The wild and beautiful Hauraki Gulf islands

Reporting from Great Barrier Island, New Zealand — 

I walked along a wild, isolated beach, my bare feet sinking into damp sand as I listened to waves tumbling onto the shore. A lone surfer was catching foaming swells and then disappearing into the sea, popping up later in another place with his board. I had seen no one else in the two hours I’d been walking.

Earlier that day, a nine-passenger twin-engine Islander had deposited me here, bumping down on the grass runway at Great Barrier Island, 65 miles and a world away from Auckland, New Zealand. Great Barrier is part of the Hauraki Gulf islands, which dot the waters off eastern Auckland.

Some travelers crave cities; others love historical places. I’m obsessed with islands -- in the U.S., the South Pacific, the Indian Ocean, wherever. The Gulf islands are my latest find. They range from islets so small they’re basically just rocks rising from the sea to others large enough to have communities of thousands of residents. Less well known than New Zealand’s Bay of Islands to the north, they nonetheless would win a paradise-of-the-Pacific award for their balmy seas, beautiful coastlines and unique flora and fauna.

“Down under isn’t like anywhere else,” Steve Billington, my guide, said as we drove through a stand of gargantuan native trees on Great Barrier Island.

I didn’t argue; the trees had unfamiliar names, such as kauri and pohutukawa, and their extreme height and girth left me nearly speechless. Other examples of the country’s odd species are legendary, including goofy birds such as the kiwi -- a bird that doesn’t fly -- and the kakapo, the world’s heaviest parrot. Too fat to fly and too stupid to remember it can’t, the kakapo spreads its wings and falls like a rock.

New Zealanders safeguard their odd birds, giant trees and wild and beautiful places. That’s one reason 70% of Great Barrier Island is protected by the Department of Conservation.

The more than 50 Hauraki Gulf islands are part of a maritime park the agency administers. Some of the islands, such as Great Barrier, offer recreation and can be explored by visitors; others are off-limits.

The islands closest to Auckland can be reached by ferry in about half an hour. Before coming here, I had soaked up the ambience for a few days at Waiheke Island, the most popular -- and most populous -- of the Gulf islands. I walked a few blocks from my downtown Auckland hotel to Fullers Ferry Terminal, where I paid $23 round-trip, hopped aboard a boat and eavesdropped as other travelers talked about their plans for the day. Most involved sipping a little -- or maybe even a lot -- of wine.

Waiheke, known for its wineries, galleries and gourmet cafes, is a million miles removed from the untamed beauty of Great Barrier. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it, especially the tasting rooms offering Cabernet Sauvignon.

Waiheke’s scenery and laid-back vibe draw domestic and international visitors alike. The 36-square-mile island, once considered the outback, has turned into a pricey suburb of Auckland, with nearly 8,000 residents who commute to work by ferry.

But its green hills, white sandy beaches and stunning hilltop views of Auckland and the gulf make it a natural stop for visitors too. The bonus? It has become one of New Zealand’s trendiest boutique wine regions, with more than two dozen wineries, many of which offer free tasting. I spent most of my time on the island enjoying the spirited ambience of places such as Mudbrick Vineyard & Restaurant and Stonyridge Vineyard & Veranda Café.

But I also explored the sunny beaches between Oneroa and Onetangi bays and took a bush walk to photograph the Auckland skyline in the distance. Then I collapsed at the Boatshed, a Nantucket, Mass.-inspired lodge with a three-story lighthouse suite overlooking the sea. (Accommodations in Waiheke range from about $22 a night for backpackers to high-end $500-a-night luxury digs.)

The other Gulf Island on my itinerary was Rangitoto, site of the area’s largest volcanic cone. (Despite its rep, I wasn’t worried; the last eruption was 600 years ago.) Fullers ferry again offered transportation ($18 round-trip), this time to a moonscape of rugged rock formations and lava tubes set off by 200 species of moss, plants and trees. The eerie landscape alone is worth the trip, and the steep, strenuous hour-plus hike to the summit (2,952-foot elevation gain) offers another spectacular view of the gulf and Auckland.

Back in the city, I stopped off to meet John Banks, Auckland’s mayor, who described himself as “America’s biggest booster in the city. I’m unashamedly pro-American,” he said.

And he wouldn’t mind seeing a few more U.S. and Canadian tourists spend time in his city -- or the nearby Gulf islands. “We don’t have world-class nightclubs here, but we do have spectacular water and islands and offer open, fresh-air experiences.”

New Zealand is a 13-hour flight from Los Angeles -- Banks calls it “only one-night’s sleep away from LAX” and offers Americans a first-rate deal. Our dollar buys a lot; it’s worth $1.34 in New Zealand currency.

