Fiordland- New Zealand’s Mysterious Shadowlands

Located on the southwest corner of the South Island, at one and a quarter million hectares, Fiordland is New Zealand's largest national park. 14 fjords and their many branching arms slice into Fiordland's coast, stretching the shoreline to nearly 1900 kilometres. Here, saltwater reaches deep inland, between towering mountains. But it's the influence of fresh water which gives marine life a truly distinctive character in this corner of our big blue backyard. Bottlenose dolphins have adapted both physically and socially to give their young a chance of surviving the cold here. Strange creatures from the deep sea have made a home in these inky waters, where danger lurks in the darkness. And this year the fjord-dwelling penguin colonies, and those which live on the Tasman Sea coast, will face vastly different fortunes when raising their chicks. Fiordland is world famous for the majestic beauty of its landscape, which was carved out by glaciers some 20,000 years ago. When the ice retreated, it left deep, narrow valleys. In some places, near vertical walls climbed to 2,000 metre peaks. Around six and a half thousand years ago, sea levels rose and the valleys flooded, creating the fjords. As the saltwater invaded land, so did marine life. The fjords are home to the world's most southerly resident bottlenose dolphins. Critically endangered, Fiordland's dolphins are spread between a small population which roams Milford Sound and the northern fjords, a school of around 60 in Doubtful Sound, and a larger group of around 120 in Dusky Sound. At up to four metres long, these bottlenose dolphins are among the largest of all dolphin species. And they're also some of the most reclusive. Born in Doubtful Sound six months ago in early summer, this calf will most likely spend almost its whole life inside this fjord, in the company of the same closed group. These dolphins are different from most other bottlenoses because they don't mix outside their population. Their bonds are reinforced as they swim close and gently touch each other with their fins, and even as they swim over the top of one another. When two pods from the same Doubtful Sound population meet up, they always engage in a greeting ceremony, and then move off as one. The intimacy of the Doubtful Sound dolphins may seem quaint, but as winter begins to bite in Fiordland, the collective knowledge of this close-knit group will be critical to the survival of the calf. The craggy shorelines of the Sounds are dotted with crevices and caves. From mid-winter until late spring, some of these nooks provide a home for a shy bird named for this place. Tawaki, or the Fiordland Crested Penguin, is characterised by the distinctive yellow bands which feather out above its eyes. With around just two and a half thousand breeding pairs, they're one of the world's rarest penguins. This male lives in a cave on the shores of Dusky Sound. He emerges to look for one penguin in particular, the same mate he raised chicks with last year. He's got his eye on this female, who is freshening up after several months at sea. But it's not for the gawping male's benefit. She's not his partner, and he'll have to wait a while longer yet. On the open coast outside the Sounds, Fiordland Crested Penguins also make their home. In spring, these penguins return from months at sea fishing, to also reconnect with their mates for the breeding season. Unlike their cave-dwelling cousins in the fjords, the coastal penguins nest in small colonies in the bush. The nest-hunting penguins follow a well-worn highway, and they hear their destination well before they see it. Every penguin has a unique voice, and calls like this help mates to recognize one another from a distance. This male looks like a first-timer, and all the other lovebirds appear to be paired up. He must find space of his own amongst the established nests. Tree roots and bushes are preferred, as they'll provide shelter for the long weeks of egg incubation to come. The best spots appear to be taken, but the male discovers a nook, with an ensuite attached. Crested penguins bathe regularly to keep their plumage in top condition. All cleaned up, it's not long before a potential mate moves in. But while life is good for now, this year the weather will bring hard times for all the penguins on Fiordland's wild west coast. With average yearly rainfall of over seven meters, Fiordland is one of the wettest places on the planet. It usually rains here around 200 days a year, but bad weather can vanish as quickly as it arrives. The huge volume of rain dumped onto Fiordland feeds countless rivers and streams, and the sheer walls of the fjords are regularly ribboned with spectacular waterfalls. Nine of New Zealand's ten highest waterfalls are found in Fiordland, and from the breathtakingly tall to the modest, all add an element key to the character of marine life in the fjords. Fresh water. In most river estuaries, currents, waves and wind combine to mix the influx of fresh water with seawater. But inside the fjords, where the water's surface is relatively sheltered, freshwater sits on top of