archaeology – Lost Worlds, Vanished Lives

The hunter stalks its prey through the forest, following the wafting invisible trail of musky odor straight to the kiwi burrow. Within a few months, the dog has killed over 20 kiwi.

You would think this event occurred recently, given the frequent headlines of dogs killing or attacking our unique wildlife, or the feral dog populations causing trouble in northern Aotearoa New Zealand. Rightly these headlines produce collective anger from kiwis (the people, not the bird, though I imagine the birds would no doubt be pretty pissed off at the current situation).

But travel back in time to when humans arrived in New Zealand over 700 years ago in the late 13^th Century and there is a distinct blind spot when it comes to human’s best friend back then, the kurī (Polynesian dog). The prevailing view is that kurī had minimal ecological impact, despite scientists accepting the myriad of other impacts Polynesian, and later European, colonization had on New Zealand from extinctions to the widespread burning of forests, and the introduction of mammalian predators. Continue reading “The dog is in the henhouse: did the kurī (Polynesian dog) have an impact on New Zealand’s wildlife?”

I’m lying on a beautiful golden sand beach. The bright sun is beating down upon me. I could be on an isolated, tropical island, if not for the lone giant moa sculpture looming above my head.

This sentinel to a lost world stands at the aptly named Old Bones Backpackers at Awamoa, (originally named Te Awa Kōkōmuka), south of Oamaru. It was erected as if to remind us of what was and what we have lost, guarding the remains of its brethren.

Archaeology old school: In the days before four-wheel drive vehicles, “carrying off of the fragments that remained” from Awamoa was no doubt an arduous task, especially just before afternoon tea. Photo courtesy of Alexander Turnbull Library.

Awamoa is a ‘moa hunter’ site where one of New Zealand’s first archaeological excavations, conducted by Walter Mantell, took place in 1852. Today, it’s a far cry from what the area looked like all those years ago, with coastal erosion, the nemesis of archaeologists, attempting to wipe the slate clean.

Suddenly, waves crash around me into our excavation pit, followed by the rhythmic upbeat music of the water receding over pebbles. It breaks me out of the reverie about my curious feathered friend. I’m here on what could only be called an extreme ‘rescue excavation’ before the sea claims any remaining bones for Davy Jones. Continue reading “Fossil Lucky Dip from a Lost World”