After all the food we’d eaten in Karamea, I’m wondering how we even managed to leave at nine o’clock. Overnight rain had gone, so our purple patch of late-winter weather continued with a slight breeze helping us north during forty-five minutes of flat road. With timings and weather not throwing any spanners in our plans, we were planning two nights on the Heaphy Track – which I’ve easily ridden in a day a few times. I was very much looking forward to spending the time to go slower and see more of the national park.

The unknown factor in our day being whether or not we’d be able to safely cross the Heaphy River – the large bridge over it having been destroyed in floods earlier in the year. Many days since any significant rain and plenty of time and contingency up our sleeves, we were going to give it a good look and see. Pete, and many others, had waded through the river with a bike before the bridge was built – so the plan was sound. We’d also heard of a big slip on the climb after the river, but that was being worked on.

Heading for Kohaihai – can see the bluff in the distance.

At the trail head we met someone also going to check out the damage and do a little trail work. We learnt of smaller slips on the coastal section, but were encouraged in our plan. Straight into the forest, and nikaus galore – they give such a tropical feel to the area, before the short climb up Kohaihai Bluff.

A short diversion to the lookout – north along the beaches which we’d ride beside for the next two hours.

Back along Scotts Beach to Kohaihai Bluff.

Still a few bridges across the bigger creeks pouring straight out of the hills into the sea.

Nikaus! Tall ones at that.

A clear section of trail – much of it was littered with big nikau fronds, other tree fall and wash from big, stormy tides.

What a day, what a place! Again, with the bridge out, we were the only ones going through and pretty much had it to ourselves.

We did find a few small slips along the coast which required a bit of bike-carrying and -wrestling to clear – nothing too serious.

Shortly before lunch at Heaphy Hut, it was the turn of Pete’s rear tyre to spring a leak. Strangely a plug wouldn’t seal it, so it was a nice long lunch for me – chatting to a helicopter pilot who’d landed down on the beach.

Lunch views. Tough day at the office.

The next section of trail had been used even less, so there were still more obstacles to be negotiated – it slowed us a bit, but wasn’t much of an issue.

More green beauty.

This however…

Bridge has definitely gone.

Scrambling down the bank, without bike, we quickly found this spot was much too deep. Further upstream, with a lot of bush bashing, it was far shallower – but quite rapid; unloaded we crossed successfully. I didn’t fancy being exhausted by hauling bags and bikes through the tangled bush before even attempting to get them across the river. The right bank was far more open, so it was easier to head downstream, past the bridge site, and investigate below the confluence of the Lewis. The rapids here were easier, and just above them Pete found the best crossing site. Certainly was worth taking our time to find this spot.

We returned to our bags and bikes upstream and brought them to the crossing spot. It all went swimmingly, except in the literal sense, and the crossing was easier than the Mackley three days before. Generally it was mid-thigh and, once the spot was found, there was nothing to it.

Over the Lewis to the missing hut (such a shame, it was a classic and actually had character – unlike the big new huts on the track) and the strange new shelter perched higher.

After poking around the shelter perplexed (why reduce the facilities available in unforeseen circumstances – i.e. the river is up?), there was two hours of riding and seven hundred metres of climbing to James Mackay hut. Along with whatever obstructions we found…

A few minor trees to carry over, a quarter of the way up we found a much larger tree, and its associated eco-system, over the track. Off the bank wasn’t safe, up the other bank was an impenetrable mess. So over the tangle it was. Cue twenty minutes of clambering and sliding over all manner of branches and vines, heaving bags and bikes in our chain of two to the other side.

Where has Pete gone?

Oh, there he is.

Am I grinning far too much in this situation due to the absurdity of this self-inflicted episode, or due to it being far easier than the Nydia bike-dismantling with a buddy to help, or because it’s a grand day in a fantastic national park? All three I’d say.

Through; yes there’s a track either side of – and under – that.

No sooner were we back on the bikes we spotted motorbike tracks – the trail crew had got this far, encouraging! We were soon seeing evidence of all the work they’d been doing (based at the hut at the top of the hill, they were working down). So while we had to deal with that fallen tree, we found the track had been reinstated through the slip and our progress was barely interrupted on the rest of the climb.

Through the slip.

For the consecutive days, we arrived at our destination comfortably before dark – much preferred. The hut is so large that we had an entire bunk room each, but it was a challenge to heat devoid of warmth and charm as it is. The trail workers were based in the warden’s accommodation just up the hill; so surprised to see people in the main hut, they came down for a chat. Turns out they’d got to the big fallen tree last thing at the day, took one look at it and left it for the following day – damn! Another successful day of our trip going to plan, great to be out in such weather enjoying little traffic on a popular track.

Woken a little overnight by the wind, it did have the effect of blowing a lot of cloud away – we were both delighted to find the morning a lot less clagged in than on either of our previous trips (mine here). We would see far more this time! Off we went completing the climb of the Croesus Track with a stiff, cool wind buffeting us from the right.

