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Mega GGG 2019

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With a hilly and tough HBAT only two weeks behind us, I was pleased to see six of us backing up on the 200 km longer Mega. This turned the start into a bit of a HBAT-reminisce and catch-up before Pete sprung the honour of leading the forty-odd riders out through the Rotorua morning “traffic”.

Time for a few stories with some HBATers.

A bit more time for a group photo.

This is a bit different to my usual dithering and chatting at the back of the start group.

A few kilometres in we regrouped off the road and headed out of town on the easy cycle trail to Ngongotaha – much time for meeting new faces riding towards the climb up the Mamakus. The route familiar to me, I figured I may as well cut my stops out until the resupply 120 kilometres in at Mangakino. A mild morning with no wind to haunt my memory, the riding was good as riders ebbed and flowed relative to me. Knees still noticeably achey from charging up too many Hawke’s Bay hills, I determined to spend far less time standing on the pedals uphill – which is tough, as I do like climbing.

I allowed myself a brief photo stop; tellingly, my best photo of the day is of a giant scar of a quarry contrasting with the more picturesque backdrop.

Subsequently, I was in no rush over the stretch of the Waikato River Trail that is notoriously punishing with plenty of sharp climbs. As the day warmed I continued to take it easy and walked far more of the sharp climbs than I ordinarily would.

Not stopping had me in the first few into Mangakino where I had plenty to eat and drink, including a big bottle of electrolytes. Many others arrived before I headed for the infamous wire-bridge at the end of Arataki Rd. Mid-afternoon it was hot by now, so much for the forecast 20ºC. While it was toasty, I’d not got it into my head that it was well above that temperature – most reports came back around 30ºC. Mentally, and therefore physically, I was not prepared for such heat and quite rapidly I was cooked. Succumbing to the dehydration of which I seem particularly prone (a disadvantage of having little mass and barrier against such swings?), a rest in the shade was in order as the waves of nausea swept over me and suddenly most of the food I’d eaten that day was rejected.

Completely spent, I tried not to berate myself too much. With some more electrolytes to sip on and cooling a little, almost an hour later I could face limping towards the cabins at Pureora – only twenty-five kilometres, but with most of a 400 metre climb. Moving so slowly, walking much and generally feeling awful gave me far too much time to question why and how I like to ride long distances. Having read my post of the first Mega two years prior recently to remind me of the course, I recalled a discussion about how such rides need to be fun. I wasn’t having much fun as thoughts turned to neglected friends in the Bay of Plenty I could be visiting instead of punishing myself. What’s more, with too many people close to me having significant medical diagnoses recently riding seemed a little selfish and pointless. On the other hand, if I could continue I would – what a privilege to have the time, health, means and freedom to explore our fair land. There was much to see and I knew I’d soon be back enjoying myself; I was really looking forward to seeing the roads from Taumarunui to Kawhia Habour – the most significant change to the course. Also, after last year’s magpie incident I was really keen to avoid another DNF – even if it meant adjusting my expectations, and taking more time off work.

The first time I’ve had to put the much-repeated lesson of “don’t pull the pin at the end of a bad day, wait for morning to decide” to good use, it paid dividends. After taking two hours to crawl to the cabins, some downtime, plenty of food and a thoroughly poor, but just sufficient sleep I was good to go again before five-thirty Saturday morning, albeit a little tentatively. But first, where did this rain come from? The lightest of misty rain, it set in for the gloomy climb to the summit of the Timber Trail. Only near the top did it get sufficiently heavy to have full raingear on. Relaxed enough, the trail was in the best condition I’d seen it and I reminded myself yet again to come back and ride it over more than half a day.

Eighty-odd kilometres of trail went by in a bit of a blur, I passed the lodge and campground mid-trail at around the time those that stay in such places hit the trail – so different people to chat to. Comments above aside, the last part from the Ongarue Spiral to the end was a fair mess. Nice to get off that and ride the deserted gravel to town and a big lunch. Many other riders were coming, eating and going from town; I enjoyed a Full English in good company at the same place I stopped on the Tour Aotearoa. Time for new roads!

