THE SUSSEX WILDLIFER
Getting closer to wildlife

Lord Howe Island: A magical Pacific island paradise
All images on this web site are copyright © Paul Lister/The Sussex Wildlifer 2010

Monday 24th February

Sydney to Lord Howe Island

We suffer a minor setback when the airport shuttle is late, but catch our flight with time to spare.  A near two-hour flight on a Dash 8 ends with the scariest landing of our lives, an incredibly bumpy, jerky one, as we yaw from side to side in the strong crosswinds.  We later discover that only the top 15 pilots in NSW are allowed to land and take off here and it is the second most dangerous airstrip in Oz!

There are two windsocks at the small airport, one at the end of the runway, the other on the sand dunes.  The two socks always point in different directions.  "That's all right", we are told by a local "we always ignore the one on top of the dunes".  Why on earth then, do they still have it there?  I hope this wind drops before we leave.   

I stumbled across Lord Howe Island on the Internet and immediately fell in love.  This is an island of superlatives and many claim it to be the last paradise.  Who am I to argue?  It is certainly the most beautiful island we have ever visited, a wonderful climate with no biting insects, although there are thousands of ants.  This is a great relief from the mainland where I was bitten almost every day.  These bites itched so much that I have become paranoid and it only needs the slightest breeze playing on the hairs on my arms and legs to get me twitching. 

Here there are the southernmost coral reefs in the world, teeming with marine life and lagoons with great curving sandy beaches and a most dramatic mountainous backdrop.  This World Heritage Site is home to 14 species of some of the most sensational seabirds in the world.  These nest and rear their young in colonies numbering, in some cases, tens of thousands.  Amongst them are masked boobies, noddies, sooty terns, red-tailed tropicbirds and the drop-dead gorgeous small white terns, previously seen on Rarotonga. 

Then there are the flesh-footed shearwaters.  Coming in to land at dusk, they have no brakes and can hit the ground hard.  Others crash into the treetops to arrest their flight.  Most scuttle away to their burrows to feed their young, whilst others stand dazed by the impact of their landing.  Further inland, less fortunate birds are killed outright by the impact.  It is not an easy life for the waiting chicks and so much for Darwin and his theories.  Why have these birds not adapted?  Why, for example have they not learnt to land in daylight, or on the sea and swim ashore?  You do not hear them as they drift in to land and they are some of the most beautiful birds when seen close up, with soft and sensitive faces. 

Although the weather starts windy, the birds are showing well.  Then in the evening, we attend a slide show by the local bird expert Ian Hutton.  Eating at the Beachcomber, it takes nearly 1½ hours to be served two great slabs of seared tuna with gravy and minimal veg.  When asked if we want pud I reply, "Life's too short".  Later the waitress tells us they have a new chef, this being his first day, but it does not explain the bargirl who complains of being over-worked with fewer than 30 people in the restaurant.   I suppose it is all relative though.

Tuesday 25th February

Transit Hill, Ned's Beach, Pacific birdlife

Above all else, it is the quality of the light that makes this island special and there is a sublime contrast between the white and the blue.  Fluffy white clouds settling over the mountaintops against a strikingly blue sky, set against the green forests is a magical sight.  The sea merges with the sky and I find it reassuring this blue on blue.  The infinite variety of shades acts as a balm, calming the senses and bringing inner peace.  Even the most demented SAD sufferer perks up immediately here.  Offshore, birds are gathering in their thousands, and the water teems with fish and giant turtles.  Would this still be a paradise if we had been the first people to arrive here and had to rely solely on our own resources to live?  I suspect that paradise is a relative concept. 

There is an easy and pleasant walk to the airport and back via Transit Hill and this takes us to Blinky Beach on Blinkenthorpe Bay.  We follow the track up below the low and dense overhead vegetation, enjoying the birds and magnificent scenery.  In the late afternoon the locals feed the fish at Ned's Beach attracting several small reef sharks.  Despite this, some still snorkel, something I am disinclined to do.  We stroll there from our room along a shady path beneath giant banyans and then climb the hill behind to visit the sooty tern colony.  A baby immediately in front of me rises in the air pretending it is a jump jet, its parent hovering inches behind my head, ready to remove my brains through the back of my head if I get any closer.  If anyone doubts the reality, just check out the fish spear of a beak.  It is a wonderful moment.

