Category Archives: friends

Big Finish Line Party – Naseby

With a bit of encouragement, Naseby was chosen over Kurow for the second Big Finish Line Party. For my part in that, I came up with some waypoints that gave plenty of options for a good few days of bikepacking in Central Otago, provided some photos and booked the pub. How much and where I would ride depended mostly on how the weather looked and desire to go some new places.

Andy and Eileen happened to be down south for a mix of work and biking; unfortunately I was doing a bit of Rail Trail work Labour Weekend so missed joining them for the long weekend loop north of Naseby. Nevermind, it was fun to have friends visit Naseby and show them around – even if it was a fairly bleak Labour Day. Plans were hatched for riding throughout the week, Andy to join us when work obligations were done with. Eileen and Andy having driven to Clyde, the plan worked better for me to ride over the following day.

After a lot of time driving and working around the Otago Central Rail Trail the preceding few weeks, I was aware I may find riding the flat, easy trail a little tedious. But overnight snow on the hills giving way to a clear, crisp and still day alleviated those fears. It was a stunning day and I revelled in the hundred kilometre commute to the northern trailhead.

Looking east to the Kakanuis.

Across the Ida Valley to Rough Ridge.

Up the Ida Valley, Hawkduns in the distance.

Bit dryer heading into Poolburn Gorge.

Poolburn Viaduct.

Hawkduns again, further north over the Manuherikia Valley.

Just before the gorge, a small group of e-bikers and I started to overtake each other. With a loaded bike, I was fine with eventually being passed on long gradual climbs – but there was pride at stake at not being able to overtake them downhill into Omakau.

Off Tiger Hill looking over to the Dunstan Range.

I only began to warm up mid-afternoon dropping into Alexandra, where it was time for a long-overdue catch-up with Ruth and Jonny. A cuppa and chat turned into dinner and a lovely evening; eventually heading for Mark and Paula’s hospitality and more chat near Clyde.

Still a bit of snow around the next morning, the sun was fleeting.

Eileen and I headed out to ride the Lake Dunstan Trail, first time for her, third for me. After a bit of creak-chasing in Mark’s impressive bike workshop we headed out. Despite the overcast day muting the normally brilliant colour of the lake, it was a far better experience with much less traffic both on the trail and across the gorge on the highway.

At this time of the day, the coffee and burger boats were open. As if we needed another reason for our leisurely pace; tasty burgers.

The trail engineering still impresses.

At Cornish Point, it didn’t take long to prevent each other talking ourselves into riding further to get another BFLP checkpoint. So turn we did to find by mid-afternoon the trail is all but deserted; there’s a lot to be said to be waiting until all the riders hiring bikes from and being shuttled by local companies have had their outing for the day… Our ride finished just in time, sneaking in for gelato just before the shop shut.

As much as I was keen to head up to Poolburn Reservoir and camp at Serpentine Diggings the following day, the forecast suggested it would be a really bad idea up at that elevation. Pity, another time; getting a lift back in a work van I headed home to await Eileen & Andy arriving and further scheming for the two days we had left to get to the BFLP.

The forecast looked good enough that we would get to climb the Rock & Pillar Range and stay in Big Hut – a hut I’d wanted to stay in for a long time. With only a half-day of riding involved and rain due early in the day, it was a leisurely departure hour. Even then, we were stopped at a bakery in about half an hour and topping-up supplies at the last resupply for the route. Managing to sneak in a couple of flat, straight gravel roads new to me was a bonus – even if they did seem to stretch inordinately. Not really having planned this section, we were fortunate that a Bailey bridge across the Taieri had only that week been opened on a minor road – the original bridge having been washed away in floods two Christmases ago. Ignorance is indeed sometimes bliss.

Much too early for the pub to be open, this building next door always catches my eye.

After fifty kilometres of gentle valley floor riding, we finally began to climb joining the Old Dunstan Trail at Styx/Paerau. From a distance, it’s an imposing climb and I’ve had three memorable rides up it. This one would also be so; thankfully it wasn’t baking hot. However, Andy wasn’t feeling great and trooper that he is, struggled through one of his hardest day’s riding (as I’d later learn) with no fuss. The wet gravel sure was slow and energy sucking though.

