Birds in paradise

This is great, a trip to an island bird sanctuary in the Auckland harbour and none of my hosts have been there. It's somewhere my friend Amanda has long wanted to visit, being a passionate environmentalist so I'm pleased that my visit gives them a good excuse. The island is called Tiritiri Matangi and is a 75-minute boat ride out of downtown Auckland. We have a cloudy start but it's not raining at least and it gives Rangitoto, the old volcano we pass on the way, a brooding menace. 
There are not many people on board, due to the unpromising forecast I guess but one Tiritiri volunteer approaches me and asks me not to take my open carrier bag onto the island. The worry is that people will unwittingly sneak in non-native species such as mice. They've spent many years eradicating non-native flora and fauna to reintroduce and breed native birdlife. I check my bag for rodents and put it away. 
Our boat stops at Gulf harbour to pick up more passengers and we see the most amazing catamaran, being prepped by an all-Maori crew. Amanda shouts over for the story of the boat and one of the crew tells us it's owned by the Maori university as an educational vessel, to teach people about who they are and where they came from. 

The weather is beautiful all day in the end, confounding the forecast. We're given a welcome on landing by the head ranger, a rather hesitant chap who reminds us again about smuggling mice onto the island.
One of the many volunteers on the island, Julie, gives us an illuminating tour along a boardwalk set deep in the native bush. There are feeder stations where the sound is almost deafening, bathing troughs where we watch birds taking a dip and by the end of our hour's walk we can tick off almost every bird on the information board. Amanda 'David Attenborough' Eason is Julie's best client ever and between them, I find out more about the country's flora and fauna in one day than a lot of New Zealanders pick up in a lifetime.
We see little North Island Robins, Stitchbirds, a Whitehead, a Red-crowned Parakeet, Fantails... this is a Bellbird, which has the clearest, most tuneful song.

This is a Saddleback, named for obvious reasons and we see lots of these.
And here's very portly New Zealand Pigeon, almost too heavy for its perch. So much prettier than those Trafalgar Square mongrels.
The island's few buildings are painted white with pillar-box red doors and roofs – there's a  lighthouse, cottages and a bunkhouse for volunteers or 'friends of Tiritiri' who come to stay. Amanda joins up on the spot. 

Even around the cafe where we eat our packed lunches there are exotic species on the sugar-water feeder. These might be Tui (okay, perhaps I haven't learned that much!).

We walk back along the ridge of the island and meet a family of Takahe, a plump flightless bird that was almost extinct but is now being successfully introduced on Tiritiri Matangi. They're very friendly, trotting up towards us for their close-ups. This encounter makes Amanda's day.

To keep Anouk's mind off the walk, I create an adventure with her little Siberian Tiger, Rosie, taking pictures at strategic points along the way (I later make the photos into an album and a 'Rosie' blog follows this one). The path descends into one of the ancient fern gullies of original native bush to the beach. 
The tiny cove is sheltered and very warm with a pebbly shore and occasional boxes for the Little Penguins that nest here. We paddle in the sea. It really has turned out to be that hot. 
Back on the boat, the return trip is blustery again but Rangitoto looks a lot more serene.

Our five a day

The first sense I get of Auckland's turbulent volcanic past is on Saturday when Amanda and her partner Steven decide to take me on a crater 'run'. There are over 50 in the Auckland area, though some are more obvious and some are not complete craters. It's a warm, sunny day so we head first to Devonport, on the north shore of the Auckland harbour, which is home to two craters. Devonport is one of those great little neighbourhoods that seem to produce no end of bakery-cafes, bookshops and funky retro stores. 
We have blasts of sunshine that, by a meteorological fluke, accompany each volcano visit. Here's team Eason-Blackburn on top of Mount Victoria with the city's CBD in the background and covetable corners of Twenties and Thirties housing beneath the hill.
And here's me on Mount Victoria with the gently sloping, perfectly spherical volcano, Rangitoto, in the background. The entire island is covered in scratchy scoria, not a surface you'd want  to slip on.
We nip on to North Head and its crater where we catch a couple having wedding photos taken, and I spot another couple sat in the back of their camper van smoking weed and watching the sunshine interact with an approaching storm. Man. 