the denser seawater in a distinct layer. This top layer of freshwater ranges from just a few centimetres to 15 metres deep and is much colder than the underlying salt water in winter and spring. The freshwater is delivered to the fjords by streams and rivers. It picks up sediment and tannins as it drains from the forest floors. So the water is stained the colour of black tea. This blocks out much of the sunlight. And what does get through is filtered and eerie emerald green. At just 10 metres, it's typically as dark in a fjord as it is at up to 100 metres deep in the open ocean. This is the reason why an array of weird and wonderful light-shy creatures, some usually found in the deep sea, make their homes here in the relative shallows of Fiordland. But perhaps the most unexpected secrets in this unique marine ecosystem are found in what are known as Fiordland's China Shops. So-called because of the fragile beauty of their residents. There are delicate black corals which grow up to five metres tall. Black coral hardly seems appropriate as a name for this coral is ghostly white. It's actually their skeleton that's black beneath their white skin. Sea pens perform a sort of ballet, dipping and pirouetting to align themselves with the current for an audience of glum-faced blue cod. And then there's the strawberry sea cucumbers which add a splash of colour to the fjord floor. These decidedly fruity animals are so abundant in one area of preservation inlet it's nicknamed the strawberry fields. A perfect backdrop for the photobombing blue cod. There's another creature which relishes the darkness of the fjords. Seven gills belong to a family of sharks which has been around for 190 million years. Most modern sharks have five gills. Seven gills are indicators of this shark's primitive lineage. Big seven gills are known to spy hop, to look for seals on the shoreline. This one shows off a jagged top row of teeth designed to grasp prey and inside its powerful bite the seven gill slits are clearly visible. But although it's snap happy there's no blubbery lunch for this shark today and it skulks back into the darkness. Fiordland is now in the cool grip of winter. Known to Maori as atawhenua or the shadowlands. At this time of year the sun plots such a low course across the sky. In some places the water's surface lies in the chill of shadows all day. In dusky sound the dolphins are on the move. They're leaving the inner fjord which will soon freeze solid and are headed for the warmer waters of the outer fjords where they'll spend winter and spring. All of Fiordland's dolphins make this short annual migration and it's the youngest which will benefit most from the warmer water. The adults are well adapted to survive winter. They're fatter than most bottlenose dolphins due to extra insulating blubber and have stubbier beaks and shorter fins and tail flukes to reduce heat loss through these extremities. The calf has far less blubber so is more vulnerable to the winter cold. Calves here have about a one in three chance of dying in their first year making dusky sound the harshest habitat on the planet for young bottlenose dolphins. Just outside the fjords the water temperature of the open ocean is warmer but Fiordland's dolphins rarely venture out. Great white sharks cruise the coastline opportunistically hunting the energy-rich blubber of dolphins and sea lions. The coastal penguins also take their chances. On the Fiordland coast this penguin dad-to-be waits for his mate to return from a hunt. She laid two eggs and a week after producing the second left to go fishing at sea. He must guard and keep them warm in the wintry weather until she returns in around two weeks. Around 30 kilometres inland the weather system hasn't hit yet and so the dusky sound penguins are enjoying a more clement August day. This female laid just one egg early in the breeding season and is already back from her two weeks of fishing. She's returning to her nest to relieve her partner on egg-sitting duty. On arrival she trumpets a noisy hello. Once she's back in the nest her partner responds in kind. The pair then preen each other in those hard to reach areas. This removes ticks and lice and spreads oil across their feathers to keep them waterproof but most importantly it strengthens their bond. It's now the hungry male's turn to brave the swarming sandflies and go fishing. Like his mate he won't return to the nest for a couple of weeks and he'd better fill up on fish, squid and crustaceans. His next stint of egg followed by chick care will entail around a month-long fast. It's spring in Fiordland and the days have begun to warm up and stretch out. In the mouth of Dusky Sound the rocky shore of Resolution Island has attracted an ancient group of sunbathers. The ancestors of the Fiordland skink may have colonised New Zealand 80 million years ago. They're cold-blooded and dozed through the coldest days of winter. Now the weather's improved they're far more active using the sun's rays and the warmth of the rocks and logs to heat their bodies. Rather like the fashionable beaches over summer the popular basking spots can get crowded but