One More Island Before Middle-earth

By this point in the expedition, we had learned to respect an open window in the itinerary.

Our flight from Wellington to Auckland did not leave until 4:50 PM, which meant the morning was not empty. It was available.

Kapiti Island had been on my radar, but I was never completely sure it would fit. That morning, the math worked. There was time for the drive, time for the ferry, time for a few hours on the island, and still enough cushion to get back to Wellington before our flight.

So once again, we said yes.

The drive north was scenic in the way New Zealand drives often were: hills, winding roads, flashes of coast, and the feeling that even getting somewhere counted as part of the adventure. By the time we reached the ferry meeting point, it felt like we had managed to sneak an entire extra experience into a day that could have been nothing more than travel logistics.

We arrived with enough time to spare, which meant we did what we usually did with extra time in New Zealand: we wandered and looked for birds. The beach and nearby water gave us a few familiar species before the ferry even arrived. After a week in the country, birds like Silver Gulls, Kelp Gulls, and Pūkeko were no longer brand new, but they still helped set the scene.

One fun quirk of New Zealand birding is that many people refer to the local Silver Gull as the Red-billed Gull. Under some taxonomies it is treated as its own species, while others, including Merlin, recognize it as the New Zealand red-billed form of the Silver Gull. Either way, one look at its bright red bill and legs makes it easy to see how it earned the name. By this point in the expedition, even common birds felt like part of the rhythm of the country.

Before we boarded the ferry, the conservation work started in a very practical way: everyone's bags were checked.

Not for the usual travel concerns.

For rats.

Kapiti Island is predator-free, and that status is protected before visitors ever step on the boat. The staff checked bags carefully to make sure no unwanted passengers were making the trip with us.

Watching them inspect Stacy's pack became one of the funniest moments of the entire trip. She looked at me and said something along the lines of, "I would DIE if they found a rat in my bag."

It was funny because it was so absurd—and because New Zealand's island conservation work is serious enough that it did not feel absurd to the people doing the checking. Every visitor becomes part of the protection plan before the adventure even begins.

One of my main targets for Kapiti was Pōpokotea, the Whitehead.

I had highlighted it from the start of the trip, partly because New Zealand's island and forest birds had already trained me to appreciate each new member of that world. After how hard we had worked for Mohua on Ulva Island, I was bracing myself for another long search.

Instead, we heard and spotted Whiteheads almost immediately.

There was a huge amount of relief in that. It was not the dramatic last-minute gift Mohua had been, but it was satisfying in a completely different way. Sometimes the bird you have been worrying about simply shows up and lets you enjoy the island.

The Weka was a different kind of lifer.

As we walked the island, we kept barely catching glimpses of them off the trail. They were there, close enough to know they existed, but never quite where I wanted them for a clean photograph.

Then we stopped for another simple picnic lunch.

Apparently that was the invitation the Weka had been waiting for.

One walked right out into the open near the bench, completely changing the experience from a frustrating series of half-glimpses into one of the most memorable bird encounters of the day. It was curious, bold, and wonderfully unconcerned with the fact that I had been trying to photograph it all morning.

Kapiti felt much larger than Ulva Island because it was. Ulva is about 660 acres, while Kapiti is roughly 4,856 acres—more than seven times larger. Ulva had felt compact and intimate, a small predator-free forest where birds seemed to appear around every corner. Kapiti felt broader, taller, and more open.

The main mission was accomplished: Whitehead and Weka were both officially on the list. But the island left me wanting more. There are overnight kiwi tours on Kapiti, and by the time we left, it was easy to imagine returning someday with more time and fewer flight constraints.

We made it back to Wellington with enough time to spare before our flight, which meant the day could shift one more time.

After several days of predator-free islands, native forests, and conservation stories, we stopped at Wētā Workshop.

The transition was almost funny. In the morning, we were looking for Whiteheads and Weka on Kapiti. By afternoon, we were standing among trolls, armor, weapons, miniatures, and film props.

But it still felt connected to the larger New Zealand story. This trip had already shown us how much of New Zealand's identity is tied to landscape, imagination, and the worlds people build around them. Wētā was a celebration of a different kind of wonder: not preserving an ancient world, but creating one.

Just when we thought the Lord of the Rings portion of the day was over, Wellington Airport kept the theme going.

The airport was filled with giant figures and dramatic displays. Eagles soared overhead. Smaug watched from the terminal. It was easily one of the best-decorated airports I had ever seen, and after the Wētā stop it felt like the city was giving us one last theatrical farewell.

By the time we boarded our flight to Auckland, the expedition had shifted again. The birding was not finished—not even close—but the next day would lean fully into another side of New Zealand.

That evening, we landed in Auckland and checked into the hotel that would carry us through the final stretch of the expedition. The next morning would bring caves, glowworms, rolling green hills, Hobbiton, and, because this was New Zealand, a few more birds waiting to be discovered.