Kapakapanui Loop

Author, Mike, Josh

A day trip to the brand new Kime hut was the plan. Regretfully we had to  scupper this due to a tardy building inspection. So a scheduled trip up Kapakapanui is brought forward by a few weekends.

Editor's note: Refinding this blog nine years later, I've updated by removing shortening of the name Kapakapanui (which refers to a waka that came to the area in the 1800's and likely was a way of claiming mana whenua) and a few other tidy ups.  There's some good photos and a track description on the Our Coast website.  

Summary

Kapakapanui is a 1100m hill in the south western corner of the Tararuas. The loop trip takes us a reasonably relaxed 5 hours on a typical, well marked Tararua bush track rising briefly above the bushline. On the way up we stop for 20 minutes for lunch at the tidy 6 bunk hut but there is no mucking about at the top due to no view in the clag and drizzle. The track down is steeper and quite slippery in a number of places. We reach the cloud not far above 500m but are well sheltered under the bush. There is cell phone coverage for much of the trip apart from the lower slopes.

The Trip

There are a number of ways to get to Kapakapanui - today we are doing the loop from the Reikorangi Valley (Ngatiawa Rd). We elect to take the long way up via the hut reaching the top from the north and continuing on down the steeper more direct route to our starting point.

The road end is easy to find and although our map doesn't show the start of the track, it too is easy to find and follow.  There's a few crossings of the pretty Ngatiawa River; dry feet is not an option.

A short way up the valley a DOC sign marks the junction of the two sides of the loop. We turn left for a few more stream crossings before the track heads up ... and up.  If you want to go up the steep way first just note that the sign seems to point at a bank a metre or two away; the track does in fact go up it.  I've heard of people wandering up the stream and missing the turn.

The Junction

About a kilometre before the hut a track joins from the left (north), it is unmarked apart from a large give way road sign but apparently comes in from the Mangaone walkway.  

(Ed note: it only took five years to get around to checking this route out). 

We notice a few other road marking items and speculate that this may be a cross Government initiative by DOC in order to share costs.

You can find the turn off if you know how to read the signs...

It takes about 2 hours to get to the hut, by now we are in the cloud and it is cool but not cold. The 6 berth hut is NZDA built and is in good nick despite being so close to a road end. It's a good spot for lunch and at about 850m means most of the climbing is behind us.

Josh and me playing teapots; Kapakapanui hut

In colder times (photo on the hut wall)

About a kilometre after the hut the track reaches the bushline and a K after that, the trig. Today there's nothing to see but cloud so we pause only briefly before heading off to quickly bear right (west) and down the steep descent, ignoring the left turn that leads off to various interesting places (Maymorn Junction, Renata Ridge, Waiotauru track and eventually Otaki forks or Akatarawa Saddle).

The top and the view

Yep, Mike made it too

Sections of the track down are quite slippery and everyone goes for the odd tumble. Josh is the most determined though, sitting down on the track with sufficient force to drive his spine through his hat. Fortunately, the topic of conversation had been "the light weight first aid kit" so we know that if we couldn't fix it with 2m of duct tape and strips of someone else's shorts, then it would require activation of the PLB - in which case a triangular bandage would come in use for muffling his screams.

5 hours after setting out we are back at the car and ready for the second part of the tramp. It's about 15 minutes drive to our next road end located in a picturesque light industrial area in Paraparaumu. There is an organised group and a handful of others there already, one of which has a large, enthusiastic chocolate Lab. I'm not keen on dogs when out tramping but manage to contain my opprobrium.

Again, the route is easy to follow as there is a well beaten track to the Tuatara brewery tasting room. The place is simple and sparsely furnished, containing only what is needed to introduce
connoisseurs to beer and the contents of their wallets to the till. We each choose four of the 7 beers available and settle down with our tasting trays to compare notes.

This plus an antipasto platter and plates of nachos keeps us happily distracted for a couple of hours. The Lab periodically (every 5 minutes) forgets that she has met everyone already and comes and says hello again.

By now the Sunday afternoon traffic jam is building up on SH1 so we declare the tramping to be done and drop Josh outside his house, proudly clutching his Aotearoa Pale Ale T-shirt and head back home via the Akatarawa saddle.

All in all a highly successful WANG excursion with all milestones achieved.

