Godzone 2022 Chapter 10 - A sort of Traverse

 A back of the pack, Godzone 2022 race report

Enough weeks have passed to put pen to paper and summarise our adventure like no other. Sitting here in bed with covid, it seems the perfect opportunity to let the mind wander, and reminisce about all the fun times we had out on course! Why does it always seem so fun after. 

The team only came together in the last month, a last minute replacement for Ian Huntsman, was found in Mark Treadgold which rounded out our team of Craig Cox, Alex Martin & myself. This year the leadup was especially stressful and I feel lucky that we all got to the start line fit and healthy and with a full team. Craig, Alex and I had a good lead up with plenty of missions in the Ohau and Barrier range, Mark joining us for our biggest & last trip over Jamieson saddle, down the Dobson & back over Flanagan Pass. My highlight of these times was packrafting out of South Huxley Forks hut one crisp sunny morning, a dusting of snow capping the surrounding peaks and a burly, blue greyish, flow in the river. 

Race day:

Standing on state highway 6, near Haast Pass the queue of traffic stretched out of sight,  cars emptied as godzone competitors nervously watered the verge and compared notes…..’soooo, which way are you going on stage 3‘. Most it seemed, were like us, waiting to see where other teams went. 

After endless roadworks we arrived only 5 minutes before our wave 2 start, and feeling the pressure, produced the quickest, zero faff, transition & pack raft inflation of the race. In no time we were running to the start beach, then the jetty, then back again, and we were off. Heart rates finally able to relax as we settled into a game of stay on that wake as we dodged submerged rocks and rounded the Jackson bay heads in a line of red and blue packrafts. It was a bluebird day and a gentle rolling swell kept teams wide of the breakers at the final headland before turning into Smoothwater bay. 

A day earlier we had laid out the maps on the floor of our Airbnb in Wanaka. Stage 1 and 2 appeared straightforward with no real route choice, then we began piecing together the maps for stage 3, we laid out first map A, then B, C then D, shit I thought, where are the CP’s. The penny dropped and we realised we had to choose, Big Bay coastal, Jimmy River, Duncan River, or up the Cascade and over the Red Hills. We marked up all four routes and procrastinated for the rest of the day. Our gut leaning towards the red hills route as the best opportunity to make the Pyke river dark zone, but Duncan looked so direct. We’d see where most other teams were going. 

It felt good to be underway and we settled in to the fast progress up Smoothwater river, teams jogged past with some urgency here, but we stuck to a swift walk. No Idea sped past and then disappeared into the thick bush as we reached the end of the river highway. Mark knew one of the crew and had a quick chance for a ‘soo, which way you heading on stage 3?’ discussion before they dissappeared into the jungle. The first navigation test of the race was upon us. I took a rough bearing across the saddle heading for Ellery creek and off we bashed, an eye on the time. It was thick, close bush, and quite the shock to the system, it had been a while since I’d needed to back route finding skills in close quarters. A team or two drifted parallel to our left and right but we stayed true to our route and eventually picked up the muddy ponds that fed into Ellery creek. As ever, there was a lot of detail, side creeks and gullys not on the map and with the distraction of multiple mid pack teams we flustered a little. I hate the first few CP’s and wished the other teams would all disappear to let me focus on our plan. McArthur Knob came into view and we took a good bearing near pt 67 over the spur and directly onto the CP. Confidence boosted we headed for Lake Ellery making good progress through the, now mature, forest. 

‘Fuck!’, we turned to see Coxy rummaging through his pack, ‘I’ve lost a paddle part’. 

We looked back to the bush line. We’re not going back in there. Luckily we had a spare 2 piece at transition so on we sped and after a swift packraft inflation, prompted by the sandflies, and aided by a tow line we crossed Lake Ellery with a gentle tail wind assisting.

Switching to bikes for a short rest, and loaded with wet packraft gear, we made slow progress along Jackson River Road. I felt good, the packraft happily mounted on the handlebars and I spun the legs out over the undulating terrain. Several teams passed us as Inky struggled with a back niggle and Craig the steep pinches loaded with gear. A tow line briefly came out and a series of pushes from Mark and we kept moving, unwilling to stop on such a short ride to rebalance gear.

‘Head across the paddock to the shed and then down to the river’. Our wonderful support crew (Renee & Kylie) had been keeping track and most teams were heading to the Cascade. Our route decided we loaded up, packs to the brim with 3 days food and chewed down some cheese toasties as we settled in for a long evening, and night, and next day, and next night, and …..you get the idea.

Morale was high, it was a beautiful evening, and as the sun began to set we made good time across the 300m paddock! Then it got dark and we hit the bush. I was a little nervous, heading up the Cascade and over Red Hills at night would be a challenge, and without a backup navigator or route finder there was a lot of pressure. Our plan was to stay on the true right all the way until below point 906, then join a gentle curving spur onto the tops. In hindsight we should have been more open to crossing the river, but at night, with big packs, and an unknown river depth we were unwilling to risk a deep river crossing and potential swim.

The 2km leading into and after ‘The bend’ was horrendous. An old benched track appeared and disappeared. Sidling the steep terrain above the river was extremely overgrown and with Coxy’s new two piece wing paddle progress was frustratingly slow. Luckily the blades were metal tipped, so the paddles quickly became walking aids and machetes. We stopped at one point, imagining what if all 20km of the Cascade was like this, and contemplated turning around. But tough terrain always passes, and a few km’s upstream the river opened up and travel improved up the edge of the river, alternating wading and rock hoping as headtorches of other teams came and went. It was the early hours when some headtorches appeared walking back towards us near pt316. The pinch in the river was unpassable and with two other teams we backtracked and tested the steep bluffs above before eventually finding a route up and through. Another hour’s diversion to make 500m progress. Lights were everywhere now and several teams followed us upriver. The team was moving well but stops were becoming more frequent, food, toilet, feet. As dawn broke we reached the steep spur below pt906 and directed the team to cross the river at what appeared to be a good spot. Coxy and Inky led the way, Inky bobbed across the river, waist, then chest then shoulder deep, her Breca swim specialism showing. Oops maybe not the best spot to cross. Mark and I walked 20m further upstream and found an ankle deep crossing. We found a good game trail up the spur and anticipated the good progress (a reality that did not exist on stage 3) ahead as we crested the last of the steeps at the 700contour. It was not to be. The shallow green rolling contours and tarns was goblin beech forest with dead wood and windfall everywhere, covered in a thick mossy layer, a landscape photographers dream but deadly slow. Hitting the bush line we looked forward to fast tops travel, thigh high tussock greeted. The dark zone well and truly missed we settled in for a stunning day on the Red Hills and enjoyed the scenery. Wonderful ridge lines and views across to Red Mountain only spoilt by the buzzing helicopters as teams got plucked from the wilderness. Another bluebird day meant the nav was easy, until the sun set at pt 1166 and we dropped down west towards Durwards Creek and a valley of ferns, vines, Taniwha and sleepmonsters. The team tired from 36hours non stop racing, speed, balance and good decision making were lacking. What should have been a straightforward descent to a Pyke riverside camp, took forever as we bashed, slid, climbed, sat, and generally farted about in a maze of twisting creek and windfall madness. At some point around 3am we found a flat enough spot to lie down and dived into bags and tent for a few hours rest. It turned out this was the confluence of Chrome creek with Durwards.

