Having never been to Mavora Lakes, despite riding past the turnoff a couple of times on events, I was keen to finally visit and camp there – it apparently being a beautiful spot. It seemed worth having a couple of easy days to do so, which meant we’d probably be able to wait out some forecast bad weather in Queenstown the following night. With a big cooked breakfast under our belts, booking the boat across Wakatipu, a cafe stop and visits to bike and food shops – we eventually left town mid-morning.

There looked a good gravel backroad option that would show us some more of rural Southland than the highway would – an easy decision to make, even if it was a bit further to ride it wouldn’t matter today. A surprisingly steep, albeit short, climb to soon start sweltering in the sun and discover we were chasing a grader down the road. Oh no, fresh soft gravel! Thankfully the operator had the blade a bit low for much of the road, so there was a strip with no gravel on it down the middle of the lane.

Mt Titiroa had constantly been around for a couple of days, and still was keeping an eye on us. Top of the steepest climb on this detour.

Spying the offending grader off in the distance at the bottom of a long, straight descent we were relieved to catch and pass it – the driver kindly stopping and waiting us to get by. Our eighty minutes of rural views with mountains off in all directions continued on a warm, still morning – far better than being on the highway.

The going was easy.

Inquisitive audience during a snack break.

Spotting possible shelter to bivy in is a regular aside of bikepacking; I’d give this shed a miss I think.

Doing the right thing and phoning for permission to cut straight across a farm to Mavora Lakes Rd backfired in that permission was denied – quite possibly could have snuck through, but we’ll never know. Having my phone on and surprisingly good coverage did at least give me the news that my new mountain bike frame had finally been delivered. Except there was no sign of it where it was supposed to be. I lagged again trying to sort it out, thankfully it was found at the wrong address and all sorted before we disappeared up backroads.

Half an hour on the highway and we turned north towards the lakes, the slightest southerly at our backs as the road very modestly climbed. Lunch in the shade of a row of pines, chatting to a Te Araroa through-hiker as she walked-jogged another interminable road section – I don’t think I could do that TA, so many road sections on foot.

Southland scenes.

Easy climbing, bit more traffic than I expected – but not too dusty.

Finally I get more than fifty metres down the road to Mavora Lakes, this being about a hundred metres.

A nice tunnel of beech forest shaded us all the way to the first campsite we found. We promptly stopped and pitched tents, dipped in the lake and generally lazed around appreciating a half-day on the bike.

Pretty rare that my tent is up so early on a hot afternoon that it’s worth opening up both sides for any breeze.

Early evening, we rolled along the road to North Mavora Lake for a look-see. Out of the trees, the breeze was up and most helpful.

End of the road, although 4WD tracks promise a bit more bike exploration if we should return.

Back to camp into the wind was a fairer indication of just how strong it was. Thankfully our campsite was well sheltered. The sun sunk towards the ridge of the mountains directly opposite our shore, where we were sitting cooking dinner. Scorching, it was rather odd having to get up from our stoves and dinner to stand in the lake to cool off some. Eventually the sun disappeared and the evening quickly cooled to a most pleasant temperature.

Another lakeside, another fire.

To bed eventually after a bit of night-sky gazing. A shorter day on the bikes, thrilled to have finally got to Mavora – on a stunning day in good company no less.

A lovely night’s sleep in my tent, twas a leisurely eight o’clock start – at least for me, others seemed to be in more of a rush still. Perhaps my blood had recovered somewhat, as it was nice to be able to at least keep up with some for a bit of company as we headed for Borland Pass – about a thousand metres of climbing first up.

Gentle shaded valley floor climbing from the lake got the legs warmed up before we started heading up in earnest. Again, plenty of new terrain to look at and wonder about all the forest, peaks and valleys.

Up there! About the time the climbing really started.

The small lakes beside the Grebe Valley easily caught the eye on the ascent.

Stopping at an actual lookout, half of the climb done.

Taking in the view, always, we struggled to fathom just what the sign was telling us – of a long ago landslide that displaced twenty-seven cubic kilometres of the mountain range! Just around the corner we finally found Debbie waiting at what she would soon find out, to her chagrin, was a false summit.

At the turnoff to a bivy (small shelter), I was up for a walk down to see what was there. Partly for the walk, but mostly to try and instil touring-mode into our trip. I think I was successful as Andy and Rachel tagged along. So successful, Andy didn’t even make it to the bivy – preferring to luxuriate lying in the warm sun.

