Just before dawn on a still morning in autumn a crowd of people gathers on a beach in southern Tasmania. They watch in tense silence as a small animal shuffles across the sand. This animal, a penguin, has been the focus of nine months of care, liaison and cooperation to get to this moment – she is being released and sent back out into her world. I am privileged to be included in the farewell crew, and share the jubilation and anxiety of the people around me, all of us hoping that she will remember her path home.



So far from home

In July 2014, bushwalkers at Cockle Creek, in the far south of Tasmania, witnessed a penguin being attacked by a dog. A parks and wildlife ranger investigated and found the penguin wandering the shoreline, carrying serious wounds on its back, chest and foot. With bright yellow “eyebrows”, this was not one of the little penguins common to the state but a Snares penguin, usually found on a group of islands 200km south of New Zealand – and more than 2,000km away from Tasmania.

The extent of her injuries meant that the penguin was not waterproof and was unable to survive a return to the cold waters. How she was so far from home was a mystery – Snares penguins have been occasionally sighted in Tasmania but make their home on the Snares Islands south of Wellington.

After undergoing emergency surgery, Miss Simpson (as she became known) was transported to experienced seabird carer Lesley Kurek for rehabilitation. Lesley and her husband Richard have been looking after injured and orphaned wildlife for 30 years, the past 20 largely focusing on seabirds. For most of that time Lesley has been one of the only seabird carers in the state, with little to no outside support.

Curious about the case of Miss Simpson, I visit Lesley and Richard at their home on the Tasman peninsula and it’s immediately obvious they enjoy looking after all creatures. Their lounge room wall is dotted with framed penguin photographs – a small selection of the animals she has nurtured and released over the years.

Lesley keeps meticulous records and has the answers to my questions about Miss Simpson literally in hand.

“When was she found?”

“July 17, 2014.”

“What condition was she in?”

“Very unwell, underweight – only 2.217kg, which is very underweight for a Snares penguin. She wouldn’t have survived on her own much longer if she hadn’t been picked up.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Carers at the Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary check Miss Simpson’s health. Photograph: Eric Woehler

After two decades of doing this work with seabirds, Lesley has seen a range of injuries. By far the most common are dog attacks and, according to her records, they’re getting more frequent. Tasmania’s population is growing, more people have dogs, and canine residents are visiting the beaches near penguin colonies more frequently. This makes for a dangerous mix.

This is a topic that Lesley and Richard are passionate about and they talk at length on the many threats their patients face: entanglement in nets; ingestion of marine debris; four-wheel-drives crushing nests on beaches; diesel spills; algal blooms. Dogs. Feral cats. People. Creosote coating the pylons under piers can tar feathers and reduce waterproofing. Overfishing and dredging can destroy local prey stocks, meaning that penguins have to travel further and further from home to find food.

Hearing Lesley talk I sense a weariness about the seemingly overwhelming, and increasing, issues facing the wildlife she helps. Does she get tired of it all? Feel tempted to retire? Lesley shakes her head – she is even more determined to care for animals in the face of increasing threats. However, her focus is beginning to shift towards mentoring younger wildlife carers to ensure her knowledge and experience are passed on.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Miss Simpson, the injured penguin nursed back to life and released into the wild. Photograph: Petra Harris

Tasmania has a network of volunteer carers that take on injured and orphaned wildlife until they can be re-released, usually incurring themselves the costs of veterinary treatment, food, equipment and enclosures. However, the work can be exhausting and the number of experienced carers is far outweighed by the animals requiring their attention.

We move outside to look at Lesley’s seabird sanctuary. Her property is dotted with aluminium aviaries and sandy-floored, timber-and-net enclosures. In a large enclosure surrounded by nylon netting, a family-sized above-ground swimming pool sits squarely in the centre; Miss Simpson spent eight weeks here, gaining weight, recovering from infection, and letting her wounds heal. Highly stressed when she arrived, she snapped at anyone who came close. With patience, care and bribes of fresh fish she settled into a calm routine of pushing her pontoon around the pool, looking for ways to hop out and explore the sand.