Day 3. 

Waking early to make the most of the daylight the team morale was a little rough. Morning rituals, combined with a bit of faff meant a leisurely start to the Pyke packraft, but we were amped by the prospect of packrafting a classic. Arriving at the Pyke was a little anticlimactic but we were buoyed by the sight of our friendly surrounding teams from the day before. The river was low and we walked 1km downstream before inflating. The scenery was epic, but it was physical and slow work to nurse the packraft over the shallow braids, and around trees. The morning was kept interesting as Mark and I watched the swim team of Coxy and Inky, showcase their paddling skills by broadsiding a tree and losing another paddle. Inky luckily swam clear of the tree as the packraft flipped while Craig mounted it for dear life. His paddle was swept under and pinned beneath the sieve. 

It should be noted that Mark and I are the novice paddlers of the team compared to the natural paddling talent of Inky and Craig, but packrafting’s a bit of a different sport and Mark and I had truely mastered the art of the co-ordinated packraft bum shuffle and paddle push to get down the shallow braids. Key to this technique is a lack of care for the paddle and a lack of muscle memory for how to paddle properly. 

As morning turned into midday we arrived at the first CP of the stage, holy shit!, and we’re greeted by two friendly volunteers and thrown a bag of snakes. At this point we were well aware the stage was taking a bit longer than planned so the extra food was welcome to boost our rations. A tail wind picked up to assist our crossing of Lake Wilmot and then further downstream Lake Alabaster. Eventually we arrived at Pyke lodge and bemused by the multiple confluence of rivers on the map, a team packing up on river left ahead, and my sudden bowel urgency we stopped. In our haste to markup maps pre race we had made a minor blunder on which way the Hollyford river flowed, and luckily thanks to Mark’s analysis while I emptied the tank, we realised we needed to walk, not packraft 10km up the Hollyford river to avoid another loop back to Big Bay.

Rain began to set in as we packed, fueled and patched up before heading over little Homer saddle to Hidden Falls hut. Craig and Inky’s feet were beginning to show the signs of abuse, and the start of a foot ritual which was key to our continued progress started. The rain kept falling, consistent as we walked and arriving at the hut on nightfall we were told heavy rain was forecast all night. Stories of pursuit teams arriving back at Hidden Falls hut after days, yes days!, lost on the high slopes above Hidden Falls were shared with glee by the hut volunteers. We planned to sleep 5hours and then push on at 3am but the late return of a pure team, ‘Godwits’, and their suffer story of 6hours lost amid bluffs searching for a way through from point 406 sent warning bells ringing. The torrential rain pouring on the roof of the hut settled it, snooze button hit until daybreak. We weren’t allowed into the hut so slept on the porch. We woke at dawn to more rain and a southerly wind, temporary wind breaks were setup, mats shared and gear strewn everywhere. The mood was low, but somehow Coxy managing to lighten it with stories of the benefits of sleeping over a grate.

Godwits had said it took 4 hours to pt 406 which seemed insane, but as we dived off the well trodden Hollyford track we realised they were right. Refreshed after a good nights sleep, I needed to be on my game for this, careful not to get distracted by other teams and creeks not shown on the map as we headed followed a bearing into the swamp and forest. A piece of blue tape and foot trail offered hope as we picked, by picked I mean climbed clinging to tree roots and vegetation up semi vertical bluffs taking turns to haul packs up, our way up and through a maze of confused contours for an hour, 500m down, 9.5km to go. At about the 200m contour I changed bearing and took an upward sidle heading for pt 406, the ground was matching and despite the terrain and consistent but light rain, the mood was good. We were eating and making slow but steady progress. Regular stops started creeping in, a sign that the weight was starting to take it’s toll. At pt 406 we compared our altimeter readings, 369, 390, 420, 440m. Oh that’s not great. We were reliant on finding the 420 contour to sidle through cliff country. Luckily the tell tale signs of 100 teams helped and moving 500m an hour we inched our way down, up, around, under, pretty much anyway except straight forwards, towards the hopefully easier ground of the hidden falls creek beyond. We did't take any photos in the bad stuff....!

Popping out at one stage we re-united with Godwits, who were walking in their wetsuits to stay warm. Little was said, everyone was in a bad way in this monster of a sidle, teams that did this at night have my full respect. Coxy was hurting, his leg pretty buggered with cramp?, but there was little we could do except push on, or push the little red button. Eventually we reached the river, where three teams sat, broken, the look on their faces said it all. Holy fuck! I was feeling pretty chipper, relieved, brought about by a bounty bar and the best food of the trip a creamed rice and fruit cold rehydrated meal, yum. The valley was stunning, massive rocks, tumbling water, beech forest. It would have been an amazing spot on a nice summers day, but forward and torturous progress beckoned. The dream of faster progress in the valley floor was shattered as more undulating mossy and scramble madness ensued.

Arriving wet and cold at the base of Park Pass on dusk we spied a perfect campsite and with the team exhausted and hurting, and southerly change forecast a decision to sleep. In hindsight, the southerly did not come through for another 12 hours we should have pushed through over Park pass in the night. Day broke and with the morning’s rituals complete we headed up valley, hoping for a well formed track up Park pass. Well rested, I was excited by the prospect of seeing the Rockburn in daylight and completing a truly epic stage. The Rockburn did not disappoint, and as we climbed the exciting ridge the morning mist cleared to reveal a CP, two volunteers and an awe inspiring panoramic. We were told we were the second to last team over here, the last 20 teams all choosing to hike out the Hollyford. The Godwits had pushed on through the night, in their wetsuits, and were now several hours ahead. Food was getting low and we began trying to ration, easier said than done. Witnessing the symptoms of not eating enough and then choosing to ignore them and let the body drift into a hole is hard. But we were getting close. The scenery eased our suffering and soon we were descending to the sound of the Dart river, two fabulous volunteers (who had the worst sandfly spot to hangout) hot soup and bread and the relief of a Dart river float. The Dart was running grey from all the rain, the increased flow welcome and making the last few hours to Glenorchy speed by as the southerly change closed in around the tops behind us. Arriving in Glenorchy to TA3 on nightfall we were greeted by our support crew, a mask wearing Ann-Marie and no Renee. Too hungry to question we guzzled the food, I think I’ve never eaten so many calories in the space of 10 minutes, and before long was feeling great. The prospect of the enforced 24hour standdown period and being short coursed a double edged sword. The mind would have been happier cruising onto the bikes, the body welcome for a day’s R&R, or is it the other way around?

