Coot chick

At the Vet pond at Massey this morning, a pair of coots were being pestered by their two chicks. (And yes, I know, and I'm waiting for the wisecracks.)

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

A lot of water under the bridge

Sometimes you look over the edge and wonder where all that water's gone, and whether Heraclitus got it wrong and in fact you're always stepping—or falling—into that same river, not just twice but endlessly, and you wonder whether it was actually Nietzsche who was right when he posed that question about how you'd react to a demon who condemned or blessed you with the eternal recurrence of all the joys and despairs of your life, but eventually you know you have to get on with what's left of it, so you walk away, leaving the troll beneath the bridge grumpy that he didn't get to eat you, but even as you walk off you wonder whether you might not be confirming Sartre's and de Beauvoir's claim about bad faith, and that doesn't help you feel any better or less confused.

But Heraclitus and Nietzsche and Sartre and de Beauvoir are all dead, and you're still walking and wondering. Surely that has to mean something—no?


All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Cold in the Ruahine

On Sunday I drove north and walked, almost non-stop, for five-and-a-half hours over the tops to a bitterly cold bivvy in the northern Ruahine. I arrived just before dark, surprising Jono and Laura, who'd assumed I hadn't managed to get away. They'd walked in on Friday from a different direction, and had endured an icy walk up the river to the biv. At least I'd had no rivers to wade. We survived the night, although anything damp — socks, boots, etc. — froze overnight.

This photograph shows a section of the track along the tops during my walk in.

[1/60 sec at f6.3, ISO 250]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Torea pango, the Variable oystercatcher

Mainland Aotearoa has two species of oystercatchers: the South Island Pied oystercatcher, known to the bird nuts as SIPOs; and this one, Torea pango (literally, 'black oystercatcher'), which also goes by several other names. A third species is found only on New Zealand's Chatham Islands and is critically endangered, with a population of roughly 300 birds.

'Variable oystercatcher' might be the most accurate common name, because although many have entirely black plumage like this bird, others have varying amounts of white and some closely resemble SIPOs. They're found only in New Zealand, and the total population's likely to be about 4–5000 birds.

Because I live inland, I seldom get to see these delightful birds, and it's always a thrill to see them when I'm visiting the coast near Wellington. This one cooperated nicely as I photographed it from the car at Point Howard, at the head of the harbour.

[1/400 at f4; ISO 200]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Old fence near Turakirae Head

The day before ANZAC Day we walked to Turakirae Head, passing this old fence on the way. It's not much use for keeping stock out of the scientific reserve, but I hope it stays like this.

[1/200 sec. at f11; ISO 200. Grain added in processing because I like the look ;-)]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Seal on the south coast

I find seals (kekeno) difficult to photograph. In the water they're constantly moving and mostly obscured; hauled out, they spend much of their time like big blubbery sausages moulded to the rock on which they're sunbathing. At Turakirae Head, on the southern coast of the North Island last weekend, this was one of the few moderately cooperative seals that posed nicely for me. Harsh, contrasty, middle-of-the-day light didn't help, either. A lovely day for a walk, but a photographer's hell.

[1/1250 sec. at f5.6; ISO 200]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Whio pair in the Pohangina headwaters

I returned this afternoon from two nights at Leon Kinvig hut in the headwaters of the Pohangina River. I'd hoped to see and photograph whio, and I wasn't disappointed. On the first evening, although tired after climbing over the Ngamoko Range to reach the hut, I wandered downstream and came across a lone male whio. I managed some photographs in the fast-fading light, but hoped for better. The next day I saw no whio until the evening, when this pair greeted me just a short distance downstream from the hut.

[f4 at 1/80 sec.; ISO 200]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Whio, Pohangina headwaters

When I visited the Pohangina headwaters a few weeks ago, I photographed a male whio a short distance down the river in the evening. The following morning I explored down the river again and found this male only a few hundred metres downriver from the hut. He quickly relaxed and began preening, but still kept an eye on me. I hope to return soon, before the days get too short and the river too cold, and I hope I get to meet him again.

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Whio habitat — Pohangina river headwaters

Once, whio probably lived throughout much of Aotearoa, inhabiting lowland rivers as well as the mountain headwaters to which they're now restricted. The sad fact is that now, with few exceptions, the lowland forests have long gone and as soon as the rivers leave the mountains and begin to make their way through intensively farmed lowlands, they begin to deteriorate. It's rare to find water as clear and clean as this outside the headwaters.