Wednesday 26th February

Malabar Hill, Kim's Lookout, Australian spiders, Ned's Beach

We climb Malabar Hill and clamber on to Kim's Lookout and back along the top of the spectacular cliffs.  The sea is becoming calmer.  There are no parrots on the island, no snakes or large lizards, a few small skinks, but there are spiders in the forests.  On Malabar we walk past spider city, a great multiple web containing 16 giant golden orb females attended by countless tiny males.  This is the stuff of nightmares!

The amazingly graceful red-tailed tropicbirds, their red beaks and streaming tails in sharp contrast to the all round blueness, ride the updrafts along the sheer cliffs, below which they nest on long galleries.  During courtship they even perform backward somersaults.  The cliffs here are 210m high and when we look back to the far end of the island we see the awe-inspiring view of Mounts Lidgbird and Gower.  Whilst it is possible to climb to the top of Gower and back in eight hours, this is difficult and you need a guide.  It is not for the faint hearted, or for anyone suffering from vertigo, but once there you are in a different world; one normally shrouded in cloud.  This is a mist forest with ferns, mosses and orchids covering every available space and where it is possible to call Providence petrels and woodhens to within a few feet of you.

Thursday 27th February

Stevens Reserve, The Clear Place, Valley of the Shadows, and muttonbirds on Ned's Beach

We have given up trying to book a boat trip: the seas are still too rough.  Instead we walk around the small Stevens Reserve.  Ferns are here in abundance, as many as 57 species, including four endemic tree ferns.  There are many good trees, Fitzgeraldii with white flower spikes, Pumpkin, Berrywood, Christmas Bush, Pandanus, which sports many prop roots several feet high and resembling an Indian wigwam, multiple trunked Banyans and there are ten species of orchid.  The most important trees of all are the palms, four endemic to the island, of which the Kentia Palm is exported all around the world as a pot plant.

Later we explore The Clear Place, again enjoying views of tropicbirds, masked boobies and a giant turtle.  An enormous rat approaches to within a few feet of a group of elderly people resting on the slope and eating their lunch.  They are oblivious to its presence and I wonder if it goes after the many muttonbirds that nest in the immediate area, as evidenced by the dozens of burrows around us.  Walking through the Valley of the Shadows we come across a sooty tern colony on the rocks by the sea.  I whistle a currawong and less then a minute later it whooshes in silently from behind only missing our heads at the last split second.  Very scary, it was so quiet.  A very destructive bird, it kills other small birds, not for food, but to eliminate them and although not at all popular on the island, it is protected.  A currawong topples the baby white tern from its perch outside our room.  The consolation is that it did not bite its head off.  Matthew King, the caretaker manager, later replaces this youngster on its branch some ten feet up. 

As the light fades we are aware of muttonbirds noiselessly coming in to land all around us.  Somehow none bump into us, as they drift in on silent wings.  It is only when they are immediately next to us that we realise they have arrived.  It is a fantastic experience. 

Friday 28th February

Little Island, Capella South, the Catholic Church and woodhens, the lagoon

Mat tells us that 3kms away Japanese are over-fishing these waters.  This story has followed us around the world.  Can nobody stem this greed?

We pay for a ramble to Little Island hoping to see the LHI woodhens.   Our leader is Ken, a 79-year old ex-photographer from Sydney, who has lived on the island for 30 years.  He is still considered an outsider.  He now dives and photographs the corals deep down.  Despite all his efforts, we see no woodhens, but do enjoy a good lunch under the mountains at Capella South.  Ken is scathing about the pc attitude of young graduating zealots who want to eradicate many LHI introduced species.  How refreshing to meet someone with a more balanced view about the environment.

He tells me to look for woodhens at the back of the Catholic Church.  This we do and are immediately rewarded with very close views of five, 2% of the entire world population.  So, why are these birds special because, after all, they are not much to look at?  Flightless, brown and bantam-sized, they have sturdy legs and use their curved beaks to scratch a living. An inquisitive bird, it can be lured to you by calling or by knocking a rock on a tree stump.  The problem was that for a long time they formed the staple diet of the island's inhabitants and it was not just humans who found them easy prey, but also feral cats, rats and pigs joined in the feast.  Only those birds living on the southern mountaintops survived.

