The Call of the Tītī - Whakapapa, Kai, and Belonging on the Islands of the South
"Every time I'm out there on the island, I'm thinking of my grandfather Tuki. His mana. Making sure we don't disrespect what he taught us." - Dan Tarrant
Note from the author: This article discusses and includes images of the Tītī or muttonbird harvest. While I’ve attempted to leave out explicit detail, I also wanted to highlight and honour this important process. Please continue with that in mind.
In Murihiku, when the wild southern winds start to turn and the days grow shorter, a familiar call sounds from the sea. It’s not just the birds returning. It’s the call of whakapapa (geneology). The call of belonging.
Every autumn, whānau from across Southland and beyond return to the remote Tītī Islands, following a tradition passed down over generations: the harvest of the sooty shearwater, the muttonbird, or Tītī.
For Dan Tarrant, his wife Demelza, and their whānau, it’s more than gathering food. It’s about kai sovereignty. It’s about manaakitanga (hospitality). It’s about honouring the shoulders they stand on, and making sure the knowledge, the tikanga (customary practices within Māori culture), and the birds themselves are there for future generations.
Dan isn’t just a local hunter or food gatherer. He’s a storyteller, an advocate for local food systems in Southland, and a champion for mahinga kai - the traditional Māori practices of gathering and sharing food. Through his work, Dan is helping to reignite our region’s relationship with kai and the land it comes from.
I sat down with Dan and Demelza in their home, the night before Dan set off to the islands, for a conversation, and a glimpse into a way of life most never get to see. While there’s no doubt that my personal intrigue has been a factor in writing this piece, I hope it gives us all further insight into the deeper meaning of the harvest, the traditions that guide it, and why protecting it is so important.
In this two-part kōrero, Dan shares what the Tītī harvest means to him, and the vision he holds for kai in the deep south.
This is Dan’s story, and it’s a powerful reminder of what it means to belong - to your whānau, your whenua, and your kai.
Whakapapa and Connection
The windswept Tītī Islands, 36 altogether, are located north-east, east and south-west of Rakiura (Stewart Island) and are home to the Tītī. Some Māori hold ancestorial rights to these islands, and they remain in the ownership of those who whakapapa to them. Only certain whānau are allowed to gather the birds from the islands.
Dan’s ties to the islands run deep, from both sides of the family. “My great-grandmother was a Topi, and my great-grandfather was a Parata and a Hohaia. There is Scottish mixed in there, but I've got whakapapa to both sides of Rakiura. Topis, Paratas, Hohaia - that's our family line.”
Through that whakapapa, Dan and his whānau are allowed to access 34 of the 36 islands, “We're really privileged with the number of islands we're allowed to go to.”
He has a dream to spend one harvest season visiting every island and learning from each whānau. “Every family has their own way of birding, their own tikanga, their own reasons and stories. I reckon that would be phenomenal.”
The Journey South
My conversation to Dan takes place around his kitchen table. In the middle of the lounge is there is a mountain of gear, boxes and supplies, ready to pack into the truck and make its way down to Bluff the next morning, ahead of the trip south. It’s a trip Dan has been making since he was a toddler.
The journey is no small feat. Dan will be away from the mainland for five weeks. There’s no shop, no supply run, no popping to town. Every item, from food to fuel, chainsaws to solar showers needs to be packed in advance. “If you forget one thing - that's tough luck.”
“It’s a logistical nightmare, to be fair,” Dan says. Weather is the biggest factor in the planning. “Weather, weather, weather. Is it going to blow? Is it going to rain?”
Dan is heading a week earlier, dropped off by a mate’s fishing boat, the ‘Shangri-La’. His wife, Demelza, ‘Mouse’ and the kids will head down on the ‘Wildfire’, a charter boat.
“What’s going on the boat? Everything. Five weeks’ worth. Fuel. Chainsaws. Oil. Salt. Wax. Buckets. Spare generator. Power is key. We need it to keep the fresh birds frozen.”
Water is crucial too. “When I hit the island, I’ll be calling Mouse: ‘Bring water if we don’t have enough.’ We just bought a new solar califont as backup for showers.”
Life on the Island: Harvest Rhythms and Groundhog Days
This year, Dan will spend the harvest on one of the Hazelburgh islands.
“We live in a two-room hut.” Dan says. “Maybe 40, 50 square metres. Kitchen. Sleeping space for eight of us, all living in there.”
“But the workhouse is bigger, double the size. That’s where you work the birds. It’s not about comfort, it’s about working.”
A typical day during the Tītī harvest for Dan starts before dawn. “It’s Groundhog Day”, He grins.
“We’re up at 3 a.m., birding in the dark until daylight, maybe six or seven. Then we pluck the birds. Once daylight comes, we have breakfast, coffee, turn the wax on, wax the birds. Then hang them to set for maybe for an hour and a half.”
