Australian Birdkeeper – June-July 2018

MOTUS (ISLETS)

Travelling toward motus (the tiny islands)

the fi breglass fi shing boat skims across

the surf with ease, carrying us further and

further from the craggy coast and towards

this trio of miniscule islets that rise out

of the sea, uninhabited except for a few

dozen ocean-going birds. Once a rich

pelagic breeding site—undeniably the most

prolifi c in all of Polynesia and perhaps the

entire Pacifi c chain—Easter Island has

now been relegated to little more than a

hatchery for a handful of avifauna species.

The only nestlings frequenting these islets

now are mostly frigates, some petrels

and shearwaters, plus a few boobies and

noddies. Sadly, a complete lack of natural

meat resources led birds onto the Rapa Nui

menu and forced an overwhelming number

into stew pots. Crakes, rails, herons...

have all been driven into extinction. Even

the Sooty Tern Onychoprion fuscatus, the

central character of ‘birdman’ lore, has

nearly disappeared from the isle.

Our guide and professional fi sherman

Hoko, eases his craft beside the fi rst of

the motus, Kao Kao, a 20m (65ft) boulder

formed by wave erosion and covered in

YOYOUNGUNG

KEEPER

KEEPERS

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BIRD

MEMORIAL

SYDSMITH

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COMPETITION

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WRITING

MEMORIAL

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WSYDCOMPETITION

YOUNG BIRD KEEPERS

KEEPERS

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COMPETITION

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bird droppings. He directs our attention

to the black and white fl yer swooping

towards the surface of the water.

‘That’s a Masked Booby Sula

dactylatra.’ I recognise the charcoal

facemask around its eyes and the yellow-

tinged bill and webbed feet—not to

mention, its dynamic personality.

From our position here, we can no longer

see the petroglyphs scrawled on the crater

rocks at Orongo, the ceremonial village of

Easter Island, where sod-covered houses

balance precariously on the edge of the

Rano Kau caldera. These primitive etchings

of Tangata Manu—a man’s body with the

head and beak of a bird—depict the strange

cult of the birdman and the Rapa Nui’s

annual ritual for selecting a new clan chief.

The ritual, whereby fearless contenders,

gladiators of sorts, fought for their lives,

is now obsolete. They fought not against

each other but against the elements—

precipitous rock walls, the roiling ocean

rife with sharks, and gnawing hunger, not

to mention their own sanity, as they waited

for weeks in grottoes on Motu Nui to

snatch the fi rst egg laid by the Sooty Tern,

returning to the remote islet to procreate.

A prey species, Chimango Caracaras inhabit the harsh climes of Easter Island

As we approach the biggest of these

diminutive motus, I can only imagine

being marooned with fellow combatants

on this tiny atoll, with limited sanctuary

from the weather and only each

competitor’s expertise at archaic fi shing to

provide his sustenance.

By now, the sun is starting to sink lower

in the sky and casting strange shadows on

the water. The waves thrash the side of our

skiff, sometimes throwing up a fountain

of foam. With Motu Iti behind us, we begin

our retreat towards the bay at Hanga Roa

on the Rapa Nui coast. I embrace the

temperate winds, smile at a Great Frigate

Fregata minor and that signature curved

beak, winging alongside us, keeping tempo

with our boat.

I want to cry

out to anyone who

touted that there is

not a profusion of

avifauna on Easter

Island! Birds are

everywhere!

Black-faced Ibis

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