New Zealand birds like you've never seen them before.Zany, off-kilter, wondrous and wild, The Brilliance of Birds gives a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the lives of some of New Zealand’s feathered friends.
Keep the www.nzbirdsonline.org.nz catalogue of bird calls next to you for an enriched reading experience!
New Zealanders love their birbs. Perhaps none more so than Skye Wishart whose invitation to photograph Takahikare / Storm Petrels on Te Hauturu-a-Toi turned into a much larger 'birdventure' of photographing birds across Aotearoa.
Wishart truly does embraces the spirit of the Takahikare (which translates to "one who travels across the ripples of the ocean") - capturing not just the beauty but the personality of manu from the humble quarter-acre section to as far away as the wind-blasted Moutere Mahue Antipodes. Kōtare, Kākā, Kakī, Kiwi - they're all here in crisp and vibrant colour. Yes the style of storytelling sometimes feels like a list of facts, but overall it works. The alphabetical structure works particularly well as birds of the forest, beach and mountains are weaved rather than clumped.
Admittedly, for a book about NZ native birds, I did find it strange that the reo Māori names for the birds were relegated to the sub-headings ("Takahikare" doesn't even feature with just a frustrating "N/A" standing in for the Māori name for NZ Storm Petrel). Te reo Māori really should have stood equal with the english rather than the latin. In saying that I enjoyed the inclusion of mātauranga Māori, and the histories of both Māori and European interactions with the birds. The story of our native birds really are among the greatest comeback stories of our generation.
I confess I picked this book to help me sleep, but it didn't do its job. What can I say? We love birbs.
A stunningly made book and many of Wishart's photos deserved a book of this quality to be displayed in.
The information on each bird is great, there is a good combination of scientific detail and cultural and historical observations.
It's always odd with a collection like this where it's comprehensive but not exhaustive. The most notable omission to me was the the Brown Teal or Pateke, and NZ's diving duck the Scaup. The former has had a considerable amount of press and interest of late and the other is pretty fascinating. Actually there were a few more missing ducks. Maybe they didn't have photos of them? I just think the native species that are only found in NZ are more important than the vagrant Australian species that may be more common but are significantly less unique.
Also devastated that the Ruddy Turnstone didn't make the cut, if for no other reason than to see that name in print.
New Zealanders love their native birds with a long association that dates back to the arrival of Polynesians to Aotearoa. Birds were of course essential to the Māori economy, with many species used as food or other purposes. Trampers might be interested to learn that kererū fat, mixed with gum from speargrass, was fashioned into scented oil. But birds represented much more than their uses. Māori often describe a person’s characteristics in terms of a bird species. A great orator or singer can be described as ‘he rite ki te kopapa e ko i te ata’ – ‘it is like the bellbird singing at dawn.’
Eighteenth century naturalist Joseph Banks was also entranced by bellbirds and wrote of their ‘melodious wild music’. Since his visit, dozens of books have been published about our singular avifauna.
In The Brilliance of Birds, Skye Wishart (a long-time contributor to New Zealand Geographic) writes pithy, informative text that doesn’t seek to be comprehensive, and is all the better for it. She weaves together quirky facts, told with flair and inventiveness.
Take the Australasian crested grebe, a bird of the high country lakes. Its name ‘Podiceps’ literally means ‘arse-legs’ because the grebe’s feet are positioned so far back that the creature can barely walk. While being ‘phenomenal swimmers’ Wishart writes, on land ‘they move like a 90-year-old man with a walking stick.’
The distinctive whirring sound that tūī make when flying fast through the forest can be turned off by angling special feathers. And when fishing underwater, Australasian gannets can bend the lens in their eye to account for diffraction. Extraordinary.
That’s not to say that the book is all quirk and no depth. As well as relating surprising facts, Wishart is at pains to quote the latest research and also dispel myths, such as the one about magpies being kleptomaniacs. They’re not.
She covers the major identifying characteristics of each species, including their habitat, behaviour, food and breeding. For example, I knew that rock wren, our only truly alpine bird, exist living beneath rock jumbles all winter long. But I didn’t know that they do this by excavating a cavity in the soil, leaving walls five centimetres thick, and lining it with feathers or – if available – fur from possum or chamois. This cosy cavity can be as warm as 33°C inside while outside is barely above 0°C. That’s superior home insulation!
The book features both introduced and native species. Just 26 blackbirds were introduced to New Zealand in the 1860s, but this tiny population has expanded to become our most numerous species, with a range that stretches from the Kermadec Islands to the subantarctic. Australian black swans were also introduced in the 1860s, and are similar to an endemic swan that went extinct some centuries ago. The large water birds can form ‘civil unions’ with male-male pairs raising chicks together, or sometimes a ménage a trois.
An alphabetical arrangement might seem a rather random way to structure a book, but it works surprisingly well. There is a nice interweaving of diverse species, rather than having all forest or sea birds grouped together. So you read about gulls before kākā; fernbirds before great albatross. There is some logical grouping: all the shags and cormorants are dealt with in one chapter, and the related rifleman and rock wren are naturally included together too. Each species gets a subtitle; for example the kea is called ‘an alpine prankster with sky-high IQ’. Also listed are each bird’s Māori names, scientific name and conservation status.
Edin Whitehead has a name seemingly purpose-built for an ornithologist and bird photographer, and her images illustrate the book splendidly. Aside from a very few weaker images, her photography is generally excellent and sometimes outstanding. Overall, it’s a remarkable collection, especially considering many of the species live in incredibly isolated places, while others are secretive, shy or cryptic. I’ve heard shining cuckoo countless times, but only seen a bird once, so to capture a good shot takes remarkable persistence. Images of a subantarctic snipe and a storm petrel are so rare they can’t help but impress, as does the sheer range of photographs. Behavioural shots like a pair of silvereye preening each other while perched on a branch. A kākā enjoying rain in Wellington with an almost blissful expression. A dotterel prising open shellfish. A vibrant kingfisher caught mid flight. A kea closing its eyes against a flurry of snowflakes. Plenty of images to savour.
The Brilliance of Birds masterfully sets out what it aims to do – inform, but in a delightfully readable way. It leaves the reader in no doubt how fascinating our precious avifauna is.
The Brilliance of Birds includes superb photos of many New Zealand natives along with a brief written introduction to each species. I especially loved the focus on birds’ behaviour and learning more about the role of birds in traditional Maori society.