Pacific Nature Notes

Written for "PIM" by Charles Barrett, FRZS

Giant Butterflies

BUTTERFLY collecting became a diver sion with servicemen, in Papua and New Guinea especially, towards the end of the war. Few of the hundreds who chased swallowtails with long handled nets, while there were still Jap anese in the jungles, retained their enthusiasm for this “sport” after return ing to civilian life. But there have always been amateur entomologists among the Islands, and many are interested in but terflies —the splendid insects which often lured soldiers on long chases, not always to the accompaniment of laughter from their comrades.

A serviceman asked me to settle an argument by naming “the biggest but terfly.” That was easy; though I doubt whether any of the boys had seen, much less captured, a specimen of the Queen Alexandra birdwing (Papilio alexandraei, a giant butterfly of New Guinea, as en chanting to insect collectors as the blue bird of paradise is to bird men. It was discovered, many years ago, by A. S.

Meek, when he was collecting for Walter Rothschild, at the head of the Mambare River. His camp was 5,000 feet up, at Psiagi; and the greatest prize taken there was a female birdwing, destined to be named after England’s Queen. A year or two later. Meek netted the first male of the species, which is nearly related to another royal butterfly—the Victoria birdwing.

Papilio Alexandrae, with a wingspread of more than ten inches, is the largest known butterfly; but several other bird wings come close to it in size. They belong to the Swallowtail family, and are sometimes called the Aristolochia papilos because their caterpillars feed almost exclusively an Aristolochia plants: big caterpillars with a dense covering of very small hairs.

This group is represented in the Solo mons bv some lovely species, notably the Queen Victoria birdwing, of which Meek took a number of specimens. It was so rare and desirable in his day, that one particularly fine example sold for twenty nine guineas in London. Desirable still are these grand insects, though their market value long since declined as the supply increased. Entomologists were not the only buyers of tropical butter flies: designers of women’s dresses often bought cases of them; and copied pat terns and colour schemes from butterfly wings.

The Queen Victoria birdwing, of course, was discovered long before Papilio alex andrae, which put it in the shade, so far as size was concerned: in beauty they are rivals, and each has its champions.

It was John MacGillivray, naturalist on board HMS “Herald,” who collected the first known specimen of Victoriae; at Wanderer Bay, Guadalcanal, early in the ’fifties. The “Herald” visited the Solo mons on anything but a scientific mission —Benjamin Boyd had landed from his yacht, the “Wanderer,” disappeared in the jungle, and never returned. The “Herald” people failed to solve the mys tery: but, almost certainly, Ben Boyd was killed by natives and provided a cannibal feast.

MacGillivray, doubtless, felt happy about having discovered a magnificent new butterfly at Wanderer Bay. It was a female specimen—no male was col lected until a generation later, the lucky naturalist being Charles M. Woodforde, who wrote an excellent account of the

Solomons, nearly 60 years ago, and pre dicted that they would one day become of great importance to Australia.

Fijian Parrots

AN American bird man, who visited Fiji some years ago, took a poor view of the native parrots’ chances of survival beyond another half century.

He was concerned chiefly about the red-throated lorikeet, a small green bird, with red “face,” and throat, and thighs.

Its range is very restricted—Viti Levu, Ovalau, and Taveuni, and this long tailed lorikeet keeps to forest country on the mountains, I believe.

Two other kinds of lory are found in the Fiji group—the blue-crowned, and the collared lory; the former is also a bird of Samoa and other Polynesian islands. There are two larger parrots, the red-breasted and the yellow-breasted musk lorikeets. The collared bird also is known as the solitary lory, and the ruffed lory, on account of the long, silky feathers of the neck. A charming bird in the wilds—and in the aviary; it has long been known to aviculturists over seas. Several specimens were exhibited at London Zoological Gardens in the ’thirties, and they may still be thriving there, if these lorikeets are fairly long lived.

One way of saving a species in danger of extinction is to breed it in captivity.

This has been done successfully in the cases of several rare Australian parrots, including a lovely little Queenslander, which for years was a “lost” bird, none having been seen in a wild state.

So far as I know, the collared lorv is in no danger of sharing the Dodo’s fate.

