In ancient times, Sinbad was a sailor who, over the course of seven voyages, encountered magical lands, supernatural beings, and monsters. Perhaps it was fitting that the last mainland home of the Kākāpō was named after such a tale.

The rare Kākāpō is nocturnal, flightless, and long-lived. Sinbad Gully lies in the far north of Fiordland National Park, an inhospitable valley cut deep out of the mountains by powerful glaciers. Like a deep wound between the flanks of two mountains, it hides. On one side sit the nearly impregnable Llawrenny Peaks; on the other, the imposing face of the iconic Mitre Peak. At its base sits the shores of Milford Sound.

The Gully itself stretches away into the bosom of the mountains, hiding away from the world. Ringed on all sides by thousands of meters of rock walls, the only entry point lies through the deep swamps at the heart of the gully.

Once beyond these swamps, the valley is a blanket of giant beech trees, magnificent sentinels that guard over these remote forests, the way an Ent might have protected the mysterious forests of Mirkwood. It seems fitting that the valley is covered with these trees.

Where they end, high up on the rugged cliffs where space runs out for their roots to dig in, moss and lichen take their place. Then, when they too disappear, they are replaced by black rock cliffs. Maori Legend states that these cliffs were carved by the Māori God Tu-te-raki-Whanoa when he hacked the cliffs out of rock with his greenstone Toki.

Sinbad Gully feels like the ends of the earth. Fog, snow, wind, and rain hide it even from Milford Sound. Seven meters of rainfall are recorded yearly here, with 200 plus days of rain. It’s always damp, and even the dry days can register below freezing through the sub-arctic winds that hammer the coast here.

Hidden Sanctuary: Sinbad Gully's Inhospitable Beauty and Geographic Challenges

It seems fitting that amongst all of these secrets, Sinbad kept a few diamonds. This wild remote location was home to some of the last Kākāpō.

One of these was the Kākāpō. While Kākāpō are by no means extinct, they certainly all are on the mainland. All birds today are descended from a small stock of individuals who were translocated to offshore islands. Sadly, most of these birds came from Stewart Island and were closely related, making all Kākāpō known today closely related and deeply inbred. This makes them deeply susceptible to disease and inbreeding depression. The greatest hope for the species seems to be a handful of birds descended from a single mainland bird who survived translocation to an offshore island.

Yet but for the cruel nature of Fiordland where they were found, many more birds might have been saved. The story of Sinbad Gully provides a heartbreaking account of just how hard it is to save species on the brink of extinction, even when we know roughly where they are. So please come join me for a tale of heartbreak, which but for the cruelty of the weather might have changed the outcome of an entire species.

Kakapo were one of Sinbad Gully's last secrets

Kākāpō Chronicles: A Battle Against Extinction and Inbreeding

Fiordland contains truly otherworldly scenery. The story of the Kākāpō in Sinbad Gully begins many decades ago. Since the dawn of Aotearoa, Kākāpō have wilted in the face of civilization. Once found across the breadth of the land, by the time Europeans arrived, they were rare in the North Island and nearly extinct on the eastern side of the South Island.

Europeans quickly recognized this peculiar nocturnal parrot would soon be gone. One early writer commented that the Kākāpō seemed to ‘flee into the mountain haunts where it might remain for some time longer, unmolested by man and beast.’ By the early 20th century, it had all but vanished from the North Island and was restricted to mountains of Fiordland, South Westland, and Nelson in the South.

Yet the response was lethargic. Between 1890 - 1950, hundreds of individual commentators called for the preservation of the Kākāpō, yet only a handful of attempts were made. All of which failed. Yet it was not until the 1960s that a concentrated effort was undertaken to even study the species.

It wasn't until the 1960's that efforts were made the properly study Kakapo

Lost and Found: The Pioneering Expeditions into Sinbad Gully

Here in our story enters Sinbad Gully. That year its remote reaches were finally penetrated by a team from the Department of Internal Affairs, perhaps amongst just a handful of Europeans to have ever entered the Gully at that point. They explored the ‘river flats’ if you could call the thicket of forest that seemed to envelop even the river itself, that. Heading the researchers was Brian Bell; he and his companions soon discovered distinctive Kākāpō ‘Chews’ right across the valley. Sign seemed to be everywhere, and by his estimation, it represented the work of perhaps a dozen birds.