Two sustained gravel climbs followed in quick succession and my legs were back – the refuelling must have helped, as did the mild closer-to-forecast temperatures, as I caught up to, chatted with and eventually passed a fair collection of riders. Yesterday’s dehydration effects were long gone, but the memory wasn’t – I ate and drink even more. Dropping into Ohura, I finally got to visit the much-vaunted Fiesta Food Cart. In a town where very little seems to be, let alone be open – a food cart that serves a large plate of fresh Mexican food is quite a novelty.

Thirty kilometres, mostly deserted gravel, had only the slightest of gradients to contend with. The northerly wasn’t too bad to contend with, unfortunately it was rather cloudy. A sudden drop took us down to Aria, before the last little bit of climbing for the day. Here the wind picked up and 200 kilometres into the day, the last stretch became pretty slow. I was pleased to get into Piopio (delightfully pronounced locally “Pew Pew”) in daylight. Well aware of the upcoming downpours, I scouted out some shelter on the way to find the Cossie Club – where a truly massive burger, fries and ice cream sundae were demolished. This was clearly the local and with four of us there in our riding gear devouring large volumes of food, we attracted plenty of good-humoured attention. A local dot-watcher came down to chat all things bikepacking and local AB rounds before we headed off to get out of the incoming weather. That was a far more successful day.

The rain didn’t arrive that night and I caught plenty of sleep with the wind blowing around and through my shelter. Up early and straight into a big climb out of town, it promptly started raining. The lightest rain imaginable as dark slowly gave way to a grey gloom. Gravel, native bush, farmland – all on the winding path north. At times the rain was heavy enough to don full raingear, but that didn’t usually last long. Raingear was promptly removed as, while it was head-windy, it was never cold. I’d love to go back and ride these roads again and see a bit more – so quiet and they felt so remote. Four and a half hours into the day, the first car passed me.

Shortly before ten o’clock was just in time for the breakfast menu at the Oparau Roadhouse. I arrived as the heavens opened again.

Catching up for the last five hours, and fuelling for the next six.

A few of the riders I’d passed with my early start, and that I’d not seen since Rotorua, arrived with various tales – most involving rain. With a good rest and meal in, I was ready to leave. The heavens promptly opened, so I retreated inside before eventually setting off in the rain – it soon abated and by the end of the climb up to Raglan Road I had to delayer without delay.

More great gravel backroads heading to my favourite part of the 2017 course – the coastal detour around to Raglan. Mostly dry, mostly into the wind; out of nowhere, boom, torrential downpour. From the first spits I stopped and couldn’t get my jacket on in time. Good fun, and it abated after ten minutes for the scenic coastal foray of repeated climbs and descents. Raglan by mid-afternoon for a short refuel and to get going while it was dry. That didn’t last long, another big downpour, but at least briefly the wind was less of a hindrance as the course turned east. Old Mountain Road was a new section, and being the steepest long climb of the route one of my favourite parts.

From the summit, Hamilton was within touching distance east; we promptly turned north, back into the wind for quite the dog leg to Ngaruawahia. Just the sort of thing I’d do, and did do, when course-setting. Joining the paved river trail at the northern-most point of the ride, the whole day’s toil into the wind paid back in spades. A very helpful push had me in Hamilton as dark descended, in time for a large dinner. It may have rained again. I’d long ago lost count of the raingear-on, raingear-off routine.

I was definitely making a point of eating well, and all was well on a big day.

Into the dark through the tedious cycle-path route out of Hamilton to Cambridge, it rained again but the wind was still mostly helpful. Nearing eleven o’clock I considered the last hundred-plus kilometres back to Rotorua, the ominous thunder-storm heavy forecast, crossing the Mamakus at night and opted for finding some shelter and finishing this thing in the daylight. Very happy with a big 255 km day in less than ideal conditions – just a pity about the lack of photos.

