kakapo Recovery
The Kakapo Recovery programme is one of the most ambitious conservation efforts on Earth. On Whenua Hou, a remote New Zealand island with extremely restricted access, I had the rare and privileged opportunity to experience this work firsthand and document the story of the world’s rarest parrot.
Images and Article by Federico Facchin
All images taken under permit
www.federicofacchin.com
A Screen and an Egg
Sydney, 30th of January ’26, 10 AM. I am supposed to be preparing for my next field season, but instead I am staring at a screen. A black-and-white livestream from a burrow somewhere in the deep south of New Zealand. Inside, a single white egg rests beneath a moss-green giant. Her name is Rakiura, one of the last breeding females of the heaviest parrot on Earth, only the gentle rise and fall of her breath betrays her presence.
I notice that a few hundred more people, like me, are staring at that same image instead of working.
From that egg, in a few weeks, a chick will hatch. It has no idea that it represents decades of work, one of the most ambitious conservation efforts ever attempted, and the fragile future of an entire species. It also has no idea that, in a couple of months, it will meet me.
IMAGE ABOVE: Kakapo Live Cam (Screenshot from YouTube Stream).
© Department of Conservation (DOC)
A Seed Planted
I grew up in the Italian Dolomites, the easternmost corner of the Alps, with National Geographic documentaries and a head full of travel dreams. I once saw a documentary about what they called the “Alpine Parrot.” I remember the excitement, thinking I could just go out and see one, until my mum reminded me they lived on the other side of the world. The disappointment hit straight away, but something lingered.
Twenty-five-ish years later, on my second trip to New Zealand, my friend Lydia took me to Fiordland, one of the most incredible landscapes I have ever seen. The dreamy valley leading to Milford Sound felt unreal. We had to stop several times because I could not get enough of it, and eventually we met the kea. A mob descended from the high peaks during winter, entertaining tourists with their charisma. Loud, curious, unpredictable. Exactly what you would expect from a mountain parrot.
Shortly after, I had to go back to work on the other side of the planet, and so did Lydia. But before we parted ways, she casually dropped a bomb: “Keas are cool, but have you ever heard of a kakapo?” And just like that…
GALLERY ABOVE: Kea (Nestor notabilis), the alpine parrot.
© Federico Facchin – 2024 – New Zealand
The Way In
Fast forward a couple of years. “What are you doing in March?” Another simple question that turned first into emails, paperwork, waiting, hoping, and then an opportunity.
Before I know it, following quarantine and a strict disinfection process, I am in the back of a Eurocopter AS350, better known as the Squirrel.
It is a rare sunny day in Aotearoa (from maori, “Land of the Long White Cloud”), perfect weather for a 25-minute chopper flight. From 2000 feet, the rocks and ocean blurring beneath at 150 knots look like a video game. The light cabin is shaking while hovering above the column of hot air generated by the loud blades spinning 430 times per minute just a meter above my head. In front of us, slowly getting bigger, a little island called Whenua Hou. Home for the next two weeks.
Also known as Codfish Island, it is a pristine biological reserve unlike any other on Earth. Lacking harbors and basic infrastructure, the island remains closed to the public to uphold its rigorous biosecurity standards. Only a handful of rangers, veterinarians, and specialists from DOC (Department of Conservation of New Zealand) are allowed here, and for the next two weeks I will be part of this team. Two weeks off the grid, a full immersion in untouched nature like I have never experienced before.
A smooth landing, a warm welcome, a necessary induction at base camp, and before I know it, the sun is ready to set behind the hill. I do not know what to expect in the next days, but one thing is clear from the beginning: there is no time to waste, and in the battle against extinction, every second counts. With no light or noise pollution, typical of a truly pristine environment, I close the zip of my tent and fall asleep to the sounds of the forest: petrels returning to their burrows after a day at sea, the almost unheard squeak of tiny bats (the only land mammals of New Zealand), the ocean roaring in the distance, and the thick, ancient canopy brushed by the southern winds. Absolute perfection.
