We Took 10 Years To Plan Our Ultimate NZ Bikepacking Trip – and It Was a Disaster

Why NZ?

Andy and I knew we’d be travelling to Aotearoa/New Zealand ever since we got our first glimpse of the – then – newly built Ghost Road ten years ago. As newly hatched birding enthusiasts we also wanted to see the internet-famous, New Zealand endemic Kea.

Our Plan

Our plan was laid out, iron-clad, and airtight. We couldn’t cycle the full distance from Christchurch to Queenstown in the meagre 21 days we’d allocated, so we decided to supplement our bikepacking with a train trip and a couple of bus rides. If we didn’t ride the set distances each day, we’d miss the boat (in our case, the boat was a train and a bus!). 

• Day 1: Christchurch – Greymouth (via train) – Paparoa Track
• Day 2: Paparoa
• Day 3-5: Fox River – Old Ghost Road (OGR) via Westport
• Day 6-8: OGR
• Day 9-10: OGR – Westport – Greymouth (bus)
• Day 11-12: West Coast Wilderness Trail (WCWT) part 1 – Hokitika 
• Day 13-14: WCWT part 2 – Ross – HariHari – Fox Glacier (via bus)
• Day 15-16: Fox Glacier 
• Day 17: Fox Glacier – Wanaka (via bus)
• Day 18: Wanaka Trails 
• Day 19-21: Wanaka – Arrowtown – Queenstown
• Day 22: Leave Queenstown (via plane)

Hitting the Skies

We were travelling at Christmas time – our first error in judgement. Flights were obscenely expensive. We managed to fly direct from Hobart to the Te Ika A Maui/North Island. From there, we took a short flight to Christchurch to be greeted by a wonderful cycling photographer pal, who hosted us for the night.

‘Barely anyone chooses to stick to only the West Coast’, he told us after we filled him in on our plans. We should have known then that perhaps we’d made a mistake.

Day One on the Trails

Our second error was misjudging the terrain. It’s all well and good to plan a lovely little bunch of cycling trails to ride on fully-packed bikes, but as soon as we began the steep-as-heck ascent of the Paparoa Track, we knew it was going to be tough. Made for walking and adapted for cycling, this 19km stretch with 1,600m of elevation was no switchback trail. 

It was plenty of up, with plenty of bumps. Walking quickly became our new normal. As dusk fell, we exited the tree cover to find fog rolling in fast. This moment was our first introduction to the haunting call of the Tui. Their computer-error-like tunes echoed over the mountains in the twilight as we decided what to do next. 

We’d planned to reach Moonlight Tops Hut, but that was still another 9km away, so we settled for Ces Clark Hut. We scrambled inside before the cheeky Wekas/Māori hens could steal our food, as a Kea shrieked noisily right outside. Unlike the birds we were exhausted, and fell fast asleep on one of the top bunks of the cosy hut in moments.

Day Two

The morning brought rain, and it didn’t seem to be going anywhere, so we didn’t bother waiting it out. The ride to the next hut was far slower than we had anticipated, so it was lucky we’d decided to move early. The mountains around us were shrouded in mist, and the gentle yet consistent rain was in our eyes. Everything was very soggy. 

We reached Moonlight, and began the descent from there. Our bags bounced around and rubbed on our tyres over every bump, a beautiful bass joining the melody our wet disc brakes were making as they squealed in the wet. Finally, we reached the end of the trail, with just a short section separating us from our planned overnight riverside camping spot. 

Read more: What Should You Carry In Your Bike Repair Kit?

This brought up a new problem: we’d only brought a tarp with a ground sheet for our sleeping arrangement. And we were being eaten alive by sandflies already. Luckily we’d brought head nets, but we now realised that all of our non-hut evenings would consist of getting into our sleeping bags immediately and forcing ourselves to sleep. It was going to be a long trip.

Read more: Remember to leave no trace!

A Few Days Later

Yet another problem arose. Having lived in Tasmania for the past couple of years, I’m now pretty well adapted to the cold, but our ride along New Zealand’s West Coast had been surprisingly warm. Halfway along our scorching highway ride to the start of the Old Ghost Road, I knew something was wrong with my body. 

I had to lie down to rest in the parking lot of a closed cafe (which we were technically counting on for lunch, but alas, it was Christmas Day and everything was closed). I was irritable and so, so tired, but due to our strict schedule, I knew I had to continue on.

The Old Ghost Road

We finally reached the start of the trail and were so exhausted that we slept in the rest area, which is technically meant to be used for picnic lunches. I could barely wake up the next morning. Nonetheless, I dragged myself up and out of the sleeping bag. The start of the trail was absolutely stunning, and I knew it, but nothing was enjoyable. 

Every other minute I found myself off my bike, tears welling as my body rebelled against the gradient, the rocks, any slight barrier to moving forwards easily. Andy and I had to make contingency plans in case this continued much longer. We decided that he’d press on and do the trail we’d dreamed about for so long, while I took a slow ride back to a taxi and civilisation.

Recovery

Thankfully my body refused to concede defeat. A little while later the refreshing embrace of the semi-alpine air enveloped me and my legs started to relent. It was as if the very essence of the mountains began to cure my malaise. On a rest break, a Toutouwai/New Zealand robin investigated our bright shoelaces, pecking at our bike bags inquisitively. When it hopped away, I strangely felt newfound strength – was this a magic bird? I leapt back onto my bike, now riding on without complaint. 