To my surprise I slept late and was not properly going until six-thirty, keen for the familiar path back to Rotorua. The multitude of small hills to Arapuni felt good, I was disappointed not to see my magpie nemesis. Second breakfast at the Cow Cafe in Putaruru is now a tradition, and a thoroughly good one. The wind was still at my back and I hardly even got rained on – it was a grand morning to finish up, especially learning later of all the thunderstorms I’d managed to avoid the previous night. Even the blockades on Cecil Rd weren’t as bad as expected and running down the hill to town I was pleased to find I had plenty left in the tank.

Finishing in three days and six hours-ish, it was great to see Pete, Roger and Chris there and just sit in some sunshine for a while sharing stories, before another big meal. While things didn’t go quite as planned that first afternoon, I got to ride my bike a lot, see plenty, learn loads, share the ride with others and actually finish it this year – fantastic. Thanks to Pete for organising it all, I look forward to the next such ride.

Thanks to Roger for bordered photos.

bikepacking, bikes, event, friends, GPS, NZ

Classic GGG 2019

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The fourth and last of a very unusual run of weekends away, I was very much looking forward to this year’s Classic Geyserland Gravel Grind – even if it meant another week away from my current obsession of route and event planning. The promise of a weekend of leisurely bikepacking with fifty others, catching up with friends, good spring weather and an enjoyable route is good like that.

Friday after work I drove towards the start in Rotorua, but again stopped short and left my car in Waikite (the end of the second day’s riding) before biking the short distance into Rotorua.

Tucking my car behind the scout hall, I left it under the watchful eyes of some cattle as the day drew to a close.

It was a very pleasant evening for the ride into town – just a little hilly as I made it through farmland to the highway and much-too-adjacent cycle path down to Rotorua. Dark long since come, the full moon rose further as I approached the forest to cut through.

This toilet block looks a bit fancy for bikepacking accommodation. Also, my, every time I visit Whaka forest – not often these days – it’s grown a lot.

Reaching Pete’s the night before a GGG event, there was the usual warm welcome, bike and gear tinkering, other riders and tasty dinner – all to the sound of much bikepacking chat. Amanda had just bought a new bike (almost identical to mine, incidentally) so there was much to sort out.

Packing continued the next morning for some and Ian arrived too – so we briefly had back together more than half of the crew from two weeks ago. Before we knew it, we should have left to assemble at the museum. Then it started to drizzle; we finally set off. Riding through the malodour of Sulphur Point we suddenly stopped and turned around as we met fifty-odd bikepackers coming the other way. Oops, we may have missed the briefing and start.

The long and short course riders soon split. I chose the long course as I’d seen the newly opened Royden Downs connector last year and wanted to see how rugged the Okataina Walkway was compared to three years ago. We (around twenty riders) were back in the forest; I may have snuck off the route to ride some singletrack – how could I come here and not?

Just a couple of old favourites were ridden before rejoining the route.

After a bit of forest road, the new trails around by Tarawera Rd were most excellent – particularly the descent to Blue Lake, even if I spent most of it distractedly chatting.

Blue Lake was far more deserted and tranquil than I expected it to be.

Riders spread out and I continued towards Okareka solo. Through the small settlement, there was a short stretch of lush gravel to be found on the way up to the (western) Okataina walkway.

The first half of the fourteen kilometre track was basically all rideable and lovely as it climbed over and descended from a ridge. Reaching a deeply cut out stream crossing, the hike-a-bike began as the climbing also started in earnest.

The trail got a bit cut out in parts.

Then deteriorated into deeply rutted out. For quite a while, there were only three parts like this that necessitated pushing my bike.

Generally the trail was more rideable.

I was feeling a bit sluggish, perhaps due to the little extra gear I was carrying. Due to the relaxed nature of the weekend, and also the forecast overnight rain, I was carrying my tent and extra clothes – was this weighing me down or was I just a little fatigued from all the travelling in the previous three weeks? Still I rode most of it, walking a little near the top and finally began to find a few other riders to chat to briefly. Eighty minutes for eleven kilometres through excellent native forest got me to the high point of our day – although it must be mentioned, without nary a view of the track’s eponymous lake.