Even a common bird, however, may soon become rare should conditions cease to favour it. The list of extinct birds in cludes several Pacific species formerlv numerous. The passenger pigeon of North America once existed in millions; none remains now. Snortsmen and pot hunters took heaw toll of the vast flocks on their migratory flights, season after season, until millions dwindled to thou sands, and eventually, to scores. The last of the race died in captivity,

The “White Gallinule”

THE extinction of the “white gallinule,” at first regarded as a cousin of the common bald coot, which it re sembled in shape and make, probably was hastened by descendants of muti neers of the “Bounty.” In 1868, a party of Pitcairn Islanders and their friends from Norfolk Island visited Sydney. On the return voyage measles broke out among them, and they called in at Lord Howe, remaining there until the sick men recovered. Doubtless those who went on shore killed many gallinules; for Norfolk Islanders knew the birds to be good tucker.

Until round about the ’fifties, the white gallinule (Notornis alba), originally de scribed and figured in “Phillip’s Voyage to New South Wales” (published in 1789). was fairly common on Lord Howe and Norfolk Islands: and it was as tame and stupid as a booby, until relentlessly hunted. When it became extinct is un certain; but the white gallinule dis appeared from all its haunts more than seventy years ago. The only specimen of which I can find a record, is one said to be preserved in the Vienna Museum — and that was long before World War II began.

New Zealand’s Notornis, a handsome bird, which might be mistaken for a giant coot, became known to science by fossil remains, and was thought to be. like the moas, an extinct species, until two years after the discovery of ancestral bones, when a live specimen was col-

T HE gleanings of a naturalist in the Pacific —the specimens collected—are likely to he stored away in a museum; but he may share with many people his knowledge of wild life, and ver haps, learn something from their own observations.

In this column I propose to write on all manner of living things belonging to the Pacific world: it will be a kind of naturalist’s notebook. Letters from readers are invited, and I shall be glad to answer questions, and identify specimens sent to me at i( Maralena,” Mavsbury Avenue, Elsternwick S 4, Victoria.

lected. Later, several others were ob tained, and one of these went to a Museum at Otago; two to the British Museum.

The “white gallinule” and the “takahe” (Maori name for the New Zealand Notornis) were large and heavy rail-like birds, unrelated to the bald coots despite superficial resemblance. Their passing deprived us of two handsome, flightless birds. Little is known respecting their habits: but the “takahe” liked solitude and led a lonely existence in the wild country of the West Coast Sounds, where, in recent years, it has been sought in vain.

Winged Seeds

A FRIEND who lives in Papua recently sent me some large winged seeds, for identification: saying that they were familiar objects, but neither he nor his neighbours knew what kind of “tree” produced them.

They were seeds of a climbing plant, Macrozanonia macrocarpa, native to Borneo, Java, the Aru Islands, New Guinea, and the Philippines. The cap sule, or seedpod, measures about six inches across and, in it, are packed numerous large, flattened seeds whose lateral wings, thin as tissue-naper and over five inches wide from tip to tip, give them a butterfly appearance. Re leased from the pendent pod, which opens widely at the top when ripe, the winged seeds go floating and gliding away at the wind’s will. Being very light, they may travel far, even out to sea, for some have been found on a ship’s deck. Short flights, however, seem to be the rule for winged seeds generally: they are not such long-distance travellers as are plumed seeds—thistledown, for instance; though beautifully adapted for dispersal by wind.

Macrozanonia seeds interest most people who see them, and hundreds are preserved, as “curios from cannibal lands.” I have known them to be used as bookmarks: though their wings are too flimsy to withstand much handling.

There are botanists who specialise in the study of seed dispersal, by wind, and water, and other agencies. Few books are more fascinating to a plant lover than Henrv Ridlev’s “Dispersal of Plants Throughout the World.” (Continued in Col. 1, Page 47)

Ridley for many years was Director of the Botanic Gardens, Straits Settlements, and was particularly interested in tropi cal vegetation. His great book contains many references to plants of Pacific islands, including the Gilbert and the Marshall Isles, the Admiralty Group, and, of course, Hawaii —the very rich flora of this group suggests that it was formerly of much greater extent “and that it is of great antiquity.”

From Hawaii to the nearest Polynesian islands, the distance is some 700 miles.

The American mainland lies 2,300 miles away, yet there is a distinct American element in the Hawaiian flora. How did plants with American affinities cross a vast expanse of sea? Their seeds, how ever well adapted for dispersal by water, could scarcely have survived a voyage of more than 2,000 miles. Vanished land links may account for that American element.