By 1969 there were only 30 left and something had to be done.  Scientists found that they are territorial, mate for life with the male defending an area of about three hectares and so on an island this small the population will never be great.  By 1978 a rescue programme had started, feral cats were removed, the islanders shot, and presumably ate, the pigs and now the population has stabilised at about 220 birds.

The afternoon is spent snorkelling amongst the lagoon corals and fish.  Under blue skies, dotted with white terns and Mounts Lidgbird and Gower dominating the southern horizon a few short miles away, it is calm with little current.  The long curving sandy expanse of beach makes this one of the most beautiful places in the whole world.  It is bliss to share this place with Toni and so few others.  Offshore, on Blackburn Island, wedge-tailed shearwaters are coming in to land.  Not in the dark or crashing into trees and roads, they leave this behaviour to the muttonbirds.  Unlike Greece, which can be excruciatingly hot in the afternoon, the temperature here is exquisite, gloriously sunny with a cooling breeze.

Even paradise has a downside and here it is the ants.  There are millions of them.  There is growing concern in the Northern Territories about the yellow crazy ants.  These are decimating some species and demands grow for aerial bombardment with poison.  Where have we heard this before?  In the evening we stroll in the dark to the public telephone.  It is my stepmother Ruby's birthday and muttonbirds are arriving through the trees, thudding into the ground, as we speak.  This could be dangerous.

Saturday 1st March

Muttonbird Point

We explore Muttonbird Point, seeing masked boobies, common noddies, sooty terns and more red-tailed tropicbirds.  Wedge-tailed shearwaters turn up in the late afternoon to feed their young in their shallow burrows.  Classed as a moderate walk our progress is slow because of numerous tree roots and we are glad to get back and dry the washing before torrential rain sets in for the night.

There is a creature called the LHI phasmid, a prehistoric stick insect, and it is only found on nearby Ball's Pyramid, a spear of rock piercing the Tasman Sea a few miles away.  Driven to near extinction by rats, it is the most endangered insect in the world, with one small family remaining.  The size of my hand, these are not creatures to meet on a dark night.  A five-year captive breeding programme is being set up.  They reproduce, like all stick insects, without the need for males by a process called parthenogenesis, producing identical clones.  This poses a big problem in breeding programmes, as it means they do not adapt and any defects are replicated.

Sunday 2nd March

Ned's Beach

Mat was up in the night rescuing that baby white tern again.  After leaving it on the end of his bed for a couple of hours, he set up his ladder and put it back on its branch.  His cockatiel arrived on the first flight.  Despite paying £20, he has had to jump through hoops to bring it here.

He has lent me an old copy of GEO, Australia's Geographical Magazine.  It contains an article on LHI written in 1979.  It talks of the 300 masked boobies, 100,000 sooty terns and 250 human residents.  The article starts, 'Tall and aloof, Lord Howe Island rises from the sea in defiance of the boiling Pacific swells that nip and worry at its feet.  A rich, dark mantle of forest stretches down to the sea, clinging in sombre silence to the fertile volcanic soils.'  Wow, flowery stuff, eh? 

The author felt the future of LHI, its birds, marine life, and flora looked brighter than for most oceanic islands.  Proposals had been made to set aside the greater part of the island as a national park and the 250 residents were not keen to be governed from Sydney nor to lose their traditional fishing and palm nut rights.  Concern was being expressed about inadequate water and sewage facilities, loss of habitat for breeding shearwaters and soil erosion caused by over grazing.

There are still water problems and the relief after the major downpour that filled the rain barrels was palpable.  Recycling is a big issue and the few shops do not hand out shopping bags as a matter of course, as all rubbish is transported off the island by sea.  There is something good about buying an old fashioned linen shopping bag and one that will be a great souvenir. 

There is a golf course at the southern end of the island and the members want to make a new green on the edge of the sea.  To hit a ball to this green, however, means playing across the road and as one can imagine, this is arousing some fierce passions.