The descent was so much fun! Weaving through the forest, some of the trail wasn’t in great condition – but was mostly rideable. In fact, thinking about it now – I just want to go back and do it again. Loaded or unloaded bike, it doesn’t make much difference. Fifteen minutes of exhilaration later and things flattened out and I was soon at the education camp to find buddy Roger and a few other riders. It was great to catch up to Roger, not so great to hear how he fared down there on very skinny tyres and ineffective cantilever brakes. Also, trail angels with much banana cake! We headed for the store and lunch talking away.

Fifty kilometres in, we were following the shore of Rotoiti and had somehow already clocked a thousand metres of climbing – maybe that’s the reason I had been feeling a little slow, it didn’t seem like we’d climbed that much.

The main re-supply on the long course, it was well frequented.

Another bikepacking trip, another pie and packet of salt and vinegar crisps. The spring roll and milkshake went down quickly too.

With only 120-odd kilometres to ride for the day, there was no rush and I enjoyed sitting in the sun as various other riders came and went. Great to catch up with familiar faces and meet new ones. Eventually I had to leave, if only to cease repeated visits to the store. Eight kilometres of highway disappeared and we were back on quieter roads – most of which I’d ridden last year, if not before that.

The roadside foliage parted enough for one glimpse of Lake Rotoma.

Most of the afternoon was gravel and was solitary riding for me. The norwester somewhat slowed the gradual descent to sea level, but there was plenty of daylight left. One of the flat pedals I’d put on for the weekend (very much in touring mode) started to squeak annoyingly – strangely, if I flipped it the sound disappeared.

For much of the last hour I found company as Pikowai Road took us to the coast, and a very useful tailwind to Murphy’s Campground – where a sea of very small tents was gradually building. Having hauled a tent all day and with the rain radar imprinted in my mind, I couldn’t however turn down a spot in a cabin. Which was prudent, as after returning from Matata fish and chip trip it absolutely tipped down for a couple of hours.

Our cabin rose early Sunday morning, but I was in no rush to leave – so once ready, I moseyed down to the tent village and caught up with Roger. He’d endured a rather wet and uncomfortable night in a bivy bag, but was in good spirits and taking plenty of pictures. I posed for one, but didn’t realise this candid shot had been snapped until I saw it – thanks Roger.

Leaving just after seven, I joined Brent and Amanda – both whom I met on last year’s Mega Grind – as we chatted our way up a steady five percent gradient. Much talk and excitement shared around bikepacking routes in Hawke’s Bay and Wairarapa – looking forward to exploring still more. The squeak from my pedal became more annoying.

Then my pedal became increasingly irregular in its normally circular travel. I looked down and realised my crank arm was coming off. Unusual. With the splines flogged out, even when I got it bolted back on it assuredly did not stay on. Damn. Not much to do but take my bike for a walk towards Rotorua in the warm morning sun – I did at least get to roll down the hills, of which I was sure there would be more of once I was off course. Fi gallantly came and rescued me after almost ten kilometres of enjoyable walking and rolling, then taking me back to Rotorua, feeding me and kindly dropping me at my car for the drive home (the cattle were gone, but my car was still there). I wasn’t too disappointed on missing the day’s riding as I’d ridden those roads numerous times before; but it was sad to miss a great day in the sun chatting with other riders and the eventual campfire at the scout den.

I’ve since realised that’s two GGG events in a row I’ve failed to finish! Just as well I managed to finish a much-tougher Great Southern Brevet in between. This one seems minor as it didn’t involve a dislocated shoulder and my bike will soon be fixed and I’ll be out exploring again next weekend. Thanks to Erik and Peter for another great event – even if I missed half of it – and all those that made it a great weekend, especially Roger and Fi for the company and retrieval.

around home, bikepacking, bikes, friends, GPS, NZ

Scouting Sunday – Central Hawke’s Bay

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Needing to ensure that the short section of beach riding required for my planned route was actually rideable was the basis of the weekend’s scouting plans. A few different options presented to kick-off the Hawke’s Bay Anniversary Tour and get to the beach. In the end, I decided to stick to keeping things in Hawke’s Bay and planned to check out the first hundred kilometres – none of which I’d ridden before, and only slightly more I’d seen from a car. It looked good on maps! Initially, the forecast looked good for more mid-winter camping – but westerly gales put the kibosh on that idea. Putting a tentative call out, I found others willing to join me on my debatably-mad scheme (all a matter of perspective, seemed perfectly reasonable to me).

