Hope For Animals And Their World Part 10

The local name for the Bermuda petrel is the cahow, a word said to derive from the species' eerie nocturnal cries. These initially protected Bermuda and its isles from settlement, because the Spanish sailors believed they were inhabited by evil spirits. Indeed, Bermuda was once referred to as the "Isle of Devils." In those days, in the early 1500s, when Bermuda was discovered by the Spanish, it is estimated that at least half a million cahow returned each breeding season to the coastal forests of Bermuda and the surrounding islands, nesting in burrows in the sandy soils.

Unfortunately the "evil spirits" did not prevent the sailors from landing in search of fresh food and water. And they put pigs ash.o.r.e to breed to provide a future supply of fresh meat. Thus began the destruction of the cahow's nesting grounds. And then things got worse. The British, quickly realizing that birds rather than spirits produced the strange sounds, began to colonize the beautiful tropical island, and the early settlers brought with them the usual invasive species. Also, year after year, while the petrels were away at sea, the British took over the cahow's nesting grounds for farming. And when the petrels returned for the breeding season, they were killed for food in great numbers-despite the birds being given official protection when the governor made a proclamation "against the spoyle and havocke of the Cohowes." Surely one of the earliest conservation efforts ever!

By 1620, it was believed that the cahow was extinct. Except that, just occasionally, someone reported otherwise: In 1906, for example, a cahow was actually collected, although it was not identified as such at the time. And then in 1935, a fledgling cahow hit a lighthouse-and its dead body proved conclusively that, somewhere, a population still survived. World War II temporarily put an end to speculations about their existence. But the death of that fledgling caught the imagination of a local schoolboy, David Wingate.

The Cahow Lives "The year that fledgling collided with the lighthouse," David would remember, "was the year that I was born." He told me this during a telephone conversation in 2008. He vividly recalled sitting in his kayak one day, looking toward the islets beyond the lighthouse, and thinking: "It was only fifteen years ago when that young cahow died. Perhaps, just perhaps, they are still out there. Somewhere." He told me that the hairs on his neck stood on end at the thought.

Nor was he alone. Dr. Robert Cushman Murphy, of the American Museum of Natural History, managed to get funds for a thorough survey to find out, once and for all, the truth about the cahow. And when, in 1951, he set out along with the director of the Bermuda Aquarium, David was invited to join them. What a thrilling day for a sixteen-year-old schoolboy to be present when they came upon seven nesting pairs of Bermuda petrels on a tiny islet off the Bermuda coast. (Subsequently they found eleven more pairs on another three islets.) "I could hardly believe in my good luck," David said. "It was a dream come true. And from that moment I knew my life's path."

Somehow the cahow had survived against seemingly impossible odds-but there were so few of them. Could the newly rediscovered colony possibly survive much longer? Without the determination and energy of David Wingate, who devoted much of the rest of his life to their cause, they probably would not have, for their situation back then was desperate.

The four tiny rocky islets (off Castle Harbor, east of Bermuda) where the tiny remnant of the once huge cahow population had been forced to nest shared a total area of only just over two acres. Moreover, these islets were, to all intents and purposes, devoid of vegetation, and the small, shallow pockets of soil were quite unsuitable for nesting burrows. The cahows were laying their single eggs and raising their single chicks in rock cavities almost at sea level. And the islets, situated at the edge of the protective reef, were subject to severe battering by stormy seas. On top of all this, during the 1960s high levels of DDT were measured in both chicks and eggs, and this almost certainly had an adverse effect on their reproductive success. Indeed, according to David it reduced breeding success by about half. (David had become involved in the fight to ban DDT described in part 2 in the chapter on the peregrine falcon.) And finally, as if all this were not enough, the petrels suffered in compet.i.tion with the larger, more aggressive, and still common white-tailed tropicbirds. The cahow lays in January; chicks hatch in March. The competing tropicbird nests later, and on finding a nest site occupied will force a cahow chick out and take over. In some years, petrel chick mortality has been as high as 60 percent as a direct result of this compet.i.tion for nest sites on the inhospitable islets.

A Nesting Real Estate Business One of the first steps taken to a.s.sist the few remaining cahow was to fit each existing nest site with a wooden baffle that prevented the entry of the larger tropicbirds. Next, a number of artificial nest sites were constructed, each consisting of a long tunnel ending in a concrete chamber. Both these measures led to increased breeding success. And from that time on, the biologists working to save the cahow have ensured that there are at least ten extra nests ready for each breeding season. It has been necessary also to repair those damaged by the storms that have become worse due to rising sea levels. "Before 1989," David told me, "we never had real problems with flooding." But in 1995, some 40 percent of nests were damaged by a hurricane; in 2003, when the area was devastated by Hurricane Fabian, 60 percent of nest sites were destroyed and ma.s.sive chunks of the islands were lost. It was fortunate that the hurricanes occurred when the cahow were at sea.

Because of the worsening situation, a new set of nest burrows was constructed on the most elevated part of the largest nesting islet-eight feet higher than the nests destroyed by Hurricane Fabian. Breeding pairs found scratching in the debris of their old nest sites were attracted to the new site when they heard recorded playback of cahow courtship calls, and one couple was captured and physically moved there! Three pairs nested in the new burrows.

In the early spring of 2008, I was able to speak to another dedicated advocate for the cahow, Jeremy Madeiros. Jeremy first became involved in 1984 in his late twenties when he was accepted as a training apprentice under David Wingate in what was then the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries. As a boy, Jeremy had preferred poking about for insects and plants over kicking b.a.l.l.s around with his friends. The experience he gained working with David-not only on the recovery of the cahow, but also in the efforts to restore Nonsuch Island as a new nesting ground for the species-was just what he needed. He went to college and got the qualification that eventually landed him a job as a parks superintendent. He was able to maintain his connection with David as he followed in his footsteps.

Learning to Live with Danger Above all, Jeremy needed to learn to cope in often dangerous conditions-"to work without killing or injuring myself," is how he put it during a long telephone conversation we had. Knowing that David took huge risks, I asked Jeremy what it had been like to work with him. He laughed and told me about something that happened in the early 1990s when the two of them were monitoring the progress of the cahow chicks. This is done at night, when the chicks come out of their nest burrows to explore and stretch their wings. David decided to start the monitoring on an islet where they knew there were two nests. With only the light from their flashlight (the chicks do not come out in moonlight, which would make things so much more convenient for humans), they had to maneuver the little boat close to the rocky sh.o.r.e in a high swell.

