From Boulder to the Bush: Jack's Waiheke Experience
Waking up to the cool, water-laden air of Waiheke is an experience I never want to leave. Each morning, I’m greeted by the gentle lapping of waves against Palm Beach, the sweet chatter of Tūī and Kākā, and the quiet rustling of fern leaves. It’s a peaceful welcome as I begin another day on the island I’ve been fortunate to call home for two months, a welcome which immediately made me feel at home. And yet, Waiheke is almost the complete opposite of where I come from.
Nestled at the base of the sky-scraping Rocky Mountains in colorful Colorado, Boulder has been my home for nearly half my life. The nature I can explore in my home state is certainly nothing to scoff at—even when compared to the grandeur of Aotearoa’s landscapes. Towering spruce and pine trees, crystal-clear alpine lakes, and 58 mountain peaks reaching over 4,200 meters dot Colorado’s western terrain. Massive herds of elk roam across the state, grazing on prairie grasses and evading native predators like black bears, mountain lions, and the recently reintroduced grey wolves. The dry, high-altitude air carries wispy cirrus clouds across the rich blue sky each afternoon as various hawk, falcon, and eagle species swoop down on their prey. I often asked myself the question: “how could anywhere on Earth ever have more beautiful natural scenery?”
That question was quickly answered the moment I stepped off the ferry in Matiatia. I immediately noticed the stark shift from rocky, sunlit coastlines to dense, lusciously green forest. Aside from the occasional brief glimpses of kāhu and kārearea (reminiscent of red-tailed hawks or peregrine falcons back home), the birds that sang and swooped around me were unlike anything I had ever encountered. As I began my internship with Te Korowai, I quickly started learning the little quirks of the manu and why they’re so deeply loved here.
The Tūī and Kākā have become my morning playlist, their enchanting calls drifting down from the trees as I walk to work. While tramping through the bush alongside the stoat trappers, I’m often accompanied by an inquisitive Pīwakawaka flitting at my side, snatching up any critters I might disturb along the trail. Whenever I stop for lunch outdoors, a Tarāpunga is never far off, circling overhead and waiting patiently for a chip to drop and provide the perfect opportunity. I also remember wondering what the locals were feeding their pigeons the first time a Kererū flew by—its size and color completely unexpected. But of all the manu, I think the Kōtare has become my favorite. Its striking blue and gold plumage always catches my eye as it zips past, perching like royalty while watching the world below. And, of course, I’ve carved out a soft spot for the cheekiest of the cheeky—the bold and endearing Pūkeko.
Beyond the manu, the rest of Waiheke’s whenua stands out through its striking color and ecological diversity. The broad, gnarled Pōhutukawa were the first to catch my eye—clinging to coastlines and scattered throughout neighborhoods. Their fiery blossoms pierce through dense brush with a vibrancy I never imagined could occur naturally. The stoic, though increasingly rare, Kauri trees remind me most of home. Their towering presence and thick, old-growth trunks bring back memories of resting against Colorado’s blue spruce. Even after I leave Waiheke, I know I’ll miss the faint, sweet, herbal scent of Mānuka drifting on the breeze. Their delicate white flowers have accompanied me on every walk and tramp I’ve taken outdoors since arriving. On both my first day in Aotearoa, exploring the Waitākeres, and my first day on Waiheke, I was introduced to the peppery, numbing bite of the Kawakawa leaf. Now, the heart-shaped leaves of this small, powerful tree will forever remind me of the warmth and hospitality I’ve felt since the moment I arrived on the motu.
As my time on Waiheke reaches its end, I find myself holding tightly to the sounds, scents, and colors that have become so familiar. I will miss the tranquility of the motu, which has welcomed me at the start of each new day. I will miss the vibrant, ever-changing natural landscape that seems to embody the spirit of the island itself. But most of all, I’ll deeply miss the people—those so deeply connected to the energy of Waiheke, whose fierce dedication to protecting its uniquely charming and vitally important native wildlife has left a life-long impact.