North Head is famous for its military encampment set up during World War 2 and the inside of the hill is latticed with tunnels you can explore with a torch. We go as far as we dare by the light of my mobile phone and Anouk and I sing a song that echoes around in the dark.
Then there are the two most famous craters, One Tree Hill, below, which had its sacred totara tree vandalised and now it's None Tree Hill (or as Anouk calls it, One Pee Hill, after the time she was caught short on its slopes. A girl who can pun that cleverly at six is sure to go far). 
There's a lovely story around this one, though, as the land was gifted for a park by a Scotsman, John Logan Campbell, who arrived from Edinburgh with hardly a penny but went on to become mayor (he is often referred to as the 'father of Auckland'). His first house in the city has been moved here, Acacia Cottage, and there's a smart cafe in a Twenties building serving afternoon teas. There's also a great movie in the visitor centre next door that gives an impression of what One Tree Hill looked like when it was settled by Maori with a population of around 5,000. 
Mount Eden is next and we drive through the neighbourhood's elegant streets to reach this one, a huge inverted cone-shaped crater with a ringside view of the CBD. Amanda points out the depressions that would have been Kumera (sweet potato, staple of the Maori) pits, for storing supplies to keep them going through the winter.

We finish in the rain with a slightly more unkempt volcano. This one is Amanda, Steven and Anouk's local, Mount Albert, named after Queen Victoria's husband. 

So we've travelled from Victoria to Albert and succeeded in our quest to climb five craters in a day. There's nothing for it but to go to the family's favourite Chinese and order celebratory dumplings. Yum. 

Old friends

Landing at Auckland airport I step outside and there's an immediately noticeable change of temperature. Off come a couple of layers as the humidity rises. I walk around to the International terminal where I've arranged to meet my friend Amanda. I leave a note with an elderly volunteer at the help desk to say I'm at the espresso bar, a note clearly marked for the attention of 'Amanda'. When she turns up at the desk he denies all knowledge of a note. He's waiting for 'A man…' to give the note to...
It's a happy reunion. In the few years since I've seen her Amanda's daughter Anouk, now six, has grown tall, almost up to my shoulders. And chatty. And affectionate. I am instantly Auntie Cate, which makes her unique in being the only person in the world to call me that. Here's a picture of Amanda and Anouk from later in my trip.

I've known Amanda since the early Nineties. She had come to London as a 20-something New Zealander, got a job teaching at a primary school and stayed. Now she's back in her home town with her English partner and Anouk, doing up a new house in an area of Auckland called Mount Albert. 
We find a space for my bags in her overflowing car and drive straight there. It's a handsome two-storey wooden house painted a pleasing shade of milky green. The space out back is large with a double garage and a Feijoa tree dropping fruit by the second. This fruit has an unusual taste, citrus with a sharp tang, one that I have not yet acquired.
They only moved in recently so everything is in a state of flux or box. I'm allocated a little bolthole, facing north so sunny and warm and filled with colourful paintwork and bedding. Anouk instantly moves in her army of Clickie people, which is fine by me. Amanda tells me her plans for the house and though the project sounds daunting I have seen her go through enough renovations to know that she will create something really special, filled with treasures. There are pieces propped up around the place that seem so familiar to me – glass baubles, panels of stained glass, the kind of pieces that made her flat in London's Bonnington Square such an inner-city oasis. 

The next morning we walk Anouk to school and I'm dragged into the classroom to meet the teacher. Amanda and I then drive south to Pukekohe to have lunch with her mother, Paula, and to see the 'ten acres' where Amanda grew up and which I've heard so much about I feel I already know. It's quite a drive down a gravel road, then a turn off to the right takes you up the drive, through the trees, to the house at the top of the slope. 



Paula's house is filled with collections of fine crockery, old black-and-white photographs of Amanda and her two brothers, the wood burning stove is glowing warm and there's chicken soup in a pot on top of it. After a quick bowl of soup, and a quick hello to Amanda's brother who lives next door, we head out to look at the property, meet the stock – four head of cattle – and explore the acres of forest that Paula has turned over to be regenerated as native bush. It's a dense canopy but the undergrowth is coming along nicely too, with tree ferns and nicau palms all thriving in this pest-free environment. There's Amanda disappearing into the forest.
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We come back here on my last day in New Zealand, for a barbecue dinner with the family and to say goodbye to Paula. Amanda shows me the gigantic crater just a stone's throw from her house. She used to catch the school bus from the edge of it. It got me thinking about how people are often happiest when they finally come home.

