9 February (109 days on island)
This week we did things a bit differently. Since I am interested in learning about the position of crew lead, for future leadership roles on other islands and potentially to apply to come back to Hōlanikū in that capacity within the next few years, Ryan involved me more in the week’s planning and leading activities. A ‘crew lead for the week’ sort of deal. So, for example, last weekend I planned out the rough shape of the week – what GRAs we would treat, what mornings and how much time would be dedicated to other activities which needed doing around the island, etc. I was also the point person for questions related to treatment; for the making up of herbicide, e.g. amounts and how much we took out; and for questions about additional jobs and tasks when we got back to camp. I enjoyed slotting into this role and practicing many of the responsibilities that come along with being crew lead. We treated 45 acres this week, whilst also accomplishing a lot of HELFOE (beach heliotrope) control. One of our goals for the season is to girdle HELFOE trees on the east (non-lagoon) side of the island, where the shoreline is shorter, and where erosion is happening fastest. HELFOE trees are native to the tropical shorelines in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, but they are not considered native to Hawaii. There was just one HELFOE observed on Hōlanikū in 1959, and it spread quickly across the island. Their roots do not help with soil stabilization as, for example, the native naupaka bush and kawelu grass roots do. Once they die, they also pose a hazard to albatross who fly low and fast up and down this corridor and can get trapped in the branches, which puncture and break their wings. I also have a personal vendetta against HELFOE as a result of the mōlī who died in the tree over a month ago – that was a hard parting, and I will not be letting go of those memories in a hurry. So for two solid mornings this week I had people go out to girdle and trim down HELFOE treated a few weeks earlier. We’d girdled several weeks prior, so the trees that had died as a result of that we could start taking down. We plan on outplanting naupaka and kawelu grass into the big bare clearings since HELFOE has a way of preventing anything from growing beneath it. The shoreline on that side is already starting to look very different. We are taking a proactive approach to the HELFOE problem this season, and we hope it can be carried forward in the seasons after us. In taking these trees down we are also taking the long view of island soil stability in a time of rising sea levels and greater storm intensity and frequency. It’s an insurance policy. I strongly believe that when coming to islands like this one, where people act as its custodian and attempt to not only restore it, but to shore it up for the future, the crew needs to think about the legacy they are leaving behind; the extent to which they have brought the project forward compared to where it was when they found it; and to have pride in their work, knowing they really did dedicate seven months of their lives to making the island a better place for seabirds, and to its overall longevity.
We had two birthday events this week – Nadia’s 25th birthday was on Friday, and Tlell’s half-birthday was yesterday (Saturday). One of the things I really love about this crew is the effort everyone goes to in making gifts for each other or having had the forethought to find something really useful and specific to that person in Honolulu before we left. This was evident at Christmas, and was evident again at these birthdays. Our final birthday of the season will be Ryan’s, which will come at the end of the month.
Some special moments for me this week came in many shapes. One of them was when a curious mōlī (Laysan albatross) came up to me whilst I was transecting a GRA. Sometimes you can just feel with certain birds, their body language, that they want to investigate you. It walked right up to me, looked me up and down, and then stared me in the face and started bobbing its head slightly. It looked calm, curious. I knelt down where I stood, and was still. I was wearing a buff around my head, with part of it flapping in the wind, and this seemed to be very interesting to the bird. I bent my head down, and it walked up to me, and started nibbling on the buff, which then turned into it trying to yank it off my head! These birds are so funny and charismatic, with so many expressions, betrayed by a combination of their body language, the way in which their feathers sit, and their vocalizations. It is wonderful to be able to spend so much time with them that you learn to read these signs. What I’d love to know now, is how other albatross species compare to the ka’upu and the mōlī body language that I’ve learned to read. How, too, do their dances compare? One day, I’ll find out, and I’ll tell you.
Most of the chicks have hatched now. I have observed no other incidents with fishing line, but that’s not to say that plastic is not being fed to chicks all around me. We’ve had some big rain events here this past week, and it has been fascinating – and worrying – to watch the chicks deal with this. I have seen several dead ones already, which is sad. I know of course that many thousands of them will not make it, but this is still a hard part of the job: watching chicks die. I have seen some chicks left alone too early, either (I assume) from parental inexperience, or arising from the realities of single parenting, or from low parental fitness. Some of those did not make it, but some still cling to life. Some chicks which are left alone are large and well, and even in severe rain, seem to be ok. I imagine this is by virtue of their fat stores – they are beginning to resemble little fluffy balls of fat – but also by virtue of the insulating properties of their down, which seems to retain heat (like wool?) even when wet. Anyways – basically, at first I was very worried even about these larger chicks when they were left alone, but I am now realizing that many of them will be ok, even if they look bedraggled and soggy. They were built for this over millions of years of evolution. It is a hard life though, and I have frequently felt guilty about being warm and dry in the bunkhouse during a rainstorm, thinking of all the little chicks outside.
Another interesting thing I have seen, and that has me wondering, is the interaction of unemployed (non-breeding) albatross with breeding albatross and their chicks. More times than I can count now, I have seen unemployed birds walk up to an incubating bird and preen them, and then walk away – i.e., not their mate. I have also seen certain nests attended by unemployed birds, who sleep/rest very near to the incubating bird, sometimes for several days, but do not incubate themselves. Once the chicks started to hatch, I have seen several of these birds be very interested in the chick, even though it is not theirs, even come up and try to preen it/sit on it – the chicks strike out at these adults who are not their parents. I wish I could know more about the relationships between these highly intelligent and long-lived animals. Are these unemployed birds who hang around certain nests, the offspring of those two birds from several seasons ago? Do they have an interest in that chick, which is related to them, more than they have an interest in others? How does an unemployed bird learn about raising a chick before they attempt to do so themselves for the first time? Do they watch what happens with the chicks of others? How do first-time parents learn what the correct feeding frequency is? Is this trial and error, and do chicks have to die for parents to become good at raising them? Or does success in fledging one’s own chick depend partially on having observed this being done? I have seemingly endless questions about the relationships in a colony, and the way learning underscores and runs through the lives of these fascinating birds. I wish I knew more. I wish I had one hundred lifetimes to simply sit and watch them, learn from them, and answer my questions.
Aloha
Isabelle Beaudoin