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Bird Life on Island and Shore

IX. The Bittern

page 89

IX. The Bittern.

The swamps and marsh land of Petane have for years supported a few pair of Bittern. From the beach road between the township of that name and Napier, one or more may sometimes be seen by those who know how and where to look. More often, wading furtively along the mud channels, or standing with bills pointing straight to the sky, they pass undetected. In the latter position, by the huge majority of wayfarers, they are regarded as snags.

During 1911, in the language of modesty, we were fortunate enough to discover three Bitterns' nests—really we had deserved them by merit and long-continued search. The site of the first was attainable only by a tardy, sticky passage through a slough of despond of most evil-smelling mud—except to one clad in waders the spot was unapproachable. Safe even from the human boy stretched a sort of Polynesia of small rush-covered page 90 islets and rush bars. The particular quaking islet selected for the nest was surrounded on all sides by this black ooze. The nest itself was in the centre of a meagre rush plant, trodden almost flat by the great birds. It contained a family of five, a family so unbirdlike in appearance and with such unbirdlike notes that during the moment of discovery I stared wildly, amazedly, upon these strange live things—golliwogs, not birds—at my very feet. Their cold grey eyes, staring, protuberant, were the eyes of fish; their polls grew a thin crop of long, grey, wavy down; circlewise they sat with naked haunches pressed together. Their low pipe to one another was the thin quick drip of water on water. They were modelled on fish or frogs rather than on avian types. Immediately at sight of me they froze themselves into snags, each little head and bill pointing skywards at an odd angle. Disturbed and handled, the chicks—hatched intermittently, and now when discovered from one to five days old—opened their vast cavernous mouths, and lunged forward as if to strike, the biggest of all attempting to vomit up a small eel or “silvery.” From time to time, rather staggeringly, they preened themselves. Although hideous to look upon, they seemed nevertheless a very friendly little family—good but not beautiful,—cuddled close together for warmth and comradeship. On account of the youth of these page break
Nest Of Bittern.

Nest Of Bittern.

page break page 91 nestlings, and the probability of their getting chilled—we heard one of the parents booming in the distance, but otherwise there were no signs of anxiety,—the camera had to be withdrawn after the exposure of one plate. We then retired, and saw this set of youngsters no more.

The second Bittern's nest discovered was built within twenty yards of a road over which a big traffic rolled. At a slightly greater distance stood several cottages, so that proximity to settlement does not seem to repel the Bittern; perhaps, indeed, as in the case of the Banded Rail, the household cat may assist in the preservation of the species. The site of this nest was dry, the nest itself well hidden on all sides, concealed even from above by a growth of tall stiff rushes. Its construction, too, like that of the first found nest, was careless, the material used being such as grew about the immediate vicinity—rushes, flood-borne twigs, and dried grass. The five eggs, uncovered by the retreating bird, were of a pale olivaceous blue, unusually smooth on the surface, and somewhat blunt-ended. Over both nest and eggs was a distinct sprinkling of scurf from the body of the incubating bird. It was evidently anxious to return, and after our retirement we could observe from afar its cautious reconnoitring and approach. The eggs were much incubated, but even under these conditions it was over an page 92 hour and a quarter before they were again covered by the suspicious bird. Observation of this nest too was relinquished, proximity to the road making it unlikely that we should succeed in obtaining the necessary seven or ten days' quietude.

A third nest was built on dry rush land, close to an extensive stretch of samphire. Within twenty yards of it was established another nest—that of a Harrier Hawk,—a fact inducing speculation as to whether, whilst the Bittern's full clutch was still unlaid, the constant presence of one of its owners was required, or whether in the Hawk's mind the eggs were tapu with something of the divinity that doth hedge a king; whether the magic of proximity may have cast a mantle of sanctity over the Bittern's clutch. Had observation of these two nests been possible from the beginning, the question might have been solved as to the degree a predaceous species, through trains of association, will respect the property of another breed, probably a dominant breed. Though never to my knowledge used except in defence, the bill of the Bittern must always appear a formidable weapon; at any rate, I have seen it brandished with intimidating effects by a wounded bird. In the neighbourhood of this nest, well away from human traffic, we decided to erect a screen and to sap to within camera range. Whether we might or might not have been successful had page break
Nestlings Of Bittern.

Nestlings Of Bittern.

page break page 93 the advance been gradual, I know not. It was too rashly done; the attempt failed. The Bittern as a species is shy, wary, and suspicious. Nests, moreover, are placed where blinds or screens of any sort are particularly conspicuous. Lastly, in the Bittern the organ of philoprogenitiveness seems to be comparatively undeveloped. In dealing with many species there are between seven and ten days during which the parents will endure much—days immediately before the eggs chip and days immediately after. The Bittern is not one of these long-suffering breeds; it will readily forsake its nest or forsake it long enough fatally to chill the eggs or callow nestlings.

Our beats in searching these swamps, rush brakes, or samphire flats, were three-quarters of a mile or so in length. Throughout this covert the birds would run like pheasants before us, only rising when forced into the open. Though primarily a frequenter of marsh and swamp and unapt to rest elsewhere, yet on occasion these birds will alight on the sides of open-grassed hill elopes.

I am inclined to ascribe the remarkable snag-like elusive attitude so often to be noted in the Bittern as assumed in the first place, not for purposes of concealment, but in order to offer a minimum of resistance to the storms of his hunting-grounds—storms alike unavoidable and recurrent. page 94 Only in the second place perhaps has the attitude been utilised to mislead and beguile. This belief is based on an incident once witnessed by me at Tutira, where half a dozen hens and a rooster had been caught in the open by a sudden sharp sunlit downpour of warm rain. In their tepid tropical shower-bath, before my astonished gaze they stretched themselves into what seemed twice their natural length, the rooster specially transmogrifying himself into one long line from beak to tail, a line exactly adjusted to the slant of the almost vertical downpour. Other species, then, when so minded, can assume the Bittern pose. In that bird only has it become habitual when immobility is desired. Devised originally to deflect the rains of the open marsh, of the unsheltered fen, the posture has at length become used on any occasion requiring statue-like stillness.

About estuaries, swamps, and marsh lands the booming of the Bittern may be listened for in early October. Breaking through the roaring frog chorus may be heard the occasional “sphittock” of the Shoveller Duck, the long cheep of the Banded Rail, the rapid purr of its smaller relative the Swamp Rail, the petulant cry of the wakeful Pukeko, the wing vibration of flighting Grey Duck, but most remarkable of all the deep sibilant drum of the Bittern, its fainter inhalation, and then again the resonant musical boom.

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Nestlings Of Bittern.

Nestlings Of Bittern.

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