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NATURAL HISTORY
The keeper
It arrived in a wooden cabinet, each drawer of it a family: Calliostomatinae, Volutidae, Turbinidae. One of every kind of shell to be found in the Manukau Harbour. Sometimes more than one: an ark of molluscs. The cabinet waited in the circular corridor at the heart of Auckland Museum for more than seven years, in between the marine department’s freezer for fish bits and a shelving unit filled with jars, labels, bags. When collections technician Darryl Jeffries sat down to catalogue its contents, he knew little about it or its maker. But the cabinet came with a pair of hand-illustrated journals detailing exactly where and when each specimen had been found. As Jeffries read, hints of the collector, Norman Douglas, emerged. Inside were delicate hand-drawn maps, a meticulous record of observations spanning three decades, and a clear devotion to one particular stretch of coastline on the Āwhitu Peninsula. There was delight at finding spotted whelks laying eggs, at the sight of hundreds of violet globe snails blowing in on a sturdy northwesterly; delight at a shell appearing to move of its own volition and the discovery of a Zegalerus sea snail beneath, using it as a shield or a disguise. Norman had searched comprehensively, Jeffries realised: if he hadn’t found a shell, it probably wasn’t there. He found an extinct species of clam alive and well. He swept others along with him on searches, always noting the true finder of any specimen: often it was Lorna, his wife. Sometimes it was Heather, or Shirley, or Murray, their children. He looked along the tide line and in the crevices of rocks. He dug in the soft sand where waves fan out, to see what was underneath. He convinced boaties to tow a dredge so he could investigate what lay in the seabed. “He was really good at getting all the habitats,” said Jeffries, “at a time where the environment seemed to change a lot—because we had the Pacific oyster come in and get everywhere, and all the industrialisation that happened in Manukau over that period.” Turning the pages of the journals, I turned through years: each page a list of findings, some commonplace, some rare. Like Jeffries, I became curious about Norman: what had sent him back to the coast, over and over again, on a search that never ended, on the fringes of a harbour most regarded as muddy and polluted. But it was impossible to ask Norman anything. He’d passed away in 1989. And so I set out on a search of my own: for the man who had recorded all of this, and why. Keep reading...
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