Yet even here, Sinbad Gully kept her secrets held tightly. Today, we know that Kakapo can be next to invisible, only leaving the smallest traces of their presence. The harsh Fiordland weather and vast forest would have obscured more than it showed. For comparison, the nearby Tutuko Valley, which was the focal point of numerous studies during the same period, never yielded more than seven independent areas of Kākāpō habitation at a time. Yet probably had a population of thirty or more birds in 1960.

For the next six years, few if any people returned to the Gully. Then in 1966, another team returned. They were left concerned by the evident decline of Kākāpō. Old tracks indicated the former presence of many birds, but little evidence remained of any living. Only a single bird could conclusively be identified but was feeding over a wide area near their camp and was unable to be located.

The following season, however, Dave Stack and Rodger Lavers, a student and wildlife officer, returned determined to catch him. The task before them was monumental; Kākāpō are nocturnal, typically roosting in tree hollows or overhangs during the day. Their green feathers blend them into the forest so much that they’re virtually invisible. In the entire history of Kākāpō searches, only a handful of birds would ever be captured unless they were booming or without a tracker dog.

Yet fortune was smiling on the pair, for in perhaps one of the most memorable moments in Kākāpō history, they captured the bird in broad daylight on an old avalanche zone. ‘Zeke’ as he would be dubbed was shipped off to Mt Bruce to be studied in captivity. Sadly, he would not adjust - and would pass away shortly afterward. His death left the program at a loss as to how to save the Kākāpō, and few if any people would visit the valley for the following decade.

Sinbad Gully was largely left alone for a decade

Echoes of Booming: The Elusive Search for Kākāpō in Sinbad Gully

The only records we have from that period come from the walls of the old Sinbad Gully Bivy, little more than a few pieces of Corrugated Iron nailed to some timber to provide shelter. Yet all travelers who visited wrote on its walls. Years later, it would be carried by helicopter onto the tops of the transit Gully to provide shelter for teams searching for Kākāpō outside the Milford region. In 2013, a team of climbers would take photos of some of the scribbles. Amazingly, they contain valuable clues of the Kākāpō population from that period.

An N.D. Forster who visited in 1970 wrote, ‘Where the Hell do the Kākāpō hang out! Never believe anything you hear.’ Amusingly the 1967 group described themselves as the ‘Champion Avalanche Dodgers’ while a 1973 group commented that several birds had been heard booming with ‘the loudest booming coming from the other side of the hut’ presumably at the base of Mitre Peak where much of the previous searches had occurred.

In 1974 Ron Neilson from the Department of Internal Affairs returned and found evidence of Kākāpō sign in the head basin. While Don Merton also of the Department of Internal affairs would return in November to find evidence of not one but two birds occupying the head Basin. He departed with a worrying note on the hut wall, ‘Mice have cleared through all stores left in the hut. Kiore + Ship Rat & Stoat sign seen too.’

1975 would become the focal point for an intensive search for Kākāpō in Sinbad Gully, the first in fifteen years. Yet despite all that, the two birds in the head Basin and those around the hut were never discovered. Had they died by this point? Or did Sinbad Gully keep them hidden during these searches? We may never know, but it was becoming apparent that she did not easily let go of the creatures hiding in her depths.

Sinbad Gully probably hid more birds than she revealed

Sinbad Gully's Mysteries: The Struggle to Document Kākāpō in Adverse Conditions

In early January, the team set up camp in the Head Basin. Bad weather and fog made locating Kākāpō difficult at the best of times. Booming from not one but two birds could be heard to the east of the Head Basin but pinpointing where it was coming from proved impossible. It wasn’t until January 24th that the first bird was located. The second soon after. Both occupied a jutting broken ridgeline that rose vertically above the valley before eventually giving way to the sheer black rock cliffs leading to Llawrenny Peaks.

To call it unpleasant was an understatement. To even reach the area required crossing a swollen river, avalanche fans, and negotiating a 300-meter climb, much of which was nothing more than sheer bluffs. Certainly not for the foolhardy! But how many birds were actually present? That was a harder question to answer. Two were booming throughout the entire 1975 season and under close observation. But it often proved difficult to spend extended periods of time during the dark on the ridge. Moreover, the weather was so horrendous the thundering waterfalls nearby often drowned out all other sounds.

Near the end of the season, a third male was located, captured, filmed, and then released. He apparently had been booming strongly within a few hundred meters for weeks on end without being heard! Amazing when you consider that in clear weather the booming of male Kākāpō can be heard kilometers away!