Happy trampers.  Mike wearing his fabric of death cotton T-shirt

Port Underwood Road Trip

12 – 14 April 2013
Andrew and Angela

This trip is the third iteration of the ‘weekend tour’.  The principle is simply trips that are doable within a weekend on the bike from the gate and back.  The intention is to be self-sufficient for accommodation and although the odd café may creep into the itinerary, this pretty much holds for food as well (i.e. I carry enough to be self sufficient but wont pass up a good café).

The tails of excitement from the previous two excursions have clearly captured Angela’s imagination so she is a keen starter.  The plan is to catch the Ferry to Picton after work on Friday and bike to a DOC campsite for the night.  Saturday would see us climb the ridge to the north and east of Picton over to Port Underwood.  We would then head south and see how things go, picking a DOC campsite somewhere along the route for Saturday night.  Sunday was pretty much up in the air and would probably involve pottering about the plains around Blenheim before heading north to catch the Ferry home. 

I'm running the same bike set up as the previous two weekends with the exception that we now need a two person tent.  The Macpac Nautilus rolled up tight bungees to the handlebars neatly and causes no problems at all. In fact the weight is welcome on the steep up hills.

The early sailing is sold out but we figure a late night ride through Picton won't be too bad so the 8pm sailing it is.  Angela arrives at the terminal on time and we wait a short time for the boarding call. It's the Kaitiaki and no rail freight; we wander about until we get to where the vehicles are driving on and walk our bikes aboard.

The bike “park” is at the far end of the boat and turns out to be a cheap bike stand in an expansive puddle.  We're the only bikes so end up lashing them together either side of the stand.  The ferry is not very full and the warning at booking time that services may be limited is accurate.  It becomes a bit of a game trying to find someone to serve the limited food that is available. We unwisely snaffle the last two items in the pie warmer; a sausage roll of dubious character for Angela and a kumara and cashew pie for me, God knows how many sailings they have survived.  In between abortive forays to the cafe, the rest of the smooth sailing is spent trying to snooze like the rest of the passengers.

In Picton, our possie at the far end of the boat is now the active exit. We gear up for the night ride and are in the van guard off the boat. Picton is very quiet and we have a pleasant ride in the mild evening through to Waikawa Bay and on to the rural road to Whatamango Bay.

The odd possum crashes up a roadside tree but it’s the little blue Penguin in the middle of the road that causes the most consternation. It appears out of the night in front of Angela's front wheel narrowly avoiding an untimely demise as I swerve to miss Angela swerving to miss the penguin.

It turns out to be quite an easy cruise to Whatamango Bay campsite. We bump down the drive, pay our dues and select a spot next to a picnic table and some trees. There's tonnes of space, good grass and a basic but tidy ablution block.  The stars are brilliantly clear away from the town lights and with tent pitched and teeth brushed we are all done by 1230.

The morning brings a varied dawn chorus influenced by water birds and the odd cow.  A truck starts up the hill and we hear it grinding upwards for some time before the sound fades. It is promising to be a strenuous morning.

By daylight we can see we are in a quiet valley, on a large flat area with clumps of bush with plenty of nooks for camping.  There are 5 or 6 other groups of campers but well spread out. A prickle of moisture in the air has us packing the tent quickly but turns to nothing.  Pukekos stalk around looking for food and a couple of paradise ducks have a thing or two to say.  The hard edged sound of Tui wings flash overhead and plover screech as they head up the Graham valley.

Whatamango DOC campsite

Out of the gate, we turn left and grind uphill for 5K (400 vertical meters) with no stops.  Enough said about that.  A road cyclist cruises past with a cheerful "nearly there, 1K to go" he must be a regular as it is 1.1K.

At the top we allow ourselves a breather to look east and south into Port Underwood. Oyster Bay is far below and we can see our road disappearing around Willawa point; hmm, it looks like gravel.

Port Underwood

From the saddle a 4WD track heads northeast along the ridge. It doesn't actually say no entry so this could be something to investigate another day, it also provides a gap where we can see back down to Whatamango Bay and beyond into Queen Charlotte Sound.

Whatamango Bay

The road is a bit wet in places near the top and with the tight turns and steepish grade provides an entertaining descent.  On the way down the road cyclist passes on his way back over the hill; quite a pre-breakfast work out.