"We had to jump onto a rock and quickly scramble up before the next wave covered it," said Jeremy. Then they had to get to the far side of the islet, which meant climbing a steep cliff as there was no access by boat. They got there safely and, as always, had a wonderful time watching the chicks. It was on the way back that disaster so nearly struck.

"David was having trouble with his back," Jeremy told me, and had taken a foam rubber cushion to sit on the sharp rocks. At one place they had to jump down ten feet onto a rock below-a rock that was flanked, on either side, by a twenty- to thirty-foot drop onto jagged rocks and crashing waves.

"He asked me to go first," said Jeremy, "and then he threw down the cushion and asked me to put it on the rock. He thought it would lessen the jarring to his spine." Imagine Jeremy's utter horror when David landed safely-only to bounce right over the edge and vanish from sight. "I hardly dared shine my torch down," Jeremy said, "I was so sure I would see a mangled body way down below." How could anyone survive such a fall? And if he had survived, how could he, Jeremy, possibly get there with the boat to rescue him?

"I nervously shone the torch down," Jeremy said, "and there were two eyes looking up at me." Somehow David had managed to grab onto a jagged rocky outcrop. He was battered and b.l.o.o.d.y but very much alive, and with Jeremy's help he managed to scramble back up. And insisted they visit the other chicks on their list!

A New Home for the Cahow After Hurricane Fabian destroyed so many cahow nesting sites, it became clear that the birds' long-term survival would depend on the restoration of some of their original nesting habitats. And this is where the future of the cahow becomes linked with David's extraordinary restoration work on Nonsuch Island (described in the sidebar). When the time came to start a new colony of cahow on the restored island, a blueprint for the translocation of petrel chicks already existed: Nicholas Carlile and David Priddel had successfully established a colony of endangered Gould's petrels on a new island-the whole fascinating story is told on our Web site.

"We could not have risked trying relocation with the cahow if we had not known of the success of Nicholas's work with the Gould's petrel," David told me. "The cahow were still in such a precarious state."

In 2003, Nicholas joined the cahow restoration project. He a.s.sisted in designing a recovery plan that had the ambitious goal of moving a hundred young birds to Nonsuch Island over a five-year period. The first of these translocations was made that year-ten chicks, three weeks before fledging, were taken from their nests on the islets to artificial burrows constructed for them on a by-then rat-free Nonsuch. They were fed each night, and their growth and behavior recorded.

Nicholas had found that it is very important not to move chicks too late. It is when they first leave their nests to look around (about eleven days prior to fledging) that the location of the nest is imprinted in the brain, so that it will be that place-rather than the spot where they hatched-to which they will subsequently return, three to five years later, to nest themselves.

When those first chicks were moved, Jeremy worried a bit. They were going from bare rocks to wooded slopes-would they be able to cope?

"Nicholas was there when we moved the first youngsters," Jeremy told me. "We were amazed as we watched a chick emerge from its nest burrow, stretch its wings, and move around exploring. Suddenly it came to a tree. It stopped, looked up-and immediately scurried right up the trunk like a squirrel, using its sharp little beak and claws, and sort of hugging the trunk with its wings. Right on up to the top!" Of course, when they thought about it, this made sense. Tree climbing is probably deeply encoded in the birds' ancestral memory, for in the old days, emerging from their burrows in the forests, they would have climbed in order to take off to sea from the treetops. Since then the poor things have been reduced to climbing up bare rocks.

"After that," said Jeremy, "I realized why the chicks on the islets so often climbed up David and me and fledged from the tops of our heads. We were the closest thing to a tree in their abnormal world of rock!" Jeremy paused and laughed. "They often left their mark on our heads before they left," he said. "But that was okay-it's supposed to be lucky!"

All of the first ten translocated chicks fledged successfully and flew off to spend the next few years at sea. The following year, twenty-one were moved, and again they all fledged successfully. Just before the 2008 breeding season, eighty-one out of the planned hundred have been successfully moved, and seventy-nine of them have fledged and departed safely.

Stop-Press News Recently I received news from Jeremy. "I said I would let you know if anything exciting happened," he wrote. "I am happy to report (with a big smile on my face!) that just such a thing has now happened!"

But first he reported on the situation of the original four tiny breeding islets where the population is continuing to grow. Originally there were just eighteen breeding pairs-but the number has now risen to eighty-six. "It seems that, perhaps because the colony is getting bigger-which they love-there is more pair formation going on," said Jeremy. "It is as though they have changed to a higher gear. And once the critical ma.s.s has been reached, there will be more and more pairs each year. Then they will be on their own."

When he wrote, Jeremy was busy checking the weight, wing growth, and plumage development of the forty chicks hatched on the islets in 2008, twenty-one of which will be moved to Nonsuch. And if all twenty-one fledge successfully, this will mean that their goal will have been reached: One hundred cahow chicks will have been moved to and fledged from Nonsuch during the first five years of the project.

Next, Jeremy shared his really exciting news. In mid-February 2008, he was on Nonsuch carrying out some repairs to the solar-powered sound system that has been installed at the new nest site. It plays back courtship calls to encourage any cahow within hearing distance to investigate. Jeremy decided to stay overnight on the island to see how it was working.

"About forty-five minutes after nightfall," Jeremy told me, "the first cahow swept in from the open ocean and started circling above the translocation site; more came in and began to carry out acrobatic high-speed courtship flights until within another hour I could see a maximum of six to eight birds at once. Sometimes they circled high above; sometimes [they] made low, acrobatic high-speed courtship flights just above the artificial nest burrows, often making their eerie moaning calls."

Eventually, some of the birds began to land among the burrows, "culminating with one bird landing right beside me! I was able to just reach right over and gently pick it up without any fuss." Jeremy confirmed from its band number that it was indeed a bird that had been moved to Nonsuch as a chick in 2005. "My heart just leaped when I realized that this bird had not just survived the last three years at sea after being partly raised by us, but had in fact returned to its point of departure as hoped!"