Restart:

With all the unranked Hollyford teams let off the day before, we were one of only a handful (2?) of tail end teams left at TA5, starting the 170km Nevis bike ride. We left at 9.30pm, hoping to make the 4.30pm cut-off for the Taieri the following day, which required a 19hour ride time. Refreshed and refueled, we headed off into the night. It was a cold night, but with great riding, good company and some great tunes (I’d strapped my boom box to my handlebars) we rode all night to the sounds of Groove Armada and Calvin Harris (sorry team!) while climbing endless hills onto the Old Woman Range. Mark’s strength on the bike shone through on this stage towing the team up many a hill. We crested the top on dawn just as the last full course team passed us in good spirits. 

A few close calls on the fast rutted descent saw us at Roxburgh dam and the realisation that we were nearly there…..oh how wrong we were. With the afternoon heat came a final sting. Riding from Roxburgh to Lake Onslow broke us, well all except Mark, who kept charging with tow rope to pull us through. We arrived at TA6 at 5pm, spent, and tucked into KFC feast (thanks crew!). With plenty of sleep in the bank, albeit from two nights ago, we pushed on paddling across the Lake at sunset and hiked over to CP25. Our plan, along with a few teams, was to camp and wait till first light before attempting the navigational maze of the Taieri. This proved a good call, but fortunately the CP’s were all straightforward, the only strategy deciding how many optional portages to attempt. The monotony of the paddling getting to us, I decided on one ambitious shortcut, and surprised to see team ‘Bags of Adventure’ following, we dragged packrafts across the tussock to gain, well probably nothing other than a bit of diversity, but it boosted Mark and I’s morale when we watched the swim team, take another dip. Inky swimming as Coxy passed the packraft down a steep bank with a little too much vigour. 

Coming into TA7 we were told we had to standdown at the TA for 3 hours and then drive for 3 hours to TA8 before starting the Taieri kayak, we were a little miffed as we felt (probably mistakenly) we could have ridden the 100km mountainbike in that time, and I’d not trained for kayaking so could have used the bike break. 

At TA8 we loaded into two double barracuda kayaks, and with these foreign wing shaped paddles I played a game of stay on that wake. Inky and Craig’s turn to showcase, their paddling ability making it look effortless while I barely hung on. As darkness fell, we followed Inky through a fog of insects picking braids before eventually the river deepened and we settled into a slow rhythm to arrive at the bridge and dark zone in the early hours. We wake at dawn, re-united with about 10 other teams at the restart. The pace led by several full course teams competing for top 10 was immediately up a notch and Inky, in her element, was off. Shit!! She was charging and wanted to reel them in, Mark and I doing all we could to just stay on their wake. Arriving at the last TA too soon for our support crew we stood shivering until a whole 5 minutes later they arrived. A final 3km bike ride to the beach and then the last 19km fast coastal walk to the finish, the surging salty water and sand could not slow us down and we made good time up the stunning beach and around the headlands. It was a great opportunity to catch-up with other teams and play ‘spot the full course team!’. Another bluebird day and a slight tail wind helped us along, it was a great way to finish, if slightly bittersweet, the knowledge that we were unable to draw a fully continuous line to our east coast finish on my mind. But there’s always next year for that!

Thanks to my teammates Inky, Coxy and Mark for putting up with my lack of tent etiquette, was I wearing my paddle helmet one night?, and my at times impatient urges. We had a good laugh, most of the time. Super impressed how well Mark and Inky did for their first expedition race, not an easy one to start with guys, next time don’t pick a ten year anniversary to dip your toes in!

Also thanks to our amazing support crew, Renee Wootton, Kylie Cox and Ann-Marie Head. They also had an adventure like no other when Renee was a close contact having spent three nights with a confirmed COVID case, Inky’s partner Paul, while we were on stage 3.

Godzone 2018 Fiordland

Mumblings of a Trundler.

The weeks leading up to the race were filled with anxiety. Its at these times in the final two weeks leading up to the race that I begin to question my preparation and skills. Am I good enough? How will I cope when we’re lost, cold, wet and hungry? Do I have the skills required to navigate through a remote Fiordland Wilderness? I’m 40, married with kids, WTF am I doing, this is stupid.
 
Fast forward three weeks and I am sitting at my desk reminiscing. After the initial relief of finishing and as the resulting high of the following week fades with the last of the endorphins I am left empty. Colleagues at work greeted us with a ‘welcome back to reality’, except this doesn’t feel like reality. I long for the Godzone, that connection with the simple act of moving, eating, surviving. The real world lies beyond our 9-5 glass office block existence….why does no one else in the office see this! I sit staring at my screen conscious of the hole left and the approaching empty place that lies in wait after an epic race.
 
My antidote is to read race reports, analyse our route choices, reminisce and to look at the event calendar for the rest of the year. I look at the Northburn, watch Western States documentaries and ponder my next goals. But the body needs time to rest and recover and I don’t have the energy to commit to another epic adventure just yet. As autumn roles in to winter the most I can muster is to purchase a season pass to Mt Hutt and focus on the ski season ahead.
 
So back to the race. Anxious and uncertain but committed. As we stand at the start line we are silent, silent except for Coxy, who chats nonchalantly with Richie about their old rugby days. I have a thousand mile stare. What am I doing? I’m excited by the route, in particular the packraft stages as after reading multiple trip reports the Waiau and Wairaurahiri rivers have been on my to do list, but Warren’s words at briefing are on replay in my mind ‘If any of you make it out of Leg 3…epic is an understatement.’
 
