There is one area of the North Island which retains more of New Zealand's primal wilderness than any other: the West Coast of Northland is home to the last remaining stands of the most impressive of native trees, the kauri. Prized by the Maori and the European settlers for its height, breadth, straightness of growth and resistance to weather, the wood of this tree was long used to build dwelling places and ocean-going vessels. In particular it seemed pre-ordained to become the masts and spars of European sailing ships. Such was its popularity that within a century of the first European settlements over 99% of kauri forest had been felled.

Today, only pockets of mature trees remain. These can reach 50 metres in height and 30 metres in circumference; once it reaches its mature height (after roughly 100 years of growth) it stops growing upward but continues to grow outward, becoming fatter over time. The trees can reach an age of perhaps 2000 years, making the kauri the largest and oldest-living tree in Australasia. What is more, thanks to its immunity to rotting, by use of preserved fallen trees scientists have been able to construct a complete tree-ring chronology going back almost 40,000 years; this is the most complete record of climate change available in the southern hemisphere.

I was lucky enough to be able to visit some of these kauri trees as part of my trip back down south to Auckland. I had decided to travel on the West Coaster bus service, and was fortunate to get the seat next to the driver, which meant I had the best views of any passenger. The driver was quite an entertaining chap, too. Setting out from Paihia at 9am, we drove casually across to the west coast of Northland and stopped at various small towns & other sites of interest, not least the kauri forests. The weather all along was cloudy but rain was held at bay most of the time. The natural scenery of this region is marvellous, and reminded me a little of the East Cape in its palpable remoteness from civilisation.

Sooner than seemed possible for an eight-hour bus trip, I found myself back in Auckland's hustle and bustle. I walked up from the bus stop to Melissa's backpackers and checked in for the night, then went out for a bite to eat (sushi, of which there is plenty in this city) and a few hours online, catching up with myself in cyberspace.

On the morning of my last day on the North Island I caught a cab over to Kerry's office to retrieve my luggage. Then I proceeded to Auckland's Maritime Museum, which is housed in a waterfront building in the Quayside area of town that is devoted to the Americas Cup yacht race. The museum is full of replicas of historic ships and other maritime materials; to be honest it isn't really my cup of tea, but there was enough of interest to keep me there for an hour.

I got back to the hostel in time to see Melissa for a little while before she left for lunch with her friend Shannon. Then I went out for some lunch myself, settling on more sushi in an Asian food hall on Queen Street. I had an hour to kill before catching the airport bus, and then I made my way with what is effectively all my worldly possessions to Auckland International Airport. I got chatting with a few people on the bus, including one nutty English guy who sounded like he hadn't had anyone to talk to for some months - at least, he didn't seem to know how to shut up! At the airport, I dropped one of my bags at Gayle's office and then headed over to the domestic terminal to await my flight to Christchurch.

I was met at Christchurch by Bernard & Amanda. Once my bags came through we drove to Amanda's mum Dorothy's house and had a cup of tea with Dorothy & her husband Noel. It had been a longish day and I sank happily into the spare bed that had been made up for me.

The next day was Christmas Eve! And it wasn't even as if I felt particularly dislocated weather-wise from what I could have expected in Britain: bitter easterly winds drove thick cloud scudding across the sky above and cold rain whistling through the air below. Not quite the sunny summer sunshine people usually enjoy at this time of year here! If I hear one more person apologise for the unseasonably cold weather I'll scream.

Bernard, Amanda & I met up with Jayne, Amanda's bridesmaid, for lunch at a nearby winery. Unfortunately the wines were a bit naff, but the food was okay and the conversation was lovely. In the afternoon I popped to the shops with Amanda to pick up some last-minute food items for the morrow's feast. In the evening, nonchalantly ignoring the inclement weather, the three of us went to Christchurch's most popular Christmas Eve watering hole, the Dux, for a few festive drinkies. Apparently, while we were there not one but two current All Blacks players walked past us, drinks in hand, but Amanda was the only one to recognise them. Oh dear! Sorry, all you fans out there. The Dux was heaving with young people out to have a good time, and service at the bar was consequently slow.

A couple of jugs of ale later we decided to move on to another bar, and thence to a pub nearer home, and thence to the Midnight Communion service at Dorothy & Noel's church. We were feeling quite merry by this time, and I relished the prospect of a good old sing-song, but in that respect I got more than I bargained for: Dorothy leads the church choir, and at the last minute I was drafted in to make up numbers. Thankfully my sight-singing talents haven't deserted me and it all went swimmingly.

Don't you just love the French? Smelly cheeses, funny accents and a penchant for blowing up Greenpeace ships in New Zealand waters. They're special!

But seriously, folks, let's not forget that it wasn't Jean de Bloggs who sent in the special forces to take out the Rainbow Warrior back in 1985, it was the French government of the time. I happen to know several French people who are as opposed to nuclear testing in the South Pacific as anyone, but - as recent experience with the Gulf War II has shown - government policy is not always a reflection of public opinion.