More cahows were recaptured at the site over the next month or so, and all were the birds that had been translocated. In mid-March, one of them was found for the first time staying for a whole day in one of the Nonsuch burrows, excavating a large pile of soil outside the nest entrance, digging a nest sc.r.a.pe in the nest chamber, and pulling in nest material. "A sure sign that this bird has now 'claimed' this burrow," said Jeremy. I could hear his excitement as he told me that he had checked its band and found that this was the exact same burrow to which it had been moved in 2005! "And," he said, "I had watched it fledge to sea during a night watch in June 2005. How amazing to think it has carried out a perfect 'return to the point of departure' after living G.o.d knows where out on the ocean!"

In all, four cahows translocated to Nonsuch in 2005 were captured near the nest burrows. Between six and eight were observed some nights flying over the site; at least six nest burrows received prospecting visits, some more than half a dozen times. And cahows have stayed over for the day in three of these burrows on several occasions. Jeremy thinks those birds were probably males, which seem to return a year or two earlier than the females, and he hopes that next season they will return and start attracting females to their burrows. "And by then, the first of the 2006 translocated cohort should also be joining them. I can hardly wait!"

When the cahow that fledged on Nonsuch return to breed there themselves, it will be a major milestone in the restoration of this resilient seafaring bird and a tribute to the determination of Jeremy Madeiros, Nicholas Carlile, and, above all, David Wingate, who fell in love with the cahow as a schoolboy fifty-nine years ago.

NONSUCH ISLAND NONSUCH ISLANDSituated off the coast of Bermuda, Nonsuch Island has a strange and altogether fascinating history. In 1860, the British colonial government wanted to establish a yellow fever quarantine station. So it bought the tiny Nonsuch Island (less than fifteen acres and sixty feet at its highest) from a private owner who had been using it for grazing cattle. The quarantine station and hospital that were built served their purpose for fifty years before it was decided, for logistical reasons, to move the operation to Coney Island. Soon after this, in 1928, the island was loaned to the New York Zoological Society for use as a marine research station. Then, in 1934, Nonsuch became, of all things, the site of a training school for delinquent boys. But in 1948, because the island was so very isolated, and because of its rocky sh.o.r.eline that made access really difficult, the school was moved elsewhere. The quarantine station and hospital that were built served their purpose for fifty years before it was decided, for logistical reasons, to move the operation to Coney Island. Soon after this, in 1928, the island was loaned to the New York Zoological Society for use as a marine research station. Then, in 1934, Nonsuch became, of all things, the site of a training school for delinquent boys. But in 1948, because the island was so very isolated, and because of its rocky sh.o.r.eline that made access really difficult, the school was moved elsewhere. For the next three years, the little island was left to itself. By this time it had become a rather sad and barren place, for an epidemic of a juniper scale insect had destroyed almost 95 percent of the forest that previously covered the Bermuda islands-and Nonsuch was virtually denuded. Then, in 1951, something happened that would utterly change the future of Nonsuch. A small colony of cahow was rediscovered breeding on a couple of offsh.o.r.e rocky islets. And it became apparent that the birds would soon be truly extinct if they did not have a more appropriate habitat for breeding. Nonsuch Island was, it was thought, ideal-for cahow had bred there before. But first its damaged environment would have to be restored For the next three years, the little island was left to itself. By this time it had become a rather sad and barren place, for an epidemic of a juniper scale insect had destroyed almost 95 percent of the forest that previously covered the Bermuda islands-and Nonsuch was virtually denuded. Then, in 1951, something happened that would utterly change the future of Nonsuch. A small colony of cahow was rediscovered breeding on a couple of offsh.o.r.e rocky islets. And it became apparent that the birds would soon be truly extinct if they did not have a more appropriate habitat for breeding. Nonsuch Island was, it was thought, ideal-for cahow had bred there before. But first its damaged environment would have to be restored In 1962 David Wingate, who years before as a sixteen-year-old schoolboy had been with the group that made the cahow discovery, moved onto Nonsuch Island as a warden. This was the start of the extraordinary restoration project, which was the focus of David's career for the next forty years. In 1962 David Wingate, who years before as a sixteen-year-old schoolboy had been with the group that made the cahow discovery, moved onto Nonsuch Island as a warden. This was the start of the extraordinary restoration project, which was the focus of David's career for the next forty years. More than eight thousand seedlings of native tree species, some of them endemic to Bermuda, were planted, along with two fast growing non-native species-the Australian casuarina and European tamarisk. These were used as a stopgap measure to replace the windbreak lost after the endemic cedars had been killed during the juniper scale insect epidemic. Over the next twenty years, the upland forest became well established, and when Hurricane Emily hit the island in 1987 it caused little damage to the endemic and native trees. As the forest thrived, the non-native trees were gradually ring-barked-a thin strip of bark was removed around the base of each tree so that it died slowly, causing minimal disruption. More than eight thousand seedlings of native tree species, some of them endemic to Bermuda, were planted, along with two fast growing non-native species-the Australian casuarina and European tamarisk. These were used as a stopgap measure to replace the windbreak lost after the endemic cedars had been killed during the juniper scale insect epidemic. Over the next twenty years, the upland forest became well established, and when Hurricane Emily hit the island in 1987 it caused little damage to the endemic and native trees. As the forest thrived, the non-native trees were gradually ring-barked-a thin strip of bark was removed around the base of each tree so that it died slowly, causing minimal disruption. Meanwhile another major project began in the mid-1970s, when two small artificial ponds were constructed to re-create salt.w.a.ter and freshwater marsh habitats. Nicholas Carlile, who has several times visited Nonsuch, told me that it was truly amazing-on one tiny island of just fifteen acres "they have re-created several complete ecosystems," including the rocky coast, coastal hillside, marshes, upland forest, and beach dunes. Meanwhile another major project began in the mid-1970s, when two small artificial ponds were constructed to re-create salt.w.a.ter and freshwater marsh habitats. Nicholas Carlile, who has several times visited Nonsuch, told me that it was truly amazing-on one tiny island of just fifteen acres "they have re-created several complete ecosystems," including the rocky coast, coastal hillside, marshes, upland forest, and beach dunes. Many of the plants now flourishing on Nonsuch are endangered on Bermuda's main islands, where approximately 95 percent of the total bioma.s.s is exotic. The Nonsuch project was one of the very first to involve restoration of an island on which virtually all of the flora and fauna had been totally eliminated by human degradation or invasive pests. The extraordinary success resulted from taking a holistic approach: eliminating the pests and restoring the entire terrestrial ecosystem as close as possible to its original state. It was the success on Nonsuch Island that led to other restoration projects on other islands as far away as New Zealand. Many of the plants now flourishing on Nonsuch are endangered on Bermuda's main islands, where approximately 95 percent of the total bioma.s.s is exotic. The Nonsuch project was one of the very first to involve restoration of an island on which virtually all of the flora and fauna had been totally eliminated by human degradation or invasive pests. The extraordinary success resulted from taking a holistic approach: eliminating the pests and restoring the entire terrestrial ecosystem as close as possible to its original state. It was the success on Nonsuch Island that led to other restoration projects on other islands as far away as New Zealand. Once the habitat had been restored, it was possible to use Nonsuch as a reintroduction point for a variety of species including a night-heron, the West Indian top sh.e.l.l, and green turtles, all of which have been locally extinct in Bermuda for a hundred or more years. Out of one man's dreams and determination sprang the "living museum" concept that has inspired the transformation of Nonsuch Island. It now presents an almost true replica of the prehistoric native environment of Bermuda and its islands before humans destroyed so much. From the outset, it was David's ultimate goal "to create on Nonsuch an optimal habitat for Bermuda's banner species and national bird-the burrow-nesting cahow." As we have seen, that ultimate goal was reached. Once the habitat had been restored, it was possible to use Nonsuch as a reintroduction point for a variety of species including a night-heron, the West Indian top sh.e.l.l, and green turtles, all of which have been locally extinct in Bermuda for a hundred or more years. Out of one man's dreams and determination sprang the "living museum" concept that has inspired the transformation of Nonsuch Island. It now presents an almost true replica of the prehistoric native environment of Bermuda and its islands before humans destroyed so much. From the outset, it was David's ultimate goal "to create on Nonsuch an optimal habitat for Bermuda's banner species and national bird-the burrow-nesting cahow." As we have seen, that ultimate goal was reached.

