I arrive halfway through January in Rotorua in the rain. The bus - that saved me from having to ride 60 km on a busy highway - drives in through an unimpressive industrial area littered with fast-food chains. Suddenly I see smoke drifting out from a sewer drainpipe on the road. We drive past a park full of wisps of smoke or rather, as it turns out, steam from hot water pools that are all over the place. I am excited but first need to find a campsite and I do not feel like a city campsite so I ride to Ngongotoha where I stay in a lovely small campsite which apparently is famous for its trout fishing - I see no trout but do meet some enthusiastic fishermen who share their enthusiasm with me.
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| Whakerewarewa - Pohutu and Te Tohu geysers |
The next day I decide to expose myself to both culture and geology at the same time in the Maori geothermal village Whakarewarewa. The tour guide gives a lovely relaxed tour around the village while the sun peeps out now and then. Geothermal activity is part of their lifestyle. They boil their food in hot springs between the houses and in the steam that comes through the many vents and holes. They wash in the pools (not the boiling ones...). And they show tourists around their village every day (except Christmas). We get quite a good glimpse of the Prince of Wales geyser that spouts several times a day. The village performance group gives us an impressive show of different maori dances whereby the men and women sing, dance and make music. The men clap their hands against their thighs and breast repeatedly to make rhythmic sound - at the end that flesh is pretty red - while the women gracefully twirl around with poi (balls of flax). And they demonstrate a haka dance to intimidate the enemy.
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| Whakarewarewa - a continuous boiling 'pot' (for vegetables - in this case corn hobs - yum) |
Behind the village are several mud pools and several steaming lakes with interesting colours, red and green, as an effect of the sulfur. I amble around taking a lot of photos.
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| Whakarewarewa - boiling mud pool |
I spent so much time in the Maori village that I decide to stay another day to look at the Californian redwoods, which are in a protected grove on the edge of town. I find it a magical place. Maybe because it is drizzling again it is not so busy. I fortify myself with some hot coffee and enjoy my visit to the artsy toilets (even if you don't like trees you should go and visit those). On the forest paths all other city sounds get muted and within a couple of steps the city (and most people) disappear from thought and view. I do some hiking (classic rest day mistake) and get pretty soaked once the drizzle turns into rain. Photos do not do these giants nor the atmosphere justice, yet here are a few attempts...
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| Rotorua - Californian redwoods and treeferns |
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| Rotorua - looking up at a Californian redwood (this one is 'only' a couple of meters wide) |
On with some cycling again. I start out, after cycling to Rotorua, following the Te Ara Ahi Cycle Trail. Almost I decide to take a shortcut and skip the part that winds around the north side of the city but I am glad I didn't because on the trail you cycle through hot vents and cracks in the earths crust. Hurrah!
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| Te Ara Ahi Cycle Trail - Rotorua thermal plains - smoking hot |
Out of Rotorua, the trail follows the highway but follows a safe bicycle path next to it (rare in NZ). When the bicycle path peters out, one can follow the 'old' main road (Snake Valley road) off-road for a couple of kilometers before turning of on a country road that leads very pleasantly undulating and with good views I imagine on clear days to more geothermal features further on. For some reason I always arrive around closing time so I miss out on a nice snack at the visitors centre but do manage to score some tea. I cycle on, and because of a tip from a local earlier that day, go to Lake Rerewhakaaitu where I plunk my tent down at the nearest freedom camp site. I wash and fill up my water from the lake. In the night I am disturbed by wailing and fighting cats who have discovered the overflowing rubbish bins.
The next day I stay on the country roads and take a detour to Murapura through quiet forestry roads. Kaingaroa forest looms up on the horizon. I can see it as a dark green blanket over the hills.