IMAGE ABOVE: Aerial view of Rakiura (Stewart Island).
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
A Species That Trusted Too Much
Whenua Hou today is one of the few places where one of the most charismatic and iconic animals on Earth lives, the kakapo.
Named after Maori, “kaka” meaning parrot, and “po” meaning night, but also known as the owl parrot, it once lived across all of New Zealand, from sea level to alpine zones. It was the most abundant animal in this land, until everything changed. First came the Maori and the kiore (Polynesian rats), then European settlement brought cats, stoats, ferrets, and widespread habitat disruption. Kakapo’s strategy of freezing and trusting camouflage worked perfectly against native predators (and against me, as I will learn in the following days!), but against mammals that hunt by smell, it proved fatal.
There was once another island bird, far from here in the Indian Ocean, on the island of Mauritius. It lived for thousands of years in complete isolation, in a world without predators. Like the kakapo, it was flightless, abundant, and entirely fearless. When Dutch sailors arrived in the late 1500s, they found a bird that did not run, did not fight, and did not understand danger and became easy prey. They hunted it, but that alone was not what sealed its fate. With them came rats, pigs, and monkeys, animals that raided nests, ate eggs, and destroyed any chance of recovery.
In less than a century, the population collapsed, and by the late 1600s, the bird was gone. No gradual decline, no second chances, just a rapid disappearance from a world it had once dominated. So complete was its extinction that we do not even know exactly what it looked like in life. By the time people realised what was happening, it was already too late, and the story had ended.
No photographs, no detailed records, only a few fragments and a name: the dodo.
IMAGES ABOVE: Close-up textures of moss, kakapo feathers, and native ferns.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
Life on the island
As much as I would like to say I woke up early for a great sunrise at the beach, day one starts slowly. It might be the long trip, the quiet night, the fresh air, or perhaps the stress released by big city life, but I oversleep my alarm and wake up at 9:00 AM. Luckily for me, it turns out that the most important jobs on the island are carried out at night and, after a quick breakfast, I am ready to go and explore.
Thick, ancient forests cling to slopes carved by dark creeks, only to give way to colourful bush and a mosaic of patterns on the upper reaches of the island, where the winds are stronger. The smell of the forest is unique: moss and ferns, but also wild orchids and manuka trees, all accompanied by the daily concert of a million birds living here with nothing to fear.
GALLERY ABOVE: Native island birdlife.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
All over the island, traps are set ready to trigger in case unwanted visitors make landfall. I was surprised to learn that rats and stoats can swim over a kilometre and can easily hide in fishing vessels anchored offshore. More interestingly, the island is also home to cutting-edge feeding stations equipped with “smart hoppers”. These identify individual birds, open only for them, and automatically record their weight. Health monitoring is constant, precise, and immediate.
IMAGES ABOVE: View over Whenua Hou (Codfish Island).
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
During the day, my job is to walk the island, check traps and feeding stations, download data, swap batteries, fix cables, and assist wherever needed. Easier said than done, as I find out quickly. The terrain is wild, muddy, slippery, and steep, often confusing and always unforgiving. It is an ancient forest, untouched for decades. Old trees fall and become narrow bridges covered in moss that I need to climb to cross creeks. Tracks are barely marked, and names like “Wounded Knee” or “Assessor” are no coincidence. Rangers move with ease, I often stop, turn the map upside down, and try again.
The only place I feel comfortable is the beach: a kilometre of flat golden sand in front of the camp base. Young sea lions spend their days wrestling in the sun, while penguins use it as a harbour between the ocean and their burrows in the forest.
GALLERY ABOVE: New Zealand sea lions (Phocarctos hookeri) at the beach and little blue penguin (Eudyptula minor) detail.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
Back From the Edge
By the late 20th century, the kakapo was on the edge of extinction. In 1989, only 51 individuals remained, most of them on Stewart Island, with a single male rescued in Fiordland.
