Although it’s often missed on New Zealand travel itineraries, Rakiura (Stewart Island) and its primeval wilderness deserve a spotlight for its natural wonder. Writer Frances Carruthers explores New Zealand’s forgotten island (and spots her first wild kiwi).
I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many shades of green in one place. There’s the vivid emerald of giant fern. The almost-fluorescent hue of moss covering the thick trunks of trees. The silver-green tentacles of native rimu trees overhead.
I’m deep in the podocarp forests of Rakiura (also known as Stewart Island), which is New Zealand’s third-largest island. I have the privilege of trekking through these frozen-in-time landscapes along the Rakiura Track, a 20-mile (32 kilometers) route that journeys through native forests and historic Māori-owned lands.
Some of that land is managed by the Rakiura Māori Lands Trust. Chairman Simon Gomez, who descends from the Ngai Tahu iwi (tribe) on Rakiura, tells me: “Our kaupapa (principle) is to restore our land to what it was before humans set foot on it.” With that in mind, they’ve been working hard to eradicate invasive species—including deer, possums and hedgehogs—which threaten native flora and fauna.
Indeed, the kaleidoscope of the deep forests is a far cry from the fields that cover swathes of New Zealand’s North and South Islands. Although such pastoral views have become a part of the scenery, they’re a very recent incursion on landscapes that have stood for millennia.
Before humans came, around 80 percent of New Zealand was covered by native forests. Roughly 6.7 million hectares were deforested by Polynesian settlers, who arrived between 1250-1300. European colonists accelerated deforestation, razing eight million hectares in just 160 years, transforming forest to farmland at the fastest rate ever seen in human history.
By contrast, most of Rakiura remains covered by native trees. The podocarp conifers which cover most of the island “have a lineage that stretches back to the time when New Zealand was part of the supercontinent of Gondwana,” says Jennifer Ross, Operations Manager for the island’s Department of Conservation (DOC).
The Rakiura Track is among the least-visited of New Zealand’s 10 Great Walks. Hiking it during May, which is the low season, means it’s even quieter than usual. I encounter no more than 10 people in two days, leaving me with hours of solitude as I trek through the forest.
Rakiura offers a more understated kind of beauty, with unspoiled forests that make you feel as though you’re stepping back in time and secluded beaches where you can be the only soul for miles around.
Usually on solo hikes, I’d listen to music, but here it would be a crime to tune out the birdsong overhead. Among the native species that I can see (and hear) are green-feathered korimako (bellbirds), loud and boisterous tūī, vivid black-and-white pïwakawaka (fantails), kereru (wood pigeons) and kākā.
The most famous, and sought-after, is the tokoeka (kiwi). This iconic, flightless bird is a rare sight, which even most New Zealanders haven’t seen in the wild. With an estimated 13,000 Rakiura tokoeka, the island is home to the largest population in the country. Yet the shy, nocturnal bird remains elusive even here.
My lucky moment arrives on the second day of hiking. It’s shortly after sunrise and I’ve just left North Arm Hut, one of the track’s accommodation facilities, run by the DOC.
In defiance of its supposedly timid nature, the furry creature walks straight out in front of me. I barely have time to marvel at its mass of brown feathers, its long and pointed beak and its stout, round body before it scuttles back off into the bush.
Spotting kiwi isn’t the only thing that’ll make you stop in your tracks here. “Rakiura has a reputation for its mud, because there’s a lot of peaty ground and not much rock base for the tracks,” says Ross. But, for her, “it’s an opportunity to slow down and appreciate the scenery and wildlife.”
The hike is a fitting introduction to Rakiura itself, a sparsely-populated patch of land on which just 390 people live. Although it’s just 48 miles (30km) south of the South Island—a mere one-hour ferry journey—it’s often overlooked by visitors struggling to cram in all the big sights on the North and South Islands.
But Rakiura offers a more understated kind of beauty, with unspoiled forests that make you feel as though you’re stepping back in time and secluded beaches where you can be the only soul for miles around. It’s a place to be felt and experienced, not merely seen.
