go pūkeko

Day 0

Noah chucked his bag down and flopped onto the bed. He pulled out his new smartphone from his blazer – the cracks reflected his contorted face. Last time it had been nicked, this time it was biffed to the ground. The raft of messages shouted at him. He didn’t want to open any. The first words were a giveaway and the teardrops just magnified the hate. His stomach ached.

“What’s up with you today, Noah?”

The words sliced through the door. He tried to explain the situation but received the usual level of understanding.

“You have to try harder to fit in…why not take up rugby too?”

His mum only cared about work and Facebook. Grandad often said life used to be more wholesome. People spent time outdoors, visited each other, made things with their hands, had vege gardens and climbed trees. They also built huts like the ones Grandad made with him at the beach when he was younger. Grandad said the old way of life resulted in far less problems than today. He often talked about camping out on the West Coast, crafting spears from sticks to snare flounder in Ōkārito lagoon, under the moonlight. Afterwards, he would cook the fish on a fire, listening to the magnificent sounds of the bush. In the morning, large kōtuku swooped down into the lagoon to catch their breakfast.

Noah picked up his phone, his guts churned; even more messages. He pushed the first:

“we goin 2 kick yr skiny butt 2morrow shithead’’ 

The next:

“No-ah friends ha ha”

The next, a hand drawn stick figure sent to everyone captioned:

“micro dick nerd”

He hit delete delete delete…until every single one had been obliterated into cyberspace. He wanted to explode. No way could he go to school tomorrow. Or even go near that place again. He emptied out the school books from his oversized backpack. He would pack like he was going to Scout camp. 

Day 1

Around each bend in the road, it was the same immense green wall of jungle. Eventually, a recess appeared, a trail reclaimed by the relentless undergrowth. Noah looked up; the sun hung low atop the bush canopy. Shortly, he would need somewhere to sleep. He jumped as a bird landed on a tall Punga and “oooeed”. He could make out the plump white chest and metallic green-purple wings of a kererū. The bird swayed his head towards the opening. The bush looked dense. He gazed towards the kererū, again it seemed to nod as if to enter.

Noah took a big breath and drove his lean frame into the mesh of vegetation. Thankfully he had worn his trackies. The rainforest was alive, invisible creatures startled all around and shadows flickered. He bashed through the thicket of ferns until his chest burned. A fallen tree beside a stream provided the ideal resting place. Noah watched the water cascade over moss-covered stones, as a series of “cheeps” billowed out. He flinched.

It was an alien world for a freckly red-haired teenager from Ōtautahi chocka full of concrete and cars. He took a swig from his bottle and pulled his compass out from his backpack. He was heading west which was the right way. 

“Duh, of course, this stream must go to the ocean,” he muttered.

A “cheep” from the bush seemed to answer him. Noah began to splash through the icy flow which numbed his feet. The snow-capped alps, he had seen out the bus window, would be filling the stream with spring melt. He often lost his footing and tumbled, but then “cheeps” would ring out downstream. Noah sensed the bird was trying to help.

He sat upon a boulder and ate his last ham sandwich from the Hokitika tearooms; finding food would be tomorrow’s mission. The pitstop was interrupted by swarms of locals, the notorious sandfly. He was relieved he had remembered to pack repellent and applied it thickly, before checking his smartphone: 7.18pm. Normally he would be gaming by now. Friday, 14 October, no reception, and battery red. He would save its last drop of juice for later.

Where had the mysterious guide gone? He could only hear occasional distant tweets; it must be getting late for the birds.

“Stay calm,” he fretted. What would those wilderness survival experts on TV do? He concentrated hard and managed to pick up a faint rumble. Encouraged, he splashed on until he found a path. Soon it began to lighten, and underfoot the forest debris turned to sand. He stopped and stared.

An orange ball was about to be swallowed up by the vast ocean. It illuminated a cosy bay, nestled below cliffs chiselled by high seas. Driftwood lay strewn across the fiery sands. The tea-stained stream dissected the bay, as it carved its way out to the foam. Further out, swells smashed over chapped rock formations.

Noah surveyed the back of the bay – left or right of the stream? He went left and found a possie with a grandstand view; however, the ground was boggy. Next moment, something brushed his cheek and landed on a branch nearby.

“Cheep cheep”. Noah, intrigued by the sizeable white and brown fan on a little body, recognized its sound from earlier.

“Hey, what’s up mate?”

The pīwakawaka fluttered, glinted its wee dark eyes, and flew across the stream. Noah realised something remarkable was occurring but tiredness hammered at his brain.

“Wait up…I’m coming.”