Today, every single bird is known, microchipped, and tracked, and they survive only on predator-free offshore islands. There are five of these locations, home to 235 adult individuals, with Whenua Hou at the center of their recovery. It is the equivalent of an open lab where nothing happens by chance. During everyday operations, I can see how the Kakapo Recovery Programme is unlike anything else I have witnessed. It operates across every scale, from genetics to ecosystems, from individual health checks to population-level planning.
The 2026 breeding season is a critical milestone for the kakapo and a record-breaking season for the programme. What began humbly in 1996 with only three chicks fledging has grown significantly over the years through trials and learning. As I write in March 2026, this season has already seen 104 hatched eggs, 96 chicks alive, and five more eggs waiting to hatch. It is a clear success so far, but kakapo do not nest every year, which makes their recovery even more challenging.
They rely on irregular mast events in rimu trees to trigger reproduction. These events can be forecast years in advance thanks to accurate weather and temperature data analysis. When a breeding season approaches, the team closely monitors bird activity, and supplementary food is provided to support a successful outcome.
IMAGES ABOVE: Rimu tree (Dacrydium cupressinum) details.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
To maximise survival rates, some eggs remain with their mothers while others are placed in incubators. One day, in a peak “Jurassic Park” moment, I witnessed a chick emerging from its shell, and in that single instant, the global population of this rare species increased by 0.3%. For context, one more baby would change our population by 0.00000001%.
But the work is not finished yet. After hatching, every nest and chick is closely monitored, with vets stepping in at each stage when needed. While some work takes place during the day while the birds sleep, the most critical tasks happen under the cover of darkness. Nests are continuously tracked through a dense network of sensors. When a female leaves her nest to feed, a signal is sent to base, a bell rings, and the team heads out into the night.
At the nest, the chicks are weighed, and their health is assessed. Their breathing rates, usually around 40 breaths per minute, and growth curves are recorded and transmitted instantly via radio. These data are uploaded and plotted in real time, allowing us to see immediately if a chick is developing correctly. Weak chicks receive immediate support and, if necessary, are brought into the facility for specialised care.
And that is when I realise these birds have better healthcare than I do!
What is even more surprising is how tolerant the birds are. Occasionally, fostering is required, with eggs or chicks swapped between nests. Females do not appear to notice when a chick disappears or a new one is introduced. And if they do, they do not mind.
IMAGES ABOVE: Night nest visit and chick health assessment.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
Holding the Future
After a few days, I am invited to assist with a nest check. It is the nest of Pounamu, and the chick is just a few days old. To make the experience even more special, for the first kakapo I see, I am with Daryl Eason. He was one of the first people appointed by the Kakapo Recovery Programme in ’96 and is one of the most knowledgeable figures regarding the birds and the island. With more than 30 years of experience, he was there during the first-ever kakapo breeding season in 1994, and since then, he has met every single bird.
Daryl has no need for a GPS, and four boots full of mud and an hour later, we arrive at the nest. The female is not at home, as we know from the signal received at the base. She is out feeding, so we can easily reach inside. The chick is temporarily named Pounamu-A1-2026 after the mother. If the chick survives the first few months and fledges, it will be given a new name. During the procedures, while Daryl is preparing his instruments and the kit for the DNA swab (used later to assess the bird’s sex and genetics), I am invited to hold the chick.
It is a small ball of fluff weighing less than 100 grams, not yet resembling the fascinating, beautiful adult it will become. It is blind, dirty, needy, and incredibly fragile. Sleeping in my hands, this tiny life represents the future of the species and stands as a living symbol of the immense power of conservation.
IMAGE ABOVE: Kakapo chick handling during nest monitoring.
@Daryl Eason – 2026 – New Zealand
Stories of Survival
With every bird microchipped, tagged, vaccinated, and handled on multiple occasions, some become more familiar with humans and tolerate our presence more than others. With more than 30 nests to check on this island alone, some are visited during the day when the more compliant mothers are present. The goal is always to “do the most while doing the least,” so daylight checks are kept brief.
