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Moki & Rerekapa Trails Loop

When one’s boss suggests a backcountry adventure MTB ride on the return from a work trip, I imagine scuttling the idea is career-detrimental. Not that I’ll ever know – I was hardly likely to say no, was I? I’d not heard of the either the Moki or Rerekapa tracks before Roger mentioned them – deep in the Taranaki hills, both of these trails were built by wheelbarrows, picks and shovels in the early 1900s, but never quite made the transition to fully fledged roads.

Now they’re not much more than overgrown tracks through large stands of native trees (mostly tawa, kamahi and rimu) just above the Waitara River as it starts its journey to the Tasman Sea. Both of these tracks are linked by short stretches of farmland before joining gravel roads – which makes a forty-five kilometre loop, a good day ride. That’s not a great distance for a day of mountain-biking, but the trail is little used and papa surface (particularly through the farms) can be very muddy and slippery with the slightest amount of moisture in the preceding days. The guidebook says “After a week of fine weather, this is the best expert-level adventure ride in Taranaki” – thankfully, it hadn’t rained for days so things were looking up. The book also said the ride would take anywhere between five and ten hours to complete – the only person we knew who’d done it took eight. That’s quite a while for a ride that has little climbing.

With such an adventure in store, Steve was not going to miss out either – so he drove over four hours from Napier to join in the fun. With the roadside organising done and a stable of pretty new bikes, we were off in the early morning sun.

Token new bike picture – I have a fun bike again.

Chasing horses down the east end of Moki Road – we were heading for the valley in the distance to the right.

But first a stretch through farmland where Moki Road becomes unformed – but thankfully dry – as the sheep run away. We passed a couple of ruined old houses, still standing – just.

The valley closes in, as does the native bush.

Reaching a shack that still looks to be used, for hunting I assume, the trail narrowed and went into the bush as the farmland finished. The route wound its way above the river, with short climbs and descents, frequently following the contour to small, rocky stream crossings. Most of the small bridges that had been put in were in such a state of disrepair to be almost non-existent or else unrideable due to slipperiness or the approaches being too tricky for us. The drop off the side of the trail to the river was often precipitous and best avoided.

There were five wire swing bridges over the bigger chasms – at least these ones had decks. They were considerably easier than the demon wire swing bridge on the Timber Trail approach.

At least here, the trail is well defined. With a GPS trail and the orange markers to follow, only a few times did we lose the trail temporarily as it faded into nothing.

In the shade of the trees, the trail was still quite slippery in parts despite the lack of recent rain. It was a beautiful ride as the morning slowly warmed; ride is a loose term – it was plenty technical and it became one of those days where after a while you begin to wonder if it’s worth getting back on the bike for such short stretches before another dismount due to some obstacle.

This bridge was intact and rideable!

Progress was slow – for two hours we barely got above ten kilometres per hour, the average speed being about half that. But it was excellent adventuring and great to be out somewhere where few people ride – not only did we not see any other riders all day, I saw no other tyre marks on the trails. Due to the slowness, the lack of traction and trickiness of it all there were numerous crashes and falls – mostly of the overbalancing, embarrassing-due-to-their-comic-nature type. No injuries ensued and we were quickly over dented pride as it was hard-going and everyone fell at one stage or another.

Steve trying to work out how much of that slippery approach to another stream crossing is worth attempting to ride as the drop to his right becomes apparent. At least, I assume that’s what he’s thinking as that’s what I thought riding down there.

There were frequent stops for track maintenance – we cleared numerous branches and trees from the trail, mostly led by Steve, ever the font of energy.

Finally, we crossed the fifth swing bridge and emerged into the farmland again. Over two hours for less than ten kilometres – that’s Waiuta-level progress.

With a brief stop to refuel, it was through farmland again.

The view was certainly more expansive out of the trees – Steve taking it in.

The little tunnel of the ride – the stock were slow to relinquish their positions as Roger approached.

We crossed to the right side of the Waitara as the farm track improved to was-once-a-gravel-road and things got a bit faster.