I’m relieved when I reach the end of the track by mid-afternoon on my second day, after hours of walking with a heavy backpack. Even more so when I reach my lodging for the night: Tokoeka PurePod, a secluded off-grid cabin hidden away in the native bush.
Compared to my previous night at North Arm Hut, it feels all the more luxurious. All four walls and even the ceiling are made of glass, so you can enjoy bird-watching by day and stargazing by night. The pod runs on solar electricity and there’s no wifi or phone signal here, by design—allowing you to “experience nature’s show vividly”.
Half of PurePods’ profits go towards The Cacophony Project, a charity that aims to bring back the ‘cacophony’ of birdsong which once reigned supreme.
As the world’s southernmost Dark Sky Sanctuary, Rakiura is home to some of the best stargazing on the planet. This is perhaps unsurprising, given that one of the Māori meanings of its name is ‘land of the glowing skies.’
To get a sense of what a pre-human New Zealand might have sounded like, the next day I take the water taxi with Rakiura Charters to nearby Ulva Island. This ‘open sanctuary’ has been predator-free since 1997, meaning that threatened native birds have been able to thrive. Many species that are rare or nonexistent on the mainland have been successfully reintroduced, including tīeke (saddleback), mohua (yellowhead), toutouwai (Stewart Island robin) and tītitipounamu (rifleman).
It’s completely alive with the sound of birdsong. Although it wouldn’t take long to cover the 2.8 miles (4.5km) of trails, built courtesy of the Ulva Island Charitable Trust, I slow down and tune in. Plenty of fluttering fantails (my favorites), a few vivid green riflemen (a rarer sight) and a pair of sleeping sea lions on the beach are among the rewards for my patience.
When darkness falls, aside from drinking a pint at the island’s only pub (which also runs a hugely popular weekly trivia night) there isn’t much to do here. But you only need to look up: The night’s skies can provide hours of entertainment.
As the world’s southernmost Dark Sky Sanctuary, Rakiura is home to some of the best stargazing on the planet. This is perhaps unsurprising, given that one of the Māori meanings of its name is ‘land of the glowing skies.’
To guide me through the stars, I take a nighttime tour with locally-run Twinkle Dark Sky Tours. My guide, Al, tells me that he became interested in astronomy from a young age: “I remember going outside to see comet Hale-Bopp and stargazing with my Dad.” But it wasn’t until 2019, when he moved to Rakiura and set up the company with his wife, Jen, that he was able to share his passion for the night skies.
“[Rakiura] is the southernmost Dark Sky Sanctuary in the world and that makes it one of the best places in the world to see the southern stars and the Aurora Australis (Southern Lights).”
I’m driven far enough away from the town’s (very minimal) light pollution for an optimal dark-sky experience. Unfortunately, the stubborn clouds which have stayed throughout my trip don’t budge. Through brief gaps, tour guide Al is able to tell me about the constellations I can see: The Southern Cross, the Magellanic clouds (dwarf galaxies orbiting the Milky Way) and the brightest parts of the Milky Way, which are easier to spot from the Southern Hemisphere.
The following day, as I’m on the ferry back to the mainland, I’m treated to a different kind of glowing sky: Flame-red and orange light dances around the horizon as the clouds finally clear. I try to capture it on my camera but my efforts are futile—the Foveaux Strait is notoriously choppy.
But that, I muse, is perhaps part of the magic of Rakiura. You realize the true extent of its beauty not through a camera lens, but by slowing down and tuning into the living, breathing ecosystem that reminds us that the world is still in the hands of Mother Nature.
Frances Carruthers is a British freelance writer based in Queenstown, New Zealand. She loves writing about adventure travel and can usually be found in the mountains—whether that be hiking, trail running or skiing. Previously a staff writer at loveEXPLORING and loveFOOD, her work has also been featured in Huffington Post, the Guardian, Women’s Health and Quarterlife Magazine.
