Field Blog – May 12, 2026

It’s kind of crazy to think that 12 months ago, I was just stepping onto our little paradise out here, unaware of how this island would change me. At the time, I was still naive about seabirds and the island ecosystem I was joining. Over the past year, I have had the opportunity to live with and observe the life that persists in this atoll, a small bloom in the desert that is the Pacific Ocean. I have been awed by its beauty, impressed with its wildness, and astounded by its persistence.

The birds themselves are incredible. In the air, they are graceful, calm, and at ease. I think back to countless windy days where the albatross were swooping throughout the island, and the frigatebirds were barely specks in the air as they soared high above. On the ground, they lose their gracefulness and become these goofy creatures. Ka‘upu (Black-footed Albatross) walk like hunched old women, and the booby chicks look like a little child’s crafting project with too many cotton balls. I never cease to smile at tired frigatebirds splayed out in naupaka branches, enjoying the afternoon sun, or tropicbirds whose attempts at walking make me think of penguins in a desert. How about the noddies who walk around in little circles with their tongues out? And while it’s easy to make fun of their little mannerisms, I’ve realized that is one of the things that makes this place so special. We get to see these birds in their most vulnerable state. They are meant to be skimming the waves looking for food, but for some months out of the year, they must give that up to breed and raise offspring. Living here has been like looking into a window of their world that is closed to the general public, and that view is something I won’t forget.

It’s not just the birds that make this place special. In fact there are so many other terrestrial and marine organisms that I have grown to love. The monk seals remind us how to enjoy life’s simple pleasures as they spend hours sunbathing with only the occasional sneeze. Seeing a turtle is a rare occurrence, but I’ll never forget the first time we saw one basking on East Beach. Lately, I’ve been enamored by the fish that inhabit the lagoon and beyond. Schools hang out by the pier, and occasionally, we will spot a new species not usually there. We have even seen a shark or two show up lately, clearly getting ready for when albatross fledglings will begin floating out on the lagoon. The crabs are another rarely seen favorite, as they do most of their recycling jobs at night. I have a feeling even the plants will stay with me in my memories. I have spent hours struggling through my working relationship with Naupaka. Lately, Dwarf Bunchgrass (Eragrostis paupera), the rarest on the island and my favorite, has begun to sprout throughout the runway. Even with all these cool creatures out here, I know I would not have made it through a year without my friends and teammates.

It has been vital to be surrounded by people who work hard and care so deeply about the island and its wildlife. We have been through fun and tough times together. We have seen the departure and arrival of different resident and vagrant birds. We weathered awkward ship visits and tsunami warnings. We have played games, watched plenty of movies and laughed through it all. I guess I should have expected how close we would become living together for so long. We have become a family, or ʻohana. I’ve learned both what makes each person on the island tick, as well as what ticks them off. I’m lucky to have so many memories to take back with me to the mainland. I remember how excited we were to see the first albatross return. Or how sad we were when so many adults were dying in a heat wave last summer. Our Halloween, Christmas, and New Year’s shenanigans rank up there for best party nights, although I wish I had taken better care of Kayla’s Christmas gift. I think back warmly on countless delicious dinners and baked goods I enjoyed this year. Finally, the never-ending jokes and bits that someone not here wouldn’t understand, even if I tried to explain them to them. All in all, this year has helped guide how I think about the world, its ecology, and my place in all of it. I’m sad but also excited to be moving on to a new chapter with new stories to be made.

This last week has been one of finishing things up in preparation for the ship next week. We finished the scheduler, which, as usual, requires tackling some of the hardest and most frustrating plots on the island. I walked all about the island in order to finish our seasonal task of taking photo points at various locations. We worked together as a team one afternoon to haul up another large conglomerate of ghost-net and fishing lines and tidied up camp for the folks arriving this week. Bird-wise, we encountered the carcasses of two shorebirds and a Tristram’s Storm-Petrel, or “trispy”, all victims of a mysterious raptor on the island. Nick believes it may be a Peregrine Falcon, but it has managed to escape our best efforts to identify it. Kayla and I searched for it while out on our shorebird survey and Nick looked for it while out counting birds for International Big Day. I’m crossing my fingers that it will make an appearance before I leave. We enjoyed a nice meal at the pier where we devoured Kayla’s BBQ chicken sandwich made on a homemade baguette. On Sunday, we watched the final “Jordan pick” movie of the season: The Green Knight, which lived up to its title by being a rather odd watch. This week will bring a lot of new faces to the island, even as I face the lagoon for the last time. I wish my teammates and friends all the luck in the last month of the season. It really has been an honor to experience the wonders of Hōlanikū, and it is something I will not forget anytime soon.

Thanks for reading,

Cheers,

Jordan

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A hui hou, Jordan—we are forever grateful for your dedication to this special place