He paddled through the water and stepped up onto a bank. Here under some large bushy trees the sandy ground was dry.

“Cool, thanks buddy, this is ideal,” said Noah holding out his hand.

The pīwakawaka spiralled off. Noah threw off his backpack. He estimated   there was around an hour’s light left to make a rough shelter. Firstly, he dragged slender logs from the beach and angled these up to rest on a low branch. Then he gathered armfuls of dried fronds and scattered them on the timbers and ground. It wasn’t a flash structure, but it would have to do. If Grandad had been here, we could have made a kickass one.

Once finished, he climbed underneath and switched his phone onto flashlight mode. He had only managed to pull out a sleeping bag and beanie before darkness struck. Damn, regret not packing a torch.

Snuggled up in his cocoon, he listened to the waves tumble, accompanied by the clicks and rustles of the bush. He thought of the pīwakawaka, and the kererū, bamboozled by how they seemed to understand and reach out to him. They were like mythical creatures from fantasy books. Exhaustion crept up his body.  

Day 2

Noah awoke to song raining down onto the shelter. His belly grumbled, so he clambered outside and stretched his sore pale limbs. The air was fresh, but the sun already dazzled its way over the mountains. A couple of tūī chased each other around the branches then dropped onto the roof. They checked Noah out.

“Hi guys, what ya doing?”

They cocked their heads, chortled, then made off into the bush. They returned with the pīwakawaka who landed beside Noah.

“Morning fella, what are you up to?”

It spread its fan and chatted. The birds here were not bothered by a strange two-legged beast in their territory. It’s like they know I won’t harm them. And men with chainsaws haven’t been here yet.

“I’m off to forage for some brekkie.”

Its tiny head tilted, its miniature eyes brightened, and it flitted off towards the sea. Noah ran across the sand into the frigid waters, where it hovered. To his surprise, dark shapes darted around the shallows.

“Sick, you’re psychic. Noah won’t go hungry now.”

Noah made several attempts to grab the shadows but came up empty handed. He sat down in the wash. As the swell wobbled him about, he questioned his running away and wondered who missed him. He had only ever bailed for one afternoon, before slinking back for a meal and his comfy bed. This time was the real deal. His thoughts shifted to the rugbyheads and soon a steely determination returned. He would make a net. As he hopped up, the tide sucked back to reveal clusters of black mussels on some rocks. Cool, some grub at last. He wrenched a handful off and skipped back to camp, where he prised open the shells with his trusty pocket knife.

After the snack, loneliness sifted in like a sea mist, so he kept busy by strolling the beach. Realisation smacked him once he had sipped his last water rations. Without water I could die. He checked out the stream, not only was it brown, but rainbow patterns filmed its surface. Maybe the pollution came from those lime-coloured pastures inland dotted with cows. Anyway, it was undrinkable. He wondered whether drinking his urine would work, he had heard boys talk about this. Right then the pīwakawaka swept down, did a few loops and made off up the creek. Noah scampered in pursuit trying not to fall on the banana skin stones. They came to a vertical rock face covered in moss and ferns. The greenery oozed with crystalline drops.

“Unreal…You are a life saver…forest ninja,” he exclaimed and slurped at the steady flow of drips before filling his bottle.

The pīwakawaka somersaulted then vanished. Noah wondered how this speck of a creature was tuned into his needs. All the birds seemed to thrive here, buzzing about their wooded land. Flying made them so godly. He craved to be able to soar without needing a clunky contraption like a jetpack.

Noah spent the afternoon inside his hut, the last days had been draining. He thought of his only friend, Jack.

I wished I’d told him my plans; he’ll have FOMO for sure. Maybe mum misses me too. She used to do stuff like movies and bike rides with me. When dad left things changed. It was fun when I could hang out with dad lots. Nelson is far away and he has Sarah now. Anyway, out here in nature I don’t have to worry. Only about finding food. And staying warm at night. And not getting too lonely. The school bullies can’t get at me here. No smartphone works either. Before, one vibrate could ruin my day. It has been shitty since Grandad died last year. If he hadn’t injured his leg chopping that wood, he would be still alive. The falls afterwards nailed him. Grandad was a real Coaster. That’s why mum scattered his ashes over here. I wish I’d been allowed to miss school to say goodbye to Grandad. That really sucked.

A familiar melody rang out from aloft. Dusk deserted the shore and the sea began to whisper. During the night he had to duck out for a pee under the southern sky. The night sparkled; the Milky Way streaked above him like a boxer’s glittering prize belt. He wished back home shone like this, not dulled by all that energy burning to keep the city alight.