We start with a gentle jog down Te Anau’s main street, the only run of the race, and begin to inflate the packrafts. I’m grateful for all the training missions and within 3 minutes they are inflated and ready to go. We opt to load the central spine of the raft and use our dry bags which in hindsight, while great for rapids, is overkill on this first stage. A simple backpack and carabiner would have sufficed and been much quicker during the two short portages. As we jump into the lake the surreal landscape is dominated by coloured packrafts as 100 teams paddle south towards the Waiau. The first paddle across Lake Te Anau feels tough, I read with envy Nathan’s report which noted their strategy of taking it easy, staying in the comfortable zone. Paddling is not my strength and I remember sweating, working hard near my maximum to stay with Simon and Bee as they slowly stretched away…this is not sustainable I thought and shouted out to slow down. A short interlude CP around the control gates and we are on moving water floating down the Waiau…although I was hoping for more flow and less paddling I’m relieved to be able to focus on the changing landscape as we float along next to the Kepler track. The first sting of the course reveals itself as the mass of teams ahead queue on the river, trying to exit river left through thick bush and up a steep bank, a procession queue through the forest follows and overtaking teams who chose to leave their rafts fully inflated is futile on such a narrow trail – I wish we were a lead team!
 
Simon and Bee note their boat sitting lower in the water after the re-inflation and I’m pleased to be able to settle in to a slower putter, paddle rhythm as we cross Lake Manapouri where the first of many Didymo foot wash stations awaits before we embark on the Mt Titiroa trek. It feels good to be on my feet, my strength, and while we stride along the track we catch up to Ian, Wendy, Tony and Dev of Team Morrison Cars and a pattern is set for the next 5 days. Last year we jostled for 30th position with Morrison Cars for the duration of the race, exchanging tips, taking different routes, but always regrouping at regular points along the course. This is one of the simple pleasures of AR, the miniscule tustle and feedback that you get on route choice, sleep strategy and navigation decisions through a race, even at the back of the pack.
 
We follow a conservative line parallel to the lake to Richters Rock while Ian takes a more direct line to the clearing. As the navigation cobwebs disappear and we slowly knock off CP5 and CP6 we catch up with Debbie from Wolfskin Girls and natter about Cairns 2010, pleased to be in a less adversarial animal and bush kingdom this time. We make good time through here and up and over into Garnock Burn.

At Garnock Burn another Didymo wash foot bath and the first route choice of the race. Up and over the shoulder to pt 1274 and down a steep spur with potential for bluffs or straight up to Mt Titiroa and along the eastern tarns, crossing back over at pt 1521 and down directly to North Borland hut. We opt for the latter and as we climb steadily out of the bush line the other worldly moon landscape of Mt Titiroa reveals itself on dusk. Fog and rain close in and darkness falls which makes for slow navigation from tarn to tarn and back over the saddle. Dropping off the spur into the tree line we encounter thick bush and we slow to a crawl. The traverse was spectacular but as we look back up the valley only a few lights can be seen and we realise we lost time. The hut is full so we pitch the tent on the track and get a few hours sleep. Sleep doesn't come and as I pack away the wet tent in the cold dark hour before dawn the mind games begin...just get it done and get moving. We opt for breakfast on the move. As we zone out and follow the track into the forest down valley we tiptoe around tent after tent, pitched randomly on the track.

We reach the cool rock bivvy and after a steep climb complete the free hanging 150m abseil in daylight. It's a bloody long way down and I struggle with the weight of my pack pulling me backwards. A straightforward bash to the track and the march to the Monowai begins. We're grateful to be able to zone out and retire the maps for a few hours. Simon has been fighting a virus and after a short check in with the doctor we are relieved to transition to packrafts and float the Monowai which is flowing swiftly for a few free km's. The creek is narrow and constricted, at times with multiple sieves, and keeps our mind occupied. A short portage and we enter the Waiau and settle into a paddle rhythm with team Charging Moose... It’s afternoon on Day 2 and my body is starting to settle, or resign itself (I never know which) into a comfortable rhythm. The tension of the first paddle is gone, the only complaint the occasional bum to kneeling reshuffle in the front of the Gnu. We have been daydreaming our way through day 2 and realise time is getting away on us and the dark zone is closing...the last two hours is spent with a heightened focus and tempo as we inch out an extra k an hour. We round corner after corner, and eventually clamber up the river bank with 2 minutes to spare!

Darkness brings tiredness. We clumsily carry the boats to transition. We are the last team off the river that night and decide to bank 3 hours sleep in the transition tent, sleep comes easy despite the activity around us. Another pre dawn alarm that I don’t hear….and before long, I don’t know how long, at the early hours its amazing how much time can be wasted walking around a bike box looking for ‘something’, we start on the bikes and follow well formed roads to the caves. I’m not a fan of small spaces, I recall with horror reading about the squeeze cave from teams competing the XPD Shoalhaven course and am anxious about what lies in wait. I’m in luck, and subconsciously thank the course planner. The caves are a highlight, they are spacious (for my slight sinous frame anyway), easy to navigate and largely dry. We make quick work and I enjoy the scrambly bridgy nature of the tunnels, Craig volunteers, did you??!, for the swim and as we turn around to exit the cave my digestion catches up...sneaking an invisible but potent sulphurous odour for the next team and, oops, my teamate Bee and Craig who were still in the evacuation zone! If there had been a canary I’m sure it would have died. Sorry guys.

We exit the cave in good time and dry our feet and gear by the warm TA flood lights. A fast descent and some forestry roads follow. We are pleased to see Team Morrison Cars appear, seemingly out of nowhere. They took a more direct route over pt 1274 so we are pleased to have regained some time. In daylight the maze of forestry roads is relatively straightforward and as we exit onto the main road towards Lake Harouko Bee’s cycle fitness becomes apparent as we three guys draft behind her to the TA, the occasional murmur of ‘slow up’ from the back. A pattern that would be repeated on Leg 4.

It’s great to have familiar faces as Janet and Tim greet us at the TA. The next leg, Leg 3, had been talked up at the briefing and we nervously pack, faff and repack food and gear. In hindsight had we realised how close we would get to sneaking by the dark zone on the Wairaurahiri we would have been a little more focused. With shoes frothing from the didymo foot bath we shuffle out of TA. With heavy packs containing three days food, wetsuits and packrafts we trudge along the boring well graded dirt road. It’s at times like these that I realise how much of a mental game Adventure racing is. I find this easy hike some of the hardest where there is nothing to occupy the mind except the nagging pain in the shoulders. For the remaining 107 hours we were to spend navigating our way through this leg, these two hours trudging the road is my lingering memory of hurt. I can’t recall a moment in the bush where my back and shoulders complained, probably because we had bigger issues to keep us occupied. Alex Socci, the Brazilian photographer, is a welcome interlude. He shouts and wakes us from our slumpering trudge….’walk side by side’.....’don’t smile’....’look awesome’....I recall thinking how do you look awesome? The photo speaks for itself.

