2000 Biking New Zealand

Day 06, 13 December 2000, Wednesday
Makarora – Haast; 81.2km @ 15kph, Wilderness Backpackers, $40

We breakfasted on Sizzler sausages and toast with peanut butter and coffee. Then faced the section I had been dreading for months – Haast Pass. The Pass is 563m high and situated in the Mount Aspiring National Park. And as so often when comparing reality and anticipation, the Pass proved easier than we had thought it would be. (Which did not mean though that we were not tired when we arrived here – we were!) A funny thing about reality versus anticipation: Sometimes, as with Haast Pass, the reality of a perceived problem is far easier to deal with than anticipated; sometimes, as with sore bums and knees, the reality is worse.

We cycled again through incredibly beautiful terrain. At first in a light wind and a super light drizzle which did not warrant the getting out of our raingear and which soon cleared. Through the remains of the Makarora Valley, but now with rain forest on either side of the road instead of pastureland. Rain forest dense with trees dripping moss and ferns in abundance and tall and lovely tree ferns and fungus growing from large rough trunks. The forest reverberating with the song of a myriad birds undisturbed by our silent passing.

Cycled toward a tumble of mountains where clouds lay trapped below the peaks – peaking green above the wispy white. With the climb to the Pass really not too bad and the summit reached sooner and easier than we thought. And we celebrated there with photos and a sip each from K&A’s hip flask of Cognac.

We had been warned about the sand flies common on the west coast and had come prepared. But not to meet them on the east side of the mountains. Which we did – encountering the little nippers first on a rest break just before tackling the last leg of the Pass. Luckily our insect repellent, once found, proved equal to the task.

Lonely Planet had to some extent exaggerated the downhills to Haast itself – another 60-odd km away on the west coast. Although the drop to the sea makes for an obvious downhill trend, there were ups aplenty as, although the road follows the Haast river down, it also climbs over the spurs of the mountains which drop into the ever-widening river valley. Even the steep descent after the Pass was shorter and came later than we had read. But what a descent! We came to a sign in bright eye-catching orange warning “Extreme Caution” with a pic of a car on a steep descent. And rushed with little control down a mountainside and around really sharp bends to a single lane bridge turning at right angles over a torrential river. With signs on the way down declaring in seemingly ever more panic-stricken tones: “Runaway Vehicle Ramp 500m” and “200m” and “100m on left” and so on until the ramp appeared on the left around another sharp bend and at 30-odd degrees up the mountain into sand. And if you missed that there is no way you could make the 90 degree turn onto the bridge above the gorge – and that would be all she wrote. Wow!

And water water everywhere. Dozens of rivers and creeks and waterfalls, each requiring naming. And have names as disparate as Dancing Creek and Gout Creek, as unexpected as Gun Boat Creek and Imp Grotto, as ordinary as Joe and Myrtle. Sometimes running gently down wide grey gashes in the mountainside where rocks lie tumbled bearing testament to the raging torrents the spring must bring. Sometimes dropping in graceful ribbons. Sometimes gouging deep crevices into the rock face.

And all around mountains and forests and wisps of cloud trapped in trees between the river and the visible mountain tops. Lush and wet and lovely.

And suddenly the mountains opened up before us and we were in the final approach to the township of Haast. And soon I could see the mountains by which we had been surrounded all morning only with my peripheral vision; and in time only in my rearview mirror.

Haast is a funny little township (just beyond a smaller township for sale – tenders called for according to a board on the road) where kids still run laughing behind the fire engine going about its business – just like East London in the 50s according to Charl. After dropping our stuff in our room at the Backpackers and securing our bikes in the bike shed, we went out again for a snack at the local tea room (tea rooms serve light meals, tea of course, beers etc and abound throughout New Zealand), and then shopped for dinner at the supermarket alongside the hostel. Where the owner has sensibly stocked up on small packages of goods ideal for those staying and cooking one night at a time. Small milk cartons, individual cereal packets, etc.

We passed several cyclists again today – most heavily laden and headed the ‘wrong’ way ie up the steep side of the pass. And shared our homemade meal of pasta and mince this evening with a young German cyclist who had come all the way from Wanaka. He told us he had thought “Oh, 140km, 6 hours, fine”. But that a headwind had kept him out there all day.

Again today we saw lots of dead animals on the road – birds, rabbits (once a mom and her young ’un) and possums (once one completely undamaged eyes staring upwards as we passed). There should be a sign for cyclists on all roads saying ‘the following scenes may offend sensitive viewers’.

We ended our day in the local pub – drinking beer and vodka and orange respectively. A good day. Tomorrow we head north up the coast.