Meeting in Waipawa at sunrise, the first objective was to find a suitable start point for the event.

This bandstand will certainly do.

With Josh (returning from a very rare few weeks of, injury-induced, inactivity) and Marek (returning from a month visiting back home in Poland, and little riding, and never having ridden close to the proposed distance) assembling – why wouldn’t we have a grand day of riding bikes?

It promptly started to rain, and the westerly continued to whip around us. Rain gear hastily donned and we were off through the few deserted streets, crossing the Tukituki bridge and finding the cycle trail to take us off the highway. It was a bleak soaking inauspicious start, but there wasn’t that much rain in the forecast so we grinned and bore it through Waipukurau.

Leaving the main road again, we cut south through flat farm land. The rain slowly eased as the gradient equally slowly eased us up. For early August, there certainly were a lot of young lambs bleating as the rain fell. We quickly got the idea that cyclists are few and far between up Hatuma way as we were quite the novelty for resident cattle – a curiosity-fuelled stampede was narrowly avoided. As the rain ceased, we got the first sign of a shadow around nine as we finally hit a climb to warm us. Gravel was reached for a fun drop down in to Flemington – which seems to consist of a country school, a playcentre and little else.

Another rainbow? That’s just getting greedy as the rain left us for the day.

Briefly back on seal, a long straight was only interrupted by stopping to close a broken gate, and snack. It must be said that the mob of cattle behind the wide open gate were very well behaved and not all over the road. Surprised to see a polo field/paddock near Purimu Lake (we missed the golf course), the anticipation of heading up Ugly Hill Rd was palpable. I never did work out what was so Ugly about it, the climb and views were anything but. Some pleasant undulating ridge-riding deposited us in Wallingford and a few kilometres of Route 52 led us to the gravel of the similarly imaginatively named Old Hill Road.

A more direct, on the map, route to Porangahau said hill was clearly the reason this was not the main road and remained unsealed. We climbed and climbed, all the while getting close to Porangahau – which I knew was down at sea level. Surely we must stop climbing soon…

Time for another snack stop, looking north and attracting the inquisitive farm animals again.

The coast appeared, finally, after many hopeful glances east.

All the while the westerly continued to batter us from the side. Up on the ridge, there was nowhere to hide – large shelter belts were ineffectual. The descent was a screamer – dropping 250 metres in two kilometres. If that wasn’t exhilarating enough, rounding one right-hander we were broadsided by the full force of the wind. Exciting times, especially with a frame bag, come sail. I rolled into town thrilled with the morning’s route and the roads we’d found. The start of the route was promising, even if there was a very easy thirty kilometre warm-up.

The small village exceeded all expectations. The store had delicious homemade pies (I restrained myself at one) and there was a delightful coffee cart in the garden next door – I’m told the coffee was of a high standard, the muffins I can vouch for. Seventy kilometres into the day, refuelled and slightly rested we chewed off easy flat kilometres with the wind pushing us along parallel to the coast. That’s the good thing about loops, provided the wind stays constant – it all balances out, eventually.

Come noon, Blackhead Rd was joined. Marek shunned the easier option of sealed and relatively flat roads back to Waipukurau – keen to see the beach and the objective of the day, no doubt. I was secretly pleased as if he got that far, he may as well complete the ride with us as the alternative would have been neither here nor there in terms of easier length and hilliness. We were back on quiet gravel again. That is, “quiet” being zero traffic, compared to very little. Sidling coastal plains, the farms were windswept and just looked exposed and hard work.

Pleasant riding in the sun with the wind behind us.

Over a little rise, we spied Blackhead Point. The beach is further up the coast and we contemplated the path the road would take to get through or over the hills.

