Life on a (nearly) Uninhabited Island
By Clint Cameron
I was awoken in the dead of night, yet again, by the blood-curdling squawking of pukekos and my pent-up rage finally boiled over. Storming out of my dorm room, I grabbed a broom and battered at the grass outside my bedroom window where the pukekos made their nightly assaults. 'That'll learn ya!' I yelled, as screeches receded into the distance. Of course, they were back at it within the hour.
And so went many a night, tormented by the birds as they battled for territory and mated (frequently) on the grassy surrounds of the Department of Conservation hostel on Raoul Island, in the subtropical splendour that is the Kermadec Islands.
I was on Raoul as one of eight volunteers, who supplement full time Department of Conversation staff each year, for May through September of 2005. These months were a plethora of experiences that remain seared into my memory.
Full time staff responsibilities range from meteorological duties (on behalf of the New Zealand Meteorological Service), to lake water quality sampling, temperature recordings from selected fumaroles in the crater area (for the Institute of Geological and Nuclear Sciences), as well as general upkeep of infrastructure.
Most volunteer work is concentrated on the Department's long-running weed eradication programme. The goal is to try to rid the island of various weeds imported by settlers, which is harder than it sounds - the things are everywhere.
Weeding proved a physical and mental challenge. The novelty was well gone by the second month. Things like omnipresent rain, which reared its unwelcome head at least once a day, literally dampened our spirits.
It wasn't all perpetual dampness and weeding, though. During the course of a gruelling and frustrating day down in one of the crater plots, 'Yobo' (Paul O'Leary, the team's token and obnoxious Australian) managed to fall waist deep into one of the numerous hidden, extinct fumaroles that plague this part of the island. 'Well, I'd better remember to watch out for that one', he said. On the way back, Yobo observantly avoided the hole, only to fall into another directly opposite.
The working week was broken up by 'maintenance days' every Wednesday. This would involve duties ranging from greasing the old derrick pulley system used for loading and unloading cargo at Fishing Rock, to the unpleasant task of sorting out the ongoing septic tank woes, with plenty of track clearing, supply stocktaking, and hostel repainting in-between. Fallen branches and trees were common, and clearing access routes blocked by sheared off tangles of pohutukawa trunks and branches became a regular chore. When the working week was over, however, we were free to indulge ourselves in all that Raoul has to offer. The Kermadecs exhibit a unique variety of landscapes and environments, and possesses some of the most celebrated diving waters in the world.
The island's physical geography is personified by precipitous ravines and gullies dissected by dry water courses. Stark, moss-encrusted bluffs are often stumbled across looming out of the dishevelled web of forest. The lush subtropical forest made an immediate impression on me upon arrival, as it looks a lot like Jurassic Park. The majority of the island's interior is cloaked in ancient stands of Kermadec pohutukawa (a different species than that found on the mainland), which emerges from layers of mahoe forest.
The crater area is a dramatic landscape. A series of powerful eruptions between 2100BC and 1800AD formed a succession of caldera craters that are now occupied by the Blue and Green Lakes. Blue Lake boasts bizarre floating islands of matted reeds that drift with the wind, while Green Lake houses an unidentified species of algae which has slowly changed the colour of the lake from green to brown.
In the more geothermally active parts of the crater, patches of bare hot ground, searing fumaroles and loose pumice beds intermingle with a patchy covering of scraggly, flattened pohutukawa and low growing ferns. One of my fondest memories from Raoul is of a Sunday mission down into the crater to cook up a chicken in one of the fumeroles at Bubbling Bay, an active geothermal area adjacent to Green Lake. The chook was sealed in an oven bag with honey-soy and lemon pepper seasoning, wrapped, placed in a steaming fumarole and then buried with a covering of dirt and pumice shards to lock in the heat. It took about two hours to roast, and I have never eaten better chicken.
There is an outflow of hot water, adjacent to the northern crater rim, which seeps out in some tidal shallows near Oneraki Beach. Two large plastic tubs take advantage of this welcome luxury. It doesn't get much better than relaxing in these tubs, soothed by hot mineral water and gentle oceanic surges lapping at your feet. Denham Bay, on the south-west coast, is perhaps the jewel in Raoul Island's crown. The bay is framed by daunting 300 metre high cliffs, testament to the violent explosions which blew up the southern side of the island between 300 and 100BC and formed an expansive caldera depression. In between the cliffs and the three kilometer long beach is a gently undulating slither of land. A brackish lagoon flanked by long reeds and rushes occupies a swale half way along, which is home to several stray grey ducks and, of course, large numbers of pukeko.