The weather gods are smiling. We inflate our rafts and begin the paddle across Lake Hauroko, an occasional rain shower coats us, the droplets momentarily float on the mirror calm lake. I set my paddle cadence according to heating demand, faster in the cooler rain shower, slower when it passes. A brief food stop at Teal Bay and it’s on with the wetsuits before the adrenaline highlight of the race, paddling the Wairaurahiri river. We will get dark zoned but choose to carry on and finish the day on a high. We chase the daylight and woop with joy as the first gentle bends turn into some rollercoaster wave trains. The river is high and as we turn a corner a solid rapid appears, Mandoza 50/50 rings in my head bringing back memories of the Zambezi, but we make it through and stop in the eddie and wait for Simon and Bee. We pull over and set up camp beside the river, Morrison Cars join us and it’s like Queenstown Chapter 6 all over again, except without the hut. We are getting better at this life and the tent set up and dinner routine is efficient. Four people in a three man MSR Mutha Hubba tent is relatively luxurious compared to the tiny tent we used last year but four people put out a lot of heat and we find that sleeping bags are not really needed, bizarre and not something any of us were prepared for. We are on the river for 6.45am when the dark zone lifts. It’s a surreal moment, eight of us standing on the river bank with the roar of the water looking at each other. It’s still bloody dark I’m not going down there yet! We all think it but nobody says a word. It’s 7.15am before there is enough daylight to make out the banks and trees. We follow Morrison Cars into the water and 5 little packrafts make their way down the last hour of whitewater to Waitutu Lodge.

The Lodge is amazing, well from the outside and from the friendliness of the support staff and Peter and Rose who run the lodge, we weren’t allowed inside, must have been the smell or something. The front lawn is strewn with gear, more didymo baths and teams everywhere. A bedraggled team of four stumble in from the South Coast track, they don’t look happy. Words are had and Ian Huntsman goes over to talk to their chief nav man….it’s not good news. They report being out there for 8 hours hunting for CP17, they have come back and decided to short course themselves….holy crap. Simon, Ian and I look at each other. This nav thing is going to be tough! It feels like we are leaving on a big expedition. The next two sections take us into remote off track areas of Fiordland and we’re not sure about our chances of navigating through this kind of terrain.

CP17. Well what to say….what a bitch of a checkpoint. We end up crossing into the creek system and pick up a well defined contour but as we drop into the river we lose all points of reference. The river is an infinity loop of S bends. Hours go by and the checkpoint should only have been 2km as the crow flies from the track. After recharging at a beach we set off again following the river upstream. 15 minutes later we arrive back at the same beach. We are dumbfounded…..well dumb at least. WTF! I later found out that some teams even did this loop twice. Completely disorientated with no comprehension of time and distance we retreat back and decide to reattack the CP from the well defined contours above. No mistakes this time and as we huddle by the CP with team Tail End Charlies, the wheels look like they are coming off our wagon. Our first foray into the Fiordland backcountry and my confidence is shattered and I’m unsure if we can nav through this terrain accurately enough. It’s super hard to walk any straight bearing, our distance estimations are completely off and there are features not shown on the maps. We hear that Ian Huntsman and team have turned tail and decide to walk around the South Coast track and up a trapline into the Slaughterburn. We sit, somewhat broken….well me anyway.

We head on, planning to maximise the daylight and camp just before the dreaded clearing / swamp of doom. We’re unsure which it is but the rumour mill at the Waitutu Lodge was working overtime and the words of one team ring through my head ‘we heard that Team Merrell got up to the edge of the clearing and turned around the terrain was so insanely dense and slow going’. Holy crap, these are top teams with some serious experience and navigation fire power, WTF are we doing. Mere weekend warriors cage fighting our way through 5ft high ferns holding a bearing and hoping that the terrain approximates what I have visualised in my head. Fortunately the next two kms match up and after a UFC round with the ferns clambering on all fours up a steep spur we arrive at the high point for the night and set up camp just short of the clearing, or so we hope, ready to do battle in the morning.

It’s the best campsite of the adventure so far. It seems silly to call it a race at times like this where we intend to sleep for 7 hours and wait untill first light despite there being no dark zone. The camp is flat and dry, we are efficient and I sleep like a log, a noisy log apparently. With the new day and new terrain comes a new found confidence. I’m beginning to enjoy this. We push on at first light on a hopeful bearing up the spur, open forest turns to dense forest which turns to dense shorter forest which turns to dense poles and scrub. By dense poles I mean little trees at 500mm centres….annoying for my slight frame but must be a nightmare for the bigger guys. Its very slow going, 500m an hour territory but it appears to be opening out into some sort of clearing….or swamp? A sign of relief as we break through and stand on firm ground, a subtle line of trampled grass awaits, a highway….TFFT!

Simon and I are both navigating and I sense our confidence improve as we pick good lines through the clearing, take good bearings from handlebar contour to handlebar spur and down into the Angus Burn. A small hiccup up to the saddle, more unmapped features and a short tree climb to verify the high point and then we are descending through thick ferns, again and again and again, I never want to see a fern again, to Lake Poteriteri. We reach the lake bang on the CP inflate the rafts and paddle for joy. One tough part down, one to go, then home dry once we hit the South Coast track.

We pass Morrison Cars inflating their boats at the southern edge of the lake. They had walked up from the South Coast track. Our direct route with thankfully minimal mistakes had been the quicker of the two. Onwards to Slaughterburn hut where Marcel and Simone greated us with hot water, an awesome campfire and more didymo wash baths. We left in good spirits and felt upbeat. Up up up we went, along the ridge, more unmapped hummocks, I believe they call it inferred detail, but its bloody confusing in the night, then down down down to a crap campsite on a slope. I got a bit grumpy here, I was stumbling and falling all over the place and lost my thumb compass, its around 359677 if anyone wants to go looking for it, it’s a Silva! We lay in the tent for three hours sliding downhill, well us guys did anyhow. Bee claimed to have got a good three hours sleep. We woke to solid, somewhat torrential, I don’t think it was Fiordland torrential but it was definitely Christchurch torrential, rain. A quick recce of the river showed it was up, brown but crossable. The lake CP19 was tricky and we were glad we were there in the day, a climb up a big saddle, which looked tiny on the map and more fern bashing cemented the decision to drop to and paddle the tiny Lake Innes to avoid a 1km fern bash sidle. The lake was sublime, calm and the change of scenery, fern free, was a welcome relief, if a little short. A steep scramble and a gentle sidle around a swamp and more unmapped hummocks led us, without major incident, to the last backcountry checkpoint CP20. I would later fondly reminisce about how easy the travel was through here compared to the South Coast track. As we inflate the boats on Lake Hakapoua swarms of sandflies attacked, the first bad ambush of the trip, and our headnets come out. We were jubilant, our feet were in good shape, we’d looked after ourselves and made good time through the toughest section of Leg 3, it felt like a home run (not that I’ve ever hit one, but how I imagine it would feel to hit one and have the crowd cheering). We paddle along the lake, stopping at a small hut for complementary cordial and a feed. A brief chat with support staff went along these lines.