Approaching noon, we rejoined proper gravel road at the halfway point. While flat for a while, the only sustained (fully rideable) climb of the day spread us out as Steve carried on with his inexhaustible energy. Seven weeks later it’s not surprising I’ve lost some Tour Aotearoa conditioning, also this was riding of a different intensity – at least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Really nice gravel road riding – and about the highest we got all day at a whopping 350-odd metres above sea level.

With a steep blast back to the valley floor, we found the start of the Rerekapa Track and a suitable lunch stop – suitable except for the young hunting dog that tried to steal most of our food.

Just after one o’clock and with only about ten kilometres to go I was pretty confident we’d finish OK – even if we took it slowly. Following a small stream up through more pasture, it was not long before we crossed it and went back under the cover of the trees. If it was possible, this trail was even more difficult to ride than the Moki track – possibly because it was wetter receiving less sun being in the shade of the hill we were climbing slowly.

There was no way we were clearing the trail of this tree, and a fair few others – the muscling of bikes around obstacles became more commonplace.

As our speed consistently stayed lower than five clicks, a slight slowing in my line-choice made me wonder if I was starting to get a little fatigued. My legs still felt fine, as they would – they’d hardly done any pedalling; but all the dismouting and lifting/pushing of bike over obstacles was starting to tell on my complete lack of upper-body strength led to me feeling rather worn out. As I felt I was slowing Steve down and contemplated on letting him past I took my second fall of the day. It was by far the biggest of anyone’s – one of those where you put your foot down on something that isn’t quite there. Before long I had fallen off the side of a bank headfirst and then slid even further down again bringing my bike on top of me. So there I was lying, comfortably all things considered, upside down in a dry stream bed somewhat stuck under my bike – very thankful that it was mostly amusing and not at all injurious.

Thankfully, Steve had hauled my bike off me and I was standing again before a decent photo was taken. My, that trail looks simple – I assure you that there were more slippery rocks there that I misjudged.

The climb over the ridge into the next valley over, we were now amongst the headwaters of the Waitara as we dropped down to the Boys Brigade Hut – which really didn’t look like it was in a great place for a hut. I suppose it had “completely isolated” going for it, but it was next to to an area that looked decidedly swampy.

The trail disappeared into the grass before heading for the trees again.

There was one surreal hundred metres of so knee-high ferns completely covering the track. Also covering wheels – it went on and on, the feeling of floating on lush green ferns that is.

Roger emerging from some taller ferns.

We climbed the gate that signified the end of the Rerekapa Track and joined a farm track that was very difficult to ride on as a bulldozer had recently been over it. Thankfully that didn’t last long as we climbed up and joined the main farm track. We spied the Rerekapa Falls off the side of the track – they demanded a side excursion to investigate.

The last bit of gravel track riding back to the car was easy and we arrived back just shy of six and half hours after our departure. We savoured car-beers and an excellent and demanding day of remote and stunning backcountry riding. It’d rate as one of the rides I’ve done with the most amount of sustained technical riding and constant dismounts – brilliant. Thoroughly recommended if you like this sort of ride and can find a good window of weather – as the guidebook says “If it’s wet, find somewhere else to ride.”

Tour Aotearoa – My Day Nine – Palmerston North to Wellington

With all the hills of northern Manawatu still in my legs, I’d no real plan for how far I’d make it. I also realised I hadn’t seen a single rider on the route the previous day – a first for my Tour. That was quite alright as I’d so enjoyed the day. The day from Palmerston North turned out to be quite social in other ways. Having seen university flatmates, Terry & Kate, in town I was pleased to see a car pull over in front of me as I ground up the Pahiatua Track. After battling with a typically dastardly Palmy gale for ninety-odd minutes, the chance to stop was welcome. It was Louis, a childhood friend & uni flatmate of the same flat, on his way to work in Pahiatua – great to catch up, albeit in an unusual place.