Upper Taieri windings.

Back over the Maniototo to the Hawkdun and Ida Ranges. Naseby Forest visible back right of valley.

We easily found the turning off the gravel Old Dunstan Trail onto the 4WD track up to and along the Rock & Pillars.

Down to Loganburn Reservoir.

Following old fence lines (signs of farming on ranges around here still bewilder me somewhat) along the ridge; steeper than it looks, some pushing involved.

Just the odd patch of snow stubbornly remaining.

East to the Pacific. Fun spotting those two bumps of hills right of centre – riding between them was part of my standard twenty kilometre loop from parents’ Waikouaiti home.

Plenty of schist fenceposts remain, even if the fences are no use now.

Cutting across to Big Hut.

Avoiding a surprisingly swampy section just above the hut.

Made it, seven hours and not quite eighty kilometres.

Can confirm, it is a big hut.

With plenty of daylight left, we settled into the hut as the wind built. Built in the late ’40s for skiers, reading the exhaustive history boards was both interesting and entertaining. Originally it held seventy intrepid skiers who would mostly travel from Dunedin to Middlemarch and then hike the two or so hours up the range on a Friday night for a weekend of skiing. With no tows or chairlifts, learning to ski up here sounded mostly like falling down the hill for a bit before the exhausting hike back to the top through the snow to try it all again.

Nowadays there are a more modest number of bunks in two rooms, a kitchen, an enormous common room (table tennis anyone?) and a large drying and ski (bike) storage room. The oil burner has long been removed and there is no heating, so I imagine winter trips never manage to warm such a large space – it was cool enough up there late-October. That the hut and outbuildings all have wire guys attached to big metal stakes gives an indication of just how windy it gets up there.

Ropes to the toilets, lest someone get blown away.

Trying to catch the last of the light, but the wind was well up and I soon retreated.

Remains of Top Hut, the original accommodation – somehow thirty people slept in this space.

It blew all night, thankfully Andy was feeling no worse the next morning – possibly even a bit better. We set off towards the summit, half an hour of ridge riding before the exhilarating drop of eleven hundred metres on rugged 4WD track to the rail trail.

I took a brief tour to jog to the actual summit, can’t not when it’s right there. Looking south east to the Pacific. Trig didn’t stand a chance up here.

North west to the Dunstan Range.

Not far down, I took another little detour to check out the recently refurbished and more recently condemned Leaning Lodge – doesn’t meet building code or some such bureaucratic nonsense.

I had a bit of snow to skirt as I approached the hut.

Nice spot.

Looked perfectly fine to me; I didn’t linger, returning to the main track to catch up to Andy and Eileen. Much fun, as dropping off these Central Otago ranges on rough tracks always is – I did miss the company to share the descent with, but that was my doing! Catching up to find Eileen and Andy waiting under a large shelter belt, we were soon out of the farm and on the Rail Trail again. With Andy sensibly opting to head for nearby Middlemarch and a shuttle back to Naseby, there was a chance to further hunt down the creak plaguing Eileen by swapping rear wheels. In doing so, success – it was pinpointed as coming from the rear axle.

That sure is a fun descent!

While bikes were in pieces, along came another bikepacker! I was very pleased to meet Paul and find that he’d had a great week collecting all five waypoints and rode the route – the only rider to do so. Saying bye to Andy, Paul joined us for a couple of hours of pleasant rail trail riding and much chat all the way to a big Waipiata pub lunch.

Thankfully magpies didn’t add me to the tally on this trip. The ones I encountered didn’t seem to make contact when swooping – most odd, but definitely preferable.

Stuffed full of the renowned pies and large fries, lunch legs somehow carried us up the hour-long, gradual two hundred metres climb to Naseby on quiet gravel roads (admittedly most of the gravel roads around here are quiet). The heavy shower that passed by while we lunched didn’t repeat until just as we got in to town – so another trip not requiring a raincoat, bonus. Andy had beaten us home, and we had plenty of time to rest and clean up before wandering down to the Royal for the Big Finish Line Party.

