Uncle Scott's Kea Lab

Some people have all the luck.

On Sunday my uncle had a visit from these three:

Just thought we'd say hello!

As Kea often do, these guys spent the morning tearing at the rubber around his car windshield, screaming down his chimney and clattering around his roof. 

This, of course, was after they politely flew up to his glass door and knocked on it with their beaks to let him know they were in the neighborhood.

Testing for structural integrity.

My uncle sent an email with the pictures and we exchanged phone calls and emails so I could stay updated.

What I can tell about these three from the pictures is that they are all very young (from the bright yellow around the eyes, cere and mandible and the light feathers on their heads) and they are probably siblings. 

Also, while the Kea in Arthur's pass are well studied and accounted for (relatively speaking) all three of these birds are un-banded and living in an area where their numbers and existence is probably unknown.

My uncle lives off grid in the middle of nowhere and he has his own rubbish tip where he puts his edible refuse. I told him if the Kea find his trash they may become permanent visitors through the winter. 

Also, there is a ski field just over the mountain and where there are humans and eating establishments in South Island alpine environments, there will be Kea. 

I have never been so frustrated by not having a car in my life (mine is in the shop at the moment). I was squirming and trying to think of ways to borrow a car all day. 

The Kea returned on Monday morning and I borrowed a friend's car to make the two hour drive up to see my uncle.

When I arrived the Kea were gone. 

I walked down one of the paths behind his house that runs parallel to the mountains and I listened as hard as a could. Kea are fairly riotous and will call to each other constantly to stay in touch. 

I heard the organ-like songs of Magpies and the distant honking of the Paradise Shell Ducks on my uncle's small pond. 

The lowing of cattle came from the sparse grazing herd at the boundaries of his landing strip and down in the valley floor I could hear the rushing of water over stone. 

Some wayward sheep that broke out of their fields long ago and took to grazing in the mountains made the occasional bleating cry but there was no sound of Kea.

I called out with a high-pitched "Keee-ah!" a few times but got no reply. (Don't laugh it works. Even if you don't sound like a Kea, getting their attention is all it takes to get them interested in you.)

It was midday by then and was starting to get hot out. I put my coat down on the grass and sat on it, hoping my blinding whiteness might act as a Kea beacon.

Finally, I gave up sulked back to the house. I scowled in the direction of the Manuka trees which were filled with singing Bellbirds. 

Kea usually forage in the morning and at sundown. The youngsters would have spent the rest of the time playing, exploring or resting somewhere shady.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor of the house opened the screened window looking out over the mountains and threw myself on the guest bed. With the cool breeze blowing in and the lazy droning buzz of the flies around the screen, I was asleep in no time.

I woke up cranky and bleary-eyed a few hours later.

To my uncle, the Kea are a potential threat to the integrity of his house and car and he hopes they don't stay around.

To me they are a wonderful discovery that I could spend endless hours studying and interacting with if I stayed out at his house for a few weeks. (Then I could legitimately claim to be a scientist!)

Alas, Monday was not a day for "the great doing of science" and I drove home feeling grumpy and disappointed. 

Maybe it's for the best the youngsters and I didn't meet. Nick says I probably would have gone all "mama Kea" with them and then they would never leave my uncle's house alone.

In my estimation, that wouldn't be such a bad thing.