Capital gains

As I leave the Queen Charlotte Sound on a large car ferry bound for Wellington in the North Island, the mist is draped over the tops of the hills and a light rain is falling. The ferry carries an assortment of cargo, including several container-loads of cows, visible through an open hatch on the front deck. We turn into the Cook Strait and the wind picks up, as does the smell of manure. The Strait is prone to storms and ferocious winds and I find out later how many ships have perished here.

There are a couple of scallywags on board, too, high as kites. When they sit down on either side of me I prepare to gather my things and move, but they're pretty harmless and gabble away affably and completely incoherently. Nevertheless they must be up to something because a posse of policemen is waiting to escort them off when we arrive in Wellington. Actually, now I think of it, one of them was rolling a joint when they were chatting to me...

So windy Welly is spread out over its surrounding hills and makes a most pleasant sight, a safe looking haven from the stormy Strait.

I'm staying with Di and Pete Charlesworth, who are friends from back in the Eighties when I was living in a big south London house-share. I was even there at the fancy-dress party where the two of them got together. Di is here to meet me with son Matt, just graduated from Christchurch Uni, and daughter Rachel, off to study in Dunedin soon. Di mentions that we might have time to walk around the farm and I assume she means the place next door. But they do actually own and live on a farm in the suburbs, and when we get back to their house on the hill, we take a quick walk around their pine woods and meet a few of their sheep. It's so unexpected. As it gets dark Di points out some gloworms in a little grotto. 

The next day I create a cold/wet weather outfit out of what I have available and that includes a pashmina round my hair (too windy to put a brolly up and not wet enough for a cagoule) and my Uniqlo down jacket.

My main destination in Wellington is Te Papa, one of the best museums of Maori culture in the country. Te Papa means "house of treasure" and that's no understatement, from a whole floor on the impact humans have had on the land, to the full-size meeting house (marae) and giant canoe. There's also an uplifting little film called Golden Days in a mini film theatre done up like a curiosity shop. Cleverly edited clips and an evocative soundtrack take you through every aspect of Kiwi life. I am fascinated and entertained.
I meet my friend Jon from Christchurch for a quick lunch – he works in Welly Tuesdays to Thursdays – and it's lovely to see him again. I take a stroll down Cuba Mall, a swinging street of cool cafes, retro boutiques and spaces to let.
It's still raining but luckily there is plenty of scope indoors – the museum dedicated to Wellington City & Sea covers every aspect of the city's seafaring history, and then the City Art Gallery has plenty to keep you scratching your head. I do scratch my head over the Parliament building, nicknamed the beehive and designed in the Sixties by Sir Basil Spence, a Scottish architect who also designed Coventry Cathedral.
Back at the farm Pete returns from a business trip to Auckland and I'm delighted to see that he hasn't changed a bit. It is risky turning up on people's doorsteps when you haven't seen them for years, not to mention having them ferry you about and cook for you, but thankfully we find ourselves laughing at the same things and reconnecting effortlessly around memories of places, parties and people.
Matt so kindly runs me to the airport the next morning to catch my flight to Auckland. There is a traffic jam en route but in typical Kiwi fashion he takes it all in his stride, super calm and collected. Inside the airport travellers are greeted by this gigantic model of Gollum, Wellington being the home of Weta, the company that gave the world Lord of the Rings.

Sound's good to me

The Bay of Many Coves is an exclusive resort nestled around an inlet of the Queen Charlotte Sound at the northern tip of New Zealand's South Island. I'm staying here for a travel article and can't quite believe my luck as the water taxi pulls in towards the jetty. Under the clear blue skies and overlooking the aqua blue water it is a kind of paradise.

Straight away I take out a kayak to explore the little jetties and coves. No, wait, first I go to my private cabin to take in the view of the cove from the king-size double bed and to set up the balcony shot for facebook.


Then I go for a paddle. There's a cliff dotted with Shags, or Cormorants, and I discover that the Sound boasts one of only two breeding colonies of King Cormorants in the world. From my kayak I observe Spotted, Pied and Black Shags, but no royalty.