At the bottom we turn right and start our tortuous way along the many spurs and bays.  Oyster Bay is first and apart from the large Kuni Kuni pig our enduring memory will be the start of the gravel.

Here, just a few words about gravel roads. The ideal gravel road has a nice compacted wheel groove that a bike can zip along with occasional excursions into the precarious loose stuff when vehicles are about.  It gets trickier when the grader has been through; there is no sweet spot so progress is slower and steering can be a bit erratic.  If it's the end of the financial year the council may have splashed out on new metal and that's when your time estimates and any chance of traveling in a straight line go out the window.

And one final point; the addition of cloddish drivers with a direct neural connection between their testicles and accelerator foot will reduce the exit from corners and uphill stretches into a corrugated nightmare. The waves they generate in the road surface coincide with pedal strokes in a most disconcerting way and hitting them at speed is akin to sitting on a jackhammer set to granite mode.

As we ascend from Oyster Bay we realise the grader has been through. Still; at least it’s not new metal.  

The road winds through bush, dropping and climbing constantly. The dips skirting picturesque bays and patches of farm land, the rises giving glimpses up, down and across Port Underwood.  Each bay has its own name and character and many seem to have been associated with whaling.  The drop into Tom Cane’s Bay brings the delight of new road metal.  Angela watches Andrew slew his way cheerfully down the hill and wisely dials in a more sedate pace.  The experience is somewhat disconcerting and she votes for a cuppa tea stop before facing the loose climb out of the bay.  

A short drive descends between baches of diverse character but immaculate lawns and drops us at the head of a delightful bay.  There’s a short sandy beach, a wee stream and plenty of space for picnicking.  The penny stove is soon doing its thing and after the application of Dimp we sit under a tree sipping our tea, nibbling a mallowpuff and watching a couple of Oystercatchers work the tide line around the bay.  

The water fades from clear to dark green as it deepens; across the bay a tree full of Cormorants carry on about something or other and the normal suspects chirp and swoop in the bush on the steep hillsides.  We allow the setting to divert us for a little longer than planned but there’s no time pressure today so why not; it doesn’t get much better than this.

Tom Cane's Bay; firing up a brew

The road continues through the bays and we mark our progress by the approach of Robertson Point; the end of the spit that separates Port Underwood from the open sea.  The rises so far have been below 100m but leaving Ocean Bay, the hill doesn’t stop but continues upwards in a most unrelenting way to about 270m.  This gives magnificent views and a thoroughly entertaining downhill but takes its toll on energy reserves and dwindling water supplies.

Looking across to Robertson Point

The bottom of the hill turns out to be Robin Hood Bay (probably named after a ship) and we have left Port Underwood behind.  But before we do, just a note about vegetation.  Port Underwood is extensively under pine forest.  This means that you have vistas of uniform dark green clad hills broken only by the swathes of utter devastation where the entire forest cover has been ripped away and log haulers have gouged scars up the bare ridges.  By comparison, the extensive mussel farms are a gentle intrusion on the environment (although I guess some eco-marine biologists may not agree). 

Putting that unseemly assault on the flow of narrative to one side, let me return to our story.
Robin Hood Bay has a historic cottage and a bit of Maori history (gardening).  It’s also the most obviously visited spot with a large sandy beach, boogie boarders enjoying a modest surf break and plenty of space.  There is a DOC campsite but it doesn’t have water and it’s a little early to stop for the night so we reluctantly head up the next hill. 

Robin Hood Bay DOC picnic area (Campsite is at south end), White Bluffs or Cape Campbell on the horizon

It rapidly becomes clear that a lot of vehicles travel here from Blenheim.  The road becomes wider and relatively busy (10 cars an hour) and the previously mentioned corrugations intrude on our enjoyment.  The first hill is steep and climbs to a similar height to the last, with (just maybe) a little bit of pushing involved.  The top however brings views across Cloudy Bay to White bluffs and beyond to Cape Campbell.  Now it’s just the last short haul to the blissfully flat landscape of the Wairau plains.

Dropping into the last bay (White’s Bay) the road turns back to seal and we have the option of dropping down to the DOC site or continuing over the next hill to Rarangi, our intended destination.  I reckon we’re at about 60m altitude so we decide that we’ll leave White’s Bay for another day and again change gears for a climb.

