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Ocean Watch

A couple of weeks ago, during a walk on Kailua Beach, I found a wedge-tailed shearwater chick struggling in the sand. The seabird had all its adult feathers except for a puff of down on top of its head, giving it a sort of poodle look.

The bird captured my heart instantly, but not everyone, I soon learned, was so charmed.

Because the bird was too weak to fly, I decided to take it home, let it rest and then try to launch it that night. I made a cradle in the bottom of my T-shirt and started walking.

A fellow beach walker spotted my bundle. "Is that a bird?" she said.

Showing her the chick, I told the story of Hawaii's wedge-tailed shearwaters. These native seabirds, commonly called wedgies, nest in underground burrows, which they dig with their webbed feet.

After the female lays her egg inside the burrow, both parents work to hatch and feed their offspring. A few months later, the parents disappear, and the chick must fend for itself.

Prompted by hunger and weight loss, the chick one night leaves its burrow and takes off in the dark. Those that survive are soon gliding gracefully over the water's surface eating flying fish and flying squid driven to the surface by large predators. Hawaii's anglers look for flocks of feeding wedgies, knowing that big fish often swim beneath them.

I thought my Kailua Beach bird came from nearby Flat Island because hundreds of wedge-tailed shearwaters nest there. When it took off though, it had gone the wrong way. Instead of flying out to sea, it got confused by city lights and downed by overhead wires.

This is common here in the main islands because wedgies nest around the edges, usually on offshore islets where dogs, cats and mongooses can't get them.

After I finished telling my wedgie story, the beach walker frowned at the bird. "So this," she said, "is what spoiled our Flat Island fireworks."

The comment left me speechless.

I took my bird home and placed it inside a black gym bag where it seemed content. When I peeked in a couple of hours later, though, the cute little wedgie had died.

Staring at that lifeless chick made me feel terribly sad, but my sadness, I realized, was only partly due to the bird's death. More, I grieved for people so removed from nature that they can view wildlife only as a nuisance.

Most of us, however, are not so detached. Countless kind people who find grounded shearwaters help redirect them toward the ocean. As a result, hundreds are saved each year.

If you find a grounded shearwater, pick the bird up gently and take it to the shoreline. There, let the chick stand on your two hands and hold them high over your head. If it can, the bird will take off.

If it can't, let it rest in a dark place for a while (don't try giving it food or water) and try again later.

I have had several successful shearwater launches over the years, and watching those birds fly off is a thrill I will never forget. Nor will I forget an incident that occurred a few years ago during my visit with the late Bea Krause, an expert on Hawaii's native plants.

She and I settled on her lanai swing to chat. Immediately, a red-vented bulbul swooped down and landed on her leg. Bea reached into her pocket and fed the tame bird some food she carried for just that purpose.

"I know, I know," she said. "It's an alien species and an agricultural pest. But how can you not love a little bird?"

It's a good question.