Kia ora! It’s been a while. Here’s an update from me:
- I handed in my doctorate at the end of May, defended in August, and now I am done. PhD, sorted. Graduation is only next autumn, but I have plenty of things to keep me busy until then! I’ll write a longer update on the PhD itself at some stage, for those of you who are interested in the science side of my birdy life.
- I have a finalist image in this year’s New Zealand Geographic Photographer of the Year awards! For a year that has been mostly about me writing up my doctorate, full of stress and sitting inside at the computer, I am really pleased to know that my brief attempts at photography are still trucking along well. For some reason, it’s often my penguin images that people are most keen on. Here’s the photo, in case you haven’t already seen it:
Dad also has a photo in the finals in the wildlife category (creepy crawly warning here if you’re not that way inclined). I think it’s a pretty unique case to have father and daughter both in the finals – which is something we did back in 2016 as well (me with a different kind of penguin, and Dad with a black and white landscape image!). Unfortunately we won’t be able to enjoy the awards night this time around, as the date coincides with us teaching our October Wildlife Photography Masterclass in Otago. You can vote for us in the people’s choice category. Select your favourites by clicking the heart at the top left corner of the screen, and entering your email address once you’ve chosen them. Yes, you have to choose five for it to count!
A bit about my penguins, because I’d like to put more words around them than the short caption leaves room for. Last year I was leading research teams to ōi / grey-faced petrel colonies around Northland, Auckland, Coromandel and the Bay of Plenty. We were doing a wide sweep of population health checks on the adults and chicks. One of these trips was to Taranga (also known as Hen island), off Whangārei. After working with ōi during the day, scoping burrows to see how many were home incubating eggs, we did a few shore surveys to see how many kororā / little blue penguins were coming ashore at night. Probably unsurprisingly, for a nice predator-free island, we found a lot of penguins!
On an incoming tide with a shrinking boulder beach, we scanned with a thermal scope, and slowly made our way along under dim headlamp light. Birds were coming in all along the bay, mostly at speed, and then waddling up industriously into the bush. These two birds emerged out of the water as we were making our way back to camp, and sat next to each other right on the edge of the water. We stopped to give them room to move ashore, making sure they had a clear path up into the bush. But that wasn’t what they were keen on. Instead, they perched and preened each other. They didn’t seem to notice us at all. They were the most relaxed kororā I’ve ever encountered, and we spent a few minutes watching them before we left them to it. I cranked my ISO up high and used the dim headlamp light from one of the team to make a few frames, isolated against the darkness.
For me this image was always going to be black and white. The colour of these little blues is nice, but that wasn’t my focus. Sometimes, simple is best. My focus was the texture of their short feathers, and how the light shimmers off them like starlight. It was these two birds isolated against the darkness, alone in the world, wrapped up in each other. Working with seabirds and knowing the challenges they face in a warming climate, in increasingly degraded ecosystems, it was an image that spoke to me about their strength and vulnerability. These birds are tenacious and resilient – but only up to a point.
It was a privilege to be present in this moment, and to watch these two kororā share it together. It’s a privilege to share it with you all. Even if you don’t see in it the story that I see, I hope it resonates with you in some way. And I’d appreciate a vote for the People’s Choice Award again!
More soon,
Edin
