Reflections from a Summer Intern
by Laulea Miike, USFWS Summer Intern 2025
Just like the mōlī (Laysan albatross), I have made the journey away from home to foreign lands, then back again to the place I was born and raised. On my home island, I had the amazing opportunity of helping out as a volunteer intern last month at the Kauaʻi National Wildlife Refuge Complex. I conducted avian botulism surveys, nēnē counts, mōlī nest checks, koaʻeʻula nest surveys, and much more. These experiences have furthered my love for wildlife conservation as I pursue a B.S. degree in Environmental Science for a third year at Willamette University. I hoped to affirm my passion for conservation and gain experience with our threatened and endangered birds. What I’ve gained was all that and more.
On Father’s Day, halfway through my internship, my dad unearthed his ancient box of photos from the 90s. I had known that he used to be a USFWS intern-turned Park Ranger from 1998 until 2001, when my brother was born. He named him Kaʻalaeʻula (Alae for short), after the alaeʻula (Hawaiian gallinule), which is an endangered Hawaiian waterbird I frequently saw during my time at the Hanalei NWR. As we looked through the pictures, I started to realize I've been in these same places, doing almost the same things as he did, 20 years later. During my dad’s time, between Kīlauea Point and Hanalei NWR he would kilo the land – he observed the environment, paying careful attention with an open and receptive mind, to understand its processes and nuances. Somehow, without really being conscious of it, I’ve followed in my dad’s footsteps.
My dad, Kyle Miike, near the top of Mokolea Point during his ranger days. Sometime between ʻ98 and ʻ00.
Me at Kīlauea Point NWR, while on an invasive mammalian trap line run with Koa, a USFWS Intern and U.H. Master’s student - June 11, 2025.
To the left is my dad with his intern group in front of the Kīlauea Point Lighthouse. Right of that is me driving a golf cart in front of the same lighthouse 27 years later. (Notice the difference of the condition of the lighthouse prior to restoration in 2013.)
On my first day, I drove down Ohiki Road past the sprawling loʻi kalo to the Hanalei NWR to meet the biology team. I was a bundle of nerves that morning, as I would be working with very seasoned professionals with an extensive knowledge of wetland processes and their inhabitants. Before this, I had only done work with native plants, weeding and repotting orchids for Orchid Alley, volunteering at the National Tropical Botanical Garden’s (NTBG) Fern Lab and Seed Bank, and then returning to NTBG as a scientific intern at the Seed Bank the summer prior. I was so nervous to work with wild animals for the first time – they’re not as predictable as plants. Still, my anxiousness was paired with excitement as I began work at these places I’ve heard stories about from my dad.
After meeting the bio team, my first task was to walk along the dikes of the Fitzgerald loʻi kalo, shadowing Caden as he surveyed the area for birds afflicted with avian botulism. Avian botulism is a paralytic disease caused by the bacterium Clostridium botulinum, which is naturally occurring in soil but can produce a toxin in low-oxygen (anaerobic) environments, often with decaying organic matter, like wetlands. Avian botulism spreads to birds when they eat bioaccumulated fish and invertebrates, and spreads even quickly when they eat maggots from the carcasses of infected birds. All it takes is one bird to spark an avian botulism epidemic. This disease has killed many of Hawaiʻi’s endemic wetland birds, notably the endangered koloa maoli (Hawaiian duck), aeʻo (Hawaiian stilt), and ʻalae ʻula (Hawaiian gallinule), as well as the vulnerable ʻalae keʻokeʻo (Hawaiian coot).
Two adult ʻalae ʻula, inspecting an abandoned vulnerable ʻalae keʻokeʻo nest, captured on a Reconyx motion-detected camera.
Eventually, after shadowing Caden and Bryn, I was tasked to conduct the survey alone, walking loops around each square kalo patch and scanning for injured or dead birds. If you found an injured one, though rare, it could be given fluids and administered an antitoxin. When I found a carcass, I would note the time and location, suspected predation or botulism, presence of maggots or feathers, stage of kalo it was in, and more. Next, I’d input the data into a Survey123 Esri GIS program to track findings and note possible outbreaks. I would then bag it up in a compostable baggie and bring it back to the main office for it to be sent to a lab to be tested for botulism, or buried. More and more frequently, I would come across signs of predation rather than botulism. Feral cats would leave parts of a bird strewn about, while barn owls plucked out feathers before eating mainly the breast meat off of them. This would be the first encounter of many where I felt the looming shadow of invasive pests on our island’s precious native birds.
I found that the birds – and I’m pointing fingers mostly at the coots and stilts – flipped their lids when they saw me coming. But they didn’t bat an eye at the kalo farmers. They’ve become habituated to the daily work of farmers over generations. I did find that the nēnē won’t squawk and fly away if you avoid their gaze and walk slowly around them.
A small flock of nēnē that honked and screeched at me during my beginning days of botulism surveying.