White’s Bay and the end of the gravel

We know the steep bits are almost finished and with the going easier on the seal this last hill is not so bad.  However, it starts to rain and we hold our breath as it makes up its mind whether to settle in or stop.  After a couple of bursts it passes and we proceed to our last view point south along the beach with the Wither hills behind Blenheim in the distance and orderly farms and vineyards in between.  Nestled at the bottom of the hill at the start of the beach is Rarangi.  The beach edge has a serrated look from this vantage, we find out later that it is growing at a metre a year and that the patterns are part of the wave action involved in the process.
 
It’s 3.20 when we arrive in Rarangi and pitch the tent before killing a little time ahead of an early dinner and bed.  The first order of the day though is drinking water as we have been eking out our last drops.  Then we find the least lumpy spot and pitch the tent.

The camp ground is a little odd; it has a new ablution block (with cold shower) and a couple of picnic tables but is basically a small paddock with little grass.  The few plantings are too new to look anything more than slightly apologetic and the overall effect is that we are caged curiosities for the locals to peer over the fence at.  We are the only curiosities in the camp ground but note that there are a number of vehicles in the car park just outside that look like the occupants are here for the duration.

Pretty much as soon as we have life sorted and the tent up; the rain comes back.  We scamper inside and sit eating mallow puffs and milk bottles.  It doesn’t appear to have any intention of letting up so the dinner billy is set to boil outside the vestibule for beef hot pot.  By the time it is served the rain has passed and by 6pm the clouds are breaking.  The horizon to the south over Blenheim and west over the open sea is clear so we poke our noses out for a postprandial walk.

A few steps from our tent site is the end of the beach and a pretty walk around the corner into a tiny bay: Monkey Bay (which I’m sure I’ve seen on a wine bottle label).  There’s a seat to look out to sea and options for a longer walk around to White’s Bay, but we turn south and walk along the beach reserve instead.  The Community Centre and Fire Station mark a suitable turning point and night has fallen by the time we turn back.  

The air is clear after the rain and it is mild.  With nothing else to do in Rarangi we are in our sleeping bags by 7 listening to the surf.  An itinerant idiot wakes us during the night but fortunately after a modicum of (probably) male driving display, he heads of to irritate another part of Marlborough.  Angela is a little surprised that it is midnight and not 4am and consequently has a more fitful rest thereafter.

We rise by 0630 in time to watch the sunrise above the North Island.  The clouds are thick about the Wellington hills and thin out eastwards to Cape Palliser on the right.  A thin thread of orange fire outlines the uneven top edge of the Wellington cloud bank like a signature, becoming gradually brighter until the first full sunlight spills through.  It’s below 10 degrees and the light is a welcome indicator of the warmth to come.

Being of robust constitution we decide that a short ride into Blenheim will be just the thing before breakfast.  We are both a bit vague about the geography between here and there so we set out in the cool air, in what we expect is the right direction.  There’s little of note apart from an interesting outboard motor letter box and a vineyard worker literally riding shotgun who points us in the right direction. 

The sun is at just the right angle to throw the rhinoceros rumples and folds of the Wither hills into relief with a snow capped Tapuae o Uenuku lurking behind.

After 13K we cross the Wairau River and approach what must surely be the outskirts of Blenheim.  Wrong.  It’s Spring Creek and we have to ride a further 7K on State Highway one. 

Blenheim is stirring at 8.20 but nothing seems to be open until Angela spots tables on the footpath in the distance.   When we arrive it is indeed an open café.  Figaros’ turns out to be an excellent find serving good coffee.  Angela’s eggs Bene, and my pancakes with lashings of maple syrup, perfectly cooked banana and good bacon are as good as you will get anywhere.  The sun streams through the open door thawing us from finger tips to toes.

We plan our day over the repast and pick up a few maps from the i-site afterwards.  Our first destination is the small but thoroughly satisfying farmers market.   The day is starting to warm and the place is buzzing.  We don’t have space to take the treats on offer with us but happily demolish a tray of fully ripe raspberries.

A busker plays the saxophone and a red cloaked story-teller with a bell rounds up urchins from the crowd.  It all has the feel of a well-rehearsed but thoroughly loved community routine. 

