Elisabeth Easther visited Great Barrier Island's Glenfern Sanctuary and found plenty to crow about.
The word "paradise" is bandied about too much these days, but you'll be hard pressed not to use it when you visit Glenfern Sanctuary on Great Barrier Island.
This privately owned pest-fenced wildlife sanctuary, overlooking Port Fitzroy, is committed to creating a safe haven for a range of native species. Take a guided walk through native forest blooming with life and you'll also be treated to outstanding views of bush and gulf. It's easy to see why the sanctuary's founder, Tony Bouzaid, fell in love with the property and devoted the latter part of his life to its restoration.
We pitched up on a bright blue spring morning, just in time for a kaka to swoop in for breakfast. The raucous parrot flitted down and sat obligingly in the big fig tree for photo opportunities. Making a meal of the proffered slices of apple, he elegantly stripped the fruit from the skin with his hooked sabre of a beak.
I could have stuffed the peckish kaka all day but it was time to go to the classroom to hear managers Emma and Scott talk about the sanctuary and what makes it tick.
Fitzroy House was built in 1901 and Glenfern Cottage in 1923 and were the original homesteads when the area was farmed. The houses and land fell into disrepair until, in 1992, Tony and his family fell in love with the property, bought it and worked tirelessly to restore it.
Over 10,000 trees have been planted on Glenfern since Tony had his dream, mostly propagated from seeds he found while striding across the island, opting for stock that suited the area rather than introducing saplings from outside. Today 70 per cent of Great Barrier is a conservation park and while no possums or goats are on board, there are rats, wild cats and one of the worst plagues of rabbits you'll find anywhere in New Zealand.
The writer tests the swing bridge to Glenfern's ancient kauri. Photo / Neil Stitchbury
That's where Millie the wonder dog comes in. Scott and his 18-month-old Jack Russell terrier are devoted to pest control and already the canny canine is proving herself invaluable at sniffing out predators. Fitted with a GPS monitor, Millie sweeps across the property scouting for foes while her movements are spatially referenced using complex algorithms, helping to narrow down the areas that need to be controlled and baited. As a result the bush is regenerating healthily, as are the wetlands.
Until recently, pateke (brown teal) were on the critically endangered list, but this dabbling duck's numbers have grown to the point that they're now classified as "recovering".
There are also good numbers of toutouhai (North Island robins), Cook's petrels and taiko (black petrel) which look like a mini-albatross. This impressive bird can dive up to 9m beneath the ocean and, with a wingspan that averages 110cm, they fly all the way to South America to hang out before returning to New Zealand to breed. Emma hopes the black petrel will be named Forest and Bird's Bird of the Year - if you fancy casting a vote.
Glenfern's not only for birds, though, and chevron skinks, weta, puriri moths, freshwater kokapu and kura (indigenous crayfish) also flourish.
I was impressed to learn about Karen Walker (not the fashion designer), who takes sick and injured birds into her Tryphena home and nurses them back to good health.
The patients are sent to her on the morning post bus and, once she's magically revived them, she posts them back to Glenfern where they're returned to the bush.
The guided walk is magical. Starting with a steep hill climb by van, we were taken to the wetlands where pateke numbers are growing. Sadly, Tony died before the wetlands were up and running but there's a touching monument to him at the top of Sunset Rock where the views will blow your mind. Tony's old cricket hat - legend has it he was either wearing it or looking for it - has been bronzed and fixed to the eponymous rock with a plaque.
Deep in the bush we came upon Glenfern's piece de resistance, a mighty kauri that's thought to be between 200 and 600 years old. If you feel game and have a head for heights you can cross a swing bridge to the trunk then climb a ladder to a platform fixed high in the forest canopy. Hugging the trunk didn't feel silly at all; I was reluctant to let go - ever.