A single ʻalae ʻula foot, found on a dry fallow loʻi unit, likely caused by a feral cat.
I was advised to do my surveys early in the morning when the sun wasn’t high in the sky yet, but on days with little wind and high humidity, it got pretty hot. Still, every botulism survey morning was a treat in that 1) I got to start my morning with a long walk; 2) I got an up-close wildlife documentary of the birds, turtles, frogs, and fish; and 3) I had the gorgeous view of Hīhīmanu, Nāmolokama, and Māmalahoa, towering mountains that extend from Mount Waiʻaleʻale, and the cascading waterfalls descending from them. More often than not, those morning skies gifted me with the sight of rainbows when the sun met the rain near the mountains.
A lone aeʻo (Hawaiian stilt), foraging for fish, small bugs, and snails, ready to jab the water with its long, slender bill.
Me, holding a red-eared slider, a very common and unfortunately invasive freshwater turtle known to frequent flooded loʻi kalo.
A young female koloa maoli that was captured in a trap intended for young males to be translocated to Oʻahu as part of an ongoing effort to prevent native koloa maoli and hybrids from further hybridizing with Mallards. We took some measurements and a blood sample, gave her a snack for her troubles, and released her.
It pained me to find a dead bird, but I took comfort in knowing I was helping stop the spread to others. This disease wasn’t a chronic problem when my dad worked for KPNWR, like it is now. Hawaiʻiʻs seasonal climate allows these conditions to persist year-round, and climate change is causing warmer temperatures and expanding the areas and periods suitable for the botulism bacteria to flourish. With the help of refuge staff and volunteers, a weekly schedule is set up to assess each loʻi unit by getting their boots on the ground and searching for those downed birds.
After the botulism survey on my first day, my second task was to join Christa, a USFWS Wetland Specialist, and Caden, a Kupu intern, up in the Nihokū restoration area. During the same time, I was mentally preparing myself the night before, a barn owl went on a killing spree, taking out a bunch of ʻuaʻu kani (wedge-tailed shearwaters), or wedgies, underneath the hala trees. As we walked underneath the cover of the trees, I spotted dark feathers and protruding bones on the ground. Before this, I had never seen such a large bird up close, save for a rooster on the side of the road. I was in awe examining the wedgies, from the structure of their bones, dusky brown feathers, and small and thin beaks that curve at the end. As we hiked up the hill to look for more carcasses, I took in the beautiful views of the Makana mountain range and felt the wind hit my face. Near the top, you could see Kīlauea Point reaching out into the sea. Here is a photo of that same overlook above Kīlauea Point on Nihokū.
Following that, I joined Caden at the Hanalei Viewpoint to weed and re-plant natives like pōhinahina, āheahea, and ʻākia. On my first day, I got to hike, examine the anatomy of a bird up close, plant native seedlings, and take in the beautiful views of Hanalei Valley and the North Shore coastline. I knew it would be the start of an exciting month of learning and fun.
One Wednesday during the first couple of weeks of my internship, I joined long-standing volunteers Louise and Patti to check on the (Laysan) albatross chicks up on Mōlī Hill. I was shocked by the sheer size of them at such a young age. Most had coats of fluff, while others had some white feathers growing in. It was so interesting to learn that the female lays just one egg and both parents share the job of egg-incubating and chick-rearing. We each walked from the start of the hill to the end, counting the chicks we passed. We then re-counted as we walked back, and came up with 55! Patti and Louise recorded the different stages of the chicks. There were also a couple of juveniles that Louise said liked to hang out around the chicks and preen them (straighten and clean their feathers). The juveniles also return to this hill to be with other juveniles and mate; Louise called it a mōlī discotheque.
Another day, after a botulism survey in Hanalei, Bryn – the very knowledgeable and easy-going refuge biologist – invited me to check up on some ʻalae ʻula and ʻalae keʻokeʻo nests with her. I noticed my foot felt weird and saw that my boots had a crack on the top, so I duct taped them and hoped for the best. We went out to the known nests that she had found and set up cameras on previously. She stepped down into the loʻi and started wading in to get a closer look at an abandoned nest. I followed her in, having to unstick my very stuck boots out of the mud with every step. With a couple more steps, the water got so deep that it rushed in, and my boots filled up to the brim. Never mind that duct tape. I didn’t mind, though, because in front of me were 3 reddish-brown ʻalae ʻula eggs nestled on a small nest between the kalo leaves! Though they may look similar to the ʻalae keʻokeʻo’s eggs, the ʻulaʻs can be distinguished by their smaller nests with brown-speckled eggs instead of black. Bryn said that moment was my Hanalei christening and baptism.