Later on Pip, the manager, books me in for a massage and a tiny girl called Richelle gives me her signature treatment with peppermint and lemongrass oils and a touch so effectively firm I'm a blob of jelly when I emerge. I can barely make it down the few steps to my cabin. I order dinner via room service, at Pip's suggestion. I watch The Piano again. It's set in the Westland where I was a few days ago, though much of it was filmed in the North Island. What a great film. Made all the better by a slab of ginger slice I bought in Picton before I left. It's a type of millionaire's shortbread but with ginger and it is heaven on a biscuit base.

My favourite root puts in another appearance the following morning by way of a tasty Granny Smith apple and ginger juice. I'm not going to starve, as you can tell by the average breakfast here.

I wake up in time for sunrise one morning and it's something I'll never forget, so serene, such food for the soul.

Disturbing my nirvana a short while later is a thud in the other room. A bird has flown into the glass window of my living room and landed on the floor of the balcony, dead as a doornail. I think it's a Bellbird (Korimako), which is sad because they make the most beautiful sound in the mornings. 

I am gradually discovering more about New Zealand's efforts to protect and regenerate its native flora and fauna. This mainly happens in the national parks where pines are being taken out and indigenous species reintroduced. The  Bay of Many Coves resort commits to sowing native bush – including Nikau palms, Silver Ponga, Mamuku, Renga Renga Lily and Miniature Flax – and eradicating non-natives to ensure the native birds have a welcome habitat. The water that comes out the taps is drinkable, delicious spring water from just up the hill.

James Cook was the first European to land on New Zealand soil, at Meretoto, which he renamed Ship's Cove, making it his NZ base between 1770 and 1777. The first sustained contacts between Maori and Pakeha took place around Totaranui, which Cook duly renamed after George 111's queen, Charlotte. It all happened here. Moreover, Ship's Cove is where one of New Zealand's great walks begins, the 71km Queen Charlotte Track. I'm walking a section of it today. A water taxi picks me up from the resort's jetty, piloted by Fred and crewed by Northern Irish Garth, whose years of living in NZ have seamlessly transformed his accent into a quasi-Canadian one, which is why I mistakenly ask him whereabouts in Canada he's from.
Fred is genial and gives us a wry commentary along the way. I'm dropped off, with four others, in Resolution Bay (named after Cook's second ship). There's a friendly looking local (possibly the only inhabitant here) with a little terrier scurrying about. It's odd being dropped off for a walk by boat. You feel a strange sense of loneliness as you see it disappear into the Sound. You're on your own. What do I do if I have an accident, I ask Fred, call someone on my mobile phone? You won't get a signal, he replies. Oh. But I'm reassured by the fact that I know the group we dropped off at Ship's Cove earlier will be coming my way eventually. 

The track is a delight, as you'd expect from a route that gets tramped by thousands of pairs of boots every year – a wide path with little windows out to the Sound, and it's an easy climb up to the saddle.



The bush is probably mostly native here though I do come across some black trees, which I guess have been poisoned. Among native trees is the tall Tawa but it is the pines that were planted extensively here due to a Government subsidy that the Department of Conservation is trying to eradicate now. With a pine forest there isn't the undergrowth that makes the bush so interesting and encourages wildlife to flourish. It seems bullishly single minded to destroy trees while calling it conservation, though. At the end of the day, I might favour a live-and-let-live approach. After all, who can control birds that carry seeds or seeds that blow in on the wind? I'm all for keeping the native birdlife thriving, however, particularly when you have curious creatures such as the Weca trying to get at your lunch.

As I wind my way down to the pick-up point at Endeavour Inlet, there are last glimpses of the greater Sound, where the green land appears to have been poured onto the blue in thick folds. Down at sea level there are Pohutukawa or Southern Rata, commonly known as the New Zealand Christmas tree because it flowers in winter.

I'm not sure this is one of those, but it's red and it's flowering!

As signs of habitation appear around the corner of Endeavour Inlet there are rickety old boathouses, Furneaux Lodge – a heritage hotel where walkers can rest their weary limbs, and a shaggy dog driving a John Deere. 

I leave my idyll at the Bay of Many Coves on Queen Charlotte Sound with a sigh, as the clouds roll in and the weather begins to turn autumnal. 

As I get set to sail from the South to the North Island a leaping dolphin provides a very special send-off.