The shingle mostly took us between the hills, but we did eventually climb to about a hundred metres and joined another road back to town. We were but two kilometres from the beach. Josh and I were just persuasive enough to convince Marek to stick with us, see the beach, click over his first 100 km ride with us and we’d get him home somehow – the big climb and headwind may have been glossed over.

Having ridden in on so much gravel, Blackhead Beach certainly felt remote and I wasn’t expecting more than the handful of holiday houses and campground that we found. Having serendipitously timed our arrival half an hour before low tide, the beach provided perfect riding conditions. With that tail wind, the hard-packed sand was far faster than we expected/feared. We flew up the beach.

Grin inducing, in fact.

Marek, and we, celebrated his first ever 100 km ride. A top effort.

Much fun was had.

Reaching Pourerere, ten easy kilometres of beach riding was over and we paused for refuelling and to redistribute loads. I helpfully consumed a huge sandwich. Threats of being deposited in a ditch if it was more than the promised thirty-odd kilometres back to Waipawa hung over my head as we departed. A steady pace over half an hour swallowed up the three hundred metres of climbing away from the coast and gave us plenty of hills, coast and ocean to look at. Another hour of tending down, battling the wind and the odd climb took us over the Tukituki again (downstream of the morning’s crossing) and changing our heading for the final stretch home.

As the long day started to tell over the final few kilometres, the wind eased and a large rain cloud loomed ahead of us – would we make back dry? As I’ve already spoiled that, yes – we did. All pleased to see the cars again, and hopefully I can speak for all in saying that it was a great and satisfying day. Most excellent to have good company join me in trying winter conditions, and successfully put a little more of my route-puzzle together.

around home, food, friends, hiking, NZ, shoulder

Whirinaki Hiking

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Before heading south to ride the Great Southern Brevet, Steve and I had set aside the following weekend to go hiking in the Whirinaki Forest. Still fatigued all week from the brevet, it didn’t seem like a good idea. But as it happened, a weekend walking with a light pack through beautiful native forest was just the tonic.

Perusing maps and brochures, I came up with this vague plan; it happened to be what Steve had in mind too.

I had Friday off work for my shoulder MRI in Hastings (the dye injection was horrible, the MRI went well – completely different in details to the one I had in the UK seven years ago), so was left in charge of food. Planning only a two night summer trip, there was plenty of room for fresh items – I made sure we would not starve.

The ache in my shoulder lessened enough to drive out and meet Steve at work; an hour of Napier-Taupo Road before turning north for forty minutes of gravel brought us to the trailhead right on the Hawke’s Bay – Bay of Plenty boundary, having climbed to the watershed at about 900 m. The walk into Central Whirinaki Hut that evening was a glorious and easy ten kilometres. From the start, we lost altitude over half the distance on a wide well-maintained trail to reach the Whirinaki River, which we followed to the hut.

It was a balmy evening for walking, and we were soon impressed by the number and variety of both large native trees and ferns. I don’t know that I’ve seen so many different ferns in such number in one place that I saw over the next two days and fifty kilometres. My left thigh gave me a bit of gip that evening going downhill, most unusual – thankfully I’d put in my ski/hiking poles and they helped no end, that niggle didn’t bother me the following days.

Friday evening and we didn’t see another soul that night – so we had the entire large hut to ourselves, a bunk room each. Luxury. It also meant we didn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone’s slumber as we turned up, cooked and ate a small pile of nachos well after dark.

I got outside in the morning for a hut photo before the rain came in.

A stone’s throw away from the hut was the river and wonderfully there were two pairs of whio (blue ducks) slowly making their way upstream finding breakfast as they went.

Endangered, these ducks are also rare among water birds in that they live year-round on fast flowing rivers.

Thanks to Steve for the video.

The rain persisted as we set off, but it was inconsequential under the vast canopy. The trail tended down as we loosely followed the river. It seemed that a lot of the cuttings made to smooth the gradient weren’t really necessary – the walking was easy. There was even a tunnel!

Outrageous.

Did I mention there were ferns?

