

182 



THE GODWITS OF SPIRITS BAY. 



^ Under the above title, the 'English Illustrated Magazine' publishes a most graphic and interesting- 

 article on the migration of the Godwit, or Kuaka, from New Zealand to Siberia. We do not suppose that 

 many of our readers were aware that this bird, which is common on all the coasts of the North Island during 

 the summer, flies away in the winter months and breeds in the extreme north of Siberia. It is not many 

 years ago since the fact was discovered, but it is now ascertained without doubt, and is fully dealt with by 

 Sir Walter Buller in his great work on the birds of New Zealand. It is singular that the Kuaka, if it wants a 

 cold country to breed in, should not go to the Antarctic regions, but wings its long flight to near the North 

 Pole, crossing the Equator and traversing the tropical regions of Asia. In the old days, the Maoris noticed 

 that the bird did not breed here, and it became a proverb, ' Who has seen the nest of the Kuaka? ' In 1868, 

 Mr. Dall observed two specimens at Kutlik, in Alaska. Sir Walter Buller, in referring to the subject, says : 

 ' To my mind, in the whole romance of natural history, there is nothing to be compared with this astonishing 

 migration.' The following is the article of the ' English Illustrated Magazine ' :— 



As New Zealand approaches its northern extremity the narrow neck of high flat land sinks away to a 

 wilderness of sandhills, and then, as if rebounding like a ball, suddenly springs upwards, to culminate in a 

 bold headland which comes down sheer into deep water. This headland is Te Eeinga, the earthly portal, 

 according to the belief of the old New Zealander, by which disembodied spirits entered the realms of the dead. 

 Eastward of this promontory is a bay— Spirits Bay— girded with sand. The place poetically takes its name 

 from the old Maori superstition. At night, when the natives heard the rustle of the wings of some belated 

 bird passing overhead, they whispered to one another that a spirit was passing to its rest. It is a wild spot, 

 swept by eternal winds. No habitation of man is to be seen, no pathway to be found ; to the imagination it is 

 just the sort of place where, at the end of the world, the last New Zealander would be likely to be found, 

 cowering over a few smouldering embers, waiting for death. 



But it is not from an ancient superstition of a race that is passing away that this dreary and inhospitable 

 place derives its principal interest. It possesses an attraction far stronger than this to fix our attention. For 

 fifty weeks in the year it is neglected and empty, the intense solitude which broods over all things seeming a 

 presence in the air. Then, of a sudden, when March is drawing towards a close, it springs, as if by magic, 

 into a fever of life, and becomes the scene of one of the most remarkable sights in nature. Of all the spots to 

 see the Kuaka fly from the shores of New Zealand, Spirits Bay is the best. In autumn at the Antipodes 

 flocks of Kuaka, in numbers of fifty to one thousand, flying always in the form of a crescent, may be seen 

 trending up the coast towards Te Eeinga. The stream is so continuous that it is remarked even by 

 those who concern themselves little about such matters. Before April is three days old they have 

 collected upon the sands of Spirits Bay in countless numbers, preparatory to their long flight to Asia. 



Some years ago, I witnessed the departure of the Kuaka. It was a scene upon which my memory 

 lingers. I made the latter part of the journey in tempestuous weather, a heavy rain being drifted into 

 my face by a strong northerly wind. As I stumbled across the belt of sandhills which fringed the shore, a 

 strange sound, that half oppressed and half soothed the ear, became fitfully audible — a sound which, when a 

 little later, a gust of wind caught it and brought it to me in greater volume, drowned for a moment the 

 moaning of the sea. I knew it to be a chorus of querulous cries proceeding from innumerable little throats, 

 and, racing up the last ridge of sand which lay between me and the bay, I stood looking at the sight I had 

 come so far to see. The beach was literally covered with Kuaka ; they seemed to be all indiscriminately 

 huddled together where there was no room for half the number, while thousands were hovering overhead in 

 a vain attempt to find a footing, or were trampling upon the backs of their fellows in the hope of ousting 

 them from their places. From time to time the breaking surges sent the salt spray leaping far towards the 

 land, whereat a grey cloud went whirling into the air with deafening clamour, to discharge itself again, after a 

 few moments of rapid variation in density, upon the sands. What with the lowering clouds, the wild and 

 stormy ocean, the low, mournful sound which the wind drew from the thin, wiry grass of the sandhills, with 

 the swarm of birds which looked like grey billows in convulsion, it was altogether a peculiar and an 

 interesting sight ; and, natural though it was, it seemed unnatural. During the afternoon flocks of Kuaka 

 kept pouring into the bay, each new lot adding to the mad unrest which made all the atmosphere. As the 

 day wore on the wind veered round to the west, the clouds fell asunder, the rain ceased, and a watery sun 

 pressed softly out and tinged the sky and sea and land with a faint silvery lustre. Sunset by the shore is 

 always a solemn time, and as the brief day drew towards its close, I forgot the birds in the poetry and beauty 

 of the hour. 



