Day Three - Chasing the Elusive Kiwi

Retired Rick sent Judith off to work about half an hour ago and now the remaining three of us are on the road driving north into the heart of historical Maori territory for a two day excursion around the Bay of Islands and the upper most portion of the North Island. Our quest for NZ history however is also fueled by Kris’s desire to espy a real live Kiwi of the feathered variety. Being nocturnal and in major decline due to heavy predation by the country’s many dogs who are often left to roam without leashes, seeing an actual Kiwi is a rare occurrence. Ergo, one of NZ’s few live Kiwi exhibits is our first destination at Whangeri. (N.B. “wh” in Kiwi talk is pronounced “eff”) We arrived about 11 AM and Kiwi Keeper Kevin told us the two birds normally would be out and about their paddocks at this time, but so far they had not appeared. We were welcome to have a look for them and if they were not out we could come back any time during our walking about the grounds viewing the other exhibits. I paid the $20 NZ apiece for us and we went into the viewing area. Not quite sure why I didn’t make the connection earlier (before I paid the money) but inside the viewing area it was TOTALLY black. They ARE nocturnal birds after all, thus only come out at night. (duh!) There were a couple of 5 watt red bulbs in the viewing area but unfortunately, I am as blind to the red spectrum as the Kiwis. Hence much bumping into Rick, Kris and the glass wall separating us from the Kiwis slightly bloodied my nose. Three people standing in total darkness looking through a glass wall into total darkness trying to spot the elusive nocturnal (and dark colored) Kiwi bird. Hmmm. I did an internal sanity check and was not happy with the results. Those two however, were able to determine there were no Kiwis running around in the paddock, so we left to see other exhibits mumbling something to Kiwi Keeper Kevin that we were sure this was an NZ scam and there were no actual birds in the paddock. He looked quite aghast at our accusation and swore there WERE two live birds in the paddock. He was genuinely apologetic about the birds not appearing for us. This was a great story as far as I was concerned. Dumb Americans taken in by Kiwi scam. I could eat out on this story for years to come.

Alas, ten minutes later Kevin came running up to us as we were searching in vain for geckos in the gecko exhibit (they also apparently were shy and nowhere to be found in their little terrariums). Keeper Kevin breathlessly informed us that both Kiwis were out and about. Come quick. We did and once more into the pitch black viewing room. Kris and Rick immediately spotted the amazingly quick little suckers, (actually about 16 inches tall) as they ran from one side of their respective paddocks to the other. I, of course, saw nothing but black. Only after about 5 minutes did I begin to make out a dark brown blob moving back and forth in a dark brown environment. I was assured it was the elusive dark brown Kiwi. Ruined a damn good dinner story, I am sorry to say. We left with Kris proclaiming the entire day a huge success because she saw an actual real live Kiwi in the almost wild.

Later in the day in our quest for cultural enlightenment, we toured the ancestral Maori meeting house where about 30 ten-foot high carvings of people’s faces with their tongues sticking out, were used as pillars to hold up a spectacularly varnished wooden roof. The old British Government House on the same site was of typical Brit design with about an equal number of rooms for the family as for servants. The servant’s rooms were about one third the size of the family’s rooms. Big surprise there. We topped off the day with a delicious fresh fish dinner at the Pihua Chapter of the NZ RSA. (New Zealand Returned Serviceman’s Association) It’s their version of our VFW Post. Dinner was accompanied by the melodious tones of a young woman calling out bingo numbers. I thought it a most perfect day when Rick poured some stiff (very) Gin and Tonics while we watched the sun disappear over the western hills and the water of the Bay of Islands glowed beneath our second floor balcony veranda. We’re off on the ferry in the AM to the small city of Russell, formerly known as the Hellhole of the Pacific. (second in infamy only to Port Moresby)