A bit down on numbers from the inaugural event, nonetheless it was a very enjoyable evening hearing people’s stories of their routes to Naseby and catching up with bikepacking friends old and new. Organiser extraordinaire Andy made the drive all the way down from Christchurch to hear what we’d been up to, and take the minutes. A most enjoyable week tootling around Central Otago on bikes, avoiding the worst of the weather, admiring the scenery and spending time with good mates – can’t ask for too much more.

Mt White Station

Postponed five weeks after a lot of rain put paid to the original date, a few days out the forecast wasn’t looking much better this time around. Thankfully it improved enough that we shouldn’t get too wet – from the sky, at least – for our weekend at Mt White Station in the Canterbury high country. Heavy snow as we drove along the Arthurs Pass highway was less encouraging, but as we approached the turnoff the cloud lifted a little. Ten of the original twelve met at the homestead before noon. All our luggage was loaded into a Landcruiser to be delivered to the hut, and our bikes were loaded only for day-rides – luxury, and the not the end of it. I’d even brought my trail bike, willing to trade a faster bike for a much more fun one.

Driving in, and the whole weekend, brought back many happy Tour Te Waipounamu memories – it was even better to be reminiscing with Andy, as we had a very enjoyable ride through the station that day early last year. On that day, we noticed that a lot of money was being spent on the farm – many new buildings being constructed. That has continued with two new huts being built further up the Esk Valley (one of which we would stay in for the weekend), significant roading and fence work was also apparent.

We pottered to the hut, seventeen kilometres and a modest amount of climbing, on the main road over a couple of hours high above the Esk River – of which we caught occasional glimpses. The rain stayed away, the snow was disturbingly low and it was cold. The road rode well; that is, until we got beyond the big, shiny, new bulldozer and the surface was mud of the tacky variety – drivetrains didn’t sound so good after those few kilometres.

Up on the terraces above the river; as for TTW, a lot of riding would be on these, with frequent drops to streams, rivers and then grovels back up.

Up the Esk Valley.

Back down the valley.

Sticky.

Home for the weekend.

Twelve bunks, insulated, fireplace, hot water, showers, well-equipped kitchen, a fridge-freezer – couldn’t ask for much more in the middle of nowhere! Soon the kettle was boiling; I couldn’t leave my tea to join the rush to go further up a side valley straightaway. Instead enjoying the cuppa, some quieter moments and then a shorter ride up Camp Stream and down Baldy Stream with Nina and Bryan.

Up the Pukio valley, we’d shortly head off left, in front of the nearest patch of bush. Unsure what pearls Bryan is expounding here.

There was a dozer track adjacent to the creek, so it was easy going. We spent sometime exploring for the best route to the saddle at the head of the valley. I think we just wanted to mosey around a bit before accepting our fate and pushing up the steep and obvious dozer track to a small lake.

Back at the hut before the others, there was more tea and we began trying to make our way through the excessive amount of food that had been driven. Between courses, Bryan, Nina and I went for a stroll down from the hut to see if we could get closer to the waterfall flowing into the Pukio just above where it joins the Esk. We didn’t make it, but did manage to get halfway down to the river and generally amble around in the cool of the evening. It helped to make room for the huge and tasty curry that Andy had made.

The plan for Saturday (cold, no wind, low cloud, but not rain) was to head further up the main valley, cross the Esk then head up Grant Creek and climb to the historic Cattle Creek Hut. Plenty more TTW memories, it was nice to have a bit more time to appreciate the area – even if the weather wasn’t nearly as pleasant.

Down to cross the Pukio.

Before climbing back to another terrace.

Now time to get across Ant Stream.

More terraces; but this time we stayed low, crossed the Esk, followed it up a bit before turning up the Grant valley just to the right of centre-shot.

Rob and Andy rescued a ewe from down a bank. The almost-completed Terrace Hut in background (turn-off before drop to Ant Stream).

Up the Grant Valley.