A short diversion had us standing on a bridge above the thundering Whirinaki Falls, alas there was no lookout spot. We left the Whirinaki River to turn to walk up a tributary – Mangamate Stream. With that we left the crowds behind; that morning we’d seen two men (and a dog) heading up to do some pest control and a group of five walking up to Central Hut, we were to see no one else for another twenty-four hours. Knowing we were about to get our feet wet, it seemed a good time break for lunch.

Quite a spread it was too; hooray for short hiking trips when much fresh food can be carried.

The trail notes told us we’d be following the stream most of the way up to the hut and to expect more than sixty crossings.

Finding the orange marker, I contemplated all the crossings to come before wading in. It was luxuriously warm, and like most of the crossings to come – around my knee-height.

I took to counting stream crossings, but that became difficult when much of the time the trail was simply walking up the watercourse. I was well pleased that we were doing this in the height of summer and it was a clear, warm day. For about six kilometres we did our best to follow the elusive orange markers upstream. Along the way the trail often disappeared and we were left immersed in toe-toe (cutty grass, pronounced “toy-toy”), failing to avoid nettles and, most of all, brushing increasingly-sensitive leg hairs across hook grass.

Oh, there’s the marker. I guess we’re walking up the stream again. A welcome respite from the hook grass.

We escaped from the sea of toe-toe!

Finding the site of the previous hut, we left the now-much-smaller stream and climbed to the hut. A couple of hundred metres to climb was a nice change from picking our way through water, rocks and grass and a suitable way to work up an appetite before suddenly emerging from the bush at a saddle to find the hut. For the record, I stopped counting at eighty stream crossings when the stream became small enough to barely get my boots wet.

Once again, our digs for the night were otherwise deserted. (Mangamate Hut)

Looking north as the day ends, in much more friendly grass.

Not a bad spot to devour more of the food we’d hauled in, all in the name of lightening the load for the following day of course.

Reading in fading light back-issues of the Auckland University Tramping Club magazine left in the hut showed a few things. Firstly, this area had been well visited by the club. Secondly, hunting orange markers, masses of hook grass and having wet feet were all part of getting here. Thirdly, I really should have done/do more hiking – while it’s not biking, it can be surprisingly good fun (I can imagine the eye-rolls that comment is getting from certain people).

With an earlier night’s sleep, we got away a bit earlier the next morning to walk down from the other side of the saddle. The morning would mostly be spent following a stream down a valley, before picking up another to walk up the next valley. At times the trail was wide and well-defined, but mostly it was not and occasionally downright difficult to find. Two more hours of hook grass exclamations and I decided it wasn’t too hot to wear trousers and save my hair – why did I not do that earlier? I could just walk straight through everything non-plussed and use far less energy not carefully maneuvering legs to avoid the dreaded hooks.

Steve carrying a relatively low inventory.

Upper Whirinaki Hut – only subtlety different to the previous night’s hut.

Stopping to lunch at the hut, we met the group of five that we’d seen the previous morning. We were lucky to escape with our lives, as our ample lunch consisting of such delicacies as fresh produce and cheese had our new acquaintances turning green. We didn’t hang around to see if we’d be skinned alive for daring to pull such items out of our packs.

Another kilometre of river walking, we crossed the Whirinaki River one last time and contemplated the climb back to the car. It was steep, but the most challenging and enjoyable hiking of the weekend. Climbing over three hundred metres in less than a mile probably should have been harder and less fun than it was. Thankfully we’d eaten most of the food by then and our packs were light, also the trail, while steep, was easy enough to follow.

The birdlife changed too, wood pigeon (kereru) up here.

Disappearing in seas of ferns is preferable to cutty grass.

Up on the ridge, we began to get a better impression of the vastness and density of the bush we’d walked through. As well as finding it was a pretty warm day.

One final pose, near another big tree – there were plenty of those.

Slight undulations took us back to the main track just short of the car with plenty of time to get home before dark. A fantastic weekend of walking in sublime native New Zealand forest; great food, company, birdlife and weather really helped more. I may have to do a bit more hiking – if only to recover after a week of intense bikepacking! Now to get back there again and do a longer loop, or take the bike.