Just a few switchbacks to go…

Borland Pass conquered well before noon, we found a lot of friendly, local day-trippers (in motor vehicles) to yarn to before the glorious descent. Fifteen kilometres of a gentle gradient all the way to Borland Lodge. Much fun cruising down there, wonderfully cool air too.

Out past Monowai on gravel roads was flat easy going, with just a few washboards. Just before the highway Scott was waiting, with welcome refreshments, to meet Debbie and start the long drive the length of the island for the return to work. Rachel, Andy and I continued up the highway with a gentle southerly push us up the, apparently, notorious Blackmount hill; it wasn’t too bad in those conditions, but still I lagged a bit.

Takitimu Mountains from the highway riding; with little traffic it was most pleasant.

About halfway back to town, up a small rise I tired of being so slow and conjured up a smidgeon of energy from somewhere (probably all in my head) to sprint (or as close as I ever get on an overloaded, or any, bike) and take off up the road for a bit – but soon waiting in the shade at the next junction. Back into Manapouri village a day after my first visit in almost thirty years, we were well pleased to find the cafe still open. All talk of pushing onto Mavora Lakes (another four or so hours) was absent as we opted for the nice cycle trail beside the Waiau River to roll into Te Anau just before seven.

Andy found us rooms in a ginormous, but mostly deserted, motor camp before we hit the grocery store to prepare our own three course dinner sitting out in the warm summer evening. An excellent relaxed end to another fantastic day, much less effort in this one – but plenty to whet the appetite for more Southland and Fiordland exploring.

Bikes were wrestled onto the top deck to take us across Manapouri to West Arm. Predictably in these times, there were few passengers. We cooked sitting on the starboard side indoors, it was far more pleasant on the open deck above to take in the lake and surrounding mountains – we just had to forgo the interesting commentary.

Easy going!

Over there somewhere.

Plenty of sweet beaches if one was out in a boat – which many were on this public holiday.

A little teaser of what the afternoon had in hold.

Somehow our original plan of spending the afternoon heading up Wilmot Pass, and possibly dropping to Doubtful Sound, before returning to West Arm for the night in a hut completely went out the window. I was rather looking forward to ditching some gear for a big climb and descent to somewhere new, and eating a lot of the food I was carrying. It’s a pity that one can no longer go down and tour the Manapouri Power Station deep below the earth (thankfully we did it as a family when I was much younger), there wasn’t even enough time to geek out reading all the displays in the visitor centre, hmmm. Still, the afternoon promised new places and challenges.

The skipper gave us helpful tips of finding the start of the pylon road. As warned, it was steep at the bottom and with neither my load lighter or my blood back to normal I was soon walking. The lush bush provided good shade, nonetheless it was still warm. Soon everyone was out of sight, not to be seen for a long time. A bit miffed at this change in dynamic, I switched to solo-bikepacking mode and took in the ever-changing and expanding view at a sedentary pace, pausing a fair bit. What a place! I couldn’t even resent the pylons and HV lines in most views – they were the only reason there was a road here for us to explore.

After a significant snack stop, I rounded a corner to find Andy and Rachel filling bottles at the last notable creek before the road clung to a rock face for some time. Nice to have some company again. We could just see Debbie far above.

Rachel heading for some rock fall debris – easily negotiated on foot.

Back down to West Arm, a small section of the road up.

Quickly up a few switchbacks.

Oh yay, I wasn’t the only one walking.

A bit of a plateau before the final climb to the saddle, lovely up here.

Peering over the precipice.

Bit of a problem here. The topography between the pylons we were standing at and those closest in the photo above is so steep that the two pylon roads were never joined to form one road. So we had the six hundred metre gap to close, with two hundred metres to drop.

Grade 5 Expert. Expert hike-a-bike, that is.

Would have been nicer just to stay and admire the scenery, roll back down to the boat and sail across the lake. But, no.

The first half was exposed sidling around a steep, rocky bank and then above a sketchy looking scree slope. I’m only now perturbed that I was encouraged to lead off down the precipitous slope. Did I look more like a mountain goat or a scape/sacrificial goat? This section was more of the reason I was slightly put out that I’d not had the chance to eat a lot of my food overnight, as per the stated plan. Extra weight through all of this was going to be tiring. Nothing for it, but to sling my saddlebag over my shoulder and hoist bike while picking my way down.

