Mōlī In the Maelstrom

By Hob Osterlund, Safina Center Fellow

In these turbulent times, these treacherous and despairing times, human life seems to get cheaper by the day; animal life valued even less.

With no end—or even middle—in sight, where do we turn for solace? For hope?

Little points of light appear. They dot our dark nights like stars, giving our dreams some room to roam. News of fresh coalitions of impassioned young folks marching, photos of turtles laying eggs on beaches vacant of people, glimpses of skies cleaner than they’ve been in decades. Christian Cooper and his calm clarity following the infamous event in Central Park. The songs of Brittany Howard.

Big hope can be found in small stories. 

Here on Kaua’i, Mōlī—Laysan albatross—are getting ready to fledge. It’s been a tough year for the babes, especially due to predation from feral cats and wild pigs. Some of the fuzzy ones were lost because the COVID-19 shutdown eliminated refuge access for the staff who control predators on federal land.

Still, a good number of chicks are holding strong. Mōlī babes are left almost entirely alone for approximately five months while they grow—parental visits are rich with food but very short in duration—so solitude is a natural way of life for them. Of course the chicks’ personalities vary: some stick close to their natal nests, some build new nests and explore the colony. Turns out one particular chick was interested in a camera but a lot more interested in the tripod. Check out the result.

Another gregarious chick surprised us this season. After we discovered two freshly-killed wedge-tailed shearwaters in the colony, we set up a few humane traps. On the first day we caught a “super predator” feral cat, a large male who would’ve had no difficulty taking down a young albatross. On the second day we saw another sprung trap; scuffling noises were coming from inside.  On closer look?  It was no predator. It was a Mōlī chick.

Inquisitive chick with a taste for Kibble gets caught in a predator trap. Photo: Hob Osterlund

A few feet away from the trap was an adult albatross who turned out to be the chick’s papa.

Mōlī parent returns home to find chick in a trap. Photo: Hob Osterlund

It’s impossible to know whether he’d been waiting there for twenty-four hours or twenty-four minutes. What was striking about his presence was his peacefulness. He showed no agitation about his chick’s confinement, nor did he seem impatient with any part of the conundrum. No, it was as if he knew a solution would appear if only he waited long enough for it. Once we set the babe free, he met her at the nest and fed her a hearty meal. He took off only after she was satiated.

Parent feeds chick after release from trap. Photo: Hob Osterlund

One of the more reclusive chicks also got into a pickle this season. About a month after the trap event we discovered him lying on his back, kicking like an upside-down turtle. He was fully alert and not one bit interested in receiving help on his quest to return to upright living. His struggles were utterly useless because only one foot was in motion. The other foot was not visible, and his wings were pinned behind his back. It didn’t take long to guess what had happened. Since shearwaters were just starting their breeding season, we wondered if the Mōlī chick had fallen into a new burrow dug by a feathered cousin.  After the chick was helped off his back and onto his (two) feet, the truth was revealed. There was indeed a shearwater burrow, a rather gaping hole. A few days later the same Mōlī chick managed to fall into it a second time. Fortunately, some carefully-stacked branches prevented that particular option from repeating itself.

Mōlī chick gets stuck in shearwater burrow. Photo: Hob Osterlund

 A chick in another colony was best known by association. Kaulua (named by Kumu Kehaulani Kekua) is a sibling of Kaloakulua. “KK,” as she was affectionately called, was the first Mōlī to be livestreamed to the world in 2014. Her parents have now raised one chick a year for seven years in a row. Kaulua is that seventh chick.

We put a trailcam on Kauluaʻs nest to watch for feral cats. One night she slept right through a feline visitation, and was miraculously unharmed.

From an early age her parents fed her solid food.

Kaulua gets a hearty meal of solid seafood. Photo: Hob Osterlund

She typically stayed close to her natal nest for the first three months, and usually we saw her coming and going.

Kaulua also developed a liking for gardening, and would later spent quite a bit of nibbling on landscaped plants.

Sheʻs now quite grown-up. By the time you read this, she may have taken to the skies.

Kaulua basks in front of Trailcam. Photo: Hob Osterlund

For us Mōlī fans, however, the biggest news was the return of KK and Mango, her TrossCam co-star. Both fledged in 2014 and explored the vast North Pacific for nearly five years. We saw them in the spring of 2019, when they first returned to land. This spring we saw them again.

Kaloakulua (left) returns home after six yers at sea. Photo: Hob Osterlund

Itʻs moving enough that adult birds find mates, choose safe nesting spots, lay eggs, hatch eggs, and raise chicks who successfully fledge. But seeing those chicks return, knowing they have figured out how to survive at sea and then find their way home, feels miraculous.

And maybe miracles are what we need most in this maelstrom.