Before long, we left the stream and pointed up for a two-hundred metre climb. Steep and with no gravel surface, just more mud, we were all walking up there.

Twas a decent push.

Could be the intriguingly-named The Candlesticks range in the background.

I reached the hut right on noon and had a bit of time to poke around in solitude. Quaint hut and still well used by mustering gangs, but my word it was cold. Set back in the beech forest, it wasn’t getting much light and the wind was blowing straight in. Lunch inside

The skeleton of the hut hadn’t travelled far.

Others came and went, but I was trying to appreciate the time there and was in no rush – waiting to eat some more with Bryan and Nina. Andy had mentioned going back to Anderson Hut (further up the Esk, and where we’d had a freezing night on TTW), but I had no desire to go back in the cold and see it again.

Nina’s photo.

Forty-five minutes was enough in the ice box, I bid Nina and Bryan farewell and turned to see if I could catch the others. Turned out, I could – even with a big head start, some return on pedalling a bigger-bike-than-necessary around all weekend. Catching Andy, as so often, stopped shooting video it was much warmer down at 800 m; suddenly I was keen not to return straight to Esk Hut but instead make the most of exploring this vast place a fraction more. We could cut from the Grant-Esk confluence to further up the Esk on a recent track and miss out a fair bit of backtracking and then climbing to the main road.

Off the two of us went, it only took twenty minutes to join the road for the last three kilometres to Anderson Hut.

Anderson Hut just beyond the upper Esk. The spur we rode off the Dampier Range on TTW just behind it.

The door closes now! Not that it mattered to me; only room for two in the hut, most of us slept out that freezing night.

Andy, for some reason, was not keen to push our bikes back up the Dampier for the fun downhill. I escaped Anderson Hut this time with neither of my socks being stolen, we turned for twenty kilometres down the valley to Esk Hut. Of all places to find a fiver lying on the trail, the back of Mt White Station would be one I’d least expect!

This tree held my attention for quite sometime, most of its roots seemingly doing a poor job of being in the ground.

Another Esk crossing; Andy having no memory of the steep little climbs between the terraces. I remembered them all too well.

Fun riding down this valley with Andy again, which gratifyingly again came with frequent requests to pause and then ride for the camera. I took a short detour up the Ant Valley to check out Anna Hut (unsure why it’s not beside Anna Stream) before returning to the main road and finding Andy setting up another shot.

A short stroll up Surveyors Knob to get a different perspective. Esk Hut is on the end of the terrace extending from below the bush at right of shot.

Fifty kilometres and seven hours on mixed surfaces, I was starting to tire – the price for the fun bike. The last climb really was a grovel; I walked a lot of what I’d normally ride. Sign of a good day exploring? I think so. We got back to find most everyone had been back at the hut for hours – they missed out. But they did a grand job of keeping the food appearing – I was delighted to find out Yorkshire Tea loaf is a thing (how I didn’t know before, I can only marvel), and it’s delicious and commonly served with cheese (just gets better); I may have finished it, yum!

Definitely not a eat-what-you-carry bikepacking trip.

Another pre-dinner walk was in order to break up all the eating. This time, an easier, more direct way down to view the falls near the hut.

The closeness of such hairpin turns in the river caught my eye.

This stream rises near Surveyors Knob, and from such flat surroundings I was surprised by how much water was cascading.

After another large dinner, we were treated to Nina’s slideshow of her experiences dogsledding, attending a fat(-bike) training camp and then returning the following year to ride in, and complete, the 350 mile Iditarod Trail Invitational in the Alaskan winter. Biking in, or just trying to survive, temperatures down to -50 degrees Celsius was adventure far beyond what most of us could comprehend. Absolutely fascinating, and humbled our own efforts and hardships overcome.

