Exploring Zealandia under the stars ‒ and a bit of kiwi spotting

Friday, 4 April 2025

It’s March 26 and I’m preparing to embark on a trip to Zealandia wildlife sanctuary in the hills of Wellington between the suburbs of Kelburn and Karori. Formerly known as the Karori Wildlife Sanctuary, Zealandia is a protected area where biodiversity of 225 hectares of forest is being restored.

Tonight though, I’m joining a group of another 15 or so people guided around its bush trails after dark. While it’s not promised to spot a little spotted kiwi (there are estimated to be about 140 that call Zealandia home, the second largest population and only wild population on the mainland), this is of course my yearning.

To begin the 2.5 hour tour we are in fact taken back ‒ way back ‒ via an impressive video recreation of early encounters between colonisers and Māori in Zealandia’s exhibition space that precedes entry to the park itself. The video illustrates how many of Aotearoa’s unique native species including the moa became extinct, and why volunteers are so focussed on conservation efforts today after decades of (plainly speaking) environmental destruction, pest introduction and the planting of invasive species by settlers.

Our tour guide is the intelligent Ruth, who, after the video finishes, shepherds us into a biosecurity area to have our bags checked for rats, mice, kittens or other predators ‒ all things we’re told have been found before. Through a two-tiered gate, we funnel in to the ecosanctuary. We’re first taken to a giant stone enscribed with a whakataukī/Māori proverb, and take a moment to ground ourselves to the land we stand on, protected by Zealandia and its local iwi partners, before the walk gets under way proper.

Zealandia, managed by a not-for-profit charitable trust, relies on a variety of sources for funding and other support, but receives no guaranteed money from the Government.

En route into the depths of the park, the first critter we spot is a female stick insect. Zealandia’s fencing, on which it sits, is skirted (that is, goes underground), to prevent rabbits and other burrowing mammals from invading the space. It’s a strong mesh to allow Wellington’s sometimes aggressive winds to blow through, and 1.8 metres high to prevent cats from clambering over. At the top is a rounded hat that prevents things like stoats, weasels and ferrets crawling over.

As the dusk chorus begins about 6.45pm we do a radio check to make sure our headsets are working OK, which Ruth speaks to us through while she leads the pack. Volunteers check the entire perimeter of Zealandia’s extensive fencing every week by foot to check for any breaches, including roots and foliage that could disturb its security. But it’s not a totally foolproof system, as hawks can occasionally drop predators into the park.

We hear a tūī singing. Ruth tells us the name tūī means to sew in te reo ‒ they’re great mimics, copying other birds’ tunes into their own master song by a process of stitching together sounds those sounds they’ve heard elsewhere. Hopefully, Ruth says, we will hear or see a kiwi tonight. They can be heard from over a kilometre away, but here at Zealandia staff can’t always determine where the calls are coming from due to the park’s warped acoustics. Part of this is due to its two dams, both decommissioned after several nearby quake faultlines were discovered and due to the risk of them cracking.

Next we rub our hands on a lemonwood branch, this creates a quickly-dissipating citrus smell. Plants here at Zealandia are as much of a highlight as the birds and wildlife. While non-native pine was previously all through Zealandia, most of this has been cleared due to its dropping significant numbers of needles and pine cones that suppresses the growth of other plants. However, some were left as many birds that call Zealandia home like them. Another non-native that was left in place was a single macrocarpa in the lower pond that’s the home of four species of native shag, which nest on its big platform-esque branches.

On the pontoon we see shags and ducks diving down for their evening meals, and then a keystone species, the tutu, a poisonous plant that contains the toxin tutin that’s historically been responsible for the deaths of cattle, sheep and even carnival elephants. While Māori figured out how to make non-toxic jellies and jam out of tutu berries, it’s not legal these days to sell it ‒ in fact, all honey made in Aotearoa today is tested for tutin.

Speaking of honey, next is the mānuka plant, which makes the highly antiseptic honey. Many birds use its juice for preening, while its wood is good for carving, and in summer the plant is covered in white flowers. Suddenly a ruru, New Zealand’s only native owl, calls in the distance.

Onwards to the tuatara section. Scientists know these nocturnal, ambush reptiles have been around since the dinosaur era and refer to them as living fossils. Once abundant on the mainland but preyed on by the arrival of mammals, a wild tuatara population from Takapourewa (Stephens Island) off the north coast of the South Island was established here at Zealandia in 2005, gifted by their kaitiaki Ngāti Koata. Some were released inside the fence while some were released outside, and they’ve been breeding successfully here since 2009.

Oddly, male tuatara have no external penis, and so pairs mate through the act of the “cloacal kiss”, in which the male lifts the female’s tail and places his vent over hers. Despite this, they have the fastest sperm of all reptiles.

By 8pm it’s already dark and we’re getting deeper into the forest, passing the largest type of fuschia tree in the world that sheds its red bark in winter to breathe. It has pale leaves to attract moths in the moonlight. Moths are in fact an important pollinator and New Zealand has hundreds of native moth species, despite having few native butterflies.

Out of nowhere we hear the call of a male kiwi, a sort of high pitched whistle. The female responds. This all before we see an empty kiwi burrow, a hole-in-the-wall on the side of the track surrounded by logs and shrub. Kiwi have evolved like many other island species, Ruth tells us, but are related to a group of mostly flightless birds known as ratites that include ostriches, emu and of course the moa.

A longfin eel slinks inside a river that’s carved underneath a bridge we’re crossing, while on the adjacent forest wall glowworms start to twinkle in the blackness of the forest. By this point Ruth has her red-light torch on, she shines it on the nest of a female tunnel web spider for each person to see wandering past. We look at silver ferns under the moonlight and then some banded kōkopu in a stream, above us the stars are putting on their own show, unobstructed by central city lights.

It’s clear at this point we’re nearing the end of the tour, learning about the multipurpose kawakawa (did you know it has holes in its leaves because caterpillars/moths eat it?), lancewood, bag moths and gherkin slugs on the return journey to the entrance. Finally, Ruth says the words we’ve all been waiting to hear: “OK, we’ve got a kiwi here..”

And there he was, the little brown spotted male, walking on the side of the pathway, almost oblivious to the tour group, fossicking about with his beak in the bramble and dirt for grub. One by one after seeing the kiwi and taking some discreet (and possibly the world’s worst) photos, we leave him be and head towards the exit buzzing, mulling over the night’s events over a hot cup of kawakawa tea.

Book or learn more about Zealandia’s tours at visitzealandia.com. The author was hosted by Zealandia.