The name of Carl Jones is synonymous with restoration of endangered species on Mauritius. Shown here with the dazzling, emerald-green echo parakeet, the last of perhaps as many as seven parakeet species once found on the islands of the western Indian Ocean. (Gregory Guida) (Gregory Guida)

The Birds of Mauritius Mauritius Kestrel (Falco punctatus) (Falco punctatus) Pink Pigeon (Columba (Columba [formerly Nesoenas Nesoenas] mayeri) mayeri) Echo Parakeet (Psittacula eques echo) (Psittacula eques echo) When I think of these birds, I think of Carl Jones. If he had not gone to Mauritius (an island nation off the coast of Africa), it is more than possible that all three species would be extinct, for he has led the fight to save them-even when, at times, it must have seemed a daunting, if not impossible, task.

It took me some time to track Carl down at his home in Wales, where he spends time when he is neither in the field nor at the offices of the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust in Jersey. We had a long conversation by telephone, and although I would have preferred to meet him in person, Carl's warmth and his love for his work are so genuine, his enthusiasm so infectious, that I feel I have known him for a long time. I learned that he is very interested in bird psychology and that he lives on a small holding with his family that includes some parrots, an eagle-and a tame condor that is imprinted on humans and treats Carl as his partner! Carl told me that he shares my belief that not only is it okay for a scientist to feel empathy with the animals he studies, it's in fact necessary for real understanding.

The three stories I want to share together represent a heroic struggle, ultimately successful, to save three very different species from extinction-a falcon, a pigeon, and a parakeet. By the late 1970s when Carl stepped in, all three of these species had been critically endangered for many years and were on the very brink of extinction: There were only four Mauritius falcons in the world, only ten or eleven pink pigeons, and around twelve echo parakeets.

The Mauritius Kestrel (Falco punctatus) (Falco punctatus) Carl's fondest memories are of the many seasons that he worked with Mauritius kestrels in their last home, the Black River Gorges. At that time, he told me, much of his life revolved around this small, charismatic falcon. It is just under a foot in length, with the male weighing only about 4.7 ounces-smaller than the 6.3-ounce female. They have pure white underparts with round or heart-shaped spots. "For me," Carl said, "they were the most beautiful of birds, and I used to get very excited when I just got a glimpse of one. They have distinctive rounded wings and are very maneuverable. They weave in and out of the forest canopy chasing and feeding on the bright red and green day geckos that are their main prey.

"They used to ride the updrafts from the sides of the cliffs, rising hundreds of feet, and then just close their wings to plummet earthward, hurtling vertically downward at great speed," he continued. "Sometimes they would pull out of their stoop and just land gently on a tree or on the cliff; more usually they used the momentum to shoot upward again."

As the breeding season approached, they became more and more aerial, Carl told me. "They would chase each other around and fly in the most beautiful 'sky dances,' rising and falling in gentle undulations or in jagged zigzags. Often they would just rise in the sky on a thermal, flying around together and calling until sometimes this courtship display culminated in mating in their nest cavity." Although Carl was talking of his experiences of some thirty years ago, he told me, "I cannot think about these early observations of the kestrels without a flush of excitement and a quickening of the pulse."

Teetering on the Brink The Mauritius kestrel had been pushed to the verge of extinction as a result of severe deforestation during the eighteenth century-accelerated by the devastating effects of cyclones, predation from invasive species (especially crab-eating macaques, mongooses, cats, and rats), and the 1950s and 1960s use of pesticides, especially DDT, for malaria control and food crop protection.

In 1973, the Mauritius government had agreed to the capture of one of the last pairs of these falcons for an attempt at captive breeding-which failed. One chick was born but it died when the incubator broke down, and subsequently the female died as well. By the following year, there were only four Mauritius kestrels remaining in the wild, and it was considered the rarest bird in the world.

It was in 1979 that Carl started his work on Mauritius, under the auspices of the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust. He became the sixth biologist in as many years to work with the kestrels. Although he was only twenty-four years old, he had spent many years keeping and rehabilitating injured birds. Fresh from college with a degree in biology and knowledge of recent advances in breeding falcons in captivity, he had, he told me, "the enthusiasm and arrogance of youth." He had seen breeding success with injured common kestrels in his parents' garden and was sure that he could save this the rarest of all birds where others had failed.

