By David Farrier

In winter there’s nothing I like more than extreme midnight walks in the bush, preferably up a raging riverbed.

One of my favourite walks is west of Auckland at Karekare. I don’t really want to go into specifics of locations, as it’s probably quite dangerous just talking about this ridiculous pastime.

When it comes to around June, my friends and I purchase headlamps for $20 a pop and meet up at about midnight. Tuesdays are good. So are Sundays. We take whisky, nuts, water, togs, spare batteries (nightmare scenario: headlamps run out) and a change of clothes.

The aim of the midnight bushwalk is simple: hit a riverbed and walk up it. Leaving the river for land is a sign of weakness. Eels are out at night and the beam of the headlamp can catch them at their most terrifying – when they’re big, close and curious. Your vision is always dictated by the narrow beam of your lamp: it’s claustrophobic and exhilarating.

Some parts of the river are a simple walk, with water barely passing over ankles. Other parts – the fun parts – are more challenging. You climb up small waterfalls, all slippery and uneven. You scale rock jutting out of murky pools, imagining what lies beneath.

At certain points you encounter huge kauri – once felled and transported by river – wedged between the river walls. They criss cross up the rock face like giant climbing frames. It’s quiet, mostly, but now and then a scream will pierce the air, as possums fight or make love or do whatever the hell they’re doing.

We emerge from the bush about three hours later. We’re wet and cold, but feel alive, happy and tired. You always sleep well after one of these missions. And the whisky helps, too.