An even more leisurely day was in store for us as we decamped from beside South Mavora Lake after another good sleep. Only fifty-odd kilometres of easy gravel road riding and five hours in which to do it before the TSS Earnslaw arrived to ferry us across Wakatipu to Queenstown – where we’d probably call it a day in anticipation of the incoming bad weather.

Back out to Mt Nicholas Road, we were soon in the station of the same name. It is one long farm, thirty or so kilometres the gravel just kept going through it. First, gently climbing for most of an hour to the watershed and the provincial border.

A little bit of valley to go.

The slightest of northerlies, and Andy kindly again did any work there was into the wind if Rachel and I tired of the slowing breeze in our faces.

Easy morning riding, fun times.

Rachel’s photo.

Into the Von River catchment and back in Otago, the minor lumps beckoned us to the high point of the day before the long descent to Lake Wakatipu.

Nice to have the time to finally stop and nosey around this old cottage. In remarkably good repair, it looks as though it’s used for occasional dinner functions. Probably in pre-pandemic tourist times.

The roll down the valley continued easily and we were soon out of Mt Nicholas Station. The next section around the lake to Walter Peak Station and the wharf is far easier in this direction – those little bits of gradient far less noticeable when you start a hundred metres above the lake.

Walter Peak towards the right of that ridge.

We arrived lakeside with plenty of time to poke around a bit, which makes a nice change to riding off straight after disembarking.

We managed to get a late morning tea here while the smells of openly slow-cooked barbecued meat wafted through the restaurant. Pity we’d not booked lunch and a later sailing!

A short walk to check out the Beach Point campsite (it’s really nice and far enough away from the main complex) was perhaps a little late in starting, there was a bit of a jog back to meet the Earnslaw as it steamed in.

Always an enjoyable passage, I seem to only do it on excellent bikepacking trips. After wandering around the floating history and checking out the engine room, watching the stokers shovel coal, it was time for a sit down. I was more than surprised to recognise a face down the length of the cabin. One of my fellow supervisors from the Melters at NZ Steel thirteen years ago, surely not?! Sure enough, a brief catch-up on where life had taken us both since making molten iron ensued before docking at Queenstown.

The day clouding over further we found some simple accommodation and did our bit to help the struggling eating establishments of the resort town. I’ll not turn this into a food blog with some of the many photos we collected of the various amazing meals we had. True to form, we also visited every outdoor and bike shop we could find as we wandered around in the drizzle. The heavy rain forecast was a bit of a damp squib, but a nice afternoon off around town meant that we’d get to stay in a good hut in the hills the following night.

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.