Tane Mahuta split apart heaven and earth, creating space for all life. The Maoris worship the presumably 2000 year old largest of all kauri trees, in front of which we now stand marvelling in Waipoua Forest, as the creator of all life. The legends of the Maori are elemental epics: plausible to self-evident, clear and imaginative. Our fairy tales, on the other hand, are the purest penny dreadfuls.
I love this simple directness. It is also evident in many other things in New Zealand: We: Franz Josef Strauss Airport. Kiwi: Auckland International Airport. Us: Hildegard von Bingen Avenue. Kiwi: Ocean View Road. Us: Are you insured? Kiwi: No worries, I help ya.
After last night’s party, we’re pretty groggy. Our car too. The problem wasn’t the 90 Mile Beach. Nor the 300 kilometres of gravel roads so far. Sand is too small, gravel too big. But the massive amount of grit used on all the roadworks is just the right size to get stuck between the brake disc and the brake pad. The noise is more than horrible after a few kilometres, the repair in an old village smithy relatively cheap.
Once again we reach our destination far too late, the largest kauri trees in the Waipoua Forest north of Dargaville. From there, we ride another 20 kilometres in front of a cloud of dust to the DOC campsite in the Trounson Kauri Forest. DOC campsites are state-run campsites in what are usually truly unique and beautiful nature reserves. This one even has hot water, a kitchen and barbecues are still allowed.
The sand flies are a real nuisance at dinner, but are gone as soon as it’s dark. Another camper tells us that kiwis can be seen at night in the kauri forest directly behind the campsite. A unique opportunity, so we look for more red plastic bags as filters for the torches and head off into the night. Kiwis are not so dissimilar to humans. They seem to like red light.
The gates to kiwi sanctuaries are sometimes like real intelligence tests. Shoe sanitiser sprays and brushes are waiting directly behind them. This seems doubly exaggerated, especially when you consider that you barely touch the forest floor on a normal DOC walk in the kauri area anyway: The path leads more or less without junctions for kilometres over elevated boardwalks. The greatest danger is that you fall off the footbridge and break the roots of a kauri.
We feel our way through the dark. To cut a long story short: we don’t see a kiwi that night. But aliens with red lamps. Everyone follows their guide in silence. Reminiscent of the scene from E.T., only in red. When the guide sees my camera, he readily offers me a professional four-way split for using the flash to photograph a kiwi that doesn’t appear anyway. My camera is new, I haven’t internalised the instructions yet, so I can’t use the flash.
The group first chases after a shocked oppossum and then sneaks off to their spaceship. We are left alone in the dark with shooting stars flying upwards from below, red torches and lots of unfamiliar noises from the jungle. I imitate the already legendary groaning of the man-eating giant kiwi. Despite the numerous fireflies, Uli somehow doesn’t find it so funny. Strangely enough, after a few times, I don’t either, remembering the Blair Witch Project. We get lost in the forest and can’t find our way back for a while.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.