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Whio, Pohangina headwaters

Yesterday I walked over the Ngamoko Range to Leon Kinvig hut in the headwaters of the Pohangina river. In the evening I explored a short distance down the river until, on the verge of turning back, I heard a whistle. The light had almost gone, but by bracing the camera on a huge boulder I managed some photographs of this lone male whio.

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Whio family, Pohangina headwaters

On Boxing Day I walked down the Pohangina river from Leon Kinvig hut to Ngamoko hut. The river was gorgeously limpid but many crossings were swift and powerful; fortunately, the deepest (almost reaching my waist) were slower. One small gorge, however, requires either floating — something I wasn't prepared to do on my own — or a steep climb, traverse, and descent along an overgrown track.

I'd almost reached the riverbed at the end of this track when I heard a whistle and knew instantly this is what I'd been hoping for. The track at that point skirts a near-vertical drop, and, looking down, I could see the deep green pool where the river exits the gorge.

Swimming in the pool was a family of whio: the two adults and five chicks.

I photographed them from above then carried on down to the riverbed and continued photographing as they swam slowly into the gorge. They allowed me time for only a handful of photographs, but I'd be a true grinch to complain about having just a few minutes to enjoy the sight of these wonderful birds.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Morning rainbow

The rainbow in the east over the southern Ruahine Range had already appeared early that morning over Zigzag Road in the west.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Hard to resist

In this day and age when everyone seems to have some kind of camera, even if it's just built into a mobile phone, who can resist the urge to photograph a good rainbow?

Tuesday began with a spectacular double rainbow in the west and ended with this one in the east. I couldn't resist.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Hare's tail grass, Taylor's Mistake

I remember as a small boy seeing these distinctive seedheads and wondering what they were. Now, when I encounter them I'm often struck by a strange feeling — something like a sense of Time passing; not so much a feeling of having grown old but as if I've somehow sidestepped the years and found a direct link to the past. An odd and wonderful feeling.

All content © 2014 Pete McGregor

A beautiful mistake

In Christchurch last week we visited Taylor's Mistake a couple of times and walked the track towards Scarborough. On the second visit we were treated to this beautiful evening light on Godley Head (the photograph is from the Scarborough track). I remember thinking as we left that this was a place I'd be happy to live.

All content © 2014 Pete McGregor

Torea pango — variable oystercatcher

Among the few successful photographs I managed last weekend, this is one of my favourites, not because of any particular photographic merit but simply because I love these birds.


[30 March 2014, Olympus OM-D EM-1, Panasonic 100–300mm at 300mm, ISO 400, 1/640 at f5.6]

All content © 2014 Pete McGregor

Rock, water, Pohangina river

In the evening I wandered from the hut down to the river and photographed the irresistible flow. I hoped to see a whio, but it wasn't to be. A gusty wind swirled around the riverbed and the moon, not quite half full, hung low above the silhouette of the forest on one of the steep spurs that climbed to the Ngamoko Range. No stars had yet appeared. Eventually I returned to the hut and prepared a simple meal by the light of the headlamp.


[8 March 2014, Olympus OM-D EM-1, Panasonic 100-300mm at 100mm, ISO 200, 1/8 at f/4]

All content © 2014 Pete McGregor

Mayfly (Coloburiscus humeralis?)

Last night was one of the warmest we've had this spring, and by the time I'd started to think about going to bed the kitchen windows were covered in insects (mostly moths) trying to reach the light. But moths weren't the only insects attracted to the light. This morning I found this gorgeous mayfly on the verandah rail. I'm fairly confident this is Coloburiscus humeralis, but if you think this is wrong, please let me know.


[24 November 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 200, 1/10 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Feather

I couldn't help picking this off the ground, and as I did so, I felt I was holding nothing more than the tiny droplets. The feather I think must have come from an eastern rosella—the faint tinge of red fits no other local bird I can think of.


[21 May 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 400, 1/80 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Dawn on the coast of Ghana

A day short of six years and one month ago I photographed the sea at dawn on the coast of Ghana. I loved the early mornings, when only one or two people had already risen and the tremendous humidity hadn't yet become almost unbearable, when the big sand crabs hadn't been frightened back down their burrows by human feet, when the sea fog hadn't yet been vaporised and anything might have materialised from the mist. The light and the colours seemed suffused with a softness utterly at odds with the brutal tropical heat that dominated the day.


[19 May 2007, Canon 20D, 10–22 mm f4 L at 10 mm, ISO 200, 1/50s at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor