I picked up a new field assistant (a good friend of mine who seems to eat meat and butter and nothing else) in Nelson and we drove along an extremely winding, gravelly, but scenic road to French Pass.
The "campsite" at Lucky Bay was described on the website as basic. Pretty accurate description really, as there was nothing to suggest it even was a campsite. There was supposedly space for two tents, but we could not see where this might be. On one side of the campsite was tall, stubbly grassland and on the other side a forest. We squashed the grass down as best we could and tried to fit all the knobbly bits into the various indentations that one has on one's body. Then we closed our eyes.
A few minutes later, there was a tap-tap-tapping on the other side of the tent. I figured my field assistant was doing something, but she turned to me and said "That's the weka!" The tapping continued, moving all around the tent to my side, stabbing me in the ribs. Weka are chicken-sized flightless rails with blunt, hard beaks for stabbing people in the ribs. Clearly this one was curious. But surely our tent's novelty value would decrease with time? Apparently not. This wildlife encounter lasted all freaking night.
In the morning, I went to boil some stream water and place it in various receptacles, letting the stream flow around the receptacles to cool them. Rain was chucking down, and despite my waterproof trousers and raincoat I was drenched within minutes. Apparently washing them with disinfectant, as the Department of Conservation had requested, rendered them useless. Luckily I had merino wool underthings which are warm even when wet. My friend emerged from her cocoon, went skinny dipping (??!!) and then brought me a jumper and some coffee (making her my favourite person in the world ever at that particular moment).
After consuming a lot of slightly salty coffee, we pondered where to look for the spiders. Mount Woore was the location in the spider book, but where was that? We had no maps, there were no signs, and no information anywhere. There was a hill though. We packed up things, harnessed a couple of beetles and headed upwards.
The forest was wet, muddy, slippery, and wonderful. Tiny, ethereal mushrooms kept catching our eyes. I knew some of them:
|Orange pore fungus - pretty but invasive|
|Clavaria sp., a type of coral fungus|
|Bird's nest fungus (Crucibulum sp.) with fruiting bodies in various stages of maturity. The one closest to the lens is most mature, complete with spore-containing "eggs" that rely on raindrops hitting them for spore dispersal.|
Others I didn't know and were really hard to photograph. Plus, we were supposed to look for spiders.
We found lots of burrows on the slipperiest of slopes. We could only make progress by crawling on our bellies and grabbing onto trees. The burrows were lidded, and pretty obvious, so before long we were both finding them everywhere.
|When I say obvious...|
After dinner (meat and butter), we went back to catch the spiders. They were a bit tricky to catch, being reluctant to leave their burrows, so we caught three and left it at that. The last one that we caught was from a burrow that my friend had found, but she was shocked to see how big it was. After I had put the spider safely away, she confessed "Now that we're finished catching spiders, I can tell you that I'm actually quite freaked out by them". Bravery.
That night, the weka were back. There were two this time: a mum and her totally fledged and grown up chick that was still begging her for food constantly (with a really, really, really annoying squeaky noise). Occasionally a weka would get its head into the front porch of our tent, steal the baby wipes and have fun opening and closing the lid of the pouch. I stuck my head out into the porch area and waited. At length, the chick stuck its head through and reached for the baby wipes. Suddenly, it noticed me, sprang back out of the tent and ran straight into a tree. They didn't come into the tent again.
The rest is pretty boring - got the boat back to French Pass, drove back to Christchurch to have a couple of days off to write grant applications. But I still think D'Urville Island was the most fun island I have been to now. The isolated feeling, the beauty, the stream, the wildlife...and even the weka. Plus, meat and butter are tasty.