle to save unique and very precious life-forms, both animal and plant, from extinction. It cannot be done without hard work, absolute commitment, and a willingness to face hards.h.i.+p and sometimes danger. And one of the most difficult, challenging-and often controversial-aspects of their work is, of course, the task of removing alien species from island habitats.

In other words, these biologists have been forced over the years, and around the world, to poison, trap, or shoot thousands and thousands of innocent creatures. They must not relax. The work is intensive, and usually very expensive. The same techniques cannot be used on all. The larger ones, like goats and pigs, can be hunted. Cats can be shot initially, but as their numbers are reduced they have to be trapped. Rats are even more difficult, mainly because of their sheer numbers-only poisoning has so far been effective. And there is always the possibility, with both trapping and poisoning, that the wrong animals will be killed, especially native rodents. On one island in the Pacific, the bait was taken by land crabs-it did not harm them, but hundreds of rats escaped. On Canna Island in the Hebrides, biologists evacuated 150 endangered canna mice (a distinct subspecies) before successfully exterminating the approximately ten thousand brown rats that had invaded this small island. (The mice will soon be reintroduced.) "Pest" Species Versus Endangered Species It is not surprising that the large-scale eradication of so many luckless creatures has led to opposition from many of those concerned for animal rights. They argue, with justification, that the welfare of the "pest" animals is not adequately addressed. The biologists are accused of cruelty and indifference to the suffering of living beings who also have a right to exist. After all, none of them chose chose to invade the islands where, when given free range, they set about living off the land. Unfortunately, this was very destructive. Goats are particularly skilled in this respect. They are intelligent and adaptive. They need little water and can eat almost anything. When they have finished off all the ground foliage, they even climb trees. Rabbits, while smaller in size, are far superior in their ability to multiply. And think how even a well-fed domestic cat can inflict severe damage on local bird and rodent populations. On an island, the impact of feral cats can be devastating. to invade the islands where, when given free range, they set about living off the land. Unfortunately, this was very destructive. Goats are particularly skilled in this respect. They are intelligent and adaptive. They need little water and can eat almost anything. When they have finished off all the ground foliage, they even climb trees. Rabbits, while smaller in size, are far superior in their ability to multiply. And think how even a well-fed domestic cat can inflict severe damage on local bird and rodent populations. On an island, the impact of feral cats can be devastating.

My friend Don Merton, who has been involved with restoring islands for decades, told me how, in the late nineteenth century, the lighthouse keeper's cat on Stephen's Island, New Zealand, killed all eighteen of the last Stephen's Island wrens known to science, and laid them at its owner's doorstep. This wren was just one of the countless endemic species exterminated by animals unwittingly taken to islands by humans.

But, let me repeat, none of the introduced species went voluntarily to the islands. They had no more choice than the early cargoes of prisoners off-loaded at Botany Bay. We put them there. Just as we put mongooses in the Virgin Islands to kill snakes. We put arctic foxes on the Aleutian Islands where, safe from their predators, they could breed and provide skins for the fur trade-while at the same time decimating some of the island fauna and damaging the whole ecosystem. We took European red foxes to Australia so that people could hunt them with horses and hounds-and the foxes hunted the smaller indigenous marsupials and birds. The only crime of these so-called pest species is that they have been-just like h.o.m.o sapiens h.o.m.o sapiens-too successful.

It comes down to a conflict between concern for the individual and concern for the future of a species. Even the needs of individuals within the population being saved are sometimes subsumed for the good of the species. Animals raised in captivity may be released into the wild in the certain knowledge that 30 percent or more will not make it. I have always been an advocate for the individual. But after learning how some of the efforts to save the very last members of an amazing and unique species-such as the kakapo or the Zino's petrel-almost failed because of cat predation, and looked at the utter destruction caused by goats and rabbits, I had to rethink my position.

If only there were really humane ways of removing the alien species. But sterilization, as sometimes practiced with stray dogs and cats, simply wouldn't work, and even if you could live-trap all the predators-where would you put them? What could you do with s.h.i.+ploads of pigs and goats that had been corralled? If only the unfortunate invaders had never been introduced, if only there was an ethical way of removing them. But they were, and there isn't-and they have to go. After all, as Don said to me, alien predatory animals in order to survive must kill hundreds if not thousands of native birds and other wildlife each year-so causing suffering that is unseen and ongoing.

And even though I grieve for the slaughter of the invaders, I am filled with admiration for the persistence of those who work so hard to remove them from the islands. Don Merton, who first succeeded in eradicating rats from islands in the early 1960s, was a true pioneer in techniques for removing alien species. He developed methods for removing invasive species that have been modified for eradication projects around the world. No one wants to devote themselves to killing-yet as we have seen, to protect the birds and their defenseless young it must be done.

All of these island birds exist only because of the determination and ingenuity of those who refused to let them die. I have attempted to do justice to the extraordinary men and women who have saved these island birds from joining the dodo in the void from which there is no return. They have endured many setbacks. They must be patient, persistent, and resilient, as well as tough and courageous-and possibly a little crazy. And as you will see, they are.