for the skinks it's the more the merrier and they cosy up to get warm faster. The raucous calls belong to kea, a cunning predator with a broad diet. Skink would usually be on this kea's menu but spring has provided an easier meal, a feast of freshly budding leaves. Found exclusively on New Zealand's South Island kea are the world's only true alpine parrot. Although in Fiordland their range extends right down to the coast. While the air temperature across Fiordland is rising the influx of melt water from thawing snow means the water temperature in the fields is now at its lowest. Fiordland's dolphins must be smart in the hunt for food. Their prey can be scarce and is limited to certain locations within the murky cold fields. Big schools of butterfly perch congregate around the reefs where plankton is abundant and shoals of spotties, a known favourite of the dolphins, are found in shallower waters. Despite poor underwater visibility Fiordland's dolphins are well equipped for hunting here. All bottlenose dolphins have a signature whistle which they use to communicate but when they hunt it's all about the clicks. The pod emits a stream of clicks as they roam the depths which bounce off the submarine contours of the fjord and fish allowing the dolphins to acoustically map their surroundings and locate their prey. In Milford Sound the pod has learned to use the shape of their iconic environment to their advantage. The dolphins search for mullet along the sheer rock face of the fjord's north shore. With their prey sighted the dolphins charge en masse and herd the mullet in front of them into one of many small coves and the rock wall. But Fiordland's dolphins face a problem ocean-going dolphins don't. Rocky fjord walls echo their signature whistles making them tricky to decipher so they pause between whistles. The echoes fade and the pod can communicate effectively during a hunt. Deep in Dusky Sound this female penguin is also off fishing. Once she's in the water she's in her element. Capable of diving to depths of a hundred metres she's a powerful swimmer and by porpoising like this she can surface to breathe while maintaining a swim speed of up to 10 kilometres an hour. Today the female joins a trio of her neighbours fishing within the fjord less than a kilometre from her nest. This time she'll only be gone for the day because back at the nest her mate watches over the chick the pair produced this year. Like any newborn it must eat regularly but food will only arrive when mum returns and regurgitates the day's catch. The male is sole carer while mum's out fishing. During this time he won't eat his main tasks keeping the chick clean and when it's nap time snug and cosy. As for the chick until mum returns with food there's not much to do but sleep and that other thing newborns excel at. Over at the coastal penguin colony in the bush the male parent has also been left to look after his newly hatched chick. The second egg he was guarding didn't hatch but this is not unusual. Fjordland crested penguins rarely raise two chicks from the same brood successfully the exception being breeding seasons during which food is abundant. This year it's been anything but for the coastal penguins. The young chick's mother is about to set off fishing but an El Nino weather pattern has meant the usual hot spots off Fjordland's coast have cooled this year. She may have to swim far out to sea before she has a hope of catching anything. It's dusk on the Fjordland coast and this female is returning from a tough fishing trip. She was forced to swim north against the current for over a hundred kilometres to find enough krill and squid to fill up on and her mission is not yet complete. She's headed back to her nest to feed her newborn chick but although the colony is noisy she can't hear her partner's distinctive call. The long distance fishing trip took four days more than twice as long as she usually leaves her chick for and when she gets back to the nest it's empty not far away on the forest floor weka pick apart the remains of a chick. It likely died of starvation a victim of an oceanic famine inflicted on all Fjordland's coastal penguins by the El Nino weather pattern. The dead chick's mother is far from alone in her loss. This year many newborns perished here on the coast. Her mate would have deserted the nest once the chick died and their failure as parents makes it less likely they'll pair up again. Around 40 kilometres from the open ocean at the head of Dusky Sound lies a bay with a shallow fringe. Given the distance inland it might seem surprising this place is known as shark cove that is until you meet the locals. Over winter it's a mystery where the seven gill sharks go but it's the females who show up first in spring they head for shallow water. They're larger than the males and this female is even bigger than usual. She's pregnant and the scar on her flank is likely a love bite from an amorous male. Remarkably pregnant females carry upwards of 60 young for over a year. Once she's given birth there's a clear advantage to shark cove's shallow water. Her offspring won't get eaten by dad or any of the other