It might be the end of the school holidays, but the visitors keep on coming. Nothing makes me feel more fortunate than watching other people’s reactions to Waiheke. They walk off the ferry, taking photos, hugging friends and family, happy to be here.
The circus at the Mātiatia keyhole though, remains an intractable problem. A mathematician might say it is ‘stated but unsolved’, like the Hodge Conjecture or the Riemann Hypothesis. I have seen council plans, elaborate maps, simple maps, drawings in sand and on wine-soaked serviettes, but, as yet, no answer.
Has anyone contacted the University of Auckland Physics Department? Fusing three dimensions of space and the one dimension of time into a single four-dimensional continuum could be a start.
I mean, clearly we need to fit 500 people, 20 taxis, 45 rolling weekender bags, 50 cars, 20 geese, 10 ducks, 20 bicycles and 10 buses into a space the size of four tablecloths. Subtracting a single element – cars, for example – works, unless you are 80 years old and need to get to a doctor’s appointment in town.
Speaking of visitors, the other day I found a strange couple sunning themselves on my doorstep. They took off as soon as I opened the door, their long brown tails slithering under my bay tree pot.
The question was, skinks or geckos? I checked with a friend who knows about these things. As their scales were smooth and shiny, he told me, my visitors were definitely skinks.
They were small and reddish, with a long tail. So – either copper skinks (good) or plague skinks (bad). Copper skinks (Oligosoma aeneum) are natives – the genus Oligosoma found only in New Zealand. After losing myself in the New Zealand Herpetological Society (NZHS) website, I discover that they are “rarely observed moving about and [are] generally solitary in nature”.
That did not sound like my doorstep guests.
Plague skinks look like copper skinks, but are smaller, skinnier, and (I love this) ‘gregarious’. This means they eat together. They sun-bathe together. They even lay eggs together – some communal nests contain more than 200 eggs.
We are, as it turns out, approaching a mass skink birth day – their young hatch in February and March.
The scientific name for plague skinks is Lampropholis delicata, and Lampropholis is a genus endemic to Australia. First recorded at the Ōtāhuhu rail yards in the 1960s, plague skinks are now foraging, skittering and basking throughout the North Island.
According to the NZHS, their DNA reveals that the vast majority of New Zealand plague skinks originate from the vicinity of Tenterfield in New South Wales. In Australia, they are known by more flattering names: the ‘delicate skink’ or ‘rainbow skink’ (seen in the right light, their brown scales gleam with a rainbow iridescence).
DOC has declared these Aussie skinks an Unwanted Organism, as they breed so much faster than endemic species. It is illegal to spread, sell, exhibit or breed them without the permission of MPI Biosecurity.
It seems, though, that the plague is here to stay. As well as established populations on the North Island, they have set up shop on conservation-sensitive islands like Rangitoto, Motutapu, Rotoroa and Great Barrier Island. Satellite populations have also been found in Havelock and Blenheim in the South Island.
In 2019, according to Radio New Zealand, two hundred chickens were dispatched to deal with the plague skinks of Great Barrier Island. While performing this mahi, ‘the chicken army’ laid 60,000 free-range eggs shipped back to the Auckland City Mission. RNZ called the chickens “heroes”.
Chickens are of little use against our latest unwanted visitor. Getting rid of the yellow-legged hornet (Vespa velutina) takes non-expert hornet spotters along with experts using hi-tech radio transmitters stuck to the hornets to find nests. Apparently, this two-pronged attack is working.
Thanks to thousands of notifications from hornet vigilantes, 51 confirmed queen hornets have been found, and 54 nests.
Although advisors are optimistic, the science communication from Biosecurity New Zealand has not always been ideal. The biologist and Wikipedian-at-Large Dr Mike Dickison noticed, for example, that the hornet on their wasp-comparison graphic was not to scale.
Here’s his usefully pithy guide:
1. “Hmm, is this stripy waspy thing a hornet?” = not a hornet.
2. “Jesus effing C what the F is that monster, that’s the biggest wasp I’ve ever SEEN, shit it has yellow legs” = hornet.”
As far as visitors go, it helps to know friends from foes. Or, in this case, little foes from big foes. •
Jenny Nicholls
