Standing on the edge of a silent rainforest in New Zealand’s central North Island, our heads are bowed in prayer. “E te Atua, te kaiwhakaora mo tenei wa,” our softly spoken young Maori guide intones, as he asks God “the bearer of life” for guidance to choose the right pathway for our walk.

We are about to enter the ancient forest now called Whirinaki Forest Park. It’s a stark contrast to the landscape we’ve driven through to get here.

Not far away, towering exotic pine trees in neatly planted rows line the sides of New Zealand’s State Highway 38. They are part of the Kiangaroa Forest, 160 million trees covering 148,000ha, the largest man-made forest in the Southern Hemisphere.

For a while as we drove it seemed the lines of pines would never end, but now we are in a different world.

Rui Kohiti, a guide with Whirinaki Rainforest Walks, has grown up in this area. “Welcome to my backyard, my playground, my hunting ground,” he smiles.

Walking in the rainforest beneath giant podocarps opens a window on how the Maori of Te Urewera once interacted with the land and how they retain their closeness with it. Rui promises to share some of the taonga (treasures) of this place…and it’s a promise he fulfils.

Long before European settlement in New Zealand, Whirinaki Forest had special significance to the iwi (tribes) of Te Urewera, who depended on it for food and medicine.

As we wander at an easy pace through the soaring trees, Rui explains that while he will share what knowledge he can with us - in the spirit of manaakitanga (hospitality) - he cannot explain everything, for much must remain within, as determined by tribal protocol. Sometimes he hesitates, seeking the right words…like many local Maori, English is his second language.

We peer up into the giant trees around us, species which evolved in the Jurassic era – rimu, totara, matai, miro and kahikatea. Kahikatea is New Zealand’s tallest native tree, towering up to 65 metres, about 10 metres taller than the legendary kauri.

This land is a huge contrast to the volcanic ash and pumice country that makes up most of the Rotorua/Taupo region and was much fought over by the tribes who came to feast on its rich birdlife and edible plants.

With Rui’s guidance, we hesitantly taste some of them. There’s pikopiko, the delicate fern fronds which taste a little like asparagus. Then the toi toi – avoid its razor-sharp leaves, but happily chew its soft roots. Horopito – the pepper bush – spices things up.

A week later, in New Zealand’s cosmopolitan capital, Wellington, at a dinner cooked by one of the country’s top chefs, Peter Thornley, my scallop dish is adorned with pikopiko in thyme butter. I’m thrilled to see the bush lessons come to life, and the connection continues with the next course, pork tenderloin rubbed with horopito. Thornley is not alone among New Zealand’s culinary wizards in using Maori bush food; it is a growing trend.

In the bush, plants which deadened nerves were used to treat toothaches or fractures, and others for ailments including mental disorders, stomach upsets and battle wounds. Some Maori communities till use these remedies in settlements remote from doctors and hospitals, the knowledge passed from generation to generation.

At the spectacular Te Whaiti Nui-a-Toi gorge, we pause on a bridge to watch the clear, clean water rush below. Rui points out in the walls of the gorge the evidence that these forests have been destroyed millennia before by volcanic eruptions which are part of the cycle of life in this part of the world. A major eruption at Taupo about 2000 years ago left charred logs that are still clearly visible in pumice deposits on the gorge walls.

About 20 years ago, Whirinaki Forest Park was rarely out of the headlines in New Zealand, as protesters tied themselves to trees to stop the ancient giants of the forest being felled, and mill workers blocked roads to stop the environmentalists getting into the forests. Whirinaki Forest sits between the Kiangaroa pine plantations and Te Urewera National Park, and was commercially logged for about 40 years. The Kiangaroa pines were planted in the 1930s, replacing old scrub forest on land that had proved unsuitable for cattle. With the fastest growth rate in the world, the forest is now on its third rotation of trees, with 90 per cent of its timber exported.

British botanist David Bellamy and other conservationists waged verbal war with the New Zealand Forest Service, at that time “guardian” of the country’s vast conservation estate. It was a battle they won: the logging of native forests has stopped, and the forest giants sit in peace. The 60,000ha of Whirinaki – about the size of the island of Singapore – has been fully protected since 1984.

Covering that conservation battle for the local press was former journalist and conservation writer Chris Birt, who now owns and runs Whirinaki Rainforest Walks.

“Later, I found myself at Murumurunga marae at Te Whaiti, on the edge of the Whirinaki rainforest, and loved the place so much I kept going back.”

He says it was “almost inevitable” that he would end up in the wild recesses of the rainforests. In 1990, he established the North Island's first regular multi-day trekking operation, which limits its groups to small numbers (less than 20) on each trek. The 120km of walking tracks in the park were already there, created by the forestry industry.

“Like most who venture into the New Zealand backcountry, I've learnt a lot in the intervening years,” he says.

Birt believes tourism will play a major role in the economic revival of the Whirinaki area of Te Urewera and its Maori people.

The end of logging at Whirinkai was a death knell for small towns in the area. Minginui, in the Whirinaki River Valley, was built in 1948 as a forestry town which once boasted huge sawmills, shops and services, but is now home to only about 80 people. In Murupara (pop. 2000) unemployment is high, and Te Whaitai has a population of about 12.

“There is 75 per cent unemployment in these settlements,” says Birt. Those who want jobs must leave the area, but it is not an easy choice; tribal connections are strong. Tourism, he says, is helping give people a focus again.

At Murumurunga marae, near Minginui, there are two meeting houses. The oldest was built in 1888, in tribute to the Maori warrior Te Kooti who fought against European settlers at the end of the Maori wars and hid in the Ururewa rainforest. The second was built in 1936. The marae is open to groups of visitors who can stay overnight as part of their trip, with the whole Maori community becoming involved in welcoming and hosting them.

As we finish our walk, Rui grabs his guitar from the back of the van. As he tunes it, he tells us the story of how his people, the Tuhoe or “Children of the Mist” got their name, and of the special connection between Man and Tane Mahuta, the God of the Forest.

From the forest, the tangata whenua - the original people of the land - drew their spirituality. As the day ends, Rui draws us together for another prayer. The words may be foreign to us, but there’s no question of giving thanks for this forest, in anyone’s language.