The Kermadecs are renowned for some of the most vibrant diving waters in the world. The subtropical latitude, combined with the surge of various oceanic currents, supports a mixture of tropical and temperate species, resulting in a unique marine ecosystem. This is contained in the Kermadec Marine Reserve which, at 7450 square kilometres, is by far New Zealand's largest. It extends 12 nautical miles (22 kilometres) from the the various islands comprising the group to the edge of the territorial sea. A diverse range of habitats, from shallow coastal zones through to the abyssal depths of the Kermadec Trench (which is about 3000 metres deep at the edge of the marine reserve, and drops away to 10,000 metres beyond this) are represented within this reserve.
Raoul is also legendary for its resident 'friendly' giant black spotted grouper. I had a particularly memorable first encounter when I was introduced to 'Randy'- local harem master, quite possible man-eater and nemesis of all my trips to Fishing Rock.
I still have the odd nightmarish flashback of this behemoth coming at me, obstructing my entire field of view, as I stared like a possum trapped in headlights, into the gaping cavern of his throat. After assaulting my underwater camera housing with his pair of huge chops, complete with seriously intimidating teeth, Randy backed off a fraction, presumably to prepare for a fresh attack. In a moment of clarity I realised that this was my chance and scrambled out of the water. I clung, traumatised, to the safety of the rocks, exhausted and extremely rattled, as the marauding beast continued to patrol the water at my feet, occasionally breaking the surface to eyeball me with obviously malicious intent.
My companions weren't much help to me that day. In fact, they were rolling on the ground with laughter as I screamed like an eight year old girl in my frenzied attempts to escape those jaws of impending doom.
The island's extremely temperamental and changeable climate, combined with regular heavy swells, made decent snorkeling conditions quite hard to come by. But when the sea settled and the sun broke through the clouds, we could see the underwater world unveiled in crystal clarity.
After snorkeling the coastal waters for a while, it became apparent that certain species and individuals inhabited specific localities. For instance, despite some unnerving times with the groupers, any venture to Fishing Rock was guaranteed to be graced by the presence of Randy and his entourage of smaller female minions. Within minutes of entering the water, these colossal fish would inevitably materialise from out of the blue murk and tail you for the duration of your dive. Extremely curious and intelligent, groupers can live upwards of 100 years and, in a peculiar quirk of nature not uncommon for fish, change sex from female to male once they reach around one metre in length.
Similarly, the mass of broken boulders that clutter Boat Cove around the old landing site provides refuge for a dense swirling school of northern Kahawai from raiding hordes of Yellowtail Kingfish. The Kingfish seem to be different in appearance from the southern variety, exhibiting more visibly distinct horizontal banding.
During our last month on the island we were treated to the awe-inspiring sight of humpback whales breaching from only 500 metres offshore, en route southwards on their annual migration from breeding waters around Tonga down to New Zealand and through to the Antarctic for the coming summer.
When it came time to leave, the volunteers departed Raoul on a charted long haul vessel (on its return voyage from Pitcairn Island where the crew had been delivering supplies) as September drew to a close. The trip back will be long remembered for monstrous 10 metre swells which confined most passengers to their bunks for the duration of the three day journey. In fact, one passenger turned a pale, sickly green within an hour and a half of setting foot aboard and was sent below deck, retching into the buckets set out by an experienced crew. While the pukekos of Raoul remain synonymous with sleep deprivation, the clanging and clunking of loose items, the sucking of water in and out of the bathrooms, combined with the continuous pitch and roll of the ship (which meant you had to brace yourself in your bunk to avoid falling out) ensured sleep was never an option.
We were accompanied home by several Albatrosses, which were riding the wind from the constant low fronts. These enormous oceanic wanderers were carried along at a deceptively swift clip by each prevailing gust, and at times would circle in close to the boat, gracefully synchronising flight with the peaks and troughs of the swells while occasionally clipping the crests with the tips of their vast wings.
Raoul Island etched a deep and enduring impression on me, where the features of the isle - dazzling marine life, lush verdant forests, dramatic geothermal landscapes, hilarious and often outrageous parties, good mates, and the epic-ness of Denham Bay- have cemented themselves into memories I will never forget.
As for the pukekos - well, they got their comeuppance through the construction of 'Ivan the Terrible', a scarecrow of malevolent design whose arms could ingeniously pivot off its torso. I attached a piece of string to the end of one of the arms and ran the cord back through the meshed grill covering my window, which meant that when the pukekos began their nightly blitz all I had to do was pull the string and Ivan would leap into action and flay his arms about, warding off any birds that dare disturb my sleep. Ivan worked well for two nights until the pukekos became used to him. He was eventually banished to the vegetable garden where the pukekos had been wreaking havoc on our labour-intensive efforts to grow vegetables. He performed abysmally there as well.
