White crowned mountains, rising out of the sea. This was my first vision of New Zealand, the place I’ve dreamt of visiting for so many years. I was sitting on an aeroplane, looking at ‘the Mirage of the Ocean’, Kā Tiritiri o te Moana, also known as the Southern Alps.
The Southern Alps, Kā Tiritiri o te Moana. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
The first people, the Māori, came to New Zealand from Polynesia using canoes and navigated by the currents, wind, clouds and stars. Aotearoa was the name they gave to the North Island, which they discovered and settled first, and this means ‘land of the long white cloud’. It was a practical name that helped these early explorers of the ocean find their way to this island. Later, after European settlement, Aotearoa became the collective name for both North and South islands together. Today, the Māori name given to the North Island is Te Ika-a-Māui (the fish of Māui) and for the South Island it is Te Waipounamou (waters of the greenstone).
Pebbles on the shore of Lake Te Anau. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
To follow through with my aim of cycling the length of New Zealand in the least direct route possible, I figured I’d kick off my trip with a six day side trip from Queenstown to Milford Sound, Piopiotahi. I was blessed to have a place to stay upon my arrival in the busy tourist town of Queenstown, in the lovely household of a bunch of mad keen mountain bikers, who lived on a rather large hill in Fernhill. Their place gave me a good base to commence my NZ operations from. With a bit of beta from Annie, Dan and Brook, I had booked my spot on the Earnslaw, a vintage steamship that travels the length of Lake Wakatipu, and I got dropped off at the high country cattle station of Walter Peak, from where I could take the quiet back-country road towards Mavora Lakes, then onto the highway towards Te Anau and eventually to Milford Sound.
View from the the Earnslaw, a steamship built in 1912. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
The 110km stretch of road from Te Anau to Milford Sound is the only sealed road into Fiordland National Park, and it’s the road that’s taken by thousands of visitors every day, in and then back out. There is very limited overnight accommodation at the Sound itself, so most people will camp along the road then do a day trip in, with the traffic often congesting around the Homer tunnel. I was no different; I chose to camp at the last available Department of Conservation (DOC) campsite, then did a day trip to Milford Sound, riding about 84 kilometres there and back, with about 1800m elevation gained and lost. I left Cascade Creek campsite at 7:15am to beat the traffic, and it was a bit chilly on the fingertips and the toes.
Eglington Valley. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
South-West New Zealand (Te Wahipounamou- ‘land of the greenstone’) is a heavily glaciated landscape; steep mountains rising up from wide, U- shaped valleys, with thick beech forest and sub alpine scrub blanketing the near vertical slopes. As I rode along this road, I felt as if time itself towered over me. Long, thin waterfalls cascaded down the mountainsides; there was just so much water around, and it hadn’t really rained for about a week. I had a dream the night before about a giant boulder rolling down a steep hill, leaving a path of destruction in its path. Riding along the road the next day, I saw a mountainside that had an entire stripe cleared from it as if a giant boulder had rolled downhill there. It was an uncanny coincidence, and made me wonder whether the landscape was talking to me through my dreams, whether certain features of this place were calling me to it.
Landslide or giant boulder rolling downhill? April 2024, Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100.
Let’s talk about the Keas. This near mythical bird seems to feature heavily in most people’s NZ stories. What we know of them is that they are very beautiful, with bright orange feathers that are only revealed on the underside of their wings while in flight, that they have a long hooked beak, also that they are very clever and that they are very annoying. I have heard countless stories of theft, destruction, chaos and mayhem caused by these birds. I was equally looking forward to my first Kea encounter as I was dreading it. Will they shred my tent? Will they try to take the tyres off my bike? Will they steal my flint or another essential item?
Doing what the Keas do best. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
And so my first Kea encounter was no surprise, even somewhat stereotypical. I was waiting outside the Homer Tunnel on my way out to Milford Sound, and there was a Kea, on top of a campervan, trying to pull the rubber seal off the van’s window. Meanwhile, the tourist inside was taking a video on her phone. Classic Fiordland moment. I partook by taking the obligatory photo of the Kea doing what they do best.
Mitre Peak, rising up from Milford Sound. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
I descended the long hill from Homer tunnel down to the sea with much joy and elation; although I did get miserably cold on the descent. Upon getting to Milford Sound I figured I’d just find somewhere peaceful to sit and appreciate the landscape. Except there wasn’t anywhere! It’s an absolute zoo out there! There are the boats, the planes, the helicopters, the buses, and thousands of bustling tourists seeking their experience. In the end I did find a bench right out at the end of the jetty, where I sat and ate my snacks and waited for the sun to climb over the hill, but in the end I got too cold and decided it was time to ride back up the hill. I was left wondering about that line of balance between development and preservation and whether this place had crossed that line long ago.
Upper Eglington Valley, Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100, April 2024.
The crux of the day trip to Milford Sound was negotiating the Homer tunnel on the return. This tunnel was completed in the 1950s and cuts through the Darran Mountains beneath Homer saddle. It is 1.2km long, and has a steep gradient. It is also one lane, which means there is an automatic timer and traffic lights to ensure one way traffic. On the way in I had no trouble, for the downward slope meant I could easily keep to the speed limit of 30km/h. But on the return, I would only have a few minutes to get back through before vehicles started coming the other way!
In the end, I befriended a French backpacker while we were waiting for the lights at the tunnel entrance and he agreed to give me a tow. So I held on to the side of his car (with his passenger window rolled down), locked in my right arm and steered the bike with the left and got a free ride through the tunnel. It might seem like the easy way through but I can tell you, my right arm got so pumped about halfway up from holding on that I had to fight to hang on! It was a good trick however, and it worked: I didn’t hold up the traffic and I didn’t have to deal with oncoming traffic inside the tunnel.
The touring rig (without panniers) at Cascade Creek campsite, after day ride to Milford Sound, Piopiotahi. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
The other highlight from my first week in Aotearoa was discovering a new podcast (Huberman Lab) on the recommendation of my host in Queenstown, Annie Ford. There was a passage from this podcast that stood out, and it went along something like this: ‘When you do something you don’t want to do, a part of your brain, called the anterior mid-cingulate cortex gets bigger… People who are athletes, people who have overcome hardships, people who live long, this part of the brain is quite big. Scientists are starting to think of the anterior mid-cingulate cortex not just as one of the seats of willpower, but perhaps as the seat of the will to live’.
Gondwanan rainforest near Milford Sound. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
Here was an idea I could mull over during my endless hours of riding solo across New Zealand. When I was suffering on my bike and doing the thing I really didn’t want to do, riding through the rain, riding up the endless hills, hungry and unwashed, I could console myself through knowing that I was actually strengthening my will to live!
The Hollyford River. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
Often there is a threshold which we have to push ourselves through to unlock a new level of performance. There is something to be said for pushing beyond fatigue. Ride a bike till you feel you cannot ride anymore, and then ride another fifty kilometres. At some point, our body and our brain switch over and we go from being exhausted to feeling fine to keep going. This is when we know we have reached and crossed a threshold, the boundary between what we think is possible and what is actually possible.
Walter Peak Station. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
-A.S. Wanaka, 11/4/2024