It is hard to pinpoint the most memorable experience during this internship, but if I had to choose just one, it would be my time conducting koaʻe ʻula (red-tailed tropicbird) nest surveys with Dylan and Dave, members of Pacific Rim Conservation (PRC), a FWS-contracted partner. These surveys took place along Kīlauea Point, Mokolea Point, and Kāhili Beach on the north shore, where we would locate known nests from GPS points, while finding new ones on the way, noting the presence of an adult on an egg, chick, or chick alone. Such data would be put into a Survey123 Esri GIS program, informing us on the effect of the Kīlauea Point predator exclusion fence on RTTR populations. It is currently the longest predator exclusion fence in the U.S., constructed to protect ground-nesting birds from mammalian threats like feral pigs, cats, and rats. 11,000 feet of protection for our refuge wildlife!
It was amazing to witness these adorable and ear-piercingly loud wildlife up close. I saw a chick during every stage of fledging. I watched them transform from tiny bundles of fluff, or mold spores, to these sleek, sophisticated teens with prim feathers and eyeliner. When looking for new nests, Dylan taught me how to mimic the call of an adult: a high-pitched “ee-ee” sound, since the hidden chicks would respond, allowing us to locate them. While some chicks were very vocal, even without being called to, others were as silent as a mouse. It was so interesting to see these individual vocal behaviors in the chicks, starting at such a young age. After practicing and finding over 45 new nests just at Mokolea Point on our first day, I think I’ve gotten the call down.
Koaʻe ula prefer to nest on rock cubbies and vegetation along cliff edges. Because of this, we would be walking less than a foot away from a sheer 50-foot drop-off into rocks or the ocean below. The act of being up so high with nothing protecting me from falling except my balance didn’t phase me until that night when I allowed myself to think about it. In between our survey, we had to do aerial counts of both koaʻe ʻula and koaʻe kea (white-tailed tropicbirds). One of the lookout points, I enjoyed a breathtaking view of Makapili rock.
Upper viewpoint at Mokolea Point, sometime between ‘99 and ‘01.
The same viewpoint, July 15, 2025.
A few weeks later, I came back to do another day of red-tailed tropicbird surveys with Dylan and Dave. While checking to see if an adult was incubating an egg, we noticed that it had a silver band on it. While Dylan held the bird, I had to read the band as fast as possible to minimize the stress on it. While holding onto its leg to read the band, I received my final ‘christening’ in the form of white droppings on my pants. After putting the 9-digit code into the USGS bird banding laboratory, we found that it was banded at Kīlauea Point NWR on July 28, 2004, as an adult, making it at least 21 years old!
Throughout my time at Kīlauea Point NWR, I saw the immense need for habitat maintenance and restoration through weeding, outplanting, and keeping the predator exclusion fence predator-proof. It was so satisfying to see all the space cleared when removing plants like Tuckaroo, Haole koa, lantana, and more. It felt good to be a part of the vital work necessary to keep invasives at bay, a never-ending endeavor in Hawaiʻi. I joined refuge staff and volunteers weed-whacking, sawsalling, and trimming back stubborn plants with the sun beating down on us. Thank you to volunteers Peter and Tanya for showing me how it is done! Witnessing birds like ʻalae ʻula, aeʻo, koaʻe ʻula, and more up close fueled my determination to remove invasives that encroach on their habitat and provide ladders for them to breach the predator exclusion fence.
Although my dad has since changed career paths, my time at the refuges was a reminder that conservation work needs to be done throughout generations. This is not a short battle, and shouldn't stop anytime soon – especially in this time of human-induced mass extinction, biodiversity loss, pollution, and global warming. I plan to continue to immerse myself in Hawaiian wildlife conservation until I can eventually return to Kaua'i and work in the field. I hope that one day I can inspire future generations to do the same.
I wouldn't have been able to experience these wonderful moments without the help and guidance from the amazing U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Friends of Kauaʻi Wildlife Refuges, Kupu, and Pacific Rim Conservation staff and volunteers. It has been an honor to receive the Friends of Kauaʻi Wildlife Refuges' Daniel Moriarty Memorial Scholarship as someone who has worked so closely with staff and witnessed how tremendous a help they have been to the KNWRC. I’d also like to thank Willamette University for allowing me to gain departmental credit, as well as providing me with some funding for this internship. I’m so grateful for Bryn Webber, Kathleen Viernes, and Christa McCleod for being such strong mentors. Especially Kathleen, who has been my backbone the whole time, first arranging, co-designing, and overseeing my internship to the end. Thanks to Caden, Madi, Brenden, and Koa for being great friends to chat with and receive advice about conservation opportunities, diving, and life in general.
These wonderful places, people, and birds have only given me a deeper drive to protect Hawaiʻi’s precious native species and spaces. There is truly no place like Kauaʻi, whose beauty is unparalleled, and geographic isolation makes it the only haven for its endemic creatures. With this new knowledge, I’ll be returning to Salem in the Fall to pursue my degree in environmental science and study abroad in Dunedin, Aotearoa, in the Spring. I hold Kauaʻi close to my heart as I navigate my educational journey through intentional experiences, never forgetting how I got here.
Laulea Miike
USFWS Summer Intern 2025
Photo Credits: USFWS/Laulea Miike