None of it was particularly easy going, but only one section caused a big pause – a big step down right above the scree. It was negotiated with difficulty, a bit of a bum slide, but safely enough. The faint path went around the top of the scree onto more stable ground.

Yeah, I said “faint path”. Spot the marker; at least it was marked by the local MTB club, would be very useful in worse weather – which I hope I don’t experience here.

Over the edge of the scree.

Almost safely in the bush for the second half of the descent.

After forty-five minutes it was a relief to get away from the exposure and into the bush. That was short-lived, although while safer, it was far harder and slower going in the trees. Cue an hour of wrestling a loaded bike over and under fallen trees, down and occasionally up the slope. Big pins on flat pedals were both a blessing and a curse – at times hindering forward progress, and at other times stopping the bike tumbling down onto rocks or trees below. My saddlebag made a good habit of swinging around beside me and getting in the way, the strap chafing my shoulder well.

After another three-quarters of an hour of this I could feel the fatigue starting to settle in. How much more was there? The others were close behind, or so I thought, as I could hear them clearly through the dense bush having their own struggles with bikes, trees, rocks and the gradient. An hour and three quarters after leaving the pass, blessed sight, I popped out of the bush to the roughest of clearings and the pylon we’d been working towards for so long (so near…) towering above. Relief. I may have kissed the ground. Definitely the hardest hike-a-bike I’ve done, possibly the stupidest place I taken a bike. Can’t wait to return lightly loaded and with a trail bike. It’s spectacular up there.

Maybe the others were a bit further behind. They heard my shouts of joy and relief clearly, but it was another fifteen minutes before they all emerged. Seemingly working as a group was even slower, plenty of tales of both pedals getting hung up on trees as both wheels simultaneously got jammed.

Rachel negotiating one last rocky step down.

A photo that gives some idea how steep it was, rare indeed.

After a decent break to collect ourselves, the rest of the big downhill! This would have to be one of the steepest service roads I’ve seen. So. Much. Fun! Really loose in places, there was also some very chunky rocks to keep the surface sketchy on bikepacking tyres. I loved bouncing down, getting close to the edge, pausing to take in new aspects of the view – and wait for the others. By the accounts I heard, walking at times sounded far harder than riding.

Thankfully we were following the left lines, not climbing up to those pylons on the right.

Waiting at a hairpin.

From said hairpin, Rachel’s photo.

Down at Percy Stream, there was water to stock up on (obviously) while waiting, before a little rise and the most pleasant roll through beech forest down the Grebe valley to the South Arm of Manapouri and the campsite for the night. A late dinner was cooked on the lakeshore, a thoroughly pleasant end to an excellent afternoon challenge. I think we were all satisfied to see the back of the Percy Saddle bike-carry, but thrilled at the terrain we’d travelled through – new to all of us. What a ripper.

Andy’s footage of the day does a fair better job of showing the climb, carrying and landscape than all this.

I got wind of a long-planned Southern Special the previous month on Andy’s fantastic Conservation Area Loop. The concept was pretty standard with not much new to me, save for the carrot of getting down to Fiordland and hauling our bikes over Percy Saddle. Plans morphed over the intervening weeks and I realise now there are still places to show Andy that he’s not ridden yet – another time. Rachel already had the time off work and other plans fell through, so last month’s trio was back together. I determined to carry more gear, food and be more comfortable at camp so as to slow down a bit, in the hope of turning it into a more relaxed tour.

Originally I was disappointed the day we were due to depart became a travel day (admittedly I had far less distance to travel), but this turned into a blessing as that Friday was bleak – cold, wet and very grey. There was even flooding in Clyde as we met at Mark’s barn and extensive bike workshop – thanks Mark for the facilities! Debbie was a late addition for the first few days, having recently picked Scott up from the Tour Te Waipounamu finish and itching for an adventure of her own with a few days left off work – Scott happy to continue resting while pootling around in their camper.

Over a large curry, shades of GSB21, we reversed the proposed loop – avoiding the top of the Pisa Range at the tail end of the current storm – instead opting for the Nevis Valley first up, not quite as high and exposed. Saturday morning rolled around and packing was completed at the last minute – I didn’t quite fill my big saddlebag, but it was close. Unusually I packed a tent, along with extra clothes, a stove, much fuel and food for days away from shops; I was sure to be markedly slowed. I was wary of the plan to ride all the way to Mossburn the next day, was a bit more than I was expecting from this trip – but kept quiet as, weirdly, we seemed to be riding to a schedule.