Sunday morning and there was still ridiculous amounts of food left and, considering it was only seventeen kilometres out, we made a good effort at not taking much home. Seventeen kilometres for those keen to ride straight out, that is. I was not – there was still more exploring to be done and who knows if I ever might get the opportunity to return? Nina was keen, and Andy may have been as well – but as I had the car key, he may have felt he had little choice! Up the Pukio we went for ninety minutes, past the part of the valley where a family long ago lived for thirty years with a dairy herd – carting their cheese over the Dampier Range to market (it was bad enough with a bike). Perhaps they named the Mounds of Misery. (I’ve since heard how difficult farming Mt White is – stories not-uncommon winters where all stock are lost.) We dropped to get a view of Lake Grace, the Cox River and McArthur Gorge (where the river, for seemingly no reason, changes name to Poulter East Branch).

Up through the old dairy farm area.

From the top of the Mounds, looking up the Cox valley.

Over to Brown Hill, on the other side of the Poulter.

Lake Grace.

Cox River.

We turned and headed to Camp Stream, making faster time – the downhill overcoming the breeze in our faces, just; but not fast enough to catch Nina, who’d turned around thirty minutes before us. Plenty of undulations on the main road back, I may have been a bit tired – but we were zooming down to the remaining vehicles before noon.

Back to the homestead.

So that was an excellent weekend exploring some of the interesting and staggeringly vast Mt White Station – very much recommended. Cold, but not windy and I never had to put my raincoat on. Thanks to all the group for making it the weekend it was, especially all that food! Extra thanks to Nina for organising and sharing her snow and ice biking stories with us.

The usual bonus from riding with Andy, and for making it through such a long post – a different take on the same trip that takes far less time than reading this far (the second half of which just seems mostly to be of me having fun on a bike, oops).

Canterbury Alternate

Unfortunately, with a week of heavy rain forecast, our long-planned and highly anticipated weekend exploring Mt White Station was postponed. But with another trip planned in tandem the following week, it was still worth heading to Christchurch early to catch-up with friends and attempt to get a little riding in and some fitness back after a strangely inactive winter (unusually wet in Naseby, and winter ills didn’t help).

Andrew and Richard were keen to get out for some rain-riding in preparation for a slightly insane upcoming event; I was happy to tag along as it wasn’t a daunting plan, despite the forecast. A hundred-odd kilometres on the Friday, backpacker accommodation and a pub meal, a shorter return the following day; easy. Meeting in Sheffield after eight, it wasn’t too early for one of the famous eponymous pies. I was surprised how soon the gravel started off the highway (immediately) as we headed southwest towards the Rakaia river under grey skies. I was slow, but had a chance to catch breath as Richard dealt to a flat tyre early on.

Easy going to start.

New places to me, we were soon through Whitecliffs and on another section of provincial highway. Spotting a “Defence Area – Keep Out” sign, I was a little mystified – didn’t know there was a military base out here, but there was a second sign so I wasn’t seeing things. Off the highway, we didn’t drop to the river – staying on its true left as we headed towards the mountains. Past the top of Zig Zag Rd, things looked a little familiar from halfway throughTTW last year. Easy going with a slight tailwind up the valley.

Oh yes, I remember this plethora of signs in the middle of nowhere. Continuing straight was new again and took us to Lake Coleridge village and a lunch stop.

There began about five hundred metres of elevation gain, the gradient never really getting above five percent – but my lack of riding was soon shining through, feeling decidedly flat (me, not the hill by any means). This shouldn’t be this hard, but nothing for it to keep an eye on the scenery, continue eating and keep pedalling.

Across the Rakaia.

Over the penstocks to the Southern Alps.

Things flattened briefly as we rejoined the TTW route near the end of Lake Coleridge. The Lake Lyndon road was apparently closed for winter, so it was odd to see some inappropriate cars giving it a go – folk from the city looking for snow! It had all been washed away with the rain. Another long slow climb to another lake, the surface being wet and slow didn’t help – but mostly it was a lack of fitness. Richard had had Covid-19 more recently than me and was suffering even more, even I in my state had quite a wait at the lake.

Out to the highway and a short pinch climb up to Porters Pass, before the long descent to Springfield where a hot shower, a pub meal and a miserable excuse for a futon awaited. A good day on the bike, strangely tough for a benign route (good training for something), some new sights, fun company; alas, none of the promised rain.

