It was early evening as I made my way to the confluence of the Rangitaiki river and Mangamaku stream. The fishing hadn’t been too good at Aniwhenua and this was a reluctant last chance. “Have a couple of casts down there,” said my Grandfather as he stopped the car on the roadside. “You’re sure to bag one.” I wasn’t so sure. Mother Nature can often turn into a hostile and unpredictable hostess. New Zealand forests, however, are blessed by the absence of predators antagonistic to humans. There are occasions though when otherwise benign inhabitants discard their usual behaviours. When such events do occur they are often worthy of further investigation. The account below is one such occasion when all is not what it seems; when familiar friends can reveal themselves as the most bitter of enemies.
Every cast, every different piece of water covered, turned up nothing. It must be the lure, I thought, as I placed my rod on the river bank and made my way back to the car to retrieve some more tackle. I crossed the recently flooded Mangamaku, carefully avoiding slipping on the slimy rocks. The stream could easily make a fool of a careless punter. My concentration, however, was suddenly broken by the most peculiar sound. Cutting through the background noise of whirring cicadas, chirping birds and omnipresent river came an unprecedented whooping; a harmonic yawping. Its pitch was so unnaturally shrill and whining that the hairs on the back of my neck rose. What creature was this? Never before had I heard such a noise. The startling cry was getting disturbingly louder yet I couldn’t determine the direction of its source. Whatever it was, it seemed to be homing in – on me. Standing thigh-high in the Mangamaku the howling now seemed to be coming from just over my left ear. I fearfully craned my neck to look behind. Sheeeit! Never has this young man been so frightened, for clipping the left side of my head at a furious speed was the greatest terror ever known to the Mangamaku. I flicked my head away and caught only a brief glance of bristling talons before I fell disorientated into the stream.
When in danger it’s only natural that you think the worst. All I could think of was that I had innocently disturbed a Hieraaetus moorei, the supposedly extinct NZ eagle. What sacrificial vengeance was it now to reap? I screamed the scream of a dying man. My vain cry echoed up the valley shattering my Grandfather’s afternoon nap. Shocked and stumbling on hands and knees, I tried to resume an upright state. Where is it? Where is the thirsty beast? Again I could see nothing but the ominous bush shadows. Gripped by paranoia, I stumbled onward, checking for blood. No obvious wounds. I was still alive.
And then it came again – the haunting, bellowing whoop. Quiet at first and then growing in volume until the insane madness of its cry had cloaked me again in fear. It flashed by, this time coming out of the setting sun. I swayed to the left and felt a whoosh! of wind against my face. The dam thing was toying with me. I was now running across no man’s land, expecting to be swept off up into the trees at any moment. I was in cinematic slow motion, a bewildered stare etched across my face as I stumbled up a greasy bank pushing gorse bushes aside, too numb to feel their feral barbs.
The car was in sight. Freedom seemed so excruciatingly close. And then it came again.
“Grandpa! Grandpa!” I cried, lest he succumb to the bird of doom close behind. He was standing by the car, calm as you like.
“Did you get one?” he enquired.
Words failed me. My dishevelled state was surely expression enough.
“What’s up with you then?” he continued.
Nearly hyperventilating, I managed to compose myself sufficiently to exclaim, “Something’s after me. A bloody eagle or something.”
My Grandfather was flummoxed while I felt a coronary coming On. I positioned myself beside the car, searching the sky ringing my clothes. huddling and shivering.
“Watch out! There it is! There it is!”
Swooping low over the gorse bushes, the feathered demon revealed its full visage. It perched arrogantly on a fence post, staring at me with a fierce scowl.
“It’s just a morepork,” declared my Grandfather. “A Ninox novaeseelandiae, NZ’s native owl, what are you so afraid of?”
A what? A morepork? Nothing more than that? You’ve got to be kidding? I was not convinced, especially after what I had gone through.
“What a funny little chap,” said my Grandfather as he moved closer to the owl.
“Be careful,” I warned my Grandfather.
“He’s a vicious little swine, whatever it is.”
was unmoved and unafraid of his advance. My Grandfather was now no more than two feet from it. The owl was still strangely mute and apathetic. Reassured. I moved from behind the car relaxed and laughing at myself. I was in the act of explaining what had happened when the ‘funny little chap’ revealed his true evil colours. The owl came straight at me. I turned my back and covered my face and jumped behind the car while the owl shot overhead. It circled and angled back down to its previous perch.
“He just wants to be friends” said my Grandfather, who was now clearly enjoying the whole episode.
“It’s a juvenile male, I think.” The owl’s unpleasant delinquent streak
certainly corresponded with that demographic.
Then came an unfortunate realisation.
“I’ve left my rod by the river. I’m going to have to go and get it.”
“Okay, I’ll keep the little fellow occupied,” said my Grandfather holding up a jacket in front of the owl.
I made my way slowly out of view of the owl and then I ran for the river. A cessation of the Blitzkrieg could not be expected to continue for too long. Another intimidating Stuka attack had to be imminent. I crossed the Mangamaku, picked up my rod and took a steadying deep breath. It wasn’t until I was attempting to climb the greasy bank again that my luck ran out.
“He’s off! He’s off!” yelled my Grandfather.
What a brittle cookie fortune is. Sure enough, I could see the owl make a high banking turn away to my right. It dived down at me but without the grim determination of previous efforts. I was conveniently shielded by the gorse bushes, crouched as I was with my arms over my head. Finally, I had its measure. Seconds later I had leapt the fence and was back by the car.
“As soon as the little guy heard you coming up the creek bed he took off. There was nothing I could do,” explained my Grandfather. “I’m not sure why he finds you so attractive though.”
No, me neither, I thought. What really mattered was that it was all over. I was removing my baseball cap as he talked. I was surprised to find my yellow-tinted sunglasses had not been dislodged from the hat’s peaked brim. Then, the penny dropped. Could it be that from an owl’s perspective, the lenses looked like large threatening eyes? I might have been confused with a potential rival. Or maybe he was only playing? Whatever the case, I’m not so curious that I wish to re-visit the Mangamaku and seek out the ornithological truth. I shall leave that to others. I have experienced enough of his natural charms in one night to leave the Menace of the Mangamaku be. You have been warned!