Not far past the summit was a turn off to a rural road – it was nice to escape the morning traffic crossing the Tararuas. Most of the day was on rural back roads through more hilly farms – first dairying country, before it got drier and more inclined to sheep & beef farming. I was disappointed not to get a full English breakfast in Pahiatua, but still ate well for second breakfast. After the steep downhill off the ranges, the route climbed gradually for fifty or so clicks – thankfully the wind was much less forceful on the east of the Tararuas. Still a headwind for much of the day, it was not quite a nuisance or too much of a hindrance.

More rural scenes, it started out green.

I stopped for the photo checkpoint, and pies, in Eketahuna. The giant kiwi has gone albino.

Around noon, a friend met me in the middle of nowhere to ride the thirty-five kilometres down into Masterton. Craig, a Pukekohe & NZ Steel mountain-biking buddy, was now back learning the ropes to take over the family farm. It was great to have someone to chat with (there was a lot of catching up to do as we hadn’t seen each other since the fantastic Queen Charlotte ride seven years before) – obviously Craig was pretty interested in the Tour and bikes too, so the time passed quickly.

I did find a proper breakfast (second-lunch, or third-breakfast, by this stage) in Masterton. There were even beans! Little did I know that that would be the last full English I’d find on my trip – despair.

Masterton even got in on this swing-bridge thing, but I suspect they’d had their’s long before DOC even existed.

Bidding farewell to Craig, I continued south into the breeze, enjoying the scenery and the lack of traffic. I always found plenty to look at – at some stage there was even a big sign out encouraging Tour Aotearoa riders. It was definitely drier this far south in the Wairarapa. There was plenty of time to think with no other riders around. As I considered the previous week, thoughts turned to the Tour Divide – what I like to call the grandaddy of these types of events. That event has been on my radar for a few years now and I was beginning to think that I might be a possibility of having a good attempt at it.

But it’s so much more epic, that it would require much more planning and time. At about 4500 km (fifty percent longer) and with over sixty thousand metres of climbing (almost twice as much) following the Continental Divide from Canada through five US states to the Mexican border it is more extreme in almost every way. Longer, colder (up north), hotter (down south), with dangerous animals, proper mountain passes, and greater distances between resupply – I’d be a fool to turn up with amount of preparation I did for Tour Aotearoa. One day, in a few years, I’ll have sufficient leave and time to have a go – at least, I sure hope so as Tour Aotearoa had been so fantastic so far.

I turned east towards Martinborough as the sun sunk.

It was great to stop in Martinborough and to catch up my uncle and aunt. As always, Tour stories and practicalities dominated the conversation. The week so far was certainly different for me – having so much to talk about. From here, I had a few options: call an early day in Martinborough, or carry on riding and either camp at the top of the Rimutakas, stay the night at one of the open homes (there were homes of supporters of the Tour on the route that were open to riders to stay in) around Wellington or make the early morning Cook Strait ferry.

After a nap and dinner, I went with the theory it’s good to do something a little crazy & push oneself every so often; I jumped online and booked a ticket on the two-thirty ferry. I had six hours to ride a hundred kilometres and cross the Rimutakas by night. It would be close, but I was confident as the wind would be at my back from Martinborough to the hills and I’d previously crossed the Rimutaka Incline and knew it wasn’t too difficult (being an old, albeit steeper-than-normal, rail route). All went pretty much according to plan, I easily made the Incline trailhead before dark and the trail up was easily ridden in the dark.

Heading for the hills.

Another checkpoint – the Rimutaka summit tunnel, at about twenty to ten.

It was a pleasant night for riding (I don’t think I would have bothered otherwise) and the ride off the hills was great fun. Things started to slow a bit as I followed the Hutt River down to Wellington harbour. The navigation through all the little turns wasn’t particularly easy in the dark, even with the GPS track to follow, and it just went on and on. I was starting to cut it fine, but finally I was on the cycle path sandwiched between dual-carriageway and the harbourside railway heading for the ferry terminal. I was surprised to have to stop and get marshalled through midnight track work that had taken over the cycle path.

