Hymenolaimus malacorhynchos

Day 2 of the Kepler Track. Today was another 16.2 km over mostly flat terrain--the longest day distance-wise. The scenery was more of the lovely same: beech forest winding along Lake Manapouri and then Iris Burn. The sunrise was stunning over the lake, illuminating the mountains on the far side pink, then orange. I could hear Bellbirds (or Tuis imitating Bellbirds) singing in the tree tops in the morning, and I passed by a couple family groups of Riflemen. The sun was shining the entire way, and streamed in through the beech trees for the ideal combination of shade and warmth. There was a short section of trail rerouted up and over a steep rise; the sign read "Track closed due to"--and then the handwritten explanation--"Nazgul attacks."

At Iris Burn Hut I collapsed in my bunk and observed the sensations coursing through my body. A painful throbbing pulse in my feet. A deep ache between my shoulder blades. Mental fog. Heavy fatigue.

I am out of shape.

After a few minutes I forced myself up, ate some ham and cheese on crackers and went down to the river. The hut sits in a small valley surrounded by beech forest and the mountains of the Kepler Range. It is absolutely stunning.

A small waterfall is 20 minutes down a side track from the hut--I made my way slowly there, hobbling on my tender feet and stopping to enjoy the plentiful Riflemen and the amazing scenery. At one point there was a break in the ferns out onto a sand bar along the creek. I stepped out into the clearing and there they were--a pair of Blue Ducks.

I saw this species for the first time the other day driving up to Milford Sound, but not since. It is a very special duck, an alpine species of swiftly moving rivers whose numbers are in steep decline. The threat comes from stoats, who predate eggs and mothers sitting on nests. The Blue Duck, or Whio (pronounced FEE-oh), is unlike other threatened bird species because predator-free island sanctuaries offer no suitable habitat, so they must be protected in Fiordland itself.

Pairs stay mated throughout the year, never separating. As I watched this pair, I realized just how inseparable they are. At one point while they foraged in the torrent, they had about 5 meters between them. When the male realized this, he climbed out of the creek onto a log and let out a frantic whistle. The female immediately turned away from feeding and headed straight back to him, growling as she went. They stayed nice and close to each other after that.

The high pitched whistle of the male and the deep growling response of the female is not unique to the Whio. Mated Brown Kiwis have the exact same pattern. In fact, that night, after the light had faded and many of the trampers had gone to bed, I sat out on the deck of the hut and listened to the male and female kiwis call to each other in the darkness. Apart from the whistles and growls of the kiwi, and the clicking of the Australian possum, the night was otherwise silent, the stars shining brightly in what portion of the sky wasn't obscured by the dark mountains towering over the valley on all sides.