Catlins 3

Curio Bay seemed an idyllic place. Sun, sand and sea. A petrified forest. Easy penguin spotting. In the adjoining Porpoise Bay, a campsite right on the beach and a group of tiny Hector's dolphins cruising close to the shore.  Their dorsal fins, round like Mickey Mouse ears, betrayed their positions.

Petrified tree stump

Hector's dolphins

At about 7.30 in the evening we walked down to Curio Bay to watch again adult yellow-eyed penguins returning from the sea to feed their young. There was no hide, just a yellow rope spread across the rocks to mark the boundary beyond which spectators must not cross. Just feet beyond the rope there were two young penguins in full view. They ignored the people gathering nearby and looked expectantly out to sea.

As we waited we heard a local man saying that the two penguins were the chicks of an adult who appeared to have lost its mate, and that there were signs the parent could no longer manage to catch enough fish to feed both, almost fully fledged, chicks. 'Last night', he said, 'the smaller one didn't get fed.'
As the light faded penguins began to emerge from the sea, and for the first time we saw big chicks coming out from the burrows in the cliff, where they'd been hiding, to look for their parents. The two young penguins nearest to us continued to watch the sea. I saw now that one was indeed slightly smaller than the other but it was just as alert and active.
At last an adult appeared on the rocks at the water's edge directly in line with the pair of penguins who - understanding by some means that wasn't apparent to us, that this was their parent - set off down the beach. I was glad to see that the smaller bird was ahead, and that every time its bigger sibling seemed to be gaining ground the little one found a shortcut, scrambling and jumping over rocks if necessary, and went in front again. Silently I willed the little one on.

When the smaller penguin reached the adult it started squawking loudly; there was no mistaking that it was saying 'Feed me! Feed me!' When the bigger chick arrived it too started asking for food but instead of feeding the chicks immediately the parent started waddling up the beach to where they had been standing originally - and to the spot where we watchers were all sitting.
During the adult's progress up the beach both chicks continued to beg for food and to vie with each other to be in the best position once feeding time arrived. I could see that the smaller one was holding its own, and once again doing everything in its power to hold onto the prime position. 'Surely,' I thought, 'the parent can't ignore such persistence?'

Then, when the adult began to regurgitate its fishy baby food with the smaller chick apparently at the front of the queue, the bigger one suddenly knocked it off balance with a blow of a flipper; a blow so hard that I heard a resounding slap. The parent immediately put food into the open beak of the big chick.
Now the smaller bird had lost its position and scrambled desperately over a boulder to get in front of the parent again but before it could achieve this aim its sibling lashed out once more and the little one fell off the rock. Again, as the smaller penguin struggled to its feet, the adult fed the other chick.
The smaller chick continued to demand to be fed and to try to find a way to get the adult's attention but now it had to waste energy and concentration in order to stay out of the reach of the other young penguin. Everyone watching could see what was happening; the tension was so great that nobody made a sound.
As I saw the smaller bird cringing away from the other, being ignored by the parent and losing its battle to be fed I couldn't bear to watch any more and turned away. 'It's nature,' said Lawson but I went back to the van and cried.
When I create a story I rarely write a happy ending. But in life always I can't help hoping that things will end well. The Walt Disney version of the little penguin's story would give us heart-rending scenes of the chick giving up hope, growing weaker and sinking to the ground to wait for death. But then along would come a wildlife ranger. The penguin would be rescued and live happily ever after, and well fed, on an island sanctuary. As a character in a fairy story once said, 'Only believe.' I'm trying. I really am trying.