IMAGES ABOVE: Kakapo chick health assessment, breath rate, and weight monitoring.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
IMAGE BELOW: Nest view of female kakapo with two chicks.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
Later in the week, I have the pleasure of seeing two more nests. I am with Dr. Leigh Joyce, who completed her PhD on kakapo many years ago and has worked with them ever since. In the first nest, I meet a very large chick, the firstborn of the season. The chick looks like a little dinosaur starting to fledge, with green feathers overtaking the white fluff. Its feet are strong, built for a life of walking and climbing. Eyes wide open, still bold and barely standing, but beautiful in its own way.
IMAGES ABOVE: 31-day-old kakapo chick.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
Generations overlap now, and birds once hand-raised are raising chicks of their own. Leigh shares that in the 2014 breeding season, she carried a damaged egg down the hill. From that egg hatched Tohu, who is now the mother of the chick I am watching. The story comes full circle, reflecting the depth of care, dedication, and passion that drive the team behind it.
Walking down the hill toward the hut, we visit another nest which impresses me even more. As we open the hatch, the nest is quiet; you can sense something is different. Just inside the entrance, a large female is standing upright, tired but fearless. Her name is Ruth, and she is one of the oldest mothers. Found on Rakiura (Stewart Island) in 1987, genetic studies later revealed she had already bred before, and further observations suggest she was born in 1975. When discovered almost 40 years ago, she already had a severely damaged eye. How that happened is unknown, but it never stopped her from successfully carrying out her duties. She has lived through roughly 15–20 potential breeding years (years where the rimu trees masted and the population attempted to breed), and she is beautifully raising her healthy chick once more.
Leigh and Ruth have a long history. They have known each other for many years and, despite her authoritative presence, Ruth allows us to carry out our work and quickly assess her chick. Alive and kicking, he is returned to his mother, and we head back to our tents for another night under the stars.
IMAGES ABOVE: Ruth, a female kakapo estimated to be over 50 years old and Huhu, a 7-year-old female.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
The Night
Despite the relatively high density on Whenua Hou, chances of seeing a kakapo during my daily walks are low. High in the trees or underground, they are everywhere, yet invisible, perfectly camouflaged and completely still. Luckily, during my stay, I had the chance to assist with more lab work, from candling eggs to assess embryo development, to helping with hatching and feeding newborns. Just like that, two weeks flew by in a mix of work, learning, and sharing, with everyone rowing in the same direction.
IMAGES ABOVE: Laboratory operations including egg candling, assisted hatching, and chick feeding.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
On one of the last nights on the island, while walking back from a nest check, we take a detour to swap cables and batteries at a feeding station. It is a quick maintenance job, one I have done several times before.
There are no other large animals on the island. During the day, the chorus of birds fills the air. At night, bat calls are subtle, and the forest noise is gentle until, heavy and deliberate, movement stirs in the ferns. At first, nothing comes through, but I still find myself holding my breath. I know there are no predators, yet in another “Jurassic Park” moment, I can feel that something is about to happen.
To me, the undergrowth at night is a mystery, but Lydia, one of the senior vets on the team, knows exactly what she is looking for. Suddenly, her light stops scanning, and a simple “there” sends a wave of goosebumps down my spine.
At the edge of the dimmed beam, just a few metres into the bush, two faint glowing dots appear, enough to freeze me in place. But I am not the only one who stops still.
Kakapo are well aware of how well they blend into their surroundings. It is what kept them alive for thousands of years before predators were introduced.
The two small dots, reflections of the torchlight, hang perfectly still behind the ferns. This phenomenon, known as eyeshine, is caused by a reflective layer behind the retina called the tapetum lucidum (Latin for “bright tapestry”). Acting like a biological mirror, it reflects light back through the photoreceptors a second time, significantly enhancing the animal’s night vision and allowing it to navigate the forest floor in near total darkness. A few moments later, when the intruder moves, I can finally see the owner of those eyes.