More nice rocky trail, heading towards Croesus Knob – must wander up there one day.

Towards Moonlight Tops. Spot the trail, left to right.

In the cold my phone continued to make a further case for its replacement, dying on me. But no matter, especially as there were soon other things to deal with. Nearing the high point of the day, two hundred metres higher than the hut we’d left, some innocuous-looking rocks conspired to put a two centimetre slash in the sidewall of what was, obviously now, too light a tyre. Frustrating; wouldn’t have been too difficult to consider what tyres were on my bike and the rockiness of these trails at home, and sensibly change it for something stronger and heavier.

Moving a little up the trail to a slightly more sheltered spot, cue over half an hour of giving up on trying to stitch the sidewall (tyre annoyingly too tough for this, but not resistant to the original damage), struggling to get the tyre off the rim, putting a tyre boot and tube in, and eventually getting the tyre reseated. No real drama, a good learning opportunity and for the first time I rode with duck tape and zip ties further protecting the tube – rather hoping it would also somehow stay together at least until we reached the highway, only forty kilometres of such rocky trail…

Pleasant riding along the tops, enjoying the views out west to the Tasman Sea and closer over the topography of the Paparoa Range. By the time we made it to Moonlight Tops Hut, a bit later than expected, it was definitely time to boil the billy and eat – along with putting all my tools back in the correct place and resurrecting my phone.

I do enjoy this view, anticipating getting to the escarpment on the right, and then riding very close to the top and edge of it. Not least for the goblin forest that covers this section.

Predominantly downhill, there is still a bit of climbing to be done – but this is no issue as it’s such a beautiful section of forest to ride through, one barely notices. Getting out of the increasingly strong and cold wind was also a bonus.

The mossy trees don’t have quite the same atmosphere when there’s no mist sneaking its tendrils through; but certainly not complaining about such a clear sky!

Continually distracted studying the old forest.

Popping out of the forest briefly to see the sea.

Ooh, the emergency shelter has been upgraded considerably. Digger garage this end, enclosed shelter other end – another good bivy spot.

We soon dropped off the ridge and began the steep, twisty descent towards Pororari Hut. It was still in reasonable condition considering all the weather it must be exposed to.

With no one else on the trail, I didn’t feel rushed to get off the bridge beneath this waterfall and managed a couple of snaps this time.

One of the more tightly-switchbacked sections through some enormous boulders.

The descent flattened out some, with the odd rise, as we dropped and lost the wind. A beautiful afternoon for riding.

It would be a shame not to stop at this thoughtfully provided seat.

As I was the previous time, I was transfixed by the tight contours of this peak – Lone Hand. The topo map is a mess of packed, twisted lines.

Such a nice, still afternoon there was no need to have afternoon tea inside the last hut.

Dropping to the Pororari River, the riding gets faster and the forest changes to far more ferns – sublime.

The trail crosses the river, and a side stream, before keeping its elevation as the river drops away through a small gorge. This gives a good chance to look back for a last glimpse of the range – only a small part of which we’ve thoroughly enjoyed riding and taking in the views from over the previous day.

The bike track departs from the walking track here and, with one last little sting in the tail, climbs a hundred metres to the next valley. I was astounded to happen across two daywalkers two hundred metres from the end of the trail – such was the solitude we’d had for the rest of the trail, a magnificent way to experience it. A short bit of highway and it was time for an ice cream to celebrate such fun on the Paparoa, and that my rear tyre was still inflated. The duck tape wasn’t much for this world, so off it came before heading north for fifty kilometres of highway.

Calm, clear and mild for a late-afternoon ride – Southern Alps off in the distance.

Heading into Fox River.

There’s still little tourist traffic around, so the highway riding was doubly pleasant. With near seven hundred metres of ascent to Westport, it was as much climbing as we’d done all day along and off the range. I was not fast. Even less so when my tube let go short of Charleston on a steep, twisty descent; that took another twenty-odd minutes of daylight, but it was still a blissful evening of riding into the dark.

Getting towards the northern end of the Paparoas.

Warmly welcomed by Nina, we were spoilt with cups of tea, a large dinner of stew and salad, dessert, much sharing of adventure stories, use of facilities to clean dirty clothes and riders, and most importantly a tyre was found that fit my bike – huzzah! It was much beefier in tread and construction – a far better option for the trails around here, I’d happily take the compromise of being even slower roads. Thanks Nina, and in-absentia Rachel (whose tyre I’d borrowed).

One excellent trail done, forecast still looking good, plans for crossing the Denniston reviewed (I was disproportionately looking forward to this as the only new bit of the route to me) and bike good to go again (sacrificial drivetrain still functioning, just feeling a little off) – our tour was off to a great start and further adventure beckoned.