With only seven kilometres to go I started getting calls from the ferry company wondering where I was. Apparently boarding was an hour before sailing for foot passengers (!) – I’d not read that in my rush to book a ticket. I assured them I was almost there and then stepped on the gas. Another phone call from someone else at the ferry halted progress – “I’d be there by now if you’d stop bloody phoning me”. Past parliament and I checked in – & then promptly waited fifteen minutes until boarding.

There were far more Tour Aotearoa riders waiting in the boarding lounge than I imagined – they’e all been in Wellington far longer than I had. I was pleased to finally catch up to and chat to Jonathon Kennett – thanks to his tireless work putting the route together and basically organising everything, we were all on this grand adventure. The adrenaline was still coursing through me after the mad dash at the end of a pleasant night ride, so I found it a little difficult to settle into a slumber after we boarded.

I did remember to get the obligatory checkpoint photo from the ferry, before trying to get some sleep on the rest of the voyage.

Stretched out over a few seats, I took some time to consider that I’d just ridden (more than, really) the length of the North Island in eight and a half days. Over half the trip was done and I was therefore well on track to finish in the eighteen days I had – this was good to know. But even more pleasing was that I’d put some consecutive long, hilly, rough, hot and tough days together without too much bother – that is after the stomach upsets of the first twenty-four hours. I wasn’t expecting that. With this general satisfaction of my Tour so far and anticipation of the remaining adventure I drifted off to a surprisingly reasonable, albeit only three hours, of sleep. Oh, and this was my longest day on a bike ever – but by no means the toughest.

Lake Christabel turnaround

I’m unsure who was more excited – Adele to take two novices for an overnight hike (tramp in the local parlance) or Fiona to go on said hike. It assuredly was not me – but I was more than happy to go along for a walk, at the very least there would be a whole lot less cleaning afterwards than after a West Coast winter mountain-bike ride. We set off early Saturday morning east through the Buller Gorge and carried on past Reefton as dawn marched on.

Adele had chosen a route that would take us from the Lewis Pass highway (just short of Maruia Springs), up besides Rough Creek and on to the tops before descending to the overnight hut at Lake Christabel Hut (which is actually a mile short of the lake), before walking out to Palmer Rd. As such, we had to leave a car at the end of our planned walk – we discovered it really was quite cold out, as all the short wooden bridges on this rural road were iced over.


View Larger Topographic Map

Nonetheless, car shuffle done we set off alongside Rough Creek. Quickly, it became obvious that the creek was not the only rough feature around – the trail was mostly unformed and soon started steeply climbing the hill over a lot of tree roots and moss.

The sun made a brief appearance in the sky – some of its light even filtered through the canopy.

The route flattened out a bit as we walked beside and through/over the river for a while.

While we were still well below the tree line, we started to come across patches of snow – a somewhat worrying sign for walking over the tops.

We made good time to the tree line and started tracking our way through a good half-foot of snow to get a view of where the snow-poles would lead us. Visibility had decreased, but we could make out a few poles in front of us – as it wasn’t windy or miserable we decided to push on. The snow deepened – generally about knee high, occasionally I post-holed to my waist when I was making tracks. We were glad to have a hiking pole each – just as well someone thought to bring those .

There’s a pole! Go over there. About half-way up Adele took the lead through the steeper terrain, I had it easy at the back for a while.

Reaching the saddle (we’d climbed about 900 metres in four kilometres – a bit more than I’m used to), we turned to see cloud filling the valley we’d walked up.

Venturing just over the saddle, Adele suddenly found it very icy and compacted. We were unprepared for such conditions, with no crampons or ice-axes (and Fiona & I have no real experience in using such things). The ice patch was likely not that large, but it wasn’t a risk worth taking – so we turned and headed back down the hill. I’m sure I’ve said before, I loathe prolonged walking downhill – especially with a large pack – it just hurts and there’s no challenge or enjoyment in it. Thankfully we made it back to the car safely – which is no mean feat considering the number of small falls Fiona and I had on the slippery route/roots back down.

