group.’
By the time I caught up with him, he’d reached the end of the path. He was standing staring down a tunnel that led underground.
‘What’s this?’ he demanded.
‘It’s the way into the fort.’
His face lit up. ‘There’s a fort under here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wow! Can we go in?’
‘Not now. We’ve got to catch up to the others.’
But he wasn’t moving. ‘When can we do it?’
‘I’ll ask Dad. It might take some time, but we
will
go in there. Right? Now, can we go?’
That seemed to convince him. He pushed past me before sprinting back to the others. I sighed and followed.
The tour group was stacked up at another locked gate, waiting for us. Once again, after we went through, the gate was closed and locked behind us.
‘Why do you have to lock it?’ asked Nick.
Jenny turned and glared at him. ‘Because there are always idiots who do crazy things.’ She spread her arms, indicating all the fences. ‘These fences won’t keep out animal predators. They’re here to keep out the worst predators of all — stupid humans!’ She glared at Nick for a while longer, leaving us in no doubt which particular stupid human she had in mind.
Once inside the observation room Nick calmed down. He stood at the viewing window, studying an albatross sitting on her nest. The bird was in that semi-trance that takes over when they’re nesting.
‘That’s Milly,’ said Jenny with a smile. ‘She’s the oldest bird we have nesting here. When that egg hatches, it will be her seventeenth chick. But that won’t be until mid-January. She laid early in November and it takes about eleven weeks for them to hatch.’
She pointed to a photograph on the wall beside us. ‘That’s one of Milly’s chicks,’ she said. ‘That’s the actual size of them.’
There were
ooh
s and
aah
s from the group. It sure was cute: a big white bundle of fluff that looked just as cuddly as the stuffed toys they sold down in the shop.
‘How old is she?’ asked one of the tourists.
‘Fifty-three,’ replied Jenny. ‘She’s already outlived two partners. Her current partner is out at sea at the moment. He’ll return in a day or so, and then Milly will go off to feed while he sits on the egg. After the chick hatches, they’ll take turns in feeding it. Rearing an albatross chick is very much a co-operative effort. Without two parents, the chick would die. It’s also a full-time job. From the time they mate to when thechick can look after itself takes ten months. The adults then head out to sea for a rest. They take a year off and won’t touch land again until they return here the season after next.’
All this time Nick was quietly listening while looking at the bird on the nest. He stayed there, even while Jenny led us around the room talking about the displays featuring the life of an albatross.
‘When the juveniles are about a year old, they leave Taiaroa Head. They’ll then spend the next seven or so years by themselves at sea.’ She pointed to a map showing the countries of the Southern Hemisphere centred on Antarctica. ‘Some will fly all around the globe in search of food. Then, when they’re almost fully mature, they’ll return here to find a mate. That might take a few seasons, but when they do hook up with a partner they’ll stay together for the rest of their lives.’
As Jenny told the stories, I studied the tourists. While some, no doubt, had problems understanding the language, none missed her message: that the royal albatross was a remarkable bird, and that this sanctuary on Taiaroa Head was indeed a very special place.
On the way back home we met up with Brio and Roost again. They were parked at Pilots Beach, which is just below the Royal Albatross Centre. Roost was reading a comic while Brio stalked birds on the beach with a camera. I wanted to ignore them, but Nick thought otherwise.
‘I saw you on TV,’ he said, walking down to Brio on the shore.
Brio looked up and gave a smile. ‘Saw
By the time I caught up with him, he’d reached the end of the path. He was standing staring down a tunnel that led underground.
‘What’s this?’ he demanded.
‘It’s the way into the fort.’
His face lit up. ‘There’s a fort under here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wow! Can we go in?’
‘Not now. We’ve got to catch up to the others.’
But he wasn’t moving. ‘When can we do it?’
‘I’ll ask Dad. It might take some time, but we
will
go in there. Right? Now, can we go?’
That seemed to convince him. He pushed past me before sprinting back to the others. I sighed and followed.
The tour group was stacked up at another locked gate, waiting for us. Once again, after we went through, the gate was closed and locked behind us.
‘Why do you have to lock it?’ asked Nick.
Jenny turned and glared at him. ‘Because there are always idiots who do crazy things.’ She spread her arms, indicating all the fences. ‘These fences won’t keep out animal predators. They’re here to keep out the worst predators of all — stupid humans!’ She glared at Nick for a while longer, leaving us in no doubt which particular stupid human she had in mind.
Once inside the observation room Nick calmed down. He stood at the viewing window, studying an albatross sitting on her nest. The bird was in that semi-trance that takes over when they’re nesting.
‘That’s Milly,’ said Jenny with a smile. ‘She’s the oldest bird we have nesting here. When that egg hatches, it will be her seventeenth chick. But that won’t be until mid-January. She laid early in November and it takes about eleven weeks for them to hatch.’
She pointed to a photograph on the wall beside us. ‘That’s one of Milly’s chicks,’ she said. ‘That’s the actual size of them.’
There were
ooh
s and
aah
s from the group. It sure was cute: a big white bundle of fluff that looked just as cuddly as the stuffed toys they sold down in the shop.
‘How old is she?’ asked one of the tourists.
‘Fifty-three,’ replied Jenny. ‘She’s already outlived two partners. Her current partner is out at sea at the moment. He’ll return in a day or so, and then Milly will go off to feed while he sits on the egg. After the chick hatches, they’ll take turns in feeding it. Rearing an albatross chick is very much a co-operative effort. Without two parents, the chick would die. It’s also a full-time job. From the time they mate to when thechick can look after itself takes ten months. The adults then head out to sea for a rest. They take a year off and won’t touch land again until they return here the season after next.’
All this time Nick was quietly listening while looking at the bird on the nest. He stayed there, even while Jenny led us around the room talking about the displays featuring the life of an albatross.
‘When the juveniles are about a year old, they leave Taiaroa Head. They’ll then spend the next seven or so years by themselves at sea.’ She pointed to a map showing the countries of the Southern Hemisphere centred on Antarctica. ‘Some will fly all around the globe in search of food. Then, when they’re almost fully mature, they’ll return here to find a mate. That might take a few seasons, but when they do hook up with a partner they’ll stay together for the rest of their lives.’
As Jenny told the stories, I studied the tourists. While some, no doubt, had problems understanding the language, none missed her message: that the royal albatross was a remarkable bird, and that this sanctuary on Taiaroa Head was indeed a very special place.
On the way back home we met up with Brio and Roost again. They were parked at Pilots Beach, which is just below the Royal Albatross Centre. Roost was reading a comic while Brio stalked birds on the beach with a camera. I wanted to ignore them, but Nick thought otherwise.
‘I saw you on TV,’ he said, walking down to Brio on the shore.
Brio looked up and gave a smile. ‘Saw
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