Be that as it may, I personally have to thank the French for inadvertently providing me with a fantastic wreck dive here in the Bay of Islands. It was a great trip! They've resunk the boat out of the way behind the Cavalli Islands (it was originally sunk in the middle of Auckland's busy waterways) in such a way that it sits upright, which makes swimming through its various rooms much less disconcerting than with one of those ships lying on its side like the one in the Bond movie in Hong Kong which they put new floors in and used as a secret base.

The water was bloody cold again - so no change from my dive in the Poor Knights Islands a few months ago then - but visibility was remarkably good considering the wind & rain we've been having. The dives felt relaxed and cheerful; I rediscovered the place inside myself where I forget I'm underwater and I just float about staring in wonder at everything around me, and my jaw muscles aren't tight because I'm not noticing there's a regulator hose in my mouth at all. I love diving!

The second dive was in a 'rock garden' nearby, and there was loads of wildlife. We saw these crazy eagle rays that had perfectly diamond-shaped bodies and heads shaped like the oblong you would get if you hung a horseshoe inside a ski sock. Also there were loads of thumbnail-sized see-through floaty things that felt like someone had thrown the snipped-off fingers of washing-up gloves into the sea. Some were swimming (well, floating) along alone, while others had joined together in long chains of eight or ten individuals, presumably to catch food easier or maybe they were mating.

The waters we sped across were mercifully calm and most of the time we had sun to help warm our bodies after wilfully dunking them in seas of only 14 degrees. The double layer of 5mm neoprene just didn't keep out the cold! But at least I wasn't having shivering fits like most of the other people on board.

Back on land, I walked north from Paihia and crossed over a bridge to Waitangi, the site of the original signing of the Treaty that established British (co-)sovereignty over New Zealand and is to this day a source of contention for Maori and Pakeha. There was a Maori dance show which I thought was going to be a bit shite, especially after the excellent show in Rotorua, but in the end turned out to be lovely and full of audience participation - we got to join in on their haka, and had to learn the moves and some of the words as well. The grounds of the heritage site are lovely, and there is a splendid war canoe on display there too. It's really quite well done.

In the evening I caught a bus up to Kerikeri, and on board got chatting with a Canadian woman who lives in Sweden. She was also staying in the YHA so she showed me the way there. Then she disappeared, so I spent a quiet evening doing my washing and reading my book. I was exhausted from the diving to be honest, and I needed a quiet evening for a change.

Tuesday brought rain, and lots of it. I managed to walk to Kerikeri's historic Stone Store area between downpours, and from there walked up to the Kororipo pa site (a pa is a Maori fortified village), founded ca. 1775, from which there are wide views across the winding river and the lands settled by European missionaries in the 1820s.

The Stone Store was built in 1832 to replace an original wooden building of 1819, and had a tide-washed butchery in the basement (I'm guessing tide-washed means the blood was swept away every time the tidal estuary waters rose up the bank of the river and into the building). It was extensively restored in 1998 and they found all sorts of interesting bits of rusty metal, which experts managed to reconstruct into working machines like a bone grinder, various threshing devices and even a printing press. There is additional historical material concerning the early gun trade between Maori and - wait for it - European missionaries. And there was me thinking it was unscrupulous whalers that had sold muskets to the natives.

Next door is the Kerikeri Mission House, which is New Zealand's oldest surviving wooden building, built in 1822. Thanks to the last of the line of the Kemp family (whose house this was almost from the beginning) being an old codger who never threw anything away, when said codger gifted the house to the state in 1974 it was crammed full of all the original belongings, which made it easy to convert the house into a museum of past times. The staff are part-timers who dress up in period costume and tell you interesting stories.

After a spot of late breakfast / early lunch I caught the bus back to Paihia, sitting next to a lovely old lady who was going down to Auckland to visit her daughter. In Paihia, where it was also raining lots, I checked in to the YHA and then went straight out again, to catch a ferry to Russell.

Russell is a small town with a large history. Originally a Maori village called Kororareka, soon after the arrival of the Europeans in the 1800s it became a centre for trade. Quickly, sailors and errant Australian convicts helped turn it into a nasty collection of grog shops and brothels, and it became famous as the Hell Hole of the Pacific. After the Treaty of Waitangi was signed in 1840, the new colony of New Zealand needed a capital. A small village near Kororareka was chosen - don't ask me why - and renamed Russell.

Soon the capital was moved to Auckland, which was more central to the colony (it moved again before 1900 to Wellington, which was more central to both islands of the colony). Kororareka's importance waned and in an effort to gentrify itself it stole the name of Russell from its neighbour. Today it is a sleepy place with original wooden houses, restaurants, and the like. A bit boring, truth be told, but I had a nice tiki tour of the place in a bus driven by an entertaining Maori woman who awakened in me fond memories of my cousin Marion with her fag-flicking gossipy ways.

The sun broke through the rain at about 4 o'clock, and I sat on the waterfront reading my book and soaking up the rays for a few hours. Then dinner in a fancy restaurant (the food was okay) and a ferry back to Paihia, where I wandered around a bit in the hills and on the beach before going back to the YHA. And who should I meet in my dorm but Marcelo, the Brazilian guy from Cape Reinga! He had stayed up there, and didn't get the bus back with us on Sunday, but now here he was. We had a bit of a chat and then turned in.