An oversized statue of Okinawa’s legendary bird greets you at the airport’s luggage carousel. The end of a flight from Tokyo and the start of an entirely different adventure.
The sun had already dropped below Nara’s buildings by the time I secured a taxi. My driver, a diminutive man with the creases of someone well past eighty and the delighted smile of a ten year old, pulled away slowly in his beaten up estate for the drive north. The sense that I’d bungled the trip settled onto my shoulders like an icy harness against the warm evening air. I’ve often experienced the unpredictability of arriving somewhere after dark. Onward connections poorly arranged or delayed. Not just into the unknown but through complete night.
The difference this time? My husband was by my side. In fact, this was our honeymoon and I already knew how lucky I was that he had agreed to a colossal detour.
After an hour of communal nodding, clucking sounds, basic Japanese and zero English, I decided to reveal our quest. As the car curved less than five metres from the lapping Pacific ocean, I annunciated: “Yanbarrrruuuu Kuina”…”Ahhhh, Yanbaru Kuina!” the driver replied. His smile broadened in my direction through the rearview mirror to show teeth black and abandoned at the back of his gums.
The Yanbaru Kuina. A beautiful rail. The reason for my visit and a holy grail for birders worldwide. Tall and slender with streamlined markings in black, white and slate grey delineating the shape of its body and ensuring it blends perfectly into the shadows of Yambaru’s thick forest. Millenia of isolated evolution in the remote archipelago gave rise to unique flora and fauna for which the Kuina, or Okinawa Rail as it’s known in English, has become the poster child.
Not even a long drive and remote stay in Yambaru National Park guaranteed a sighting. The Kuina’s elusive reputation proceeds it. So much so that You-Tubers dedicate entire videos to the search and wildlife guides have built careers around their ability to show others where the mythical bird nests. Foraging mostly at dawn and dusk, it spends most of its life within dense vegetation. Decipherable only by a bright orange beak and feet.
The security guard was still patrolling with his torch the next morning as a Japanese couple from Nagoya and I stepped fuzzily into the pre-dawn light. Binoculars ready, facing the trees that surrounded the Vietnamese-built Ada Garden Hotel. As with most nature moments, two years of viewing images, six months of research and weeks of anticipation came to an abrupt halt with an unceremonious “Shhhh!”. The guard gently flicked his torch beam onto the ground below revealing a slick, shadowed body with shiny orange adornments.
Later, we hiked to the seaside village of Ada. Butterflies, bugs, reptiles and other birds were a welcome distraction from the growing heat. Huge Common Maps, Swallowtails and Broad-headed Skinks danced and slithered between the long grasses. Rock thrushes, sandpipers and fleeting woodpeckers were easily heard against their silent surrounds. Even a tired Pacific Golden Plover rested at the local primary school field, mid-migration. The Kuina was ever-present. Not only as a mural on the village hall but in my mind. Would we get lucky enough to spot another forager before returning to Nara?
Wilting in the midday sun, we sought the shade of the village park. All routes led to a Shinto shrine built against a backdrop of dripping foliage. Then, a sound. The crunch of rubbery leaves not quite a squeak nor a rustle. We hushed to something beyond silence and I gripped my husband’s arm in pure delight as we watched two Kuinas step tentatively into the daylight. They navigated the small shrine, before doing something unbelievable: This majestic bird, renowned for its secluded lifestyle, paraded right in front of us, pecking at worms across the dusty yard.
Nature rarely does what you expect and many of us seek it out for that reason. The Kuina is more than a rare bird. It represents a time when nature dominated these islands. Before shifting military presence, taxis and airports. Before creatures felt the threat of human interference or developed fear. A reminder of just how much places like Yambaru National Park need our continued funding and protection.
Considering a visit? Find out more about Yambaru National Park here.
The Curious Traveller 