Raspberries at Blenheim Farmers Market

New Renwick Road takes us through vineyards westwards.  A few harvesters are operating and cyclists pass in both directions; it is now comfortably warm.  In Renwick we purchase a round of iced coffee and stop at a winery along the road.  We are confident that a couple of sweaty cyclists lounging on the sward adjacent to their fish pond will be a welcome boost for their image.

Our route has turned north now and we decide to divide and conquer.  Angela turns right into Rapaura Road whilst I continue to cross the cycle unfriendly Wairau Bridge and turn right down the left bank along the Kaituna - Tuamarina Road.  This is a little more meandering with a few kilometres of (graded!) gravel in the middle.  It wouldn’t be suitable on a road bike but doesn’t have any hills. 

My road emerges on State Highway One right next to our rendezvous point; the site of the Wairau affray.  I have about 20 minutes to read about the sad affair before Angela texts, she has been at the picnic table on the other side of the tree for 10 minutes.  We lie in the grass looking into a cloudless sky munching OSM bars for lunch.

It is about 20 Km to Picton into a firm head wind on a busy road.  Neither of us can recall how high the intervening pass is but we have plenty of time.  Angela practices slip streaming as we ignore the trucks and traffic whizzing past our elbows.  It’s a good shoulder and pretty flat so is not too bad.  A little after halfway we stop to lie in the grass again at a memorial to two hunters “killed in tragic circumstances” in Robin Hood bay in 1966. 

Just ahead lies the hill.  With gritted teeth the first rise is soon behind and we pause to regroup, only to realise: “is that it!?” (in incredulous tones from Angela).  Sure enough, it is and we coast down to Picton to be drinking excellent iced coffee and a cold ale at Le Café within minutes.  It’s 2.20, the hour when the genteel put away their bikes and turn to more leisurely pursuits so we buckle down to an afternoon browsing before our sailing.

Le Café

In front of Le Café, yachts are racing in Picton Harbour and the Blind Boys of Alabama are playing on the stereo.  We keep just enough orders flowing so as not to outstay our welcome.  My verdict on the beer:  Mikes IPA; hoppy but good, and Wild Buck; cheap and OK but a bit anaemic.

A group of old car enthusiasts occupy half the footpath tables apparently enjoying the end of a social road trip.  One of their number in a Triumph Herald with the top down pulls in and starts to perform a U turn.  The manoeuvre halts with a loud bang and the left front wheel pointing it’s hub towards the heavens in a most inelegant fashion.

The coffee lovers iced coffee

A gender divide instantly develops at the side walk table.  Dave, Bruce and Nigel leap to the fray manhandling the car out of the developing traffic jam.  Mavis seems quite cheerful despite the public humiliation of her Herald and is soon swilling Chardonnay with Edna, Sharon and Pauline.  Dave finds a traffic barrier to protect the legs protruding from under the car and things are all tidy.

We're dying to know how the hell they will get it on the Ferry (which is catching the last of the sun as it steams into port).  However our time is up and we have to leave Dave lying in the road applying 100 mile-an-hour tape and tie downs to invisible regions of the car.  As we leave, the sound of an important bit of metal landing on asphalt rings in the evening air.

We are on the 7pm sailing and have to wait for shunting to be complete before we can board.  The Ferry is 15 minutes late but we are let into a tiny port-a-com waiting room.  The other inhabitant turns out to be an interesting bloke who has been biking the Wakamarina track and is practicing a travel-light philosophy more extreme than my own.  The time passes quickly.

Eventually aboard, we lash the bikes in and find a seat in the forward lounge.  The crossing is pretty smooth as we adopt various contortions in an attempt to sleep in the chairs.  Mike meets us off the Ferry (i.e. texts to say he’s just leaving home) and forces me to put the bike on their rack and accept a lift home.  This marks the end of the tour which is declared a resounding success by both participants.

Queen Charlotte MTB

5-7 April 2013
Solo

Tramping is off the agenda for the moment but the Doctor didn’t say anything about Mountain Biking and I had long intended to get set up for short tours; so the concept of the weekend adventure from Wellington came about.

Plan A was always a tour around Port Underwood but it couldn’t happen on weekend 1 and turned into an inclination to the Wairarapa (refer separate trip report). This, the next weekend is another Plan B; I had planned a Port Underwood excursion with Angela but she couldn’t make it in the end so a road foray along Keneperu Sound is scheduled.