So for the second time this year, due to adverse conditions I found myself staying at the rather bizarre Alpine Motor Inn & Cafe at Springs Junction – a place I didn’t even know existed last year. I think I even had the same burger – it was just as large and somewhat weird (probably due to the hash-brown). Grateful for a roof overhead (it was cheaper than huts on the Heaphy) – it was just as well we had our sleeping bags as the only heater in the room shone like a small star, so had to be turned off at night. The provided linen would have been OK, perhaps, in summer. A memorable and perversely fun place to stay, if only for odd reasons – including the mountain stream that the stone-walled building was built into, it reminded me of being in European mountain villages.

Sunday was a much more leisurely day – mostly because we didn’t take loaded overnight packs on a day walk and the terrain and trail was much friendlier. Also, hot pools! Just past Lewis Pass is the northern trailhead of the St James Walkway – a sixty-six, five day hike. We walked the first hour or so until we got a decent view of Cannibal Gorge (a literal name, unfortunately) and then stopped for a snack before returning to the shelter at the start of the trail – where (royal) we cooked and feasted on Pad Thai (meant to be the previous night’s hut-dinner), yum.

A pretty little walk, I don’t think it even rained and considering the snow and ice around – not too cold for wearing shorts either. With all this extra time, we went and soaked in the Maruia Hot Springs. I’ve driven past here a few times in the last few months – considering it’s in the middle of nowhere, it rather odd it is so Japanese-spa themed. Nice all the same.

West Coast Weeks

Now that June is over, my weeks based in Westport are also coming to an end – it’s been a nice change of scenery. While somewhat wet, it has definitely been a lot less cold than if I’d spent the month further south at Mum & Dad’s house. Adele’s also been pleased to have various visitors, besides me, as we all realise just how isolated Westport is. With people new to the area, there is always added incentive to go out and show them new places.

Craig, Kelly and their young daughter, Elsie, visiting for a weekend meant a trip out to Charming Creek – I finally got to ride the whole thing (it’s only ten kilometres each way) after being stopped by a large trail-covering waterfall last time. We didn’t even get rained on! But there was plenty of water standing on the trail to soak us. The river not being in a raging, flooded torrent was not quite as impressive – but it did mean I got to see the most-noteworthy waterfall as we followed the fallen-into-disrepair railway up the valley.

As with a lot of the coast, there were mining relics to explore. These at the top trailhead – where we turned around for a quick, fun and wet return to the cars.

The girls having been for a Sunday mountain-bike ride up at Denniston while we (mostly Craig, admittedly) watched over Elsie – the late afternoon was time for Craig to take James and me on an adventure quite different to those I normally write about (no bikes!). Half an hour south, a bit past Charleston, we turned off the highway and followed a narrow gravel track inland and up into the hills. Craig declared we had found the right place as we parked the car – what he’d seen I had no idea, one patch of native bush looks much like any other. With a bit of advice I managed to get into my harness – as climbing things generally bores me, it’s been many years since I’ve had to put one on.

Someone saw a slight parting in the foliage and we set off down a narrow path, hiding the car keys in a small hovel trailside as the steps got steeper and more slippery. Surprisingly, there was an official sign warning of a tomo – which as far as I could work out was a really big hole in the ground. The surprise being the sign in such an isolated place; the large cavity in the earth being rather the point and not at all suprising. I stood around in the increasingly heavy rain getting rather wet, wondering why I wasn’t somewhere warm reading a book by a fire, as Craig and James set-up various ropes and slings that would, all going well, prevent me falling forty-odd metres and making little impression, but a big mess, on the rocks below.

With little time to do more than accept the fact that I’d be lowering myself a long way down a cliff with only a slight theoretical, and no practical, understanding of the hows and whys – I found myself doing just that. With a wet, doubled-rope threading through my belay device, it turns out being rather small and featherweight [disturbingly – if I was a boxer, I would be a featherweight; also, I’d probably be the worst boxer ever] does slow things down if you’ve not got the technique sorted. Still, in such circumstances I much prefer slow and steady over fast, uncontrolled and dead. The waterfall beside me cascading into the giant hole with much greater certainty and confidence was doing a fine job of making everything very slippery and more difficult. Eventually my technique improved and I descended a bit faster; one strand of rope ran out (a sixty metre rope can’t be doubled all the way down a forty metre cliff) and I bounced a little as I passed that by.