The Hazards of Egg s.n.a.t.c.hing Carl knew that common kestrels, like so many birds, will lay again if their first clutch is removed, and he determined to try the technique on the wild Mauritius kestrels. He had to climb steep cliffs to reach the "nests"-shallow depressions, or sc.r.a.pes, in the substrate-of each of the two breeding pairs to take their eggs.

"The first nest was on a relatively small cliff, and I could get to it by using an extension ladder," he said. "I found that the kestrel had laid its eggs at the back of a small cave about two meters deep. I crawled in and took the three eggs and placed them carefully in a widemouthed insulated flask that had been preheated to the correct incubation temperature." From there they went to an incubator at the government's captive breeding center, about five miles away.

The second nest was on a high cliff, and Carl had to be lowered down to it on a rope. "The eggs were deep in a narrow cavity that opened up into a nest chamber about four feet into the rock, and the only way I could reach them was by attaching a spoon to a long stick. The eggs had been laid in the remains of a dead tropicbird and were in a bed of soft white feathers." Those eggs soon joined the others in the breeding center.

Because the species was so close to extinction, this was a tense time, and Carl camped on the incubator room floor to be close by in case anything went wrong. Four of the eggs hatched, and he hand-reared the chicks "on minced mouse and minced quail." All four fledged, and since the double-clutching technique had worked so well, it was repeated in subsequent years. Thus a captive population was built up, and these birds subsequently bred successfully. Gradually the total number increased.

In 1984, Carl took a chick from the captive breeding center and put it in the nest of one of the wild kestrels, Suzie. She reared it successfully, and it became the first captive-born individual to return to freedom. Subsequently captive-bred and raised birds were released into areas where there was suitable habitat but no kestrels.

In 1985, Carl was able to announce the fiftieth successful hatching at the breeding center from captive-laid and wild-harvested eggs. And by 1991, as a result of double-clutching in the wild and captive populations, artificial insemination, and successful raising of incubator-hatched chicks, two hundred Mauritius kestrels had been successfully bred. By the end of the 19931994 breeding season, 333 birds had been released to the wild.

Meanwhile Carl and the DWCT, working with the Mauritius government, were continuing their work with the wild population. Supplementary food was provided, and the birds were offered-and used-nest boxes. Strict predator control served to reduce numbers of introduced predators, and work on habitat restoration was begun. This meant that captive-bred and reared birds released into the wild had a good chance of survival. Indeed, in the early 1990s the kestrel population was judged to be self-sustaining, and, said Carl, "the captive breeding program was closed down, the job was complete, and the kestrel was saved." Indeed, recent studies have shown that there are probably more than a hundred breeding pairs and a total of about five to six hundred birds. Kestrel lovers-raise your gla.s.ses to the success of this effort!

The Pink Pigeon (Columba (Columba [formerly [formerly Nesoenas Nesoenas] mayeri) mayeri) Most people think of pigeons as pests. We all know the overfed birds that strut unconcerned along the pavements of busy cities, congregate around people eating in the park, and deface the walls of buildings on which they roost. Forget all that. The pink pigeon is a beautiful, medium-size pigeon with a delicate pink breast, pale head, and foxy red tail.

"This stunning bird," said Carl, "had been rare for probably two centuries or more and for a while was thought extinct." Then in the 1970s, a tiny population of about twenty-five to thirty birds was found surviving in a small grove of trees high on a mountainside that had one of the highest rates of rainfall in Mauritius-about fifteen feet per year. They lived there, Carl told me, not because they liked it but because the number of predators was low in this wet and often cold habitat. But even there their numbers were declining due to habitat destruction and degradation, and because of introduced monkeys and rats that raided the nests and ate the eggs and young. Feral cats killed adult birds as well.

By 1990, there were only ten or eleven known individual pink pigeons left in the wild, and it appeared that the tiny population was in terminal decline. Fortunately in the mid-1970s, a team from the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust had captured a group of pigeons for a captive breeding program run by Carl. He had studied this group for his PhD degree.

"They were a real challenge to breed," he told me. "They were very fussy about their mates, and to find compatible pairs was a real headache." With small populations, of course, it is important to manage the genetic diversity and to prevent the mating of closely related individuals. But, said Carl, "It was common for the birds to reject the partners that you felt were most appropriate and then try and pair up with their first cousin or even a sibling! Sometimes I felt like a pink pigeon marriage guidance counselor ... a compatible breeding pair might breed and then one day there would be a huge bust-up and one would be beating up the other and they would have to be separated."

Despite the problems, the pigeons started breeding. But then they proved to be such poor parents that the eggs and young had to be reared under domestic doves. In time, however, by allowing them to practice rearing young doves, Carl was able to improve their parental skills. And so, finally, with the pink pigeons breeding and raising their young at Black River, Carl and his team developed a program for releasing them back into their native forest.

Under Carl's supervision, a young Englishwoman, Kirsty Swinnerton, pitched a tent in the forest and monitored their progress for five years. It soon became obvious that they faced a variety of problems. First, especially at certain times of the year, there was very little appropriate food in the forest, much being eaten by introduced monkeys, rats, and birds. This meant that supplementary food needed to be provided. Second, when the reintroduced pigeons started to breed, several of them were killed by feral cats, necessitating increased predator control. But when these problems had been addressed, the original released population gradually began to increase so that eventually it was possible to establish several other populations. And in 2008, Carl told me, there were nearly four hundred free-living pink pigeons divided among six different populations. "This species is now secure," he said.

The Echo Parakeet (Psittacula eques echo) (Psittacula eques echo) Having attained considerable success with the Mauritius kestrel and pink pigeon, Carl turned his attention to what was then the world's rarest parrot-the beautiful emerald-green echo parakeet. It is the last of the three or four species of parrots that once lived on Mauritius, and the last of perhaps as many as seven parakeet species once found on the islands of the western Indian Ocean.

In the 1700s and early 1800s, the echo parakeet was very common in Mauritius and Reunion Island in upper- and mid-alt.i.tude forests and in the scrublands-the so-called dwarf forest-feeding on fruit and flowers in the upper branches and nesting in holes in the trees. The Reunion population disappeared first, and between the 1870s and the 1900s the population in Mauritius gradually fell. This was due primarily to habitat loss and compet.i.tion from introduced species. Fortunately in 1974, and as a result of growing awareness, the remaining forest was given almost total protection, and a significant nature reserve was created by linking smaller protected forests. But for a while, it seemed that this move had come too late-the tiny population of echo parakeets was having limited nesting success.