Day 3

The sun had traversed a sizeable arc when Noah arose with a fierce hunger. A tūī flew into the tree above, like it was being sucked into a black hole. Moments later it burst out to seek another load of straw-like strands. It’s ability to build a family home using a beak and the barest of materials amazed Noah.

He paced about the hut entrance. The pīwakawaka shimmied off the tree onto his shoulder and began to chitter-chatter. Noah froze and listened.

“Yes…You’re right, I’ve got to keep busy. I’ll do the net now. My Grandad used to take me fishing in his dinghy. He’d get one on and reel it in close. Then whammo, I would scoop it up with one of them nets. Quick as lightning.”

 The pīwakawaka chuckled and sailed off to the sea. It was up to something – Noah tailed behind. He lost sight of the bird so he scoured the beach, only to find plastic fragments, a lamb’s tail ring, comb, straw, and supermarket bag. He was frustrated that the polluters hadn’t thrown anything more useful into the ocean.

Noah sat on the shore; the surges massaged his toes as he anguished over how he could catch the fish. I’d kill for a feed of Maccas to drop out of the sky. No way he could afford to starve and become feeble. He remembered how Grandad shrunk away to nothing at the end, a scarecrow of grey and bones.

After a while, black-tipped wings landed nearby – a seagull. It tussled with something in its beak and kept staring at Noah. He wandered towards the bird who released the item. Noah marvelled at the rusty piece of olive netting. The intelligent world of these creatures also astounded him. He knew they made noises and chirped in the garden. But he was realising so much more; they spoke with each other and worked together. They could even interact with humans.

“Wow dude, that’ll be mighty useful. Thanks heaps. I’ll catch you a fish too…”

Noah trotted up to the hut still somewhat baffled. He unlaced a shoe, picked up a long Y-shaped stick, and went to work. The pīwakawaka watched on; Noah grinned at his companion as he threaded and tied.

“There, that should do it, one killer fishing net. Watch out fishies!”  

The pīwakawaka belted out a song and let rip some acrobatics. Noah joined in, jumping about, then he sprinted to the breakers. He made a series of frantic scoop attempts. But the silver flickers were too clever and quick.

“Down the net goes,

Up it comes

Dripping woes,

For dinner

He’ll be eating his toes,” taunted the mullet.

After many failures he paused. He recalled the boating trips with Grandad, so he changed his technique, leaving the net underwater. Once the fish became curious, he flicked the net upwards. After several goes, he was rewarded with a jiggly mullet.

“Awesome! …You’re not so tricky now, are you, huh?” quipped Noah.

“Let me out, you bastard.”

Noah carried on until he had caught three beauties and a tiddler for the gull. Next, he had to make fire. He had learnt at school that most fish caught in Aotearoa contained microplastics. Noah shuddered, but he was at the hangry stage. It would be a challenge to create fire in the wild, even though he had seen it done in video clips and at Scouts. He was glad the shop guy had talked him into the compass with the inbuilt magnifying glass. Noah made a fist-sized pile of dry leaves and spindly twigs, then focussed the mid-afternoon rays onto the tinder fuel. The first tries failed, so he switched to different kindling. When he was almost out of puff, a wisp of grey plumed skywards, accompanied by a tinge of amber.

“Yahooo, I’m a genius!” he shouted to the rainforest and bounced around like he had won Survivor.

Gradually, he added chunkier pieces until his efforts were guaranteed to stay aflame. He shaved some thin sticks with his knife and roasted his catch. Noah dined with his friend who twirled about nabbing sandflies mid-air. The horizon turned from crimson to magenta above the chattering sea. It had been a perfect day; one Grandad would have been so proud of.  

Day 4

Noah awoke to pain, not from hunger, nor the boys at school – they were far from his thoughts now. Homesickness burrowed deep. He longed to see his mum, hang out with Jack, and even tackle school. I’ll also ring dad and sort out staying there next holidays. Right, decision made, hiking back to the highway it is, but first I’ll gather some shellfish.

When he reappeared with his bounty, a flurry of activity fizzed around the hut. The kererū, pair of tūī and pīwakawaka all whizzed about, their chortles and chirps much louder and shriller.

“What’s going down chaps?” Noah asked.

Their screeches were chilling.

“Shit, big trouble, eh?”

The pīwakawaka flew inside onto his backpack.

“So, I need to pack my gear?”

It flung open its fan, so Noah speedily rolled up his sleeping bag and stuffed it in his pack with the rest of his gear. He blessed the shelter goodbye, knowing it would be soon reclaimed by the earth, or worse still, gobbled up by the rising Tasman.

“I’m ready, where we heading?”

