48°01′S 166°32′E
Going over the last trip reports, I discovered that my post on the Snares was over 1100 words – that’s a monster blog! To make up for the barrage of information of that one, this one will be mostly photos with captions, journal extracts, and any other interesting bits of information I can find. Enjoy!
In pre-human times, the coastal regions of mainland New Zealand would have been much like the Snares – riddled with the burrows of untold millions of seabirds. Seabirds are the interface between marine and terrestrial ecosystems – they bring nutrients from sea to land in the form of their poop (I could use a fancy term like guano, but poop is much more straight-forward). Without that connection, the coastal forest ecosystems on the mainland are quite different from their original state. Here’s a great, quick read about how seabird islands recover after rat eradication. At Tawharanui Open Sanctuary, north of Auckland, seabirds are being attracted back to the mainland to breed where they are in no danger of predators. Restoring the connections between ecosystems is just as important as restoring individual ecosystems – which makes seabird conservation vital.
Snares Crested Penguins leave to forage at sea and return in groups – finding safety in sheer numbers. What eats Snares Penguins? New Zealand Sea lions and fur seals can both take birds, and on occasion, Leopard seals wind up at the Snares. This voracious Antarctic predator is known for shredding Adelie penguins, and even hunts other seal species.
A raft of Cape petrels explodes into flight after feeding on the surface. There are two subspecies of Cape petrel, one that breeds on the Antarctic Peninsula, surrounding islands and other subantarctic islands (Daption capense capense), and a New Zealand subspecies – the Snares Cape petrel (Daption capense australe). In the New Zealand region they breed on all subantarctic islands except Campbell Island, as well as the Chatham Islands. The Snares Cape petrel is typically darker on the upper wings and back. Cape petrels are also known as “Pintado petrels” – named for the mottled black and white pattern on the upper wings.
Mollymawk is a term used in New Zealand and Australia to distinguish the smaller Thalassarche albatrosses – like this Buller’s albatross – from the great Diomedea albatrosses: the Wanderers and the Royals. On the NZ Birds Online website, you’ll find all the smaller albatrosses listed as mollymawks. So why do I call them all albatrosses? I’m not a huge fan of “mollymawk”, because it comes from the Dutch “mallemok” – which essentially means stupid gull. Not very regal. While albatrosses can sometimes be a little ungainly, too confiding, and often squabble for food, I think the grace of their flight alone should preclude them from having an insulting name. Plus, no one will get confused if I call them all albatrosses – the rest of the world seems to manage fine.
04/01/2016 – The Snares, North East Island
…I’m struck by the colours, the lushness, the vibrance of the subantarctic. The Southern Ocean conjures up thoughts of endless blue and grey, wind tossed waves, heavy skies, sleet and rain – or at least it used to. Now I fall into memories of the flaming yellow spears of Bulbinella rossi on Enderby Island, the endless gardens of Anisotome latifolia in the brightest fuchsia to the palest pastels, and the truly giant spans of purple Pleurophyllum speciosum on Campbell island. Even the Snares add to the barrage of colour, with the verdant greens of the Olearia forest that blankets North East Island, the golden stars of Brachyglottis stewartiae and the tiny white pin-pricks of Hebe elliptica along the shore. The immensely, achingly old grey granite is painted with lichens, swathed with red algae, and tasseled in brassy bull-kelp. I came here for the wildlife, but have been equally entranced by the botanical wonders. It’s as if my eyes have been opened properly for the first time – or maybe I have new eyes now.
We had Panna Cotta for pudding tonight. A wobbly dessert on a wobbly ship made for an amusing dinnertime. Eating is always more dynamic when a sudden sway of the ship results in a shimmying supper. Alright, I’m going to bed. I think the sea-sickness meds are kicking in.
Sleek in the water, crested penguin species are difficult to tell apart at a glance. Snares penguins could be confused with Fiordland Crested penguin, which are similar sized, but have pale stripes on their cheeks, and lack the wide pink gape at the base of the bill. The slicked-down crests of a wet Erect-crested penguin also add to the confusion, but their yellow stripes start closer to the bill, which is slightly smaller and more red than orange comparatively. Our friends the Eastern Rockhopper penguins (remember them from Musgrave Inlet?) are much smaller and daintier. The best way to tell penguins apart? Practice! Experience and a good knowledge of what you’re likely to see where are the best tools to have. At the Snares? Lots (understatement) of Snares penguins, a few Rockhoppers, and one solitary Little Blue penguin!
The Snares, when the weather is calm, are pure magic. It’s a glimpse into a truly wild world, one that is vibrantly and violently alive. The water is clear to the depths, the geology stark, tortured, and unreal. Penguin chaos is around every inlet, and sea lions slide curiously up to the zodiac to eye us up. Fur seals yawn and regard us with probable indifference. And everywhere there are seabirds – petrels and albatross in the air, pattering the surface, bobbing along in the slow swells. I can’t do anything but love this place, and hope that this visit is not my last.