Read more: Why Birdwatching Will Improve Your Next Adventure & How To Get Started

Finally, Some Good Fortune

Everything was once again beautiful. The trees were covered in a thousand different species of mosses, liverworts, and lichen. Tens of tiny Tititipounamu/Riflemen danced through the trees, trilling cute little high-pitched whistles to each other as we watched in fascination from below. I was better, almost magically. 

As we later figured out, I had been suffering from heatstroke, and the cool air had sorted me right out. The remainder of the Old Ghost Road from that point was almost complete perfection. Clear weather, stunning views of mountain tops, and incredibly built trails.

Read more: Gear (and Other Hacks) to Help Beat the Heat

Our Next Challenge

At the end of Old Ghost Road, we unanimously decided we’d keep the good vibes rolling and get a couple of buses back to Greymouth, instead of enduring the endless hot tarmac and traffic. From there, we’d tackle the West Coast Wilderness Trail. The guidebooks called it a family-friendly gravel path through scenic wilderness. Sounded lovely. But it had begun to rain. A lot.

Looking for Camp

Our first planned campsite looked like something out of a horror movie. It featured ripped, flapping plastic and an abandoned bus which someone had clearly been living in recently, so we pushed on. Along the trail toward the next rest area we encountered scarily high, fast moving water. Upon investigation this almost swept me downstream, so we pushed on further utilising a high-water detour. 

We passed the area where the rest spot was meant to be, so apparently it didn’t exist in real life. Luckily, we soon saw a sign – ‘Six Kilometres to Cowboy Paradise’ – which we recognised as accommodation we’d seen in our pre-trip planning, and figured we’d earned a night of indoor luxury. 

So we moved on into the dusk, avoiding the wild deer that were suddenly everywhere. We reached Cowboy Paradise at last light, heavy fog in the air, to find it absolutely deserted. Boots and bikes were scattered outside, but the bed covers were rolled back, making it look a bit like people had been dragged out of their beds only to disappear.

We’re Officially Characters in a Horror Movie

Surely our minds were tricking us into thinking things were more sinister than they were in reality. We peered in through the windows of an eerily empty dining hall. In the murky darkness a confederate flag was hanging beside a Trump ‘Make America Great Again’ election flag. 

Unsure now of where we were and feeling entirely unsafe, we fled out into the pitch-black night at top speed. As we rode down the switchbacks away from the terrifying ideas in our heads, a search light suddenly switched on in a paddock behind us. We rode like the wind. Our lights were off for fear of being followed. We cleared fields filled with packs of deer until finally we emerged out onto a gravel road. 

We kept riding until our lungs and legs hurt. The exhaustion from covering so many dark kilometres simultaneously experiencing the plot of every scary movie ever, was immense. When we felt like there was enough distance between us and whatever it was we were riding away from, we jumped off to walk up a particularly steep section. That’s when we saw the lights in the forest beside us.

Is this the part where we die?

Was it stars through the trees, or something else? Upon closer inspection, we realised – with great relief – that it was glow worms. They were everywhere. Hanging from the rocks in the thick forest beside the road they turned feelings of terror into wonder.

We’d now ridden well into the early hours and reached the next town, effectively completing three planned days in one. It was still dark and once again absolutely hammering rain, when we saw lights and heard laughter as we passed a house. Peering over their fence we asked about accommodation. They took pity on us and kindly led us to their veranda, where we hastily set up camp and very quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Everything Looks Better in the Morning

Our trip from here couldn’t really get worse, right? We spent the time we made up on the West Coast Wilderness Trail in luxurious indoor accommodation, away from sandflies. We were even gifted a spa treatment by the kind desk staff – was our bad luck over? 

We took more buses than planned, and eventually arrived in Wanaka, where we met another kind couple who took us into their care. They made us the most amazing food ever created using just a camp stove and basic equipment.

On a Roll

Our final blasts toward Queenstown were both done in the early morning, before the heat of the day. The climb up over the Crown Range was much easier than expected, and we were relaxed on the descent into cute Arrowtown. It graced us with hot air balloons over our campsite and the most wholesome market with vegan snacks. 

Our final day was upon us, so we rode slowly and decided to savour the moment with a refreshing swim in what we thought was a secluded spot. We stripped off our sweaty bike clothes and were delighting in the cool water of a lake, enjoying the serenity, when a tourist speedboat ripped around the corner, exposing our bare butts to them all. Oops.

An Unlikely Mascot

Arriving in Queenstown, we settled into a couple of days on a patch of campsite grass which cost us more than a fancy Airbnb. We still hadn’t actually seen our elusive Kea, so we reluctantly went and visited them at the bird centre. They didn’t much like the look of us and avoided our gaze. 

Unexpectedly, the feathered heroes of the trip had actually been the Tui, whose calls had entertained us dozens of times, the Toutouwai, who fixed my heatstroke, and the Titipounamu, who danced and sung us their sweet, high-pitched happy songs. 

We decided to dig the memories of this trip into our skin and went and got matching tattoos of the Titipounamu from some amazing artists in Queenstown. Now we’ll never forget this ordeal! 

Honestly, all adventures are still adventures. We had a lot of happy moments and a lot that could have been better. But what’s most important: we’ve got some extra stories to tell when we’re old now.