Just a few hours of easy riding planned to get back to cars, but we’d been told we could ride in the forest at Mt Misery (yippee) en route. This soon became questionable as with the earth sodden from all the recent rain and clearly some big winds having ripped through, there was tree-fall like I’ve never seen in a plantation forest. I’d have preferred to go to the summit, but around the hill we went. Thankfully, the double-track had been cleared of the fallen trees; this meant the surface was both sodden and chewed up. Slow-going, but it could have been a lot worse.

Just as well I had a sacrificial drivetrain – expecting wet and grit on the West Coast the following week.

The Defence Area signs made more sense seeing what we couldn’t see from the road on the other side of the valley floor the previous day. Munitions dumps, cue too many memories of reading about process safety incidents, design and the hierarchy of controls.

Eventually we got out of it and climbed on decent forestry road.

Reward for the little climb and slow surface.

Best example of the storm damage in there.

The fast descent off the hill was much appreciated and we were back on the roads to Sheffield, and another pie. Sodden farmland everywhere, looked like a tough winter as some paddocks more resembled swamps. Malvern Hills Rd strangely wasn’t hilly, mostly just skirting the base of said hills. Done by lunchtime and back to clean up, eat, and rest. Still none of the promised rain.

Sunday I’d arranged to catch-up with Mark, hopefully over a gentle two or three hour ride. But agreeing to take the passenger ferry across Lyttelton Harbour to the notoriously hilly Banks Peninsula the writing was on the wall; Grant arrived just as we boarded, by then it was in screaming capitals. My first taste of bike riding on the peninsula was going to be very climby.

But with a day like this…

The calm before.

The sealed climb out of Diamond Harbour passed quickly enough in the cool of the morning and with plenty of chat; maybe a bit too fast. Soon the drop to Port Levy – the only place I’d previously spent any time in the area, a few days of eating, sleeping and barely moving trying to overcome the fatigue and limping post-TTW. I certainly didn’t spend those days riding up four-hundred metre climbs back to back.

Down to Port Levy on the climb out.

By the second summit, I was done. I could either turn back now alone and retrace my steps, or continue with three more climbs (the next the toughest, the following the biggest) with Mark and Grant. Riding alone was not the point of the day, but I’d only brought snacks for a few hours. But encouraged by word of a pub lunch and plenty of snacks to be shared – the choice to continue on a glorious day to see some new places in fun company was the only one to be made. I’d be slow, but I’d get there.

Down to Pigeon Bay.

The Pettigrews Rd climb was, I was told later, not the easiest way to the Summit Rd – but at twelve percent for over half an hour, it was not as tough as the impression I got of it beforehand. Still, I lagged. The reward, delayed by ten minutes of riding along the ridge, was the Hilltop pub and a lot of tasty food (even chicken chips/crisps, which I generally detest, tasted good) soon disappeared.

View to Akaroa Harbour wasn’t bad either.

A fresh descent of Harmans Track was over in a flash, to leave us with the slightly less steep, but much longer and higher climb up Western Valley Road. It certainly went on, but with all that food I wasn’t falling so far behind. Unfortunately the drop back to Port Levy was a bit mucky with recent forestry traffic, but fun all the same before the last four hundred metre climb of the day had us back at Diamond Harbour with time for refreshments before the ferry back across the harbour.

An excellent introduction to Banks Peninsula riding, I survived and hopefully got a bit of bike-fitness back – plenty of food certainly helps. Thanks Mark and Grant for the encouragement and all the chat.

That was about the riding for almost a week around Christchurch, I must return for some more. Special thanks to Jo and Andy for such generous hospitality.

Four Peaks and Orari Gorge via Blue Mountain Station

Due to the excellence of the two previous bikepacking trips Andrew had invited me on this year (this one possibly the best I’ve been on, this one not far behind), I was a deadset starter for a much less ambitious overnighter as we head into winter. Since dislocating my shoulder again (I may get around to telling that story) on the last day of summer, long days on the bike have been absent. That was in part due to a month off the bike and in part finally getting my new mountain bike together – this autumn, conditions have begged for as much trail riding as possible.