In 1979, when Carl was spending a lot of time in and around the Black River Gorges with his kestrels, he occasionally saw small flocks of the parakeets on the ridges surrounding the gorges. They were, he said, tame and confiding, and because they sometimes fed only a few feet away from him, he got to know them individually. But they were disappearing fast: By the 1980s, there were only eight to twelve known individuals left, of which only three were females-although Carl says it is possible that several birds had been overlooked.

Since these parakeets were island residents, facing similar problems to the birds of New Zealand, Don Merton was invited to help the effort to save them from extinction. Drawing on his considerable experience and working closely with Carl, he devised and helped implement the recovery strategy. First, they initiated a study to get to the bottom of the parakeets' nesting problems. They found that when the parakeets did breed, the chicks were attacked by nest flies that would in some years kill most if not all of them. This meant that nests had to be treated with insecticides. Another problem was tropicbirds taking over nest sites, so tropicbird-proof entrances had to be installed on suitable nest cavities. Rats also posed a great threat, sometimes eating both eggs and young. After two precious nests were lost to rats, the team stapled rings of smooth PVC plastic around the trunks of each nest tree and placed a bucket of poison nearby. One nest was attacked by a monkey, who grabbed a chick and wounded the mother. The team isolated nest trees by judicious pruning of the canopy so that monkeys could no longer jump in from neighboring trees. Then there were the seasonal food shortages-and so feeding hoppers were introduced (though it was many years before the birds learned to use them). Finally, nest cavities were made more secure and weatherproof.

The biologists found that though females typically laid three or four eggs, usually only one chick fledged. In other words, chicks were dying in almost all nests. Carl and his team decided that if there were more than two chicks in a nest, they would take the "surplus," leaving the parents with a brood they could raise comfortably. If a pair failed to hatch any eggs, a "surplus" chick was given to them from another nest.

"In such intelligent birds as the echo parakeets," Carl told me, "it is important for their psychological well-being that they are allowed to rear young. It is also important for the young to be reared in family groups." This program of manipulation of nests also resulted in many surplus young being taken to the breeding center, where they were raised successfully.

The first three captive-bred birds were returned to the wild in 1997; others soon followed. But there were problems with these hand-reared birds. "Some were just too tame," Carl told me. "When they saw you in the forest, they would fly down and land on your shoulder." And they were very naive. Sometimes they landed near a cat or mongoose-and did not live to tell the tale. Carl spent a lot of time with these young birds, pondering their problem. He had been releasing them when they were seventeen weeks old, so he decided to try releasing the next youngsters at about nine to ten weeks-the time when they would normally fledge. The results were dramatic. "These younger birds integrated with the wild birds and learned their survival and social skills."

Gabriella was one of the first three birds to be released. She mated with a wild male, Zip, and was the first captive-bred female to fledge a chick-Pippin. Gabriella had learned to use a feeding hopper in captivity and Zip, learning from her, became the first wild bird to use one.

In subsequent years, the number of birds taking supplemental food from the hoppers and using nest boxes provided by the team gradually increased, as did the number of breeding pairs. By 2006, it was decided to stop the intensive management of the wild birds, only continuing with the supplementary feeding and provision of nest boxes. In March 2008, I learned that there are about 360 free-living echo parakeets-and the population is still growing.

A Haven for the Future And so, the echo parakeet represents another species saved-although it will be necessary, said Carl, to continue with supplemental feeding and predator control. Skeptics maintain that a species cannot be deemed secure until it can live on its own, independent of human help. "But," said Carl firmly, "in an increasingly modified world, we are going to have to look after and manage the wildlife if we want to keep it." Alas, he is right. In a world so damaged by our human footprint, it is likely that we shall have to remain eternally vigilant to protect threatened and endangered species: They need all the help we can give them. It is the least we can do.

One of the most important projects on Mauritius, along with ongoing predator control, is the restoration of areas of native forest-a program in which the government's National Parks and Conservation Service now plays a large part. As a result of the successes with the Mauritius kestrel, pink pigeon, and echo parakeet, the prime minister of Mauritius declared the Black River Gorges and surrounding areas Mauritius's first national park-a haven "for the birds that have been saved to live."

Short-Tailed Albatross or Steller's Albatross (Phoebastria albatrus)

The story of the short-tailed albatross is inexorably linked with one man, Hiroshi Hasegawa, and his lifelong dedication to a single cause-saving an extraordinarily beautiful and extremely endangered bird from extinction. This bird made its last stand in a remote and almost inaccessible corner of the world-Torishima, an active volcano island that rises in sheer and mostly unscalable cliffs out of the sea, some eleven hundred miles southeast of Tokyo.

I spoke with Hiroshi during my annual visit to j.a.pan in November 2007. I was very excited to meet this extraordinary man. His eyes are bright with love for his work, and for the birds to which he has dedicated his life, and he seems filled with suppressed energy. I longed to go with him to watch the short-tailed albatross-but I must make do with the information he has so generously shared with me.

Growing up in the hilly mountainous area near Fuji, he developed a pa.s.sion for birding that eventually led to his love for the short-tailed albatross, the largest seabird in the North Pacific. Their long narrow wings, with a span of more than seven feet, enable them to glide effortlessly, low over the ocean, going ash.o.r.e only during the breeding season between November and March. They are very beautiful; the adult has a white back, golden-yellow plumage on the head, and black-and-white wings. Most distinctive is the bill, which is long and bubblegum pink, tipped with blue.

At one time the short-tailed albatross was common, ranging for miles from j.a.pan to the West Coast of the United States and the Bering Sea and nesting on gra.s.sy slopes set among the rocky cliffs of small islands, mostly off j.a.pan. It was their glorious plumage that almost led to their extinction: Between 1897 and 1932, it is estimated that feather hunters clubbed to death at least five million of them on their main breeding grounds on the rugged cliffs of Torishima. By 1900, there were some three hundred feather hunters camped there during the breeding season, and the numbers of short-tailed albatrosses continued to decline. When the hunters heard that the j.a.panese government, in response to lobbying from ornithologists and conservationists, had agreed to make the island off limits, they organized a final ma.s.sacre. At the end of the slaughter, no more than fifty individuals remained. And then, in 1939, another volcanic eruption wiped out most of the last nesting sites.