‘How you guys doing? Do you need a helicopter ride out?’

‘We're good thanks. Hell no’

‘Oh ok, some teams are opting to take a helicopter at their own cost’

‘Oh ok...no thanks we’re fine. No feet issues, looking forward to an easy walk out along a well maintained DOC track’

‘Smile…..’

‘Confused look….’

Ok I made the bit about a well maintained DOC track up. But we felt good, we felt like we’d broken the back of Leg 3 and now all we had to do was mindlessly walk a track out to the TA. Easy right. What we failed to appreciate as we paddled down the lake and river outlet towards the south coast was that the DOC route from Big River was a four day tramp, that over 200mm of rain had recently fallen and that over 200 people had just walked, walked seems the wrong word, lets use slithered, slided and sucked, their way along the track. Track doesn’t really adequately describe the condition of the trail as we deflated our packraft and began the steep climb out of Big River. It was a stunning spot and the aerial photo from the helicopter captures it brilliantly, it was a truly wild spot.

Our darkest hour on a DOC track

We each had one change of dry socks and decided to wait a while before switching. The DOC markers were clear but the trail was unrelentingly steep, very muddy and very slippery and we quickly realised that the going was easier off track. Descending slides of mud there were no good foot placements except on virgin ground in the ferns. Hours went by but distance ticked over in the metre increments. After three hours on the ‘track’ we were demoralised to discover we had covered 6 kms. While this was standard fare in the backcountry my mental, and food, reserves were dwindling as I’d planned on an autopilot hike out at 4-5km per hour. Darkness fell and with it came easier terrain but more mud. Talking helped and Bee kept us occupied in these, our (by our I mean the three guys, Bee was as strong as ever) darkest hours, with various games and stories. I kept myself amused by shouting at the mud and playing a game called ankle deep. Thankfully by the time we got to the waist deep crossing Bee had wised up and we found a log to cross. The food situation was getting dire but once again Marcel delivered handing out a Vinnies pie and Red Bull at Waitutu hut. After a three hour noisy rest we were off again. Refueled at 4am and dry socks (for 100 metres) the team were back in action. Unfortunately our spot tracker had not got the ‘bag of cement memo’ and was dwindling at 3% so while our fans and family thought we were getting a full nights sleep we began reeling in teams. The race at the back of the pack had begun. First up a funny acronym team (I can’t recall their name)….next a team with an American, then another….the blood was going to the muscles not the brain so apologies for the fuzzy details. Arriving back at Waitutu Lodge... aaah now I get why I was so confused, one hut is called Waitutu Hut one is called Waitutu Lodge…..WTF! How is a sleep deprived guy meant to get his head round that. It’s taken me two weeks…

Ok where was I. Oh yes we walked into Waitutu Lodge, three days after leaving, triumphant in our conquest of the Fiordland wilderness. The support staff and volunteers initial look of concern passed as we reassured them we were in good shape, our feet were good with no signs of trench foot. We were supplied with some white bread and fruit cake, and Craig promptly invented a new sandwich. It tasted bloody brilliant. Loading up our packs with our gear stash, wet wetsuits and helmets, our packs overflowed and every carabiner was used to secure every bit of kit imaginable. Total pack weight unknown but it was very heavy. We broke down the march into 1 hour chunks, had a 45 minute power nap at Port Craig, and checked on the leaders on a passing hikers phone….they’d finished! Always demoralising to hear that, and carried on into the darkness of day dot? It matters not. We walked all night to get to a field in the middle of nowhere. Noozle, Bee’s mum Fizz, and Richard had walked the beach to great us and I mistakenly believed we were closer to the TA than we actually were. Still 8km to go!

The TA was uneventful but on arriving we were pleased to see the familiar faces of Team Morrison Cars. Unfortunately they had short coursed themselves from the Slaughterburn hut after struggling on the ridge in the night. It was good to see them heading off but we were buggered so decided to sleep in TA and attack the bike ride in the morning. Rumours had already filtered down about the sections of forest, unmarked tracks, no tracks and bush bashing. Oh joy. A breakfast of Redbull ensured a long toilet stop then onto the bike with a renewed sense of purpose and a recharged spot tracker. We’d made it. We’d knocked Leg 3 off and it felt like the end of the race, anticlimatic to be riding off. We were now officially short coursed which doesn’t help with morale but the change of discipline felt good and the legs were happy spinning away, for the moment anyway. The forest quickly deteriorated into overgrown trails, paper roads and a maze of unmarked tracks. Fresh and in daylight Simon and I made quick work of this, with only one 200m overshoot. It was confusing keeping track of teams as many had further short coursed missing 23a and 23b but we rode on with purpose. Tiredness gradually crept in though and before long I needed a 20 minute power nap to deal to the drifting and the start of the sleepmonsters. We charged down the final hill to the tarseal and it was great to be greated by Fizz and the gang. 

We’d made it through the forest in good time and now just a 70km road ride to Supply Bay, a hike and paddle to the finish. A mere 20 hours to go and it felt like the home straight. How weird that 20 hours can feel like the home straight. We took turns drafting the road sitting at a good 25km/hr. This lasted about an hour before my guts objected...the sausage sandwich and Sprite was not happy and I was broken. Bee nursed us into another road stop put on by Richard and we overate again. But it was so good. Mutton sandwiches, Coke, a chair, wine, the photos say it all, such great hospitality, it was hard to leave. As we rode on Craig and I struggled intermittently as sleep came for each of us in turn. We batted it away with coffee beans, shouting, and singing of the really bad out of tune kind. Think the Lion King tune while flying downhill at 30km/hr in the darkness. It worked for me.

‘In the jungle, the mighty jungle the lion sleeps tonight’

‘In the jungle the mighty jungle the lion sleeps tonight’

‘A-weema-weh’

‘A-weema-weh’

Bee was a legend and kept us honest as we eeked out the last 20km as broken men. We’d overtaken many tents along the road and decided to bank a short 2hr sleep and get it done. It was the deepest two hour sleep I’d had in a long time and I woke not knowing where I was. A pre dawn start, a hike along a trail and a bush bash up a hill...it looked easy enough but 2hrs was not enough and as we walked along the trail in the early hours we stumbled along unable to walk a straight line. Another sleep came the call. ‘No its bloody cold and we'e not putting up the tent, lets just get up the hill a little.’ Came the response.

