ADVENTURE
Standoff on the Heaphy Pete Oswald bikes the renowned trail, and meets a swarthy recluse in the dark. P H O T O G R A P H Y S O P H I E S T E V E N S & P E T E O S WA L D
W
ith no moon and no wind, I stopped walking. The only sound – the crunch of stones under my biking shoes – ceased. The massive void of the Gouland Downs plateau in Kahurangi National Park was completely tranquil. I stood alone, motionless on the trail, listening. A thin strip of bright stars separated the stunted-height native alpine trees either side of me.
The silence was slowly swallowed by the life of the night. My ears created images that my wide eyes chose to believe. I felt I could see even the smallest beetle scampering, digging and chomping. Suddenly there was a blundering rustle. I tracked the racket as it headed towards the trail. From the shrubby grass out popped a small, dark creature. It fell onto the path, picked itself up, then waddled across it like a drunk. My ready finger pressed the button on my head-torch and ‘woosh’ – the drunk froze mid-step as if being busted for petty theft. I was no less stunned. Kahurangi National Park is arguably the most remote part of New Zealand – more isolated than Fiordland, according to one source. Tucked up in the far northwest of the South Island, it is our second-largest national park (behind Fiordland). No roads go through Kahurangi. Access stops at the perimeter. The western edge is 100km of savage coastline to the Tasman Sea. The Heaphy Track is one of 10 Great Walks of New Zealand, but it is a world apart.
A mountain-biking detour Sophie and I drove from Queenstown to Blenheim up the West Coast and thought we’d mountain bike the Heaphy on the way. That still entailed a 1.5-hour, dead-end drive from Westport to the tiny town of Karamea. The track stretches 78km from nearby Kohaihai to the upper Aorere River valley near Collingwood. Whichever direction you choose to do the track you end up 450km (a 7-hour drive) from your car so Sophie and I opted to leave
My ready finger pressed the button on my head-torch and ‘woosh’ – the drunk froze midstep as if being busted for petty theft. 64
