n the dark we quietly walk along the forest track around the edge of Lake Rotokare, occasionally tripping over tree roots. The damp musty smell of fern leaves wafts in the air. As I follow the red light ahead of me I can barely see the path and a twig snaps underfoot. We stop for a minute and listen. I hear the distant call of kiwi in the forest above us. Somewhere nearby I can hear the shuffling of leaves and high pitched sounds but softer than the usual kiwi call – perhaps it was a juvenile. The shuffling comes a little closer but nothing comes into view. Not wanting to disturb the bird we