A chick begs its parent for food on Torishima Island. When Hiroshi Hasegawa first set foot on this island in 1977 he found only fifteen struggling chicks among the seventy-one surviving albatrosses-and he knew then that these beautiful birds were on the verge of extinction. (Hiroshi Hasegawa) (Hiroshi Hasegawa) At least the few survivors now had legal protection: The j.a.panese government had listed the short-tailed albatross as a Special National Monument, as well as protecting Torishima Island as a National Monument. But there were very few left to protect-in 1956, an expedition counted only twelve nests. Seventeen years later, British ornithologist Dr. Lance Tickell went to Torishima Island to check on this tiny colony and to band the chicks. On his way back, he stopped to give some lectures in j.a.pan's Kyoto University. That visit made a deep impression on Hiroshi Hasegawa, then a graduate student majoring in animal ecology. Indeed, it determined his future. If a British ornithologist could get to the remote Torishima Island, in j.a.panese waters, then surely he, Hiroshi, could somehow get there himself.

He could hardly have set himself a harder task. For one thing, he had no funding. And when he eventually got a place on a fisheries research vessel going to Torishima, the weather was too bad for them to land and he only glimpsed the nesting albatrosses from the ship.

Finally, in 1977, Hiroshi set foot for the first time on Torishima Island. He counted only seventy-one adult and immature birds. Since the short-tailed albatross probably lives to be fifty or sixty years old, some of the adult birds were almost certainly survivors of the 1932 ma.s.sacre. There were only nineteen chicks among the seventy-one birds-four of them already dead, while the other fifteen died before fledging. Hiroshi knew, then, that these beautiful birds were very, very close to extinction. "I understood," he told me, "that it was my responsibility, as a j.a.panese, to bring the species back from the brink."

For a while, Hiroshi was supported by a fisheries experimental station, but their boat had an annual schedule that was not geared to the breeding season of the albatrosses. He succeeded in getting funding for a few years from the Ministry of Education, Science and Culture, but the government would not commit to the long-term project that Hiroshi knew was necessary. And so, he told me, he gave up seeking funding from official sources and instead began writing a series of popular articles and children's books. This brought in sufficient funds to charter boats when he needed them for his albatross work. It was then that he learned "never to copy others' ideas." Instead he developed his own vision of a conservation plan.

A Rare Bird and a Rare Man The journey to the breeding grounds is tough. First comes a long boat ride over the open sea-and there can be horrific storms. Even ash.o.r.e, all the equipment must be hauled up sheer black volcanic lava, to a height the equivalent of fourteen stories, and then down a four-hundred-foot cliff before arriving at the breeding site. Hiroshi has made this journey two or three times a year for twenty-seven years. All the more remarkable considering that, as he confided to me, he always gets seasick! During the breeding season from early November to late December, Hiroshi counts birds and nests on the island, and observes their behavior. In late March, he returns to put identifying bands on the chicks' legs. And in June, he sometimes goes back to work on improving the nesting sites, planting gra.s.s to stabilize the soil and provide some cover. Gradually, the survival rate of the chicks increased. But in 1987, probably as a result of a fierce typhoon and very heavy rain, there was a ma.s.sive landslide on Torishima Island, followed by a series of bad mudslides that destroyed some nesting sites. This probably caused increased compet.i.tion for s.p.a.ce with black-footed albatrosses.

Hiroshi realized then that it was desperately important to establish a new nesting colony in another part of the island. He carved life-like decoys (to date he has produced about one hundred), which he placed at the site he had selected. Then, when the adult birds began returning for the breeding season, he played back courtship calls of short-tailed albatross (a method pioneered by Dr. Steve Kress when working with Atlantic puffins). For the first two years, there was no response. Then, for the 19951996 breeding season, one pair nested there and successfully reared a chick. No other individuals arrived the next year, nor the one after that, but Hiroshi did not give up. He continued to put out decoys and play calls, year after year, until finally, ten years after the first pair had raised their chick, three more pairs arrived. By the 20062007 breeding season, the new colony numbered twenty-four nesting pairs; sixteen chicks were fledged.

Meanwhile the breeding success at the original site gradually improved. In the 19971998 season, 129 chicks fledged (67 percent of all those hatched); the following year, 142. And so it went, year after year, until during the 20062007 breeding season no less than 231 chicks fledged, and the population of the colony was almost 2,000. One of these is a bird banded by Tickell that Hiroshi has been observing since the start of his study; it successfully reared a chick at the age of thirty-three years.

Threats at Sea Of course, short-tailed albatrosses-like all the albatross species-face major threats during their months at sea. Many are hooked and drowned on commercial long lines; others get tangled in abandoned fishing gear or swallow plastic debris floating in the ocean. From time to time, they are coated with oil from spills. Hiroshi and other ornithologists tried to raise public awareness. Between 1988 and 1993, a series of TV programs about the plight of the short-tailed albatross was broadcast throughout j.a.pan. In 1993, the short-tailed albatross was listed as endangered in the j.a.panese Endangered Species Act. And finally, nearly twenty years after beginning his battle to save these birds, Hiroshi was able to secure funding from the j.a.panese government for both the ongoing habitat improvement at the original breeding site and the establishment of the new breeding site on Torishima Island.

The only other place where short-tailed albatrosses are known to have a nesting colony is on an island located southwest of Torishima. Hiroshi managed to visit this colony in 2001, but because the ownership of these islands is disputed among j.a.pan, China, and Taiwan, it was extremely hard to get access.

A Very Patient Bird There is also a place within US jurisdiction, the Midway Atoll, where short-tailed albatrosses have attempted to breed-although without success. No more than two individuals have been seen on any one of the atoll's islands at the same time, only one egg was laid, and there is no record of a hatching! Perhaps these stray short-tailed albatrosses are attracted by the sight or sound of the two million or so black-footed and laysan albatrosses that breed on those islands.