As the plan was only for a hundred kilometres and staying in farm accommodation meant no need to carry camping gear, thoughts turned to how much extra space there would be for food. Fond memories of the feast on this trip to Apiti spurred discussions that we needn’t all eat individual rehydrated meals from pouches – instead we could cook and eat together. Closer to the time, I also realised such a weekend would be a good test of my new bike’s bikepacking suitability – by no means what it was designed for, but something that was in the back of my mind when choosing it. I’d have to carry a backpack full of food and water, and any riding on the road would be a chore, but it seemed a fortuitous opportunity – plus I’m still loving riding it as much as possible.

Assembling in Geraldine Saturday morning, the purple patch of weather had truly ended – after riding straight to a cafe, we eventually got going into the cool and damp gloom. Gradually climbing from the plains into the foothills, I was soon lagging – finally succumbing to putting my raincoat on, only for the rain to stop shortly after, didn’t help.

Nor did stopping for the occasional photo of little note.

Road turning to gravel, there was finally some gradient to help me keep up and engage my riding brain a bit more. Leaving Te Moana River and following Leishmans Stream past some recent logging (my digger-spotting antennae on high alert after much time recently with my nephew) the deteriorating surface soon kicked savagely. A rocky creek crossing entry and exit had me off the bike and pushing briefly. Around a couple more corners, the surface and renewed steepness were too much for both my legs and bikepacking tyres (by design, the wheels for each of my bikes can go on the other). This was the longest and only sustained push of the trip.

The track on the other side of the stream looks a far kinder gradient.

At the top of the big push, we easily cut across the saddle to find a recently bulldozed track down.

Looking over to Doughboy Saddle – not even 900 m, Andrew definitely going easier on us this trip.

Thanks Jo for the almost-group photo.

Such a smooth descent for a farm track! Still, good fun with the occasional creek crossing in the corners. Also Jo’s photo.

A bit of route consideration at the bottom and we were soon on the half hour climb to the saddle – most enjoyable chatting away as the day brightened a bit. Halfway through the distance, after noon and at our highest point – lightening the load of food seemed reasonable. Cue lunch.

Down to the Opuha Valley, with the Sherwood Range sitting in front of the Two Thumbs.

Not looking too weighed down by bags.

Another long descent on farm track. Looking back to Doughboy Saddle, even getting sunny now; we came down the track on the left.

Much fun had on those downhills on a bike far different to the rigid frame one I usually bikepack on. A silly amount of fun really. The phrase “gun to a knife fight” kept crossing my mind. Pleasingly also, for such a bike, loaded, it climbs pretty well without a full lockout – even with the narrower gear range than is common meaning a harder high gear (32:11-42 if anyone cares).

Rob conquering another climb as Devil’s Peak watches over us.

Andrew looking pleased – perhaps with another plan coming together, the weather coming around to his usual standards, or just another long downhill ahead.

Bryan also pleased – perhaps that hut was not overnight accommodation for eight bikepackers.

Another saddle gained, the last sizeable one through Four Peaks Station.

Looking green suddenly for the descent to the Opuha.

Out of the station, we had the opportunity to witness some truly extraordinary feats of navigation before turning for the twenty-two kilometres to Blue Mountain Station for the night. The last section of climb out of the Clayton Valley demanded a surprising amount of effort to gain Meikleburn Saddle.

Rewarded with a fast descent, we were soon cruising down the upper Orari Valley to the Cook House.

Over a shed to the other side of Mt Peel – to that usually seen, that is.

Decent old woolshed too.

Woolshed photos for Andrew Watts.

We settled into our accommodation for the night – The Cook Shop. It wasn’t difficult – wood in from the shed and soon a fire was roaring (down to base layers despite the cold outside), heritage apples were collected from the carpet beneath two big trees (many hundreds more still to fall) and stewed (kudos to Jo for the tedious looking prep), hot drinks were sipped while many snacks were devoured (can there be too much chocolate?) from the comfort of the sleep-inducing recliners.