After a short break, they’re back at it. “We de-wax, hang those birds. Then you’re into the ones you waxed yesterday. You’re gutting, bucketing (birds are covered in salt and stored in plastic buckets) - or we’re vac-packing a lot of our birds this year.”
Evenings are short and simple. “Prep tea, kai by 7 p.m. Dishes. Maybe watch the news. Then back out again. If it’s a good night of birding, you’re into bed by midnight or one, then up again at four.”
“Days blur, nights are long. But we love it.” Dan says.
Tikanga and Sustainability
There are two common ways or stages to harvest Tītī. Nanao, when chicks are extracted from their underground burrows during the day, and rama, when they are caught above ground at night, under torchlight.
Dan and his whānau don’t nanao. Dan says their island isn’t suited to it, and rama, or ‘torching’ is better aligned with his views on sustainability and best practice.
Dan is particular about how the bird is killed. It’s, “a swift crush of the head.”
I was wrong when I presumed the neck was involved. Dan says that creates bruising leaving the bird, “No good to pass on. You’ve done the bird an injustice by killing it that way.”
When it comes to plucking, or removing feathers from the bird, Dan says, “We pluck by hand then cover them in feathers like a sleeping bag. We keep the birds warm.” This makes the plucking process easier.
“Some whānau use machines and get twice as much done, but for us, it’s about what’s right. If we didn’t do it our way, we’d decimate the island.”
For Dan, it’s about more than efficiency. It’s sustainability. It’s tikanga. It’s kaitiakitanga (guardianship).
The “Pluck House” as Dan calls it, is more than just where the work gets done, it’s where kōrero or conversations flow, where tamariki learn by doing and where stories from ancestors are passed down. “That’s part of the tikanga too. You get the kōrero. No technology. Just talking.”
Teaching the Tamariki (Children)
Dan is clear about the responsibility he feels to pass on the skills that he had taught to him, by his Grandfather Tuki. “He was taught by his parents, and they were taught by theirs. If you go back five generations, my fifth great-grandfather was the last chief of Ruapuke Island.”
“For me, it’s about holding their mana and making sure we all know where we belong.”
“This year is about the kids. We’re taking the whole next generation. I reckon I’ve got about 25 good years of birding left in me. But if we don’t teach them now, it’s all lost.”
“Whether it’s bait stations, torching, gutting, or learning to pluck - it’s all passed down.”
And Dan sees it already taking root in his daughter, Stella.
“She’s the fussiest eater, but when it comes to pāua or Tītī - she’ll just hoover it. The food we hunt and gather means something different. It’s empowering.”
“At times she may feel shy about being Māori at school, but she’s already carrying deep knowledge. This is part of how we empower who they are - by letting them know where their food comes from.”
Whānau, Mahinga Kai and Kai Sovereignty
For Dan, Tītī is part of a seasonal rhythm of mahinga kai. “Muttonbirding, then white baiting, then deer hunting, always gathering. It’s about that autonomy, that control over what you eat. Food sovereignty.”
And it’s about more than kai – it's identity. “Feeding our own is number one.” He says.
“In years when we haven't been as financial, it’s sustained us. You feel rich. Food rich. If the fridge is full, you know you’re whānau is okay.”
Tītī is also a taonga that brings whānau together.
“Tītī come out at gatherings - weddings, 21sts, big moments. When you turn up, you bring manaakitanga. That’s how we manaaki our people.”
Kai is currency between Dan and Demelza’s community.
“We're trading jars of canned salmon, whitebait, salamis, bacon. No cash is exchanged - we’re just looking after each other. Everyone’s got a strength. It’s a network.”
Belonging
Dan’s first week on the island will be about preparing the cabin and island for the rest of the whānau's arrival.
Thinking ahead to his arrival on the island the next day, I asked him to describe the feeling of stepping onto the island once again.
“It’s the exhale,” Dan says. “That moment when you know exactly where you are meant to be. You shut everything else down and go back to your roots. It takes priority over everything.”
“I pine for it. If I’ve been away too long, I get antsy, shirty, hard to live with. It’s like people who go to the bush to breathe. That’s what the island is for me.”
“Maybe that’s just whakapapa. Maybe that’s just whenua. But for me, that’s home.”
He pauses, then adds, “That’s belonging.”
Next week, in Part 2 of this kōrero, we dive deeper into Dan’s vision for the future of the Tītī harvest, how food sovereignty and storytelling go hand in hand, and why honouring both the bird and the people who came before is more important than ever.
Dan is currently on the island and is posting regular updates on the harvest to his instagram @ruapuke.uncut . Make sure you follow along. It’s currently my favourite thing on the internet!
Awesome love this tradition of kai gathering in Murihiku 😃
Thanks Julz! What great stories we have to tell right!?