Down to the river trail, we were soon on the Dunstan Gorge Trail. Funny, it was many months before I got to ride this and now here I was for the second time in a month. The bleak, cool morning did at least mean it was deserted. With a light southerly, this spectacularly engineered trail was even easier riding than last time. We didn’t even meet Rambo this time, although I was still getting good mileage retelling the story of his attack on Tom’s bike. The coffee-boat wasn’t even open it was such a dull day.

The more traditional coffee cart at a vineyard short of Bannockburn was open, so we did get a welcome morning tea stop before heading for the Nevis and up Duffers Saddle. Away from the zero-elevation gain riding beside Lake Dunstan, I quickly found myself falling well behind the others. In overloading my bike, I’d failed to consider having had another pint of blood taken less than two days earlier. Perhaps with only one of those factors in play I’d have been ok, but both were a bit much. With reduced hemoglobin, things weren’t quite firing. Oh well, at least my iron levels are down near the target now – that’s got to be good in the long run.

I continued plodding, somehow not getting off and walking. Not walking was better than the only other time I’ve climbed Duffers from this side – but that was a day of being almost-blown off the top of the Pisas and this saddle on GSB19 (which I maintain is the toughest event I’ve done).

Up and away from Lake Dunstan and Bannockburn.

Into the cloud at the summit.

Unsure if Andy’s face or the weather is more grim – one clearly a reflection of the other.

Time to layer up for the big downhill, such fun, to the Nevis Valley and the long gradual climb to its headwaters.

Brighter down there!

There started a few hours of toil into the nagging southerly. Plenty of streams to cross and opportunities to get water. It’s a vast valley and there’s much to look at with little bits of history and farming besides the fascinating landscape. Still feeling flat, I was pleased Andy did a lot of the work into the wind – far more effective when someone my size is the next largest in the group! My pedals, with a new service kit recently installed, ominously started squeaking – pretty rubbish really, even with the stream crossings.

Climbing out of Otago, these are now Southland hills.

Finally we were at the top of the 800 m drop to Garston. Fine views down and across the next valley, even in the gloom. Still the old Garston Ski Hut seemed a perfectly good place to call it a day ten hours and a hundred kilometres in. I don’t think that was only due to fond GSB21 memories, it’s a great spot and a quaint old hut.

Can’t complain about this downhill though; more GSB memories of an incredible late summer evening climb.

Down on the flat, it was fifty kilometres of flat riding to Mossburn. Well into the evening now, Rachel thoughtfully phoned the ever-hospitable-to-bikepackers Railway Hotel in Mossburn, booked rooms and ordered steak dinners for us all. Now just to deal with one of the stupidest sections of cycle trail in the country. Two latched gates at each farm crossing with two cattle stops is just ridiculous – someone really stuffed this up in giving the farmer the run around. I think the short section of highway is probably better than this absurdity, I’ll be happy if I never ride it again.

By now my left pedal was starting to seize, which left me trying to arrange to borrow or buy replacements the following morning in Te Anau. That was easier to do on the highway from Five Rivers to Mossburn – the faster and less hazardous route compared to the cycle trail between Lumsden and Mossburn that has power poles in the middle of it! Huzzah, we made it to the pub as the kitchen was closing to complete a long and unusually trying day. An enormous feed and a hot shower helped markedly. There were other bikepackers there too – funnily, the pair that I’d chatted to on top of the Hawkduns while out for a bike and hike at the start of the week.

Leaving the Railway Hotel, a long time since the railway came here.

Off west to Manapouri, there was a bit of less-ridiculous cycle trail to start before we hopped on the highway and I immediately lagged behind again – not having had to eat any of the mass of food I was hauling, due to great hospitality, didn’t help. At least my pedals were behaving better and I slowly gave up on the idea of detouring to Te Anau, deciding to risk them for the next day – knowing there was a fair bit of hike-a-bike anyway. We were all pleased to arrive at the cafe in Manapouri with plenty of time before our boat ride across the lake.

Now you’ve made it through my rambling, here is Andy’s video of the trip – and you don’t even need to wait for more posts to find out the rest.