“The process here was probably less complicated than if it had been found in the Forest Park because Te Whanau-a- Apanui, who are the landowners and acting as a trustee for all hapu and iwi, immediately requested the protection of their royal bird. That is why I flew up to Rotorua on December 30th and interviewed the ornithologists concerned personally to confirm the discovery. Following this I spoke again to Whanau Apanui who after taking legal advice agreed with my view that the discovery should be handled at national level in consultation with all interested parties including the whanau representatives and officers of the Department of Forestry.”
“Would the huia be safer on an island where there are no predators?”
“We would have to consult the iwi on that. There is a problem because as yet we have identified only one female.”
“So what is the programme now?”
“I have already appointed a ranger, Mr Dick Burton, who is based in the Rotorua Wildlife office. I have asked our Wildlife offices in every area to appoint advocates and to work with the Kaupapa Atawhai to formalise iwi involvement. I am establishing a scientific workshop with a view to initiating a National Recovery Plan. I have already spoken to one of my corporate sponsors about such a plan and they have agreed to commit funds for this purpose.”
“Dr Holcroft, you don’t mind if I ask you a question about something which is concerning a lot of people.”
The Director-General, a precise man, frowned at this departure from the subject of the interview.
“We asked Sir Robert what he thought about the hold-up perpetrators, in particular the Maori republics, claiming the rangatiratanga of the huia as their justification. What are your views?”
There was a remarkable change in the little man. The veins stood out on his forehead, the bird-like eyes flashed with sudden anger and he seemed to have trouble in enunciating his words:
“Those kind of people have no rights!”
No need for him to go as far as that, she thought.
A ginger-haired man with a green shirt and a rugged, weather-beaten face was strolling with the interviewer along a boardwalk beside a cascading stream. All around them was luxuriant native bush. Every now and then the green-shirted man would stop, put a finger across his lips and point up into the trees.
“You’ve been appointed ranger for the sanctuary, Dick. Why do you think we need a sanctuary?”
“Open the place up for tourists and you close it for the wildlife,” he replied. “There won’t be any birds for tourists to look at. It’s about time people realised that birds need privacy as well as humans.”
“I suppose some people will say we’re locking up all this forest just for the birds. There could be a lot of money in logging those trees.”
“That’s just a lot of crap! For hundreds of years man has been behaving like a lunatic, looting, plundering and raping. He should realise that when he destroys his environment, he destroys part of himself, not only his shelter, his food, his water, his soil, but also his way of life, his recreation, his refreshment. Man can run up a house, a factory, and a concrete apartment block within weeks or months. But see how long it takes to create a forest. Yet man can destroy it in days. Who would ever think of destroying the Taj Mahal to build a fibrolite bach? In our monstrosities of cities, we play canned music and listen to ghetto blasters. Yet go into the bush and listen to the bellbirds chiming. Hear the surf crashing on a West Coast beach, a mountain stream singing. Listen to the wind in a pine forest, the cicadas in the tea tree, the crickets on a summer evening in the short sheep grass by the sea.”
At the beginning Kate wondered why the TV team had not cut what was obviously going to be more of an oration than an answer to a question. Then she saw how they had used it. First, the screen filled with a beautiful forest glade with branches arching over like the fan-vaulted ceiling of a great cathedral. Echoing through it like a heavenly carillon was the morning chorus of the bellbirds. The scene then shifted to a pine forest with its ferny floor dappled in sunlight and the sound of the wind softly sighing. Great rollers crashed in on a long white beach and the spray drifted against rearing cliffs where crimson pohutukawa clung. Above the cliffs were grassy ridges where sheep were peacefully grazing. And as background music came the calm and majestic strains of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony.
Great! she thought.
CHAPTER 17
Kate had secured a scoop when she had invited Kevin to speak to a specially called meeting of the Alpine Sports Club at St Mark’s Hall in Remuera. It was the night after the documentary. Though some members were away on the Raukumara search and others on their South Island tramping and mountaineering trips, all the seats were taken and there were some standing at the rear.
When Kevin Carr walked down the aisle to the platform with the President, the sturdy, weather-beaten, normally phlegmatic trampers, mountaineers and skiers stood up and clapped, and some even shouted and whistled.
He was known to be a shy man and club members realised that the meeting would be an ordeal for him. They did not expect an enthusiastic oration and were not surprised when he read his speech which turned out to be the same that he had given on TV.
Kate, regardless of her little niggle of the night before, resolved to enjoy the excitement of the meeting. After all, coincidences were not unusual.
However, when the huia appeared on the screen she scrutinised it carefully. It was the same photo as used in the documentary. This time she compared it with her own postcard reproduction of Keulemans’ painting which she had brought in her handbag.
The background of Kevin’s huia was native forest, there was no male huia, the bough was at a different angle and the bird was looking to the left instead of the right. But the bird itself and its stance on the bough did not just resemble the Keulemans bird.
It was identical.
It wasn’t just odd. It was extraordinary.
After the talk the clapping went on a long time. Looking round a sea of excited faces she glimpsed Eleanor and Leone McTaggart.
She darted over to them. “Come on, you lot. Get a cup of tea and talk to Kevin.” Suddenly she noticed how pale Eleanor looked. “So good of you to come,” she said.
Eleanor said quietly. “We’re going home.”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
Leone broke out angrily. “Didn’t you hear on the news tonight? It’s an absolute disgrace! The government’s decided that the trampers have gone into the sanctuary, and because they don’t want to disturb the huia, they’ve called off the search.”
Kate stopped short. Suddenly, all the exhilaration of organising people drained from her and she didn’t want to dart anywhere. She put her arm around Eleanor and they walked slowly out of the hall.
On her return she heard the supper conversation buzzing. “And this is just the beginning. We ought to establish sanctuaries for every endangered bird in New Zealand. We’ve done it for the takahe and the kakapo and the brown kiwi and the black petrel, and now the huia. What about the saddleback and the kokako? They’ll be wiped out too if we don’t act now.”
She made her way over to the corner where Kevin was hemmed in by a group of enthusiastic club members. “Wasn’t it great,” one of them was saying, “that the Government acted so quickly to set up a sanctuary. It really shows how lucky we are to have a man like Gerald Holcroft as Director-General.”
“I expect he realised that the huia could have been exterminated before an official team got in there,” said another. “And he recognised that Kevin probably knew more about the huia than anyone else in New Zealand.”