I’ve rarely been anywhere where birds are so thin in the air or on the ground. A mere handful of species – several of them flightless and nocturnal – have survived the ravages of introduced European predators, and now exist in tiny numbers, mainly on offshore islands. The sun is already setting as we arrive at the lonely quayside. The faint purr of an outboard motor soon materialises into a small boat approaching from the island. Within minutes we are heading out to sea and into a blazing sunset. The mainland-island transition is magical: twenty minutes and we step out of the boat on to a wide, sweeping beach overhung with majestic pohutukawa trees. Anxious to see our first kiwi we are out again as soon as we have eaten. The moonless night sky is splattered with stars – the southern Milky Way, so much more intense than that in the northern hemisphere. Our path takes us back down towards the shore and we are suddenly aware of the sea: phosphorescence! The tiny waves lapping the beach are glowing.