IMAGES ABOVE: Male kakapo (Strigops habroptilus) at night.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
Slowly, a male kakapo emerges from the ferns, a familiar shape, slightly bigger than the females, resembling a “chunky chicken.” Curious but cautious, he shows himself, then hides behind a tree and blends back into the landscape. We play hide-and-seek for a few minutes, but once he has assessed that we are no threat, the real show begins. He rubs against the ferns, jumps, dances, and spreads his wings to show his size while running in and out of the undergrowth. After a long day at sea, a petrel crashes into the canopy and lands nearby, startling him into disappearing once more. A short encounter and a massive privilege. Luckily, my camera was ready to freeze a moment that would have lived in my mind forever anyway.
The next day, we download the data and find out he was a young male hatched on February 14, 2022, on Anchor Island. He is currently just shy of the 3-kilogram mark, still young and curious, and not old enough to be one of the dominant males on top of the hill. Initially recorded as Evohe-A1-2022, he is now called Norm.
IMAGE ABOVE: Kakapo portrait.
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
The future
These encounters are now a privilege reserved for a few as only these predator-free islands, closed to the public and patrolled by rangers 24/7, are safe for kakapo.
It would be impossible to navigate the island without proper guidance, but what is a very hostile environment for us is the perfect nursery for kakapo, where they are monitored, safe, and free.
This once-in-a-lifetime experience comes to an end as the Squirrel takes off, followed by a low flyby over the beach, where sea lions are still playfully fighting each other, unbothered by the loud roar of the helicopter.
But on my way out, flying above the island once more, I cannot help but wonder what comes next. With such a successful breeding season this year and another expected in the next few years, these life rafts are reaching full capacity. In an ironic twist, what is by all means great news also brings a challenge: with more females nesting, the workload of monitoring every chick continues to grow and will soon be out of hand.
Looking into the future, the goal is clear. More predator-free areas are required to allow the population to expand and remain secure, alongside more permanent solutions for pest control on the mainland.
I know I will not be back on this island, but I hope that one day, not too far in the future, kakapo will once again roam freely across the country. And if I am lucky enough, I will see them again, not as a rarity confined to remote islands, but as part of a landscape they have always belonged to.
Whenua Hou – New Zealand
25-03-2026
“Norm”
© Federico Facchin – 2026 – New Zealand
acknoledgments
Unlike my previous works, this piece feels more personal. It was born from two extraordinary weeks spent on a remote island, a place few will ever see, where duty takes precedence over weather, comfort, and time itself. Each day brought long hours and little rest, but also an overwhelming sense of purpose and privilege. This experience was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness conservation at its most raw and demanding, but after two weeks on the island, I must admit I was happy to return to civilization. For the veterinarians and rangers who call this their workplace, however, such conditions are routine. Whether facing driving rain, biting wind, or the rare calm of clear Kiwi skies, their work never stops. Animals still need care, equipment still needs checking, and missions still go ahead. Watching their endurance and commitment up close was both humbling and inspiring.
If I tried to thank everyone individually, I’d surely fall short. Instead, I want to send a heartfelt thank you to the entire team: the Invercargill quarantine staff, those coordinating logistics behind the scenes, and everyone I had the privilege of working with in the field.
A special thanks to Dani for your patience and for showing me the ropes. Daryl and Leigh, your knowledge of the birds, the island’s biology, and its terrain is unmatched. Thank you for your kindness and for having me along on your missions. Finally, a special hug to one of the most genuine and inspiring people I have met in years of traveling. Good things indeed happen to those fortunate enough to be your friends.
Thank you, Lydia.
Adopt a Kakapo!
The protection of the critically endangered kakapo is a shared effort involving scientists, rangers, volunteers, and supporters from across Aotearoa and beyond. The work is led by the Department of Conservation in partnership with Te Runanga o Ngai Tahu through the Kakapo Recovery Programme.
Every contribution helps sustain this long-term mission, from field conservation work to ongoing research and monitoring. Donations to Kakapo Recovery directly support the survival and future of this unique species.
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