Rod Morris recalls how highly sexed the birds were. He had spent several evenings camped on the ridge in a hide. Emerging from it one evening he had a stunning interaction with the bird. ‘Then, to my amazement, the bird spread its wings like a butterfly and began waving them slowly. He clicked his bill and started swaying from one foot to the other. He lowered his head, and rhythmically treading the ground on alternative feet began slowly moving towards me, coming closer and closer until he was only six feet away. Then he began turning around, still coming towards me, only now he was walking backward! He rocked from one foot to the other until his tail touched my boot and then just stopped, with his back towards me, his head lowered, and his wings widespread - they were intricately patterned like the wings of a moth or peacock. For a while, he just sat there, wings outspread - I was obviously expected to make the next move. I didn’t. Finally, the Kākāpō turned around and gently tested my boot before climbing back onto my shoulder again. For the rest of the night, that Kākāpō followed me wherever I walked in its track and bowl system and for much of the time it danced. It was incredibly sad to see it dancing hour after hour, and to realize that there must be no female for it to dance too.’

Rod left alongside the rest of the team after six weeks in Sinbad Gully. Yet of those six weeks, just seventeen days had been fine enough for them to even look for Kākāpō. They’d discovered three birds. But hadn’t been able to summit the top of the ridgeline itself. Nor had they found any birds in the Head Basin or underneath Mitre Peak where both ‘Zeke’ had been found back in 1967, and booming had been heard in 1973.

Only three male Kakapo were found in Sinbad Gully

 

Mirkwood and Butterburr: Capturing the Last Glimpses of Sinbad Gully's Kākāpō

The following season only made things more convoluted. A team that winter discovered a Kākāpō corpse underneath Llawrenny Peaks, and an avalanche had completely destroyed the territory of Kākāpō number two. But surprisingly enough, Kākāpō One and Three (who would eventually receive the names Mirkwood and Butterburr) were still able to be located. This raised an important question, had there been four birds all along, or had Kākāpō number two survived the avalanche only to succumb to old age?

Moreover, a study of Butterburr suggested that he contained a rare genome known only from Museum specimens. The only known ‘Yellow’ Kākāpō he was believed to be the top bird in Sinbad Gully. He was described to be ‘Yellow as butter’ and very fat. Unfortunately, the discovery of Kākāpō on Stewart Island diverted resources away from Fiordland and few if any people visited the valley again until 1981. When they did return, Butterburr could no longer be found. Was he dead? It’s hard to say; Kākāpō don’t breed every year. Sometimes up to four years can elapse between breeding seasons. During these periods of time, Kākāpō male are notoriously hard to track. Sometimes they will tend to their Track and Bowl systems or boom sporadically. But for the most part, they simply cannot be found without a dog.

Trained tracker dogs are both expensive and hard to use in the rugged Fiordland Wilderness. They can be easily spooked, especially in the dangerous avalanche zone of the head of Sinbad Gully. Furthermore, bans and extensive legislation had been introduced against the use of tracker dogs following the death of a bird at the hands of one in 1977.

Without the use of tracker dogs, and with no breeding season in sight, the 1981 expedition found locating Kākāpō nearly impossible. Beset by horrendous weather, nightmarish winds, and avalanches, they were unable to again reach the top of the ridge which the Kakapo called home. In a desperate attempt to find either of the two males, Rhys Buckingham hid overnight next to the only track and bowl system that had any indication of a Kākāpō tending it. Amazingly on the final night before the helicopter returned, he captured ‘Mirkwood’ when the bird approached the bowl!

In hindsight, what followed next simply made little sense. ‘Mirkwood’ was shifted from the hellish, ice-cold depths of Fiordland into Maud Island in the Marlborough Sounds. Maud Island was experiencing something of a drought that summer, but even ordinarily, it saw temperatures that far exceeded anything Fiordland birds had ever been exposed to. Mirkwood himself was clearly an old bird. He would never be seen again after his release on the island. Either he failed to acclimatise to the dry heat of Maud or he was killed be stoats who invaded the island that year.

Maud Island was the final resting place of Mirkwood. A far cry from Fiordland.

Dave Couchley's Exploration: Bittersweet Discoveries in the Stunning Sinbad Gully

Given the rugged scenery of Fiordland It’s hard to know the state of Kākāpō in Sinbad Gully after this time. Funding simply did not exist for many people to visit. When they did, they typically had to slog for days through the lower Beech forest of the Gully or pay an exorbitant sum to be dropped by helicopter in the Head Basin. Trips were fraught with danger. Ron Neilson once had an avalanche wipe out the forested slope adjacent to where he was eating breakfast. Nor was there any guarantee of finding Kākāpō upon arrival. Many expeditions simply got rained out.

