Tiritiri Matangi is one of those rare places where you can truly switch off, and I mean really switch off. There’s no Wi-Fi and barely any phone reception, so your mobile pretty much turns into just a camera. And honestly? That’s kind ofthe point. The island moves at a slower pace, and you do too. You breathe deeper, walk slower, and notice all the little things you usually miss in the rush of everyday life.

Winter might just be the best time to visit. The sugar feeders are buzzing with life, hihi/stitchbirds and korimako/bellbirds darting in and out, filling the air with this incredible, layered birdsong that somehow manages to be both chaotic and calming. Just find a bench nearby, sit still, and listen. You might spot a tūī hanging around, trying to sneak a sip of sugar water, though they’re way too big to get in. It’s kind of cheeky and charming all at once. And when you really stop and let yourself tune in, it’s wild how much you hear.

If you’re up for a walk, my go-to is the Kawerau Track. It weaves through some of the island’s oldest forest, where the trees are tall, the light filters in soft and green, and the forest feels… grounded. The track kind of invites you to slow right down and just be. No rush. No noise. Just birds, trees, and that gentle hush that only old forests seem to have.

Winter’s also peak fungi season, and yes, I get way too excited about that. The forest floor becomes a treasure hunt (my favourite kind), dotted with tiny pops of colour and weird, wonderful shapes. Bright orange caps, little inky fans, coral-like clusters growing out of moss and bark. They’re not just pretty either, fungi are these underground powerhouses, breaking down dead stuff and returning nutrients to the soil. Total decomposition superheroes. They even help store carbon in the soil, doing their bit to keep forests resilient in our ever-changing climate.

Further along the trail, there’s a little stream. If you’re lucky (and patient), you might spot a kokopu gliding through the water, almost ghost-like. Everything here feels ancient, like the forest is holding old stories and every now and then, it tells you one.

And don’t forget to look up. The tree ferns are quietly doing their thing, with their fronds slowly unfurling in perfect spirals. I always pause to check the crooks of the trunks, sometimes, just sometimes, you’ll see a sleepy ruru/morepork tucked into the ferny shade. Spotting one always feels like a tiny bit of magic.

Right now, the kohekohe are flowering. It always surprises me, these small, delicate blooms sprouting straight out of thick tree trunks. There’s something so beautiful about that contrast. And the birds clearly agree, you can hear them hopping between blossoms, taking full advantage of the nectar buffet.

Every time I come here, I’m reminded that this island exists because people had a dream, and they made it happen. Walking under those old pōhutukawa trees, seeing the fresh green fronds beside their gnarled branches, it feels like nature’s way of saying thank you. Like the old and the new are growing side by side.

If you’ve got the time, I really recommend cutting across Fishermans Bay Track when you’re up on Ridge Road. The walk along the coastline up to the lighthouse gives you these incredible views, with dramatic cliff edges that feel totally different from the bushy side of the island. It’s also where I’ve been lucky enough to hear the call of the mātātā/fernbird and spot flashes of bright green kākāriki darting through the shrubs. It’s a bit quieter out that way too, which makes those special wildlife moments even better.

My absolute favourite bird on the island has to be the takahē. Every time I see one, it fills up my inner bird bucket, there’s just something about them. The way they walk is so deliberate and a bit clumsy, it’s hard not to smile. And their feathers? Iridescent blues and greens that catch the light like a living jewel. There’s a pair that often hang out near the lighthouse and another pair that sometimes up the north end of the island, so keep your eyes peeled, you’ll never forget the moment you spot one.

So if you’re feeling a bit frazzled or just tired of scrolling—come over for the day. Leave your phone on airplane mode and listen to the birds instead. Take a deep breath. Wander a trail. And let Tiritiri Matangi remind you how to slow down and just be again.