Adventure in the New Zealand bush

By SIMON HEPTINSTALL

Along the floor of the gorge in the Coromandel peninsula, exotic plants shone with slippery humidity, colourful birds chattered overhead and there were unidentified eerie rustlings in the undergrowth.

Yet my mind was focused on just one thing: Kiwi Dundee's bare legs. I was wearing creepy-crawly-proof jeans tucked almost air-tightly into the thickest socks you could buy.

My long-sleeved, hooded top defied even the cheekiest mosquito to find some bare un-repellent-sprayed flesh. But my guide, Doug, was striding through the thick vegetation in baggy shorts and T-shirt, singing at the top of his voice. It was as if his tree-trunk legs were inviting any passing insects, snakes or spiders to come and have a go "if you think you're'ard enough".

Suddenly, he turned and beamed into my face: "This is the greatest bloody country in the world, isn't it, mate?"

I nodded with a weak smile. He slapped my shoulder just short of dislocation and we marched on. All the while, Doug was jovially pointing out rare plants, insects and birds, and talking about the history, geography and ecology of the area.

Tourism Dundee-style isn't just a breath of fresh air; it's a tanker-load of liquid oxygen. He can customise a tour to take in anything you want - but you'll see it his way. His "adventures" mean feeling, touching and smelling the country right up close.

In the role of Crocodile Dundee, the Australian comic Paul Hogan may have portrayed a fictional equivalent, but Doug "Kiwi" Johansen is the real thing. The nickname was awarded by a newspaper, which ran a poll to find New Zealand's rival to the Aussie film hero.

Adventurer, environmentalist and tourist guide Doug didn't even know he'd been entered, but he was the perfect winner. He'd spent his whole life on the Coromandel and was already well known as the man who had rescued a group of walkers from a ferocious flash flood by swimming through a swollen river ... twice.

He'd also single-handedly carried a dozen injured people out of the bush to safety, one by one, and had survived falling 14m out of a tree. And he'd once jumped into the sea to ride on the back of a hammerhead shark. Oh, and his personal diving height record is 30m. Now Doug's known as Kiwi Dundee and he takes small groups on nature hikes and adventure tours.

I joined him for a day on the Coromandel. Kiwi lives nearby in a cabin with fellow environmentalist guide Jan Poole, whose party trick is to surprise her walking groups by suddenly leaping from a rock into a tiny freezing pool far below. They seem an ideally matched couple.

The first time I met Doug he shook my hand with enough force to uproot a medium-sized tree.

"Look at this, mate," he boomed. "The air's so clean here you can't bloody well see it."

There was a moment's silence, then he broke into a huge craggy smile, walloped my shoulder and we were off.

At one point he stopped and pulled apart the leaves of a giant kauri fern as if he were unveiling a plaque, to reveal a stunning view of jagged volcanic mountains rising through a white lacy sea of mist.

"I know a path up that one, if you fancy it, mate," he said, pointing at an impossibly vertical pinnacle.

"Er, perhaps if we have time," I replied, looking at my companion struggling up a slight incline behind us.

Further on, Kiwi cheered us up by eating some disgusting-looking things he found under a tree and then washing the slime off his hands using a plant as a natural soap.

The Coromandel is constantly under threat from companies wanting to dig open-cast gold mines. "There's hills in them there gold," is Kiwi's favourite protest.

Cleverly, Kiwi arranged for our day's tramp to end at a deserted mine dating from a gold rush of 100 years ago. He was subtly making a comparison between the short-term gain from mining and the timelessness of nature. It was persuasion verging on downright bullying.

I was cajoled into a disused tunnel by torchlight. When the torches were switched off, I realised we were surrounded by millions of glow-worms. It was a strangely beautiful moment.

Encouraged, I willingly entered a smaller tunnel, bending low to avoid the roof hewn from the rock. Kiwi stood blocking the entrance. I wasn't suspicious. Kiwi would save us.

He folded his arms and delivered a talk about how difficult it was for the men to sleep in such tunnels. "Why's that?" I asked.

"Because of these," said Kiwi, shining his torch up. It was a nightmare vision. The roof writhed with wetas.

"They're the biggest, heaviest insects in the world. They weigh more than 70g. And they have a habit of dropping off the roof on to people." At that point, national hero or not, no man could have withstood the onslaught of two people desperate to escape a cave full of falling wetas.

- INDEPENDENT

Kiwi Dundee

Nature New Zealand

* A one-day trip with Kiwi Dundee costs from $132 a person and includes lunch.

Ph (07) 865 8809.