NOWRAMP
2002
The
Value of Tranquility
Written by Carlos
Eyles
Photography
by Jim Watt
September 18, 2002
Sunup,
and traces of ribbon-pink clouds, like those tossed in the
wind when the parade is over, trail across a high sky hung
in shades of gray. The low pressure system seems to have
moved on; a hint of wind out of the east scarcely ruffles
the water indicating its grand ideas have subsided. Within
minutes, the gray clouds vanish like a shadow and loose
formed feathered wings reveal themselves still higher in
the sky like great birds fallen from another heaven.
We
are going ashore on Laysan
today the first land I have touched in eleven days. Birds
from the island reflect the high sky and are already working
the surface for an early morning feed; some will range several
miles offshore today. The terns are diving around the boat,
making those endless sweeps that seabirds cast; a wing arching
and appearing to delicately brush the surface for a hundred
yards before shifting to then skim off the tops of waves.
I cannot think of any creature more graceful and in control
of their environment than a seabird working the invisible
air currents of an ever stirring ocean.
In preparation for this landing today we had to buy new
clothes, then freeze them for at least forty eight hours,
this includes shoes, hats, anything that might be the vehicle
for bringing some alien insect, or seed, or bacteria that
could over run roughshod over the island and wipe out the
native plants that took so long to reestablish. Like excited
children on the first day of school we don our new threads
and disembark, Watt discovers too late that in his last
minute rush for new shoes, he purchased reef walkers with
two right feet, which gives him the appearance of an erstwhile
Chaplin listing to the left whenever he takes a step.
The
zode hits the beach and we scramble off, six Laysan Ducks
greet us on the shoreline. These diminutive brown and tan
ducks number some three to four hundred; all that are left
in the world. At one time they were found all over the Main
Hawaiian Islands, and were wiped out when the rats aboard
ships descended into paradise and ate the duck's eggs. Once
human contact was established their downfall became a matter
of time. Walking up the white sand beach which stretches
south for several hundred yards before turning in, looks
to be one of the more lovelier beaches I have ever seen,
one is overcome with the desire to lay down in it, feel
its softness, maybe take a nap. Restraining myself, I sit
instead and shortly a little sparrow-like bird all but hops
into my hand, the Laysan Finch, also on the 
endangered
list, and only found here on this island. So we are not
here five minutes and I have the privilege of meeting its
two most noteworthy residents. We are greeted by Kevin Payne
and Alison Agness both field researchers that spend up to
six months at a time on this isolated island, keeping watch,
accumulating data, clearing debris that might endanger both
birds and monk seals. The monk seal colony numbers 350 and
an average of 100 can be counted at any one time around
the island when they haul out. We found them laying on the
beach and up in the high ground throughout our trek, and
gave them wide berth, so as not disturb their naps in any
way.
Our guide this morning is Beth Flint a fixture in the restoration
of this island who has dedicated her life to the preservation
of seabirds. She was the first graduate student to work
in the field on Tern Island. Early in life while still a
child visiting Yellowstone Park she was inspired by the
Park Rangers and wanted to grow up to be one. A higher calling
prevailed for which every seabird is grateful. She first
came to Laysan Island in 1982, but did not begin to make
her significant contributions until 1991 and for over eleven
years she was instrumental in making this island inhabitable
for all the species of birds that now reside here. When
I asked her what she liked about Laysan she said it was
the distinct odor of the guano that somehow triggers feelings
of great joy. The last time she was here in 1996 the place
was full of weeds, a sandbur, common to Central American
had arrived in Laysan in 1961 when the U.S. Military established
an operation here. The weeds took over and overran the island
placing it in serious jeopardy, only through the efforts
of Grad students doing back breaking weed pulling over the
last eight years did the island escape yet another calamity.
As we trek rather gingerly southward, Beth cautions us to
be aware of the burrows that Wedge-Tailed Shearwaters, Bonin
Petrels, Christmas Shearwaters and Tristram's Storm Petrels
have constructed in the soft sand. Some of these burrows
are an astounding ten feet long. There are tens of thousands
of them across the island. The sheer numbers on this island
is mind boggling, next month over 400,000 albatross will
fly in for the mating game. Everywhere we walk birds are
on the wing and on the ground, as are the camouflaged eggs
of white Terns, who are anything but camouflaged all white
with large black eyes, their purity and innocent look could
transform the most callous heart. The terns find a suitable
rock and sit down, no nest, and forty days later their single
egg hatches. If Beth had not pointed out an egg of a tern
she accidentally flushed I would have never seen it.
Among
the birds lies the debris of man that routinely kills them.
There is plastic everywhere, plastic balls, shampoo bottles,
shards of plastic, combs, bottle tips, toys, plastic, plastic,
plastic. If it were just debris one might tolerate it, but
as they float about the ocean flying fish attach their eggs
to them, long strings of delicious eggs, and the albatross
adults pick up the eggs and the attached plastic and bring
them back to the island and regurgitate them for their young
who will soon die from ingesting a bic lighter, or bottle
cap. Albatross skeletons are scattered everywhere and in
observing their remains one finds in the empty space where
their stomach used be pieces of plastic. Our world extends
its invisible hand of death to the remote corners of the
planet and does its insidious work.
We have walked to the southern end of the island where lie
terraced tide pools that are simply stunning in their arrangement
to the sea, pure and clean, with fish ripping currents of
play in their perfect world.
There is a timeless quality to the island, a portal to a
natural environment as it once was (plastic junk notwithstanding).
It comes with the hope that through the efforts U.S. Fish
and Wildlife Service it will be kept this way for a long
time. It is at once uplifting and sad, for a small group
of dedicated people are trying to keep nature intact, fighting
all odds. And in return, there exists the thread of connection
for man and for the birds, for we, mankind, need these places
as much as the birds need them, we desperately need a pathway
to nature, intact and pure like an innocent child whom must
be protected from a world who has forgotten the value of
tranquility.
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