On to Barrier

Auckland, with more than 1.3 million residents, qualifies as New Zealand’s largest city; nearly a third of the nation calls it home. But I’d come here to see misty mountains, rugged beaches and verdant rain forests, not city sights. Great Barrier Island was calling.

The flight (about $70 each way), would take only about half an hour, we were told. The seats in front of me held a couple of college students:

“Oh, I’ve never been in a small plane before,” she said, tittering nervously.

“I like turbulence,” he said, putting his arm around her. She didn’t seem comforted.

Soon we were airborne. I scanned the sky and water, hoping to see a pod of whales or dolphins. I’d read that the gulf is a busy highway for marine mammals, with orcas, sei, minke and Bryde’s whales often seen sliding along with bottlenose dolphins.

The green, mountainous island of Great Barrier approached; cows grazed below but didn’t look up as we buzzed over them. I could see a line of perfect Pacific swells sweeping onto an amazing crescent-shaped white beach. Then we were heading down the runway, scattering a flock of birds.

“You won’t find street lights, an ATM or a bank on the Barrier,” said another passenger, obviously a local. “But we do have two stop signs.”

They also have a place that seems a million miles from reality. The kind of place you might expect to see a castaway living on a powdery white beach in a shack built from driftwood.

As a matter of fact, there were several castaways here a couple of years ago when the BBC reality television show “Castaway” stranded 13 Brits on an uninhabited part of the island and left them to fend for themselves.

Not a bad life, I thought to myself as I looked at towering sand dunes, steep, green rolling hills, and a seemingly endless number of beautiful, half-moon-shaped beaches.

At 110 square miles, the island is the largest in the gulf. It was named by explorer Capt. James Cook in 1769, and its history includes whaling, mining and logging. Today, its 1,500 residents depend on sheep and dairy farming, besides tourism.

During the peak summer season -- underway now -- visitors come to surf, mountain bike, swim, fish, kayak, explore the island’s hot springs and hike its lush tramping trails. Guests camp, or stay in cabins, holiday houses or lodges, many of which also serve meals. (Accommodations range from about $20 to $550 per night.) Life slows down; things don’t always happen on time -- they happen in “Barrier time.” Friendliness comes with the territory, as does national pride.

“God spent five days making New Zealand and one day making everywhere else; then he rested,” said a bearded Kiwi named John whom I met while tramping. (If I were in the U.S., I’d say hiking, but I’m not, so the word is tramping.) I could almost hear the national anthem playing in the background as my new friend continued, “We’re a pretty nonconfrontational people. Our navy has no warships, our police don’t carry guns, we have no poisonous spiders or natural predators. And if that isn’t enough to make you wish you lived here,” he said with a laugh, “we love our doggies.”

Riding the waves

I spent much of the next day touring the island with Steve, of Great Barrier Island Tours. We drove along the western beaches, a favorite of surfers from around the world. Again, I could see a lone surfer riding the waves and I wondered idly if it was the same one I’d seen when I arrived.

A highlight of the day was a two-hour guided walk through Glenfern Sanctuary, a 150-acre wooded preserve near Port Fitzroy ($55 for two).

I felt as though I were entering the forest primeval. After a hike along a ridge top, we started down a shady hillside; the farther we walked, the taller the trees and the darker the path. Light filtered through a forest of ancient kauri, New Zealand’s largest and oldest trees. We walked along a boardwalk, enjoying the damp coolness of the woods. Birds sang.

I paused at a swinging suspension bridge, my fear of heights welling up. Holding my breath, I pushed ahead, walking quickly across the bouncing bridge. It led me into the crown of a massive 600-year-old kauri tree. Then I climbed a ladder to a platform more than 30 feet above the forest floor. I could see down the valley to the harbor at Port Fitzroy miles below.

“Yes!” I shouted, shattering the forest’s stillness. I waved my hands high, flashing V for victory signs. OK, so it wasn’t Mt. Everest. But I could pretend.

I kept on pretending that night, when I celebrated my feat with a dinner at Mount St. Paul Lodge, an opulent 19th century-style colonial manor house overlooking the sea. Manager Trish McManaway was up to the task, producing a four-course meal that included rock Cornish game hens with wild rice and grape stuffing.

Before dinner began, however, McManaway introduced me to my accidental dining companion for the evening, Ian Wilson, the Londoner who owns the lodge. He hadn’t visited for more than a year.

“Why Mount St. Paul Lodge?” I asked him. “You live on the other side of the world.”

He replied that the island’s beauty drew him, especially its surf. Since arriving the day before, he’d surfed almost constantly.

“It was great, and there was no one else out there,” he said.

I’d found my anonymous surfer.

latimes.com/travel