Where Cuckoos Call by Des Hunt Page B

mealworms and they had all drowned. I fished one out and gave it to her, but she wouldn’t eat it—she only likes them if they wriggle.
    I went up to survey the damage from the lookout. My wall had gone. Most of the wood was piled up at the end of the spit, with a few logs dumped behind a big dune. This was the dune that the bikers liked to zoom up and jump over the other side. I smiled to myself: if Yamaha and his gang tried that now they would get a nasty surprise. It was almost as good as if I’d placed the logs there myself.
    I turned and took my first look at the estuary. The tide was out and rubbish was everywhere, but so were the birds: godwits, oystercatchers, dotterels, the lot. I was wondering how much longer they would be here when I was interrupted by Bigmouth and her ‘come and look at this’ cry.
    ‘What on earth are you on about?’ I asked.
    Then Peg gave a gruff bark. Then another. ‘OK,’ I called, ‘I’m coming.’
    As soon as I was down the ladder, Peg moved towards a nearby flax bush. She stopped and stared at it, growling softly. Bigmouth was alongside doing her song-and-dance routine.
    I got down on my hands and knees beside Peg and followed her gaze. Whatever she saw, I couldn’t see. She must be sensing it by smell, not sight. I crawled forward wondering whether I should; it could be something like a ferret or a wildcat—something with sharp teeth and claws. Slowly, I parted the flax leaves, ready to pull back at the first sign of movement.
    There was no movement. At first there seemed to be nothing, and then I saw a bundle of grey-white feathers jammed near the flax roots. There was a bird stuck in there, or the remains of one.
    Carefully, I slid my hands under the bundle and lifted it out. At least it was still warm, although the head was hanging limply as if it was dead. Then I saw an eye move.
    The bird was a little smaller than a starling with a long, narrow bill, which indicated it was a coastal bird—one of the smallest I had ever seen. I moved over to the wire cage.
    ‘I’ll put you in here,’ I said. ‘You’ll be safe here.’ When I laid it on the ground, it just stayed on its side. I moved some of the soil around until the bird was upright with its head supported by a clump of grass.
    ‘Now bird, we’ve got a bit of a problem here. I’m going to have to find some food for you, but it would help if I knew who you were and where you’ve come from. So, I’m going to have to take an ID photograph, if you don’t mind. You just stay there and I’ll go and get my camera. All right?’
    An eye opened and attempted to turn and focus on me. That was close enough to a ‘yes’ for me. A short time later I was back with my camera and a ruler. ‘OK, look this way please and try to look happy that I’ve rescued you.’ Slowly the head turned. ‘Perfect!’ I cried. ‘Now, if I can just put this ruler alongside, we’ll get a profile and then we’ll be done. Oh yes, that’s wonderful. Finally, if you just relax and have a bit of a nap, I’ll go and see if I can find out who you are.Then we can start thinking about food, though it might not be until tomorrow. But I’m sure you can last that long.’ Actually I wasn’t sure at all. Yet I knew from past experience that it’s no good trying to feed a bird until they’ve recovered some of their strength.
    Back in my room it took only a short time to get a full ID from my guidebook.
RED-NECKED PHALAROPE Phalaropus lobatus
    A dainty, graceful migratory bird that is a rare visitor to New Zealand. Breeds in the Northern Hemisphere as far north as the Arctic Circle. Winters mostly at sea, in the tropics south of the equator.
    Black needle-like bill and black legs. Breeding plumage is orange-red neck, with black wings striped in orange and yellow tipped. Winter plumage light grey upper and white under.
    Birds found in New Zealand are thought to be stormblown stragglers.
    The drawings showed that I had a female in winter plumage.