Black Robin or Chatham Island Robin (Petroica traversi)

My story of the black robin began when I met Don Merton in the early 1990s. He is quiet and soft-spoken and, like so many people who have accomplished extraordinary things, he is modest. Don had been invited to a reception held to welcome me to New Zealand, and we were not able to talk long. But he gave me a glimpse of the fascinating work he did, and his pa.s.sion for saving endangered birds. The rest I have learned from subsequent chats on the telephone and e-mail correspondence. And of course, from reading about his work.

His love affair with wildlife began in the 1940s when he was a small child, growing up on the east coast of New Zealand's North Island. "From the age of about four years," Don told me, "I was nutty about wildlife and spent much time watching birds, lizards, and insects-especially looking for birds' nests." When he was five years old, his grandmother came to stay and brought with her a canary. "That little yellow bird sang its way through the 1940s and ... ignited my pa.s.sion for birds," Don said. One day he and his brothers "gave my grandmother's canary a (European) goldfinch chick to foster. It adopted the chick as its own and raised it." Thirty-five years later, his recollection of this incident eventually saved the black robin species from imminent extinction. (I shall tell more about that later.) He was twelve years old when he made the decision to devote his life to trying to save birds that were in danger of extinction. And he certainly followed his dream, beginning his career in 1960 (the same year that I arrived at Gombe National Park in Tanzania) and playing a key role in the rescue and recovery of some of his country's-and the world's-most endangered birds. It all began in 1961 when he spent a month on Big South Cape Island-now known by its indigenous name Taukihepa (off the southwest coast of New Zealand's Stewart Island)-which still retained its full quota of indigenous wildlife. Indeed, along with two other tiny adjacent islands, it was the final refuge for several animals formerly abundant and widespread on the mainland, including the South Island saddleback.

Don Merton with one of his beloved black robins. A childhood memory of his grandmother's canary helped Don figure out a way to save this endearing bird from imminent extinction. (Rob Chappel) (Rob Chappel) Rats and Other Invasive Animals That trip, along with subsequent field trips to remote areas, led Don to wonder why it was that on mainland New Zealand, despite hundreds of thousands of acres of seemingly intact forest and other habitats, native wildlife was in such a predicament. Why had ma.s.sive extinctions and reductions in the range of so many species occurred? Don and some colleagues were convinced that the impact of predatory mammals introduced by European settlers, on purpose (such as cats, ferrets, and stoats) or accidentally (rats and mice), was the primary reason. But some leading biologists (educated in Europe or North America) argued strongly that predation was natural, and it was habitat loss that was primarily affecting wildlife in New Zealand.

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 s.h.i.+p rats had reached the island and increased to plague proportions, causing the wildlife to suffer ma.s.sive damage. Don and his colleagues, antic.i.p.ating "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 Seych.e.l.les magpie robin, and other animals endemic to the Seych.e.l.les 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 ma.s.sive 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 tomt.i.t 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 tomt.i.t-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 rea.s.sured her, "We shall help you feed them, love, don't worry." I have always cherished the mental picture of Don and his team rus.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sed 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 b.o.o.bies. Here Max is feeding fish to a recovering juvenile. (Corey Piper) (Corey Piper)

Abbott's b.o.o.by (Papasula abbotti)

The Abbott's b.o.o.by is an ancient species, a true oceanic bird, living at sea and coming ash.o.r.e 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 b.o.o.bies 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 b.o.o.bies-some call them the "jumbo jet" of the b.o.o.bies.

These b.o.o.bies 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 b.o.o.bies' breeding, since they nest in the tops of forest trees. These tall trees often grew over the richest phosphate deposits, so that Abbott's b.o.o.bies were in direct conflict with mining interests. The b.o.o.bies 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 b.o.o.by 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 b.o.o.by.

Destroyed Habitat and Chicks in Peril By the mid-1980s, it was estimated that some 33 percent of the habitat formerly used by the b.o.o.bies had already been destroyed, and mining activities had created at least seventy clearings in the forests. Not only had this deprived the b.o.o.bies of nest sites, but it was found that birds nesting near the clearings suffered from wind turbulence. Sadly, this caused unfledged Abbott's b.o.o.by chicks to be blown from their nesting sites. Strong winds can sometimes blow fledgling and even adult b.o.o.bies 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 b.o.o.bies 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 b.o.o.bies. 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 c.o.x, president of the council.

And Monash University biologist Peter Green, one of those originally involved in the Abbott's b.o.o.by monitoring program and with a long a.s.sociation with the island, commented that "the Abbott's b.o.o.by 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 c.o.x. "Christmas Island is a jewel in the environmental crown of Australia [with] the world's only population of Abbott's b.o.o.by 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 b.o.o.by 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 pa.s.sion 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) (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 b.o.o.by gut.

Of course, inevitably, a number of her patients die. But Beverly is amazed by the b.o.o.bies' 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 b.o.o.by 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 b.o.o.bies waiting for breakfast.(Bev Orchard) Young patient recuperating on its office chair nest in the Orchards' carport.(Dr. Janos Hennicke) In the wild, b.o.o.bies nest in extremely high trees. "We try to replicate what happens in the wild," said Max, "but there's no way we can replicate the nest. We figured out that the best plan was to give them each a plastic chair, and we feed them fish and squid-the same kind of food we believe their parents would feed them in the wild." They fly out of their chair nest every day for a few hours, always coming back for feeding times.