The first record I can find of someone summiting the top of the ridge where the Kākāpō had lived was not until 1989. It is both fascinating and a heartbreaking story. Old track and bowl systems, now all seemingly abandoned, dotted the top. Down lower where the males had been booming, Butterburr's territory now seemed long empty, and his bowl overgrown. The trip, notable for its fine weather, seems to have been the lifting of the shroud. For a brief moment, Sinbad Gully showed her secrets. Underneath the footstool of Mitre Peak where ‘Zeke had been found 22 years prior, more Track and Bowl systems were uncovered. All abandoned but only recently, probably in the last five or ten years.

It was a heartbreaking scene. It seems very likely that many more birds had been present in the 1975 season when the Gully was intensively searched. Yet the horrendous weather had kept them hidden. Now, stoat tracks and spore could be located with ease across much of the Valley, and the birds were gone.

A rare good day in Sinbad Gully. One wonders how Dave Couchley, the man from the newly formed Department of Conservation, felt in the rare warm sunlit days he experienced exploring the valley. It must have been bittersweet; Sinbad Gully is truly stunning, and yet she only truly relieved herself once the birds inside her were gone. Dave explored four Fiordland Valleys on that trip and discovered abandoned Kākāpō systems in each. Never again would a research team hear the rhythmic booming of Kākāpō or witness the sad tragic dance of a lone male in the grey light attempting to attract a female.

The weather closed in, and the story ended.

The Mitre Peak Footstool was likely home to several birds.

Sinbad's Legacy: Unanswered Questions and the Untold Stories of Fiordland Wilderness

Or did it? Two years later, Kim Hollows, a helicopter pilot working out of Te Anau, landed in Sinbad Gully. He’d worked both in deer recovery and also transporting people into Fiordland National Park. Years prior, he’d delivered many of the Kākāpō teams into Fiordland; moreover, he was intimately familiar with Kākāpō sign.

The Weather begins to close in over Fiordland He landed in the Head Basin after spotting a track running beneath a rock ledge. From the air, it looked like a deer track, and he decided to investigate further. Upon landing, he examined the ledge. He quickly became convinced he was not dealing with deer. Nor possums, who had not yet penetrated the thick swamps of the Gully. Instead, he found what he believed to be distinctive bill clippings on plants, much the same as he’d seen years prior on other Kākāpō trips.

In perhaps the greatest of tragedies, he had not kept up with news of how Kākāpō were doing. He was unaware that no more birds were known to be present in the Gully. Nor of the specific location of where previous birds had been found, away to the east. He simply believed he’d come across evidence of a Kākāpō which must already be known about.

Who knows what still lies out in the wilds of Fiordland? He returned in June. As an outdoorsman, he was simply interested in checking on how the bird was doing. To his dismay, he noticed the track no longer seemed in use, and no feeding sign could be located. It was this that prompted him to reach out to the Department of Conservation, who were stunned to hear his report.

Unfortunately, again, the personnel and funding simply were not available to immediately follow up on this news. Recently translocated Kākāpō were breeding in the North Island, and the money could not be spared. It was not until 1992 that anyone was able to be spared to investigate further. Even then, it was only a single person for an afternoon. Andy Cox examined the ledge, now eighteen months after Kim had seen the Kākāpō feeding sign. His sad conclusion was that Kākāpō no longer survived there, though it was entirely possible there had been one eighteen months prior.

And so, in a cruel twist of fate, Sinbad Gully may have had one final bird that she kept within her that she never gave up. But much the same as Sinbad the Sailor searched the valley of Diamonds for precious birds, so Sinbad has provided generations of men who yearned for adventure a home from which they might seek creatures of mystery.

Her impregnable depths have only given us a taste of her story. Who knows what untold tales still lurk there?

The sun sets over Sinbad Gully

 

Primary Sources 

• Wild South - Rod Morris
• Quest for the Kakapo - David Butler
• Rhys Buckingham (Private interview with Invercargill Archives 2017)

• Papers Past Fiordland Kakapo post 1950
• Personal Correspondence with Wildlife Division Officers & Lands and Survey Department Officers who wish not to be named.
• Official information Act request to the Department of Conservation for all Fiordland Kakapo files on record post 1950.

Enjoy this style of writing?

Support us by purchasing from our online store which allows us to devote more time to stories like this.