By Thursday night the possibilities have crystallised to one preferred option and the necessary gear has migrated to the bedroom couch waiting to be stuffed into its designated place. Things were looking propitious, so non-refundable return tickets (now there's confidence) were booked late that evening and the bike lubed and loaded.

The trip starts with the 15K commute to work; pauses for the working day and resumes with a dash for the ferry. This proves you can make the 1825 ferry after a day’s work. The ride around the Blenheim vines is on so more than a handful of cyclist walk their mounts onto the freight deck of the Arahura. A few others are being picked up in Picton and have bought their bikes for pottering around in the weekend.

On board, the first order of the day is a roast chicken dinner. Good enough although the vege’s were already over cooked before the voyage even started. This fills the gaps and staves off boredom for the first 20 minutes. There is no swell in the strait so dinner stays put and there's nothing to do but snooze as the sky darkens to black by 19.30. Which reminds me: is it day light saving this weekend? "Fall back" therefore if I do forget I’ll just arrive an hour earlier for the return voyage so let’s forget about it for now. The trip passes quickly; reading the rail ferry 50th anniversary mag, eating ice cream and snoozing.

Suddenly Picton is announced and the exodus to vehicles begins. The bikes are lashed two deep to the wall on the train deck by various dubious and greasy cordage. We disentangle and are directed to wait to one side at the front of the deck and start exiting as soon as the door is open. It's just before 2130. A light wind doesn't make it cold but I am pleased to have two layers on as I swing onto the Grove track.

A small number of cars pass but these are soon gone and the night is quiet and dark. It’s a straight forward ride and Aussie Bay campsite easy to find. It’s about 40 min after leaving the ferry so I'm quite chuffed with my planning.

Finding a vacant spot is a little tricky as it’s not a huge site and there are quite a few vehicles about. Across the Sound a collection of lights may well be Anakiwa. By 11 the tent is up, ablutions abluted, fees paid and there’s time for a few notes before lights out.

Saturday

The night was quiet; trickling from the stream, the occasional slap of a wavelet, a far off Morepork. By 7.30 normal processes necessitate getting up. A few vehicles have left and the morning is over cast. By day I can see the camp is between the shore and road with a bit of screening bush. It feels like a transitional spot rather than one to come and stay for a few days; ideal for my purposes. Looking about there aren't that many tent spots and I seem to have nabbed the best one. The road is quiet until a peloton of riders whoosh past and I hear more following, surely too early for the vine ride.

During the night I seem to have decided to bike at least the first part of the Queen Charlotte track. I don't have a map but remember enough from a short walk here some years back to be fairly comfortable. Better text my changed intentions though.

Before I know it, I'm in Anakiwa looking across the sound trying to work out which strip of beach is Aussie bay. There is a charge to access the track ($12 for a 4 day pass) and a complicated machine which had a previous life in a car park to part punter from dosh. All a bit confusing and no change given; credit card an option for an extra fee. A couple of MTBers park up to head around to Keneperu saddle by road and back along the track; a good option if you have a vehicle.

There is a dearth of free maps of the track on pamphlets etc. and those on the sign boards lack detail. I don't have the topo map either but am reasonably comfortable with my memory of the basic topography. The first 12K to Te Mahia passes quickly. The track is wide and easily graded; never climbing above 200m allowing a good pace.

Grove Arm and Okiwa Bay; Anakiwa behind the helmet and Aussie Bay somewhere on the left

The next 7.5k section to Torea saddle starts with a stick mangling into the back derailleur, the gears jump under load for a while but it seems to come right.  The section requires some pushing; it is narrower, steeper, climbs higher and is more technical with some down-hills requiring attention. There are a few people on the track but nowhere near crowded so quite enjoyable. Looking north from the track the unseen heart of the Sounds reveals itself; the terra incognita peered at on maps becomes hills, bush, bays and sea with oh so picturesque patches of well-ordered pasture. Passing patches of sun pick up the impossibly neat farmland or intense green of a bay with golden beach.

All this beauty has left me quite breathless (or it could have been the hill). Either way I decide to lose 100 precious metres to investigate Portage. They have a shop and a café so as it is approaching 12 it is the ideal opportunity to support local business and have the gourmet burger with fries; the lunchtime One-Square-Meal in my pack doesn't stand a chance.  At $22 I'm very pleased with my purchase which arrives quickly and matches Wellington quality.