Somewhat relieved to be standing on solid ground, rather than bouncing off the side of it, James made his down and soon we were caving! Some photos of all this would be useful, but it was so muddy and wet down there I left my camera safely at home. For a couple of hours we proceeded through quite a network of tunnels downhill. We followed the stream part of the way, marveling at the large stalagmites and stalactites (some were a good eight inches in diameter) and appreciating the rather dainty ones forming that were no thicker than drinking straws.

It was a lot warmer underground than we expected – the others shed a layer or two, while I gave up trying to keep my feet dry and just walked in the stream when it became too much like hard work to stay out of it. Hauling ourselves up small rockfaces, clambering over things and gingerly jumping off rocks into semi-darkness was, as Craig said a few times, a full-body workout. I felt my shoulders twinge a couple of times from exerting force at weird angles – a warning that I shouldn’t pursue caving more, I’d hate to be stuck underground with a dislocated shoulder.

Craig reckoned he’d been down here four or five times before and seemed to know where he was going as I blindly followed, every so often hearing words along the lines of “this is the right way”. Every so often we’d emerge from a narrow passage into a larger chamber. It was one such chamber that we started to return to repeatedly after Craig started to utter the words “this doesn’t feel right” a little too often. This started to become mildly alarming after what seemed like half an hour. I was not keen on having to get myself back up that slick tomo in the dark. Eventually we had success as one previously overlooked passage sent us on the right track; we crawled and hauled ourselves on our bellies down another shrinking tunnel.

With Craig convinced we were back on the route that would get us back above ground, we elected to take a small side-route. This first involved a ten-metre shuffle head-first under an extremely low ceiling. I’ve not found too many instance where lacking in upper-body strength is useful, and this wasn’t one – but it was a good time to be very skinny. The ceiling was so low that I had to turn my boots parallel to the floor – as if I had my Size 8’s perpendicular, they would quickly wedge between ceiling and floor. Emerging from that, we were in a deep, but narrow cleft, in the rock. Soon this narrow chasm had a stream running swiftly down it, showing just what had carved such a deep slit in the layer rock. The layers were pronounced, but smooth as we shuffled past. Hardly having wide hips, even I had to twist my body sideways to be able to walk forward.

That rather unusual journey over we reached the objective – sizeable whale bones fossilised in the rock many metres below ground, but now somewhat exposed by the rock having been worn away. Amazed, we studied these for some time before deciding we really should get going and returned through the narrow passageway to the main route. With more shuffling down a muddy creek bed, we were finally able to stand up again and clambered up a lot of rock. Suddenly, Craig spotted ferns in the dark ahead – we were outside again and it was much later than we thought. With no real path, we headed up the left bank of the Nile (not that one) before Craig spotted some small reflectors off to our right. Following these had us bush-bashing through dense bush back to the gravel road, ending our fantastic little adventure with a half-hour walk up the road in the rain to the car and retrieving the rope from the start.

Later the following week, after a flying trip Napier (where I tested out Sounds Air’s new nine-seater service, Westport to Wellington), Fiona, a family friend of ours from growing up in Te Puke, arrived for a few days at the end of her med. school holidays. Around Westport, we went for walks to Cape Foulwind to see the seals, explored small local bike trails and waited for fine spots between the frequent showers of rain. Further south, we visited the Pancake Rocks at Punakaiki. Finding that the gravel road we intended to follow inland was closed due to slips, we explored another short walk nearby.

The Truman Track starts on the side of the highway and follows an easy path through a wide variety of native trees, before the bush finally thins and you find yourself above a rather charming little bay. I enjoyed exploring the bay, and the next one too (avoiding being stranded by the incoming tide), looking at the various wear patterns in the mudstone – while James, the geologist he is, looked more closely at rocks on the beach and Fiona tried to escape sandfly attacks.

A most excellent stay visiting the coast – the highlight was definitely the Heaphy, both trips – there’s a lot to do and more left unexplored for next time. Thanks Adele & James!