In 2015, Enderby island was my first boots-on-ground subantarctic island experience. It was Christmas Day. I opted to see as much of the island as possible on a circumnavigatory hike around the coastal route – there’s no path, no track, just fields of megaherbs, tussock, and a tangled southern rātā forest along the margins of the sea cliffs.
I’ve hiked around Enderby every time I revisit the island – twice at either end of 2016, and now again in 2020. It’s a place rich in memory for me with every step around the coast. And I was curious to how it had changed, in the intervening years.
We took the ‘reverse route’ – starting behind the beach and ending with the boardwalk because we were a little tight on time. It meant wading through head-high tussock and low coastal scrub to begin with, instead of a long slog at the end of the day. Tomtits followed us through the dense tangle, flitting from megaherb to megaherb, disappearing into the scrub.
There was a Skua nest exactly where I remember there being one in 2015 and 2016, with little chunky chicks hiding in the grasses. The adults were remarkably laid back, just as they had been in the past. We wandered past, giving the more skittish hoiho a wide berth, waiting for them to make their way back up into the forest before continuing along the coastal turf.
The rātā forest was the bloomiest I have ever seen – the canopy glowing red. The twisted remains of the dead edge-trees contrasted like bone against the shadowy interior. As always, we had the subantartic four-season experience, starting in rain, being wind-blasted, and then blinded by a brilliant sun emerging.
Fur seals and sea lions always emerge in unexpected places all over the island, popping heads up from behind large tussocks, or startling out from behind a tree in the forest. This fur seal looked like it wasn’t going anywhere fast though, and barely batted an eyelid as we stopped for a snack before starting through the forest.
The brief flashed of sunlight were gorgeous in the green dome of the rātā, illuminating leaves and blooms, mosses and trunk textures. It’s always somewhere I’ve wanted to spend more time in, but we couldn’t linger for too long.
The shaggery (is that a real word for a shag colony? It is now!) seems to be expanding, pushing back up into the grasses on the cliff edge. It’s always seemed so exposed, but there’s plenty of birds there and plenty of young birds, so they must be doing well. Approaching it from the opposite direction gives a better perspective, walking through the tussock in the other direction, it just appears out of nowhere, along with the edge of the cliff.
Auckland Island shags are my favourite birds to spend time with on Enderby. They’re curious, and beautiful. They’re not shy like hoiho or subantarctic snipe, and they don’t projectile vomit like Northern giant petrels. We had a brief rest at the edge of their colony, with birds wandering up to peck at people’s boots and nibble at stray backpack straps.
The day got greyer, and wetter. By the time we had made it to the north coast, the rain was constant and horizontal. My job was to make sure no-one got left behind as the group strung out on the long meander back to the boardwalk, and it meant that I could hang back and check on my favourite birds of all – the Light-mantled albatross. They nest along the cliffs, tucked down and out of sight, blending well with the dark rocks. But their cry is haunting and unmistakable, and I had my eyes well exfoliated by the pelting rain as I watched them soar along the cliffs, calling to their mates. Hunkered down in the wet, snug over eggs or young chicks, unbothered by the deluge. Water beading and streaming off their waterproof plumage.
It was the perfect end to the hike, before a quick trot back along the boardwalk, loading everyone back into zodiacs and on to the ship, securing everything for the overnight roll towards the Snares islands, a ridiculously quick shower, and down to the lecture room to share conservation photography stories with the expeditioners. And then the bar hour. And then dinner. And then downloading and backing up all my photographs from the day. And then almost succumbing to my mattress, but joining Dad on deck for a bit of pelagic photography before the light vanished altogether! Working subantarctic trips are a mix of whirlwind activity and sudden clarity, moments on deck in the sea air where everything else drops away, and it’s just me, the waves, the birds, and the sky.