However, with the wound on Miss Simpson’s back not healing properly and the feathers refusing to regrow, Lesley realised the penguin would be in care much longer than originally thought. Faced with this, she sent Miss Simpson to Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary near Hobart, where the pool and enclosure were larger, a team of keepers could share her care, and resources for veterinary treatment and food were available.

Once at Bonorong, the mammoth job of coordinating care for a penguin without a guaranteed future fell to sanctuary manager Petra Harris. Determined to give Miss Simpson the best possible chance, she sought advice from multiple experts – vets, seabird researchers, and staff at other rehabilitation centres – but conflicting opinions on the best steps forward made her task difficult.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Carers check the site of Miss Simpson’s wound. Photograph: Eric Woehler

They suggested solutions that included more surgery; waiting until the following year when Miss Simpson would moult and hopefully regrow feathers; and even euthanasia. Complicating matters, the longer seabirds are kept in captivity the more likely they are to develop secondary issues such as bacterial infections of the feet, fungal infections of the respiratory tract, and stress preening behaviours.

When I interview Petra, it has been some time since the penguin was in her care but the stress of Miss Simpson’s treatment is still reflected in her face. She recounts receiving so much conflicting advice but then says quietly, “One thing I have learned over the years is that patience is key with wildlife, you often don’t have to rush into drastic measures.” With Lesley’s continued guidance and drawing on her own wealth of experience, she decided to give Miss Simpson the opportunity to moult.

For seven months, Petra and a small group of experienced keepers spent long days keeping Miss Simpson comfortable – feeding her fresh fish; bathing her wound; providing interactive objects to occupy the intelligent animal; and endless cleaning of sand and swimming pool.

The decision proved to be correct. On cue, Miss Simpson went into moult – her previously sleek tuxedo of feathers became fluffy and patchy, falling out until only a fuzzy mane covered her shoulders and chest like a small marine lion. Checking anxiously each day, the keepers were relieved to see the problem feathers starting to regrow, their stubbly heads poking through the now-familiar bald patch on her back. Miss Simpson was almost ready to go home.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Miss Simpson is given time to moult and grow the new feathers that will ensure her survival. Photograph: Petra Harris

On the morning that she set Miss Simpson free, Petra cartwheeled through a mixture of emotions – relief that the penguin was being released; worry that she wouldn’t remember where to swim; anxiety about her safety. Wildlife carers dread getting “the call” after releasing an animal that it has been found reinjured, or worse. Beachgoers often see the sand, water and waves simply as a place of recreation but forget that it is also a habitat supporting dozens of species. Many seabirds come into care because of issues caused by humans – dog attacks; plastics; fishing line and hooks; oil spills. The frustration for carers such as Petra and Lesley is that these dangers can often be addressed with a little more effort and awareness.

A last memory

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With no breeze, the swell is gentle and the waves break in inch-high ripples. As the horizon slowly lightens Miss Simpson sticks close to the crowd, as if feeling safer with “her people” than nearer the sea. Slowly, she zig-zags closer to the wet sand, first letting the cold water break across her feet and then flush her belly. She dips her beak for a quick drink, tasting the ocean for the first time in nine months.

As tide sweeps out again Miss Simpson suddenly dashes after it, trying to keep up with the receding water. Ploughing through small waves she continues determinedly until deep enough to plunge in, head popping up and down. She stays offshore for a few minutes as if taking in a last memory of the people who have been her company for so long, then ducks under the water and disappears.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Miss Simpson looks up one last time before going underwater. Photograph: Eric Woehler

It is impossible to know what happened to Miss Simpson after she swam away but for Petra and Lesley, that’s part of the magic. They like to think of her back on Snares Island, telling her friends about her adventure and the wonderful friends she made.

Watch a video of Miss Simpson’s release here.

This is an edited version of an article that appeared in Tasmania 40o South