The service is also good; attentive and helpful (with a quick eye for the up-sell). I send a few "I'm still alive and changing my plans" texts, which may just also have had an element of "I'm eating outrageously in fab surroundings whilst roughing it, so go green with envy."

Anyway, I tuck in not thinking too hard about the slog ahead. The impromptu stop is also a chance for a few housekeeping items: checking the bike, a loo, water for the track, and getting change for the campsite.

Leaving portage about 1, the first thing is a 90m slog up to the saddle, then the climbing begins. The track condition is generally better than the last section but the 24K feels long and reaches about 500m altitude with a number of ups and downs on the way.  Hills I would have grunted up in the morning become an excuse to get off and push for a bit.

There are a number of saddles that mark progress.  The trouble with this is that you glide down to them with ease but it means you are immediately facing a climb; I prefer ticking off the high points where the views over Keneperu and Queen Charlotte Sounds demand a stop (and a breather).

Looking southish down, possibly, Blackwood Bay

For the first half there are quite a few people, about 50:50 MTBers and walkers. Two couples have boats to meet and by my reckoning need to get their skates on.  At Black Rock Shelter I meet the two chaps from the morning. They have some useful tips for the track ahead.  Everyone is considerate and a few are down-right chatty.

The views gradually change: views of Queen Charlotte Sound, then into Tory Channel to the South, and eventually the length of Keneperu Sound to the west-southwest. 

Near the top, looking the length of Keneperu Sound

At last I have the feeling that the track is grading down for a rendezvous with the road at Keneperu Saddle.  However it takes a while to do so and develops two characteristics: 1, patches of water seeping across the track, and 2, a yellow clay base with little or no leaf litter. This combined with road slicks (which have been fine 'til now), make for diverting riding. The back wheel takes to skipping gaily across the track at the merest thought of the brakes which is mostly ok, but when the front wheel takes a notion to do the same, things become interestingful.

Things reach a head at a section with a bit of grade and slick clay, eventually seeing a graceful divorce of rider and bike.  Neither party is damaged but it’s like trying to do slalom sprints on greased ice.  An awkward hoppy-skiddy technique proves to be pretty hopeless but better than walking or falling off.

A bit before 4 the road heaves into view. This is the point where I say farewell to the track and turn back towards the head of Keneperu Sound.  There are a couple of sections to go and I suspect one of them is quite steep - but not today.

Keneperu Saddle!

My destination for the night is reached in about 6km of downhill and flat gravel road. The Keneperu Head Campsite is new with a tonne of space, although little cover. The facilities are basic, but look pretty good, and include a shower (cold). The grass looks invitingly springy for under a tent.  However, I think there is a bit of juice left and I know that there are more campsites along the Sound with Portage about 12k away.

The short uphills are slow and the downhills a chance to rest. The going gets harder until I remember I haven't stopped to eat since lunch. An OSM provides an excuse not to pedal for a while and perks things up a bit.  The DoC sites flick by: Nikau Bay, Picnic Cove ... I check a few out; they cater a little better for vehicles than tents and are mostly small, but good options, and frequent enough that if one is full you just push on to the next.

Around 5 the last downhill glide takes me into Portage. For the second time that day I take a break and text in the café/bar. This time with a beer as a pick-me-up ($8.50 /pint; no local brews just the run-of-the-mill offerings from one of the usual multinational suspects). The same gent behind the bar helpfully points out that the Cowshed Bay Camp is within walking distance and therefore another beer could be in order.  I decline with one of those little lies that lubricate social discourse; "maybe I'll pop along after dinner."

Cowshed Bay is indeed very close. It is empty bar me and another tent, and half of it is a construction site.  It will be great when it's finished.

I select a romantic spot for the tent away from others under a cabbage tree overlooking the bay (it will probably cop the wind but I couldn’t pass it up).  I hear the calls first but soon a couple of weka are stooging about; although about the size of a chicken there the resemblance ends; no chicken has that level of smarts and casual kleptomania.

Cowshed Bay: still life with tent and bicycle

Taking a wander I find another half of the site on the other side of the road. Better sites and a loo. Ah well, I'm not moving now (well, not the tent anyhow).

