From the moment we stepped off the boat, away from the excited school group, out of the wind and into the bush, birds.

They were everywhere. An embarrassment of endemic species. Big fat Tui thumping around in pairs. Saddlebacks with their rusty stripes. Bellbirds calling. Kakariki parakeets. ‘Look!’ said our wonderful guide, Anne, ‘there’s a rifleman in that stitchbird nest!’. New Zealand’s smallest bird, maybe half the size of a boiled egg, darted about the bush. Generally only young people can hear the super high pitch of their call. Can you hear it? Asked Anne. Me and my two buddies looked at each other with blank expressions. ‘We’re getting old, lads.’

It’s so easy when you’re on Tiritiri Matangi Island to start taking your experiences for granted. I must admit to feeling just a bit guilty about how many times I stared up at a sagging branch, and a dopey plump kereru, and thought, ‘Damn, you would make for an excellent roast dinner.’

We came across a couple of giant weta, and stood for minutes staring every time we came across a North Island Kokako jumping through the trees, a dinosaur in the branches. Up through the bush at the historic Tiritiri Matangi lighthouse and DOC hut, a flock of pukeko and two massive prehistoric-looking takahe padding about, ripping at the grass. They could have been domestic chickens for their nonchalance. They’re still amongst the world’s rarest birds.

That night we ate early, put red cellophane over our headlamps and headed back out into the bush. The Tiritiri DOC ranger reckoned we had a 50-50 chance of seeing a Kiwi. I’ve travelled the world but until this week, I’ve never seen a Kiwi in the wild. We paused every time the movement in front of us felt like more than wind.

‘What was that?’ Look quick!’ a bum scurried into the bushes.

‘Was that a Kiwi?’

‘I think so.’

The next sighting had no such ambiguity. The little spotted kiwi stood there at the edge of the bush and stared as down. We gently turned our lights in its direction. Easy...easy. It paused, then rushed into the bush. What an amazing animal.

A few hundred metres on, more movement on the track. My brother in law’s excellent senses - and bam. A first wild Kiwi sighting was matched by my first look at a tuatara in the wild. We walked back to the Doc hut elated, a penguin battling up the hill a few metres in front of us.

I would be lying if I said it was a great night’s sleep. Maybe it was the Kiwi buzz, maybe it was the DOC mattresses, or maybe it was knowing the alarm was waiting for us at 5am. Whatever the reason, we didn’t need the alarm. We were up and out the door well before five. Each of us with a camping chair under our arms. We walked down silently to a spot in the middle of the bush. Sunk into our chairs, as comfortable as possible. And waited.

We heard the song of a predator free New Zealand. I know it’s a lofty goal. I know it’s wildly ambitious to imagine that by 2050 we can rid ourselves of introduced predators. I know the idea has its share of detractors. But the noise, the chorus was all the convincing I need. Ambition is a good thing. It would be absolutely worth it.

LISTEN TO AUDIO ABOVE