Looking as it did, completely clagged in, after some deliberation we ditched our plan to ride the Paparoa Trail south that day. Raining at sea level, none of us were too disappointed not to be on the exposed tops. So that left us all day to ride the quiet West Coast highway to Blackball, where we’d booked a room in anticipation of riding the trail north in much better weather.
Rain came and went throughout the day, there certainly was plenty of water to see – between the ocean, streams from the hills and that falling on and spraying up at us it certainly was the Wet Coast. The wind and lack of traffic were kind as we ambled south, finding Barrytown’s closed bar and the make-your-own knife experience – we popped into have a look, or just to stand near the blazing forge.
A long cafe stay had us out of the Runanga rain and delivered another pie-light before a short detour to the Coal Creek Falls.
Turning inland and up the Grey Valley, the memorial and panels at the Brunner Mine Disaster site were worthwhile both as a poignant history lesson and more shelter as the rain increased again. As we climbed the largest hill of a flat day’s riding, the skies started to clear. Checking into the Hilton, this worked well for having drinks out the front of the hotel, drying soaked gear and more drinks on the balcony as the sun streamed down and steam started to rise off the streets. It was really quite nice to arrive somewhere early and have time to wander the streets of a place I’ve been a few times, but never really ventured past the Hilton.
We’d head for those hills in the morning.
Having been hurried through our dinner by the wait staff and successfully avoiding the ’80s music quiz, there wasn’t much for it but an early night. The motley assortment of beds and bunks were surprisingly comfortable, sleep was had and we were off into the hills around seven on Saturday. A solid thousand metre climb ensued in the murk; the first part on the recently widened road to the trailhead.
Just more coal casually lying about.
I’m told the bridges are pretty recent, otherwise the first part of the Paparoa is the old Croesus Track – a historic mining track up and over the range to Barrytown. That means that it’s a rocky surface firmly embedded in the benching that’s been there for over a hundred years of West Coast excessive-rain. That made it a slow, technical challenge of a climb and I loved it.
Out into the alpine at 900 m, Ces Clark Hut immediately appeared.
But we got to this cute wee hut first.
Up at the main hut, we watched as clouds rolled up the valley occasionally allowing us a view of our surroundings.
Out on the tops for the next two hours, this was the most exposed part of the trail – I was particularly glad we didn’t come up here the previous day. It wasn’t raining too much on us and it was only rather windy, not very or extremely windy – so we got off lightly.
This could have been a lot worse with a gale rushing up the slope from the sea, to the right.
There were enough glimpses down to know that it’d be worth waiting for a clear day (or few hours might be all that one could reasonably ask for) to ride through.
Suddenly, there is the Tasman Sea; not often I’m this high so close to the sea.
Moonlight Tops Hut is a big, new hut befitting the track’s Great Walk status. We stopped for lunch, chatting with the group of MTBers that had also left the Hilton that morning – two of the group we’d been leapfrogging most of the morning. As we left another group of five rode in, they were travelling lightly and it sounded as though it had been utterly miserable up there for them on Saturday.
We were now past the high point, the trail now gradually tending down for quite some time along the ridges. Of course there were plenty more little climbs.
Clouds dissipated long enough to see the large escarpment we would ride just behind the ridge line of.
The next hut, also new, was just perceptible left of centre of this shot – we’d approach along the ridge from the right.
Straight into a goblin forest we went as we neared the escarpment. Almost spooky, the mystical light, and the old-growth trees all so gnarled and covered in moss.
Rachel escaping the lair.
Quite the well made trail in rugged, inhospitable terrain – I was impressed.
Out of dense forest, the view opened and we could just spy a few Pike River Mine structures. I knew it was remote, but this was a level beyond what I was expecting; the sight was fairly incongruous and gave pause to reflect.
That hut’s getting closer, the route to be taken not much clearer.
The descent starting in earnest around here with a big series of switchbacks.
Seemed rude not to make the most of the various trailside seats we found. Lone Hand, on the right of that little range, fair captivated me – upturned towards the heavens as it was.
Stopping at Pororari Hut (another of Great Walk standard), we met our first hikers of the day. The skies cleared to a brilliant afternoon and it was much too pleasant chatting in the afternoon sun to want to roll on down to the valley floor and complete a fantastic day’s riding. But do so, we must eventually. Alas one doesn’t roll along a trail such as this – it was lumpy enough to require some effort with one final wee hill to cross to finish up around five. All my rain gear went on straight away, not because it was raining but to give the midges less to feast on.
What a trail. I thoroughly enjoyed the ride and having company through such scenery. I’m looking forward to returning and seeing it again in – either summer or winter it could easily be a very different ride. No word yet when the Pike29 commemorative side trail will be open, but I suspect before I return; with the climb back up to the main trail, there will be plenty of time for reflection. Back home for more pie-lights (venison and rabbit) and to prepare for the following day’s adventure as I tried to make the most of a clear, but rapidly closing, weather window.
Still a bit of low snow close to the coast after the storm earlier in the week.
Into Seddonville, these hills enough to tell me there would still be plenty of snow on the Old Ghost Rd.
Quite a nice evening really.
Turning inland, I retraced my path back from the third corner trying to gauge just how much snow remained below 900 m. It was far more pleasant than the driving rain of three days before.
A short walk for another view.
I already miss being able to fill bottles from the multitudes of clean West Coast streams.
One last hundred metre climb and down to the trailhead it was – leaving these views behind.
It looks nice, shortly after I was blown across a lane of traffic battling through a wind-funnel of a cutting.
Down to Ligar Bay from Abel Tasman monument.
Wainui Inlet
