Tāwharanui

I set out early for Tāwharanui, catching the sunrise from the road top before curling down through the leftover pine slurry and into Tāwharanui.

The sky is clear overhead, red, and threatening on the horizon. I park with surfers, clip my pack on, reset the Canon – 4000 ISO at this hour, and a high-speed burst for birding – and step out into the most remarkable sunrise I can recall for some time. 

Shadowed trees, deep green grass, snow-melt turquoise ocean rippling with red, purple clouds, red and orange and golden blue sky, Te Hauturu-o-Toi | Little Barrier Island mist-shrouded and silhouetted standing off shore. 

A lone surfer pushes her longboard out through the sunrise catching in the dimpled surf.

Breathtaking.

I walk up the headland separating Anchor Bay from the main beach. I decided to follow the lower ecology trail across Anchor Bay, around the rocks, and up to the farm road – a sure-haven route for birds. Tūturiwhatu | New Zealand dotterel and pīwakawaka | New Zealand fantail chaperone me along Anchor Bay, the former intent on guiding me away from their nesting sites, the latter just having a pīwakawaka party.

The sun crests the saddle at North Cove just as I leave the stony shore and head up, slowly, past tūī | New Zealand parsonbird, korimako | New Zealand bellbird, kererū | New Zealand pigeon, pōpokatea | whitehead, kahu | Australasian swamp harrier, and pūkeko | swamphen.

I follow the fence rather than the trail and then skirt the treeline above the upper ecology trail. More pōpokatea than I’ve ever seen flit in and out of the flowering mānuka. I pause awhile with a kākā | New Zealand forest parrot grubbing in the bark of a mānuka tree.

I cut across the farm track and follow the forest edge along the coast.

I come across a trail I haven’t walked before – effectively a trapline – making largely towards Takatū Point – and follow it. Korimako and pōpokatea and tūī accompany me.

Through a grove of puriri I emerge on the cliff edge amongst several dozen bird boxes – this must be petrel home. Unable to resist, I gently open one lid – it is empty – then admonish my curiosity and find my way back to the trapline. It cuts down along a spur to a rock waterfall and a steep-sloped round-shingled cove. I can’t make it down to the body of the deceased kororā at mid-tide – it’s too precarious.

I cut my way back up the stream, searching for the continuation of the track – eventually cutting up the cliff until I rejoin the trapline.

Korimako come to the call of an adult male, courtesy Bird Nerd.

The weather is turning.

I make Takatū Point just before 11, shovel down two bacon, egg, and sriracha mayo petrol station sandwiches, scull some water, jacket up, and look down to see the haul-out below me full of more kekeno than I've seen here – perhaps two dozen seals, clambering over the stony shore and up onto the rugged headland – before I continue on, making for the trapline Im and I found on our last Tāwharanui hike.

The rain comes just as I slide down a slippery, precious, side trapline. It’s so muddy I struggle to make it back up, planting a knee to prevent a full slide. I’m grateful for my walking pole, and still must rely on flax and shrubs to grapple back up the slope – now eliminating sidetracks from the rest of the day's adventure.

A friendly toutouwai | North Island robin joins me. We talk with each other for a while, me scuffing up bugs, planting my boot invitingly; and the robin bouncing in close, eyeing me and the bush around us, flitting away.

Umbrella up, I leave the manukā scrub and cross the farmland. These upper paddocks have been replanted in flax and coprosma. I’m looking forward to experiencing the new forest grow here. Just as I leave the treeline, thunder peels out, up, and over the sea cliffs behind me. Majestic – and terrifying. I quicken my pace back to the treeline.

Tīeke | saddleback, pōpokatea, and korimako greet me as I re-enter the bush. Through the rain I follow the Coast Track and Fishermans Track, now resealed and boardwalked, back to the visitors centre through luscious nīkau and puriri.

It’s a super adventure – a splendid top-up – 12.6 kilometres, 328 metres, five hours of movement, 1,800 photographs taken, 62 kept.