males which remain out in deeper water. Setting a far better example as a father is a particularly shy inhabitant of the fjords. The spiny sea dragon usually prefers deep sea kelp forests but here in the fjords kelp only grows in the shallows. A relative of the seahorse sea dragons swim horizontally rather than upright at a very leisurely pace. With little hope of out swimming predators hiding from them is a better option. He's a master of blending into the background. He's also unusual because he's a dedicated dad carrying his mate's fertilized eggs on the underside of his tail until they hatch. But sea dragons aren't the only doting dads in the fjords. This submarine parachutist is a sea spider. Like the sea dragon he broods his unborn young. They're in an egg sac attached to the underside of his body. It's precious cargo. He folds his legs upright to speed his descent although this time it's nearly not speedy enough. Also inhabiting the shallow kelp beds scattered throughout the fjords are shoals of swimming protein. These are oblique swimming triple fins so called because with no swim bladders they must keep swimming or they sink. A variable triple fin takes time out while its cousins continue their steep ascent trying to stay off the menu of bigger fish. In contrast to the shallow kelp beds which support abundant life the inner fjords where the freshwater layer can be up to 15 meters deep are almost barren of marine plants. But the water here isn't devoid of plant food altogether. It's just not marine in origin. The steep walls of many of the fjords are notoriously vulnerable to massive slips in heavy rainfall or earthquakes. Every year thousands of tons of vegetation plunge into the fjords and dead tree trunks, branches and roots become reefs for all sorts of colonizing creatures. Leather jackets hone in on the macaroni cheese of the fjords otherwise known as wax ascidians. These fish love to nibble on the bizarre colonies of tiny filter feeding animals which live on submerged trees. Slip debris also provides perfect cover to blend into although fjordlands octopuses aren't always so shy. The fallen trees also inject nutrients into the marine ecosystem as they decompose. The hagfish is normally a denizen of the deep sea but in the fjords incredibly it relies on the forests above for around half the nutrients in its diet. Deep in dusky sound the penguin chick hasn't been fed for nearly a day. It squawks in hungry protest and begs for food from dad but he hasn't eaten in weeks and there's nothing left to regurgitate for the little one. His cry is a distressed appeal for his mate's swift return from fishing but there's no response. The chick's mother is nowhere to be seen and there's nothing to do but wait. Summer approaches and the sun hangs high and warm in the evening sky and yet in fjordland it's still snowing. In fact below the water the flurries never stop. Marine snow is a mixture of plankton and other organic sediment. It showers down from the freshwater layer and is a major source of nutrition for black coral. But if there's too much snow in the water it can clog the coral's polyps with sediment. Unable to feed it eventually dies leaving just a ghostly skeleton. Fortunately many black coral colonies have live-in cleaners. These snake stars scavenge plankton from the polyps which also cleans off the smothering sediment. Not all relationships in fjordland's china shops are so mutually beneficial. Jason's nudibranch is a type of sea slug and it's not cleaning the polyps off this hydroid fur, it's eating them. Hydroids are related to both coral and jellyfish so its polyps come with a sting and this is exactly why slug feasts on them. Blue cod will eat virtually anything but turn their noses up at Jason's nudibranch. Its white appendages contain the stinger cells from the hydroid so while it might look like candy it'd be a mouthful of pain. All is quiet at the dusky sound nest. Dad is grabbing some sleep tired of waiting for his mate. His hungry chick has also dozed off. He's heard something. At last the chick's mum has returned and she's got a belly full of fish to feed the little one. Fortunately for this small family the fishing in dusky sound hasn't been affected by unlike the famine it's caused for the coastal penguin colony. Finally relieved of chick caring duties dad trumpets what's known as an ecstatic display and there's no need for flowers when you can gift your partner a stick. Symbolic nest building will further strengthen their bond and the couple may raise many more chicks in the years ahead. Now the weather has warmed up so too has the water in the inner fjords. All Fiordland's bottlenose dolphins have returned from the outer reaches of the sounds. This calf has survived the most dangerous time in its life its first winter and spring. Other calves too weak to endure the cold water perished but while Fiordland's climate is a harsh test for young dolphins it limits numbers to a sustainable level in this challenging place. The calf will live all its life in this close-knit pod among the shadows and lofty peaks of this extraordinary corner of our big blue backyard.