The island is, of course, still prone to danger from predators.  Ship rats coming ashore in 1918 caused the extinction of five species, the last being the Boobook Owl about 50 years ago.  It is not just the birds that make this a special place, but also the corals, over 500 species of mostly tropical fish, starfish, sea urchins (some poisonous), sea cucumbers, marine slugs and snails, bivalves and crabs.  There are long stretches of virgin sand, rock pools in the lagoons, boat rides when conditions allow, canoeing, scuba diving and snorkelling, fishing, fish feeding, surfing, reef walking, golf, tennis, bowls, bike riding, picnics and BBQs.  You may even be able to hire a car, although this is a worthless exercise - far better to walk and stroll along the many paths that criss-cross the island.

And, sheer bliss, there are no mobile phones - none at all.  Mind you, that does not stop the mobile addicts complaining.  You can fax and you can telephone from public telephone booths, but then, who on earth wants to do even that in paradise?  This really is such an exceptional and magical place.

There are few tourists, mostly Australians, but some do not appreciate the high cost of living.  Speaking to an Aussie on Ned's Beach, he complains bitterly about how much everything costs and I have to gently remind him that it all comes in by either air or sea.  I do not ask why, if he can afford the expensive airfare and the accommodation, he is moaning.  Is he yet another example of a whingeing Aussie?  The boat arrived yesterday and is still unloading.  Not everything has been distributed yet.  For example, Lorhiti has run out of ice cream, causing a degree of local distress!

I have never knowingly met Seventh Day Adventists before and they seem a reasonable bunch of people.  The only bolshie people we encounter are some of the shopkeepers, who do not seem to care if they serve us or not.  There are not many cars here.  Most people cycle, some walk and fewer drive around at the island's maximum speed of 25kmh.  Despite this there are so many road kills.  The roads are few and largely shaded by the Kentia palms and ferns creating a delightful atmosphere. 

It has been a privilege to share this land with the beautiful creatures that live here.  I leave with one question in my mind, 'do the birds and the other creatures see blue'?  Is this why so many are attracted here?  We are sojourners in another land and one that will live forever in our memories.  It is such hard work, all this enjoyment!

Monday 3rd March

Lord Howe Island to Sydney and on towards Melbourne

To see the white terns floating just out of reach above my head, the slightly forked tails translucent against the against the blue skies, or when silhouetted against the even bluer sea, is a magical moment and one in which I find it impossible to tire.  First seen on Rarotonga, here they seem even more appropriate.  A special bird this, pure white, with black beak and dark brown bulbous eyes accentuated by a black eye-ring, somewhat misty or dreamy looking.  How could anyone not immediately fall in love with this ethereal creature?  We find it incredible that these birds lay their egg on a horizontal branch of a tree, no nest, nothing at all, and here the bird emerges from the egg and sits until it either gets knocked, or blown off its perch, has its head bitten off by a currawong, or, hopefully, fledges and flies off.

We clear up and hand sort our rubbish into four bins, then take a final walk for more photos, including several of a baby white tern.  This fell off its branch in a banyan tree in the night, in the high wind, and is now sitting on top of a low palm frond.  Mat has promised to get his ladder out again and place it back on its branch.  The plane ride back to Sydney is much smoother, as is the connection to Central Station, where we collect our luggage from the locker, check our cases, go for something to eat and sort out our e-mails. 

The train journey from hell on the overnight sleeper to Melbourne leaves bang on time.  If anyone tells you the train is more comfortable than the overnight buses, do not ever believe them.  It seems to have developed square wheels.  It is either that, or the train has left the tracks and is churning across a ploughed field.  I am left clinging to the top bunk for dear life, bracing myself head and foot.  This leaves little scope for sleep.  Nobody will ever persuade me that train travel is interesting.  How these Ozzie prejudices remind me of home.  So many people looked down their noses when we have told them that we have been travelling by bus, but these have been infinitely more comfortable than that bloody train. 

Later we discover we could have flown Virgin Blue for a fraction of the cost and time.  

Back to In the footsteps of my Daughter: a Wildlife Odyssey