"They are usually quite friendly and cooperative birds," said Max, "but woe be it to any b.o.o.by who sits on the wrong chair nest!"

There Are b.o.o.bies and b.o.o.bies "They all get the same name-Eric," said Max. This is based on the Monty Python skit "Fish License," in which John Cleese plays a man who names all his pets Eric. But the b.o.o.bies definitely differ from one another.

"Each one has its own personality," said Beverly. "Some of them like to be held and are quite smoochy. They are very conversational birds and like to talk with their parents, so when it's feeding time, I always go out and talk to them. 'How are you?' 'How was your day?'-that kind of thing. They all start squawking back-they all get very excited to talk with me." They have a croaking-bellow sound that Max jokingly noted sounds like someone getting sick-"kind of a retching sound."

"We try not to handle them too much," said Beverly. "Once the babies get their feathers, we put them out on a chair and don't handle them any longer. This way when they leave us, they won't be tempted to land on boats and visit with other humans."

Max calls Beverly the "heart and soul" of the operation. "She can get along with the fiercest of them-the ones who come in screeching and strutting menacingly," said Max. "Before long, she has them all calmed down and practically cooing when they see her."

Over the years, this amazing couple have rescued close to five hundred Abbott's b.o.o.bies in all. They mature slowly-it's about a year until maturity-and those the Orchards deal with are usually in recovery, so their development is even slower. Some stay nested on their plastic chairs with Max and Beverly for up to two years. And then, finally, they are ready for life in the wild.

"The day comes when they are finally mature and they take off, and that's the last you'll see them," said Beverly. Fortunately, though, before they are ready to go the b.o.o.bies have a good-bye ritual so Max and Beverly can prepare for the departure: "One day they will come back to the chair, but not eat," said Beverly. "And they will suddenly be especially talkative-as if they have a lot to say. This is when we know they have found a food source-they are finally self-reliant. Perhaps they are telling us about what they've found or thanking us or just saying good-bye. We have no way of knowing" she added. "Then they'll sleep peacefully through the night on the nest, say a final good-bye in the morning, and take off for good."

"They become part of our family," said Max. "They're completely dependent on you and then they go off forever. It's a mixed feeling. You're happy that another one is returned to the wild-this is why we do all this work. So of course you hope it all goes well for them, but it's hard never seeing them again after they've been a part of your family for so long."

Max told me that apart from their habitat problems, the latest threat to the b.o.o.bies is the high number of nearby fis.h.i.+ng operations that are depleting their food resources as well as posing a direct threat through nets and long-line fishhooks. The Abbott's b.o.o.by may be saved from extinction for now, said Max, "but we need to remain vigilant."

This adult cahow climbed on biologist Jeremy Madeiros's head before taking off. Jeremy's head was the best perch this cahow could find in the treeless habitat of Castle Harbor, Bermuda. (Andrew Dobson) (Andrew Dobson)

Bermuda Petrel or Cahow (Pterodroma cahow)

I have been fascinated by petrels ever since I read have been fascinated by petrels ever since I read Tom the Water Baby Tom the Water Baby as a child. In that old cla.s.sic, it was the Stormy Petrel, called "Mother Carey's Chicken," who came into the story. Mother Carey is the name petrels have long been called by sailors, who meet them far from sh.o.r.e, at home in the wilderness of the oceans. The name is thought to be derived from as a child. In that old cla.s.sic, it was the Stormy Petrel, called "Mother Carey's Chicken," who came into the story. Mother Carey is the name petrels have long been called by sailors, who meet them far from sh.o.r.e, at home in the wilderness of the oceans. The name is thought to be derived from Mater Cara, Mater Cara, which is how the early Spanish and Portuguese sailors, the first Westerners to sail the southern seas, referred to the Virgin Mary. And which is how the early Spanish and Portuguese sailors, the first Westerners to sail the southern seas, referred to the Virgin Mary. And petrel petrel is thought to refer to Saint Peter, because when they feed, the birds seem to be walking on water. is thought to refer to Saint Peter, because when they feed, the birds seem to be walking on water.

The subtropical petrel whose story I share here, the Bermuda petrel, is one of the so-called gadfly petrels belonging to the genus Pterodroma Pterodroma-from the Greek pteron, pteron, meaning "wing," and meaning "wing," and dromos, dromos, meaning "running": hence "the winged runner." This recognizes the fast, acrobatic, and gliding flight. Indeed, all petrels are masters of the air, able to survive fierce storms and fly through howling winds with the wild spray of giant waves cras.h.i.+ng below them. It is when they come on land to breed that they suffer so terribly from the damage that we have inflicted on their island environments. meaning "running": hence "the winged runner." This recognizes the fast, acrobatic, and gliding flight. Indeed, all petrels are masters of the air, able to survive fierce storms and fly through howling winds with the wild spray of giant waves cras.h.i.+ng below them. It is when they come on land to breed that they suffer so terribly from the damage that we have inflicted on their island environments.