It’s well after 7 and the wind has got up so I find a sheltered spot behind the workers shed and fire up the Penny stove for beef and pasta hot pot (for two). In about 10 minutes, half a litre of water is boiling and I'm trying to work out how to fit the dehy in (and wandering what the wekas are doing to my tent).

The tent is still there but sitting waiting for the dehy soak time to elapse it's not long before there is a weka within half a metre. It's a persistent bugger and I resolve that everything goes in the tent tonight.  I just hope they haven't flogged another biker’s tool kit and dismantle my bike.

The wind is still on the firm side and a few spots of rain come through but not enough to drive me indoors.  A weka squeezes under my feet as I sit next to the bike and demolish dinner in the deep dusk. The jetty lights at Portage are just around the corner and there is the odd bach light but by now little else is visible.

A couple of camper vans turn up, the first happily parks at the other end of the ground the second is closer but they don’t look like yahoos.

By 8.15 I'm in the pit listening to the wind, campervan noises, spots of rain and the odd weka fiddling with the tent.  Daylight savings tonight so plenty of time to kip.

Sunday
There's a few strong gusts and a period of rain during the night but it is calm by morning.  The dawn light brings a chorus with some bell birds (or tui?) precisely annunciating the same three and sometimes four note phrase. A tui throws out some guttural croaks and the wekas get even more active. They thunder about the campsite and rustle around the tent; the odd flurry and outraged squawk suggests a bit of scrapping going on.

As I pack, I turn my back on the open tent for a second, turning back a startled weka scrambles out of the middle of my gear and backs off a few paces.

My muesli was packed in the billy last night but is nowhere to be found now.  It never turns up; I suspect a weka knicked it while I was cooking last night.  It’s a salient lesson in packing light as there's nothing to eat but OSMs.  I tuck into one as I head off down the road around 7.30.

The culprit?

It takes longer than I thought to exit Keneperu sound via many dips and rises (rarely over 100m and only once above 150m).  Eventually I reach Linkwater and turn left onto the Grove Track, passing Aussie Bay about 9am, and arriving at the ferry terminal by 9.45.  Yes, my ticket can be changed to the 10.30 sailing ($5 surcharge).  There’s 15 minutes to get to a café for a hot chocolate and croissant melt in the sun. Perfect after a cool ride despite the morning sun.

Back at the rally point for bikes there is a lot of shunting in and out of the ferry; quite entertaining as they have a remote control loco; what a toy.  You can't help imagining it trying to stick a train through the front of the ship when someone pushes the wrong button. The workers jump on and off moving trains elegantly, I guess natural selection has taken care of the clumsy ones.

The other bikers are all returning from the grape ride and seem to have enjoyed the experience.  A few accidents to report though.

A few minutes after ETD they finally let us on. The tie down arrangements on the Aratere are about as crap as the Arahura. All the bikers are scratching their heads how to tether machines without sensitive bits getting mangled. The short bungies for my sleeping roll come in handy.

The voyage is under way by the time we scale the innards of the ship to the passenger areas. A seat in the forward lounge provides a panoramic view forward and access to coffee and iced water.  The voyage proceeds as any other, albeit fairly boisterous at times. Wellington looks gloomy and does its best to rain during the last few kilometres to be home by 2.20. 

Sitting in a hot bath soaking off the accumulated sweat of two day’s riding is a suitable denouement to a superb Plan B weekend.

The bike set up has performed well. I lowered the back bag as far as it would go and put the heaviest kit in my back pack. The track is pretty good but is still pretty hard on bike mounted gear. The handle bar mounted gear doesn't get in the way of the steering and helps distribute some weight forward.

The distances for those interested in repeating parts of the ride...

Picton to Aussie Bay                         15.7
Aussie to Queen Charlotte Track      7.8
Start to Te Mahia Saddle                  12.5
Te Mahia to Torea                               7.5 ? (Also saw a value of 9 point something)
Diversion to Portage                           1.0
Torea to Keneperu Saddle              24.5
Saddle to Head of Sound campsite   6.5
Head of Sound to Portage               12.3
Portage to Cowshed Bay                    0.6
Cowshed to Aussie Bay                    34.9
Aussie to Picton                                 15.7