Judy Jacobs, who heads up the US Fish and Wildlife Service recovery plan for the short-tailed albatross, told me that one of these stray birds, believed to be a male, "has shown up on Midway's Eastern Island almost every breeding season since 1999." In 2000, to encourage a mate to join him, a number of decoys were placed on his island, along with a sound system playing recorded calls from Torishima. But despite these attractions, no other short-tailed albatross appeared, and year after year he waited in vain. Then his luck changed. "This year, just two weeks ago," Judy wrote in January 2008, "he was joined for the first time by another of his kind-a juvenile." The patient albatross and his new juvenile companion showed preening and pair-bonding behavior. "So perhaps," said Judy, "the adult bird's patience of nine years will finally be rewarded!!" I am longing to find out!

A New Island Home The most important part of the recovery plan drawn up in 2005 by the US Fish and Wildlife Service, in cooperation with j.a.panese and Australian scientists, was to establish a new breeding colony in a safe place. In 2002, Torishima volcano had erupted again (it is one of the most active in the area), and although on that occasion it just spewed out ash and smoke-at a time when all albatrosses were out at sea-it was a stark reminder of the danger faced by the still-precarious short-tailed albatross population. It was important to try to establish a new colony on an island that was safe from volcanic activity and one that was accessible for monitoring. After much discussion, and a reconnaissance trip by j.a.panese scientists, Mukojima Island, one of the Ogasawara Islands about two hundred miles south of Torishima, was selected as a site for the new colony. Short-tailed albatrosses had been recorded breeding there as recently as the 1920s.

Before attempting to translocate precious short-tailed albatross chicks to Mukojima Island, a j.a.panese team of biologists from Yamashina Inst.i.tute decided to work out albatross-chick-raising techniques with the non-endangered black-footed albatross species. This exercise was not very successful, but valuable lessons were learned that led to the development of better rearing techniques. So that the following year, when ten non-endangered black-footed albatross chicks were translocated to a specially prepared site on Mukojima Island, all but one of them fledged.

This success gave all those involved the courage to translocate the first precious short-tailed albatross chicks to Mukojima Island. There was a great deal of publicity in antic.i.p.ation of this event. Fortunately, Judy Jacobs wrote me, things could scarcely have gone better. Ten chicks were transported from Torishima to their new home by helicopter in February 2008. And to the huge relief of everyone, all ten fledged-just a bit earlier than their peers on Torishima Island.

Today new technology is enabling scientists to find out exactly where the young short-tailed albatrosses spend their four to five years at sea after fledging. Twenty young albatrosses were fitted with tracking devices. Some of them flew straight from Torishima to the Bering Sea, traveling some four thousand miles in one month. This is an extraordinary journey, undertaken with no parental guidance, since the adults leave the breeding ground several weeks before the young. Of course it was particularly important to keep track of the birds that fledged from Mukojima. Five of them were equipped with satellite transmitters, as were five from Torishima. In September 2008, I got an update from Judy: All ten, she said, "are now foraging-and doing whatever else young albatrosses do-off the Aleutian Islands in Alaska." Five from Torishima and five from Mukojima!

Adult short-tailed albatross about to land on Torishima Island. Amazingly, 231 chicks fledged during the 20062007 breeding season and the population of the main colony was up to almost 2,000. (Hiroshi Hasegawa) (Hiroshi Hasegawa) The recovery plan for the short-tailed albatross, Judy told me, calls for translocations to Mukojima to continue for four more years, in the hope that by the fifth year some of the 2008 fledglings will return to Mukojima as breeding birds. And it is hoped that the decoys and sound system on the island may attract others of the species to also nest there. "It's a lot of work," Judy told me, "but very satisfying to play a part in the restoration of this magnificent seabird."

The "Patron Saint" of the Short-Tailed Albatross I asked Hiroshi how he felt now that other scientists were actively involved in short-tailed albatross protection. "It makes me very happy," he said, "that conservation work that I initiated alone by myself more than thirty years ago has now developed into an international joint project to form a new colony." He will continue to monitor the situation on Torishima Island, and ensure that there are chicks to be translocated to Mukojima. He has also set up the Short-Tailed Albatross Fund to receive contributions from the public. (You will find out more about this fund in "What You Can Do" at the end of this book.) Hiroshi Hasegawa has devoted the past thirty-five years of his life-risking life, limb, and terrible sea sickness-to restoring this glorious seabird. Shown here, standing at the edge of Tsubame-zaki cliff, on Torishima Island, where he has just finished counting the short-tailed albatrosses (the tiny white dots cl.u.s.tered on the right, near the water) in the nesting slope below. (Hiroshi Hasegawa) (Hiroshi Hasegawa) After working with these magnificent birds for so long, I wondered whether he had ever had a special relationship with any particular albatross. Not really, it seems, but there is the special pair that first nested at the new site he chose on Torishima in 1995. For twelve years now, they have maintained their bond, returning every year to the identical place to raise their chick. "And I will keep watching them," Hiroshi told me. His eyes lit up and for a moment he seemed far away, back in spirit in the wild places with the birds that, but for his efforts, might be no more.

THANE'S FIELD NOTES

Blue-and-Gold Macaw (Ara ararauna)

When I first went to Trinidad with my colleague Bernadette Plair, I was treated to a remarkable journey that was at times hot, buggy, sleepless, bat-infested, and Spartan-like. Journeys are often defined by what you do not not have, punctuated by unexpected gifts unavailable in your normal day-to-day. What I experienced on this trip was the opportunity to see more than a hundred species of birds in just two weeks, the most notable of which was the reestablished blue-and-gold macaw, a brightly colored and loud bird near and dear to Bernadette's heart. have, punctuated by unexpected gifts unavailable in your normal day-to-day. What I experienced on this trip was the opportunity to see more than a hundred species of birds in just two weeks, the most notable of which was the reestablished blue-and-gold macaw, a brightly colored and loud bird near and dear to Bernadette's heart.

Bernadette was born in Trinidad and grew up in the Sangre Grande area of the island. A soft-spoken woman with innate island diplomacy and keen tenacity, she has played a pivotal role in the conservation of her native wildlife. Like many "Trinis," Bernadette is of African, French, and East Indian descent, and recalls as a youngster in the 1950s and 1960s seeing and hearing the blue-and-gold macaws that the island was once famous for. "When I was a little girl," she told me, "I would see these beautiful and brightly colored birds flying above the canopy of palm trees, and naturally I never imagined that they could ever disappear."