As the incline steepened the sleep monsters were banished and we made sharp navigation and route choices to sneak past team after team asleep on the ridge. Luckily the sun came up and with it the spirits of the team. The final sting in the tail was one last fern bash. All that was left was a short paddle across the bay to finish. With everything hurting and sleep knocking at the door it was all I could do to stay awake and stroke the water with the paddle. We crossed the line after 8 days and 5hours in 30th place. I felt relieved. Broken. The hardest most epic thing I’ve done...probably.

I’m amazed at what is possible with perseverance and a willing mind. After returning I’m always asked what was it like….it's hard to describe. Go out and try I say. It’s hard, you suffer at times, but its so rewarding. It strips away the crap, the barriers, the ego, the IPhone, and takes me back to a simple existence. I’ll be back for more, it’s a bit like a drug and after a while I need another hit of reality to give perspective to my life. To give perspective to the arbitrary deadlines at work, the routine of scheduled time, school, work, sleep, repeat. In the words of Faithless:

‘this is my church’

‘this is where I heal my hurts’

‘It’s in natural grace’

…

Off Road Coast to Coast with Rob and Scott

The annual Coast to Coast is an annual New Zealand multisport race.  Starting on the West coast, 140KM of scenic road biking is punctuated by an iconic 30KM mountain run and 70KM river paddle which includes a committing white water gorge.  Where else can you race across a country in a day?  The race is a bucket list event for all adventure athletes.  Most people get to the finish line never wanting to see another bike saddle, kayak or energy bar in their life.  Alex got to the finish line and said: it’d be a lot more bloody interesting if it was mountain biking and had less support.  Fast forward six years and I’m about to find out if that bold statement holds true.

We have given ourselves three days to complete our inaugural traverse from Hokitika on the West Coast of NZ to Rakaia Huts on the East Coast of NZ.  Hours of pouring over maps and countless emails back and forth had sketched out a pretty appetising route: mountain biking almost entirely dirt road or single track, a hike across an epic NZ pass with packrafts which would then deliver us down some classic East Coast braided rivers.  Our leader for this trip was Alex, a long-time companion in adventure and the man responsible for kicking off this madness.  We were joined by Scott, big hearted and happy-go-lucky kiwi who also happened to be hard as nails and a central figure in NZ adventure and brevet scene.  And then there was me, possibly best described at present as a desk jockey and family man from Canberra, looking to relive some past adventures and escape the real world for a while.

DAY 1

After some early morning childcare and bike packing logistics, Alex’s wife, Ann-Marie dropped us in Hokitika at 1PM on Friday to begin.   This first leg was on mountain bikes and set us on our eastward trajectory, following the West Coast Wilderness Trail towards Lake Kaniere.  We decided on a slight detour that was well worth it, despite adding some technical single track, elevation (ie climbing stairs) and time to our journey.  To our right, the lush west coast rainforest closed in with overhanging ferns, slippery roots from old knurled trees and vivid green mossy rocks all vying for our attention.  To our left, the hand-dug Kaniere Water Race built in 1875, was still delivering a constant gurgle of crystal clear water from the lake to the valley below.  Postcard idyllic doesn’t quite do the area justice, as I made a mental note to return and explore the area when I had a bit more time up my sleeve.

Before we knew it 45KM had flown past and we popped out of the rainforst to the banks of Lake Kaniere, eager to embark on the second phase of the journey.  This leg took us up the Styx Valley and over Browning pass to the headwaters of the Wilberforce River.  So, we swapped our bikes for packs laden with packrafts, paddles, PFDs, helmets and enough food for 36 hours.  We had mentally prepared for 40 – 60km on foot, depending on where we were able to launch the pack rafts.  

We set off in high spirits.  For the next four hours we splashed across creeks and meandered our way through the lush undergrowth, the mighty Styx River rumbling away in the background.   After witnessing the power of the river and the size of some of the rapids, we quickly concluded that it wasn’t a river that we would be packrafting anytime soon!

With the sun fading, we started mulling over our options for the night.  We knew that care was required when traversing Browning Pass from West to East, so we were hesitant about crossing this in the dark. We opted for a solid night’s rest at Harman Hut and an early start so we would reach the pass at first light.

This decision was quickly validated when we came across the sign at the turn off to Browning’s Pass:  “Warning: Browning’s Pass descent is EXTREMELY steep.  Take EXTREME caution when descending”.  When you come across a tramping sign in NZ which has EXTREME in capitals, twice, I figured it was best to take notice.  This is not Australia where a sign like this would likely mean a 5m section of hand rail was missing on a wide concrete pass crossing a gentle grass covered 45 degree slope. 

By now we had left the river valley and entered into classic alpine terrain, gaining solid altitude as we traversed the sides of some impressive peaks.  By 10.30PM we had found Harman Hut, were contentedly munching away on a late dinner and looking forward to a few hours’ sleep in comfort.  As we all bedded down for the night I realised I had made a rookie error, taking some electrolytes that contained caffeine earlier in the evening.  As someone who doesn’t regularly have caffeine, I was now trapped in the maddening situation of a very weary body, over active mind and the constant reminder that the alarm would be going off in a few short hours.  A tough lesson to have to relearn as Scott and Alex snored contentedly in their bunks. 

DAY 2

At 4AM the alarm went off.  On cue, and with a few primitive grunts, headlights went on, sleeping bags were peeled back and packed, warm thermals were fondly parted with, Gurney Goo was liberally applied to a wide variety of body areas and on went the damp clothes, wet socks and wet shoes from the previous day.  Canned fruit, tuna and muesli bars went down the hatch and by 4.25AM we were wading through the first stream of the day, alone in the little worlds created by the glow of our head torches.  All this was, of course, done on auto pilot, honed from many days on the trail and a few too many adventure races.  It’s dangerous to think or ask question at this time of the morning!

The relatively balmy pre-dawn tramp saw us drop down into the river valley, before climbing 500 metres to Lake Browning.  We lost the non-descript trail a few times as we navigated up the boulder strewn river bed. Finally, we found an appropriate place to cross, and starting to climb to the pass towering above.

Dawn was breaking by the time we hit the pass.  We found a sheltered spot on the shore of Lake Browning and fired up the stove to have a proper warm breakfast.  The pre-dawn warmth disappeared as the cloud rolled in and, combined with the altitude and exposure to the wind, we quickly donned our jackets and balaclavas.  While eating we were treated to glimpses of the surrounding peaks, basking in the morning alpine glow. The wind whipped the cloud across the pass and into the valley we were about to descend.  We were all carrying helmets for the packrafting leg and remembering the EXTREME descent we were about to embark on, strapped them on as we headed off. 

