Daily at dusk the penguins of St Kilda return to the breakwater after their hunt for food, the anchovies of Port Phillip Bay. Also gathering at dusk are humans hunting for a glimpse of the aptly named Little Penguins.
Put aside any comparisons to the Phillip Island Penguin Parade where the little chaps emerge from the surf in waddling squadrons to march up the beach. The St Kilda ‘Experience’ is more low-key but possibly more remarkable.*
It’s a case of penguins to the left, squawking, waddling and hopping with grace and dexterity amongst the breakwater’s resting rocks, and dozens of moored yachts on the right with a magical, marvellous Melbourne rising in the distance with golden towers created by the last gasps of sunshine.
It’s what St Kilda’s all about: the battlers right amongst the grifters, lifters and visitors.
It’s also a story of build it and they will come. The breakwater was created for the Melbourne Olympics in 1956. First official reports of penguins date back to the early 1970s. This attracted the attention of St Kilda local Zoe Hogg who joined the first monitoring team, estimating the colony at 57 birds in 1986.
Clearly the breakwater had appeal for these natural apartment dwellers and their offspring. The location had its advantages, presumably distance from feral predators like cats, dogs and foxes, but in the orbit of feral humans.
In cahoots with the local environmental activists, the penguin protectors formed an EarthCare group to understand and advocate for the little neighbours. They observed, counted, cared and educated about the Eudyptula minor, the scientific name for the Aussie little penguin.
And here begins a delicate balancing act – how do you mix people and penguins without it ending in tears or fears? The answer was human ambassadors, volunteers who would stand as stewards of the ‘interface’ between the two worlds.
They understood that too much love could have negative consequences, and their work was by stealth, or better described as a benevolent open secret. Counts of the colony grew rapidly to well over 1000 individuals.
But then social media arrived and ‘the secret’ was out. Locals in the know blamed excited backpackers for posting red-eyed pictures of penguins on Facebook. In quick step the numbers of visitors in search of the penguins grew to plague proportions.
At dusk they clamoured, torches and selfie sticks in hand to get a glimpse and an image to share. The penguins had hit the winning tourism trifecta – it was free, it was uniquely Melbourne, and it was only a quick walk from the nearest pint.
EarthCare guides started in 2008, and in the ensuing years the EarthCare volunteers also grew to nearly 200 on a roster to educate the humans about respecting the penguins and their homes. Incredibly, the volunteers had to deter people from poking their selfie stick into rock crevasses to film the inhabitants and blind them with flash photography.
Within this influx of volunteers were a new generation of advocates that saw the opportunity in the interest that urban nature creates.
By 2014 among the volunteers was Flossy Sperring, a Monash science student living in Elwood. Inspired by studies in marine biology, she got involved and fell in love with the penguins (and went on to study for a PhD in conservation ecology studying birds on Norfolk Island).
Flossy and this new generation use social media and scientific method to educate the public and decision makers about the penguins and what they represent. Their academic rigour brought system and skills to the cause.
When the first plans for a reconstructed St Kilda Pier discussed, the volunteers foresaw the folly of bringing many more visitors in contact with the penguins – they identified the risk of toxic curiosity.
But rather than saying, not on my breakwater, they advocated for a viewing platform that separated people and penguins for mutual benefit. It would be the curious humans that were behind barriers, not the furtive feathered folk.
And the result is a beautiful 200-metre platform between the breakwater and the shore, positioned just metres away from the boulders of the seawall and the penguins. Subtle amber lighting negates the urge to use torches or flashlights, and mobile phone cameras can capture the everyday antics of the penguins without harm.
As breeding season approaches, antics is the correct word. Penguins appear to greet each other, they squawk loudly and they climb rocks. Actually, they are rock hoppers – pausing, planning and then hopping up to three times their own height to the next rock.
But the best news is that it no longer needs to be kept on the quiet. For the time being it will be free, but not a free-for-all with a booking system to manage visitor numbers. But there’s a catch – just days after bookings opened it’s fully booked months in advance.
But don’t stress, while there’s plenty of anchovies to go around, penguin views can be on your menu for years to come.
*[Note: At a preview viewing last week, TWiSK saw 7 penguins – but the scarcity added an element of excitement and unpredictable reward]