In one of the more remarkable bikepacking cuisine episodes I’ve seen, Andrew pulled two loaf tins and about two kilograms of dry ingredients from his bags and set to making two loaves of bread! As the evening drew in, various groups moved through the kitchen as the kettle seemed to be constantly boiled for more tea – a big salad was prepared, jambalaya appeared, and a large vege curry cooked all while the aroma of fresh bread permeated.

No danger of a calorie deficit on this trip. Another of Jo’s photos.

Although too full to move, it was a lively evening of much chat. Perhaps helped by those committed to the cause who hauled in cans of beer, about a litre of port, bourbon and coke (although I hear there is a new line of bourbon-scented bikepacking bags about to be released), a wee dram and Glayva. We were so full, we almost forgot the apples for dessert. The riding can’t have been too much for anyone – no one was in bed by nine o’clock.

I’m unsure if it was the bathroom calling or just rearing to get going on another day of riding new places, but everyone was up well before dawn on an overcast, damp morning. Not ideal. But first the serious business of lightening the day’s loads. The second loaf of bread mostly went into tasty French toast/eggy bread, but still ample remained for the jam and honey that appeared from somewhere. More of that tasty apple also disappeared. Packed up and the Cook Shop tidied, eight-thirty seemed very reasonable as there wasn’t even three hours of riding down the Orari and back to Geraldine.

Another almost-group photo, this time by Andrew as he amused us with creative ways of failing to get the camera to sit on the gate.

First up – avoiding wet feet where the track had washed out with a little hike-a-bike. Bryan’s photo.

Not raining yet, but damp still.

Half an hour of easy riding took us to the confluence with Basin Stream. We took a small detour to check out the hut, which seven years ago had been restored to its former late-1800s glory. It had been done so that the restoration was barely noticeable, but those that had visited before told of what a vast improvement it was over the old damp, infested freezer box it was.

I took a photo of the hut. But this is Bryan’s photo.

Here is that photo, as the cloud continues to come and go.

After poking around a bit and deciding that this would be a great base for a few days of exploring the station’s tracks and terrain further, during warmer and longer days, we continued up the valley (jettisoning bags in the hut) to see what we might see. More hills, clouds and some nice little climbs.

No one was tempted to continue gain another five hundred metres in the gloom to the peak of Mt Frances – that can wait for the next visit – so we turned and flew down the hill. The clouds cleared from Mt Peel, and the ridge down to Middle Mt Peel, but clung in the valleys a bit more.

Bryan on the descent back to the hut.

On the way to reclaim my bags from the hut. Another of Bryan’s pictures.

Back beside the Orari, the valley narrowed into a gorge – this gave us numerous pinch climbs to make us earn our descent to the plains. All were rideable, but not quite by me.

I watched from afar at the so-called Gates of Orari as much of the group attempted this particularly tough little ascent.

Carrying as much speed as I could as the approach flattened only carried me a fraction of the way up. The surface was a bit loose, more my rear tyre not well-suited, and it became a low-speed grunt while trying to keep a line with some traction.

Almost there! Another of Bryan’s photos.

Just made it, surprised to get a small applause – heaving lungs showing this one as the most effort I put in all weekend.

An enjoyable descent (see further below for video of me having too much fun on the bike I insisted on dragging around) to the flats, before more testing little climbs.

The rain set in, waterproof layers went on and the camera went away for most of the rest of the ride.

Crossing Andrews Stream (the naming of this didn’t get enough attention really), we were off the wet grassy farm track onto a faster gravel surface which continued to improve for the last hour back to town. While the rain stopped, my fingers didn’t warm much – so it was nice to get back to the vehicles and get into warm, dry clothes. Our excellent weekend together ending with more tasty food and hot drinks in a local cafe.

What a great little trip to get back into bikepacking after ten or so weeks, a fun bunch of riders that all contributed much to the enjoyment, of both riding and sustenance. Thanks especially to Andrew for organising another ripper of a trip; hopefully I can speak for all in looking forward to the next one, wherever that may be.

Well done for making it this far, even if you’ve just scrolled through looking at the pictures. As usual, Andrew has told the story of the trip better with far less text and more pictures…