The pass was exposed, the track was very narrow and very loose as it clung to the side of a 70 degree scree slope stretching out below.  EXTREME? Perhaps? I would say it was fine unless you had issues with heights or put a foot wrong.  Then you would be in trouble.  It certainly wasn’t a place we wanted to dwell and I noticeably felt the mental tension lifting as we dropped in altitude towards the beginning of the braided river stretching out below us.  

The following five hours passed rapidly as the temperatures began to climb, a stiff headwind emerged and we bashed down the river constantly checking water levels to gauge whether there was enough to put the packrafts in.  At around 1PM we decided it was time, inflated the raft and with nervous excitement, set out on the next phase of this adventure.  There would not usually be enough water this high on the Wilberforce River but, the floods earlier in the season had left the river high and we enjoyed a solid hour of running fast little rapids in fairly shallow water.  A couple of surprisingly big wave trains almost had us in for an early swim in the clear turquoise water and got us excited about things to come.

Unfortunately, after this point the valley widened from about 1km to 3km across. The river spread out too, dividing into multiple braids while the headwind picked up.  This made for some very slow bottom scraping progress.  After an hour of wading down countless calf-deep rapids and having the rafts buffeted off-line with even with the most dedicated paddling, we eventually gave up. Back into the packs they went and off we set on foot with the aim of getting to the confluence where the Wilberforce River meets the much bigger Rakaia River.

At about 8PM we found a nice sheltered spot and decided to stop for some dinner and make some decisions. We still had about two hours of walking before we reached the confluence, but the volume of the Wilberforce had picked back up and looked much more promising for the rafts.  Should we keep walking tonight, or wake up early and knock off the walk before sun up or risk putting in the pack rafts here?  After an action packed 16 hour day, we all decided that it was time to set up camp and leave the remaining 2 hours of walking to the morning.  So up went to tarp, in came the sand flies and down went the sun, turning the river braids incredible shades of pink and gold as it slipped below the surrounding peaks.

DAY 3

At 4AM the alarm went off, again.  No one moved.  Scott asked: why don’t I set it to 5AM and we can just risk packrafting instead of walking?  It was the best suggestion I had heard for a while, so back to sleep we all drifted.  5AM bought no such reprieve as we swung into action, with the packrafts ready for launch at first light.

The lazy call turned out to be the inspired call.  Water levels were high enough and in no time at all, the turquoise clear Wilberforce water was lost into the swiftly moving cloudy glacial melt of the Rakaia.  We were now cruising along at a rapid clip, with the speed and force of the river picking up as we moved towards Rakaia Gorge, a 4KM stretch where the river is channelled between two imposing ridge lines that exposed some beautifully stratified rock layers. 

I should pause here and mention that I have absolutely no experience in white water and was assured that we would experience, at most, some easy grade two rapids that posed no danger at all.  I’d been given the safety briefing on how to navigate a rapid (head for the apex), what to avoid (rocks, holes, trees, cliffs and jetboats!) and what to do if we went swimming (lie on your back, feet downstream).  Alex had limited experience and with him steering at the back of our two person pack raft, I trusted we would be in for some wholesome fun.

That notion began to get tested as some more challenging waves and holes appeared.  Scott found himself out of position and ploughed straight into a hole, side on, getting a mighty bucking but incredibly staying upright.  As we watched on, laughing nervously at his amazing luck, we found ourselves horribly offline and also almost ended up also going for a swim as we were swept through a bigger than anticipated set of waves.

By now we were in the Gorge proper and it was somewhat disconcerting to hear Alex let out strings of expletives about water features he’d never seen before and scream at me to PADDLE PADDLE PADDLE. The rafts seemed to float across currents and get buffeted by invisible water forces much more than traditional kayaks, which had both Alex and Scott improvising as they went along.  I just hung on, paddled hard and did what I was told!

We finally emerged from the Gorge, dry and shaken, but not stirred!. Packrafting the Gorge was best summed up, in much less poetic terms, by expressing gratitude that we had taken a nature break prior to entering it and thus, saved us some embarrassment in what was a bit of a bowel moving experience.

We were met by Scott’s wife Jo with our bikes and the ever important egg and bacon pie, bananas, fruit juice and beers.  The beers would have to wait as we tenderly mounted our bikes for the last 65km that would broadly keep us parallel with the Rakaia until it met the ocean.  While the intent was to be on dirt roads and mountainbike trail the whole way, we first needed to complete 5km of bitumen, before hitting the back roads and farm tracks which would eventually deliver us to our goal. 

These tracks proved to be a bit tricker than expected, with a thin covering of loose gravel and really only one smooth line to ride within - about a truck tyre width across.  The feeling of the front wheel sliding out was enough to keep us all alert as we formed a pace-line to try and get the last leg over and done with as quick as possible.  By now our bodies were really aching, with our feet, hands and bums having taking the brunt of the previous hike and pack raft.  There wasn’t much difference between just cruising along or really pushing it, so we took turns at burying our heads out in front into the slight head-wind and managed to maintain a solid 25km/h pace.  

Before we knew it, the sea was in sight and we rolled into Rakaia Huts for the obligatory final photo, 215KM (check) and 74.45 hours after setting out.  We packed up the bikes quickly before all our strength faded, opened a beer and headed off back to Christchurch with Jo.  The drive back was filled with the usual post-adventure buzz of contented excitement that comes with being outdoors with a great bunch of people.

But it’s amazing how quickly your mind transitions from the adventure back to reality.  The tranquillity that comes with unconsciously monitoring the direction of the headwind, speed of the water under your raft and sureness of rocks under your foot. The zen-like focus needed to propel you through these amazing natural environments.  This all evaporated rapidly as the outskirts of Christchurch rolled by: plans for kids pick-up were finalised, dinner needed preparing and I needed to get all my gear cleaned and packed to make my 4.30AM check in for the flight back to Australia the next day.

 THE VERDICT

So, “a lot more bloody interesting than the formal coast to coast race”?  I don’t think anyone can deny the buzz and kudos associated with finishing mass multisport events with hundreds, if not thousands of like-minded individual.  It is a high than can last for days.  However, I am increasingly finding myself drawn to the warm satisfaction that comes with a crazy idea, a whole lot of uncertainty and a small group of likeminded mates.  It’s no surprise then that as my early flight climbed above the Southern Alps, I was eyeing up the braided rivers and passes unfolding below, piecing together the next off-road coast to coast adventure.

by Rob Tyson