The pīwakawaka made a beeline to a far rocky outcrop, which Noah had not ventured over. There they ascended the steep cliffs. Noah’s fingers gripped the crumbly ledges, while the ocean crashed below. He reached the plateau and almost stumbled backwards from the view.

A long sandspit shimmered, its narrow inlet emptied an enormous punga-dyed lagoon, backdropped by rampaging greenness. Grandad had painted this very image in his stories. He followed the pīwakawaka down and forded the inlet onto the point. There in the lagoon, waded two marvellous sparkling white kōtuku. Their yellow dagger-like bills and elongated necks poked about in the reeds. The pīwakawaka flew across and weaved in and out of the birds. The kōtuku looked across to Noah, then one spread its large serrated wings and skimmed across the surface towards him, reverse thrusting in the shallows.

“Gee…That’s beautiful…Totally mean…But what’s wrong?” Noah questioned.

The kōtuku speared his head repeatedly towards the towering woodlands.

“Okay, we’re heading inland…And fast.”

Instantly the pīwakawaka landed on Noah’s hand and smiled with its ebony eyes. Noah figured at this moment the baton was being passed.

He choked up. “Thank you, my friend for letting me stay…in your kingdom… and showing me how amazing you are…You’ve helped me survive…and become stronger…I will remember this place…forever…and those wicked tunes… Hey, look after our hut in case I…”

Before he could finish, the pīwakawaka rattled off a cheery goodbye and set a course back to the other bay.  

The kōtuku croaked and motioned with its wings.

“Okay, let’s go big fellow, you’re in charge.”

Noah glanced at the hinterland; storm clouds brewed above the milky peaks. He grabbed his pack as the sandflies became thick, and hurried off along the beach. The kōtuku often circled to allow him to catch up. Noah was in awe of this bird, considerable in size yet so graceful in flight. He left the beach and entered the forest on an overgrown track. The kōtuku would disappear, but miraculously appear soon after perched high in a tōtara. He trekked on until thirst and hunger wrestled him to a halt. He drank and cracked open some mussels for a much-needed energy boost.

The kōtuku floated down out of nowhere like a white spirit. He offered up a mussel which was eagerly plucked from his fingers. Noah insides tingled as he ate with this majestic creature, but he knew they had to crack on.

At last, they came across a dirt road. The kōtuku swooped down from the heavens and became animated. It beckoned up the road with its beak and took off. The sky rumbled and heavy drops began to strike Noah’s face. Up ahead the kōtuku waited on the roadside. It wailed. Noah ran to the noise. There on the ground lay a bird. It whimpered and could barely move. The downpour turned angry, waterfalling off Noah as he bent over – a brown kiwi!

“Holy crap! That’s bad…”

The kiwi groaned; its eyes half open.

“Did a car hit you?… Last night?”

The kiwi shuffled his long beak.

“We need to get help super-fast.”

The kōtuku flapped in agreement.

Noah took out a hoody and laid it down. He inched the injured bird onto the fabric, then wrapped it carefully and held the bundle against his chest. The kōtuku took off into the fury with Noah trudging behind. Bright forks lashed the greyness, cutting it into jagged pieces. The rainforest lit up then boomed and shook. Again, and again. The road became a torrent. Noah pushed on into the onslaught. The kōtuku landed in the distance, a lily-white angel in the charcoaled gloom.

Noah stopped alongside the kōtuku. Relief surged within his shivering body; they had arrived at the highway. Here he could hitch to the Franz Josef DOC centre; a likely set of wheels already approached in the distance. The kōtuku walked towards him. Actually, it hobbled, favouring one leg. Noah squatted down with a firm grasp of his patient. The kōtuku unravelled its neck and nuzzled Noah’s face. He stroked the bird as the car slowed amidst the deluge.

“Bye my great bird…I’ll see he is mended; don’t you worry.”

The kōtuku had a twinkle in his eyes and jabbered excitedly.   

The car door opened and a lady leaned across.

Day 5

Noah got chauffeured back to Ōtautahi. The emergency dash to Franz had turned into a luxury stopover. The kiwi would recover well after surgery, and the DOC staff honoured Noah as a true wilderness hero. They could not understand Noah’s affinity with the birds; it was unheard of.

As the vehicle wound through the alpine passes he thought of mum – she hadn’t been mad on the phone. He actually looked forward to school too, nothing would faze him anymore with his special powers.

He reminisced about the pīwakawaka and the other feathered friends, and smiled. And lastly the kōtuku, he pictured its snow-white plumage gliding over the treetops. Then there was its unusual limp. It reminded him of Grandad in his final days.