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| Kaingaroa plantation forest (once the largest in the world before Canada took over) |
Some lorries and locals pass me but otherwise I spend a lovely couple of quiet hours going up and down gentle gradients on smooth gravel roads before descending into the valley of Murupara (lovely hosts at motel campsite) - that feels run down and a bit abandoned. It used to be big when the logging industry was big but the town has downsized with the decline of the logging. For some reason I am reminded of La cite des enfants perdu...
This is a turning point for me because I could still turn towards the coast at Opotiki or set myself on the gravel path to one of the most remote roads in the North Island to Lake Waikaremoana. When I stand in the drizzle in front of the first ridges I have a hard moment of self-doubt and I dither for 15 minutes - do I really want this? Can I manage? I have been so much slower than usual on the gravel roads and in the heat... I decide that I want to, that I can and so I continue.
After climbing the first hill of the day I chat with a friendly road worker (that must be a very steady job here, because of the continuous road wash outs, mud slides, trees falling etc.) who tells me that the roads are open now but were closed for several weeks last winter due to a lot of damage from storms and they are now still repairing parts of the road. I see a lot of evidence of the storm damage and I try to imagine living so remotely that you cannot go anywhere for 6 weeks. No undulations in these hills - there are steep climbs up and steep descents all the while winding through the valleys covered by every type of green that you can imagine. The forest and hills go on and on. This is one of the places with actual original rainforest left with all kinds of different trees and treeferns. This forest looks unkempt, untamed, wild. Large trees, small trees, young leaf, dead branches, moss hanging everywhere. Silver green, dark green, brownish green. the variations are endless. One step of the road and you are in the wild. The soft drizzle turns into rain somehow and after a couple of hours I am soaked - and for the first time in weeks I feel cold. I shelter near a Maori marae for a while until the rain turns to drizzle again and half an hour later I find a shelter with a bench where I decide to make soup and tea for lunch. I try to dry my cycling shorts by moving my seat across the (dry) bench until the whole bench is wet too - I can tell you now that that method does not really work effectively to dry shorts.
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| Maori marae (communal meeting hall) |
I tackle another set of hills before I descend into Ohaku valley. While I had originally wanted to cycle one valley further I decide to stay at Mid Ohaku freedom campsite which is up a couple of kilometers further on a small side track - and I cross my first ford. I have a refreshing wash in the small river and do a sort of drying run and jump into my clothes and apply lots of deet because this is sandfly country and they all want to bite me. Some other campers arrive and I spend a quiet night. The next day predicted thunderstorms and it feels so muggy and oppressive that I decide to stay put and take in the quiet of quintessential New Zealand (according to the locals) slowly. The thunderstorms move and rumble slowly through the valleys - the clouds descending in phases and sticking to the trees. Now I can understand the Maori tribes here call themselves 'the people of the mist'. All kinds of birds warble, sing and screech. That evening I am alone at the campsite when I am startled by some odd clomping sounds. I look out of my tent and see a herd of horses. I amuse myself by watching their antics (young and old) and interactions and fall happily asleep to their munching and whoofing sounds.
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| Mid Ohaku Campsite - wild horses grazing |
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| I see you... |
The next morning I leave this lovely peaceful valley with a pang (although not the sandflies, there is nothing peaceful about them) and ride on towards Ruatahuna - the last village in the mountains before Lake Waikaremoana. Somewhere up the hill when I am catching my breath and drinking some water I am offered a lift by Donald and his daughter Samantha who made her father turn around to 'help that poor cycling lady'. How could I refuse such kindness? On the way we pause to let an old farmer herd a group of bush pigs in all colours and sizes over the road. They bring me to Ruatahuna and I cycle a bit further but the sweltering heat brings me down and I stop for the night before the big climb. I get up early and climb steadily through muggy clouds (it is a rainforest) towards Taupeupe Saddle at 925m.
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| Climbing to Taupeupe Saddle |
The descent on gravel needs concentration and is tiring. The clouds lift and the air turns drier, my mood rises and after lunch I am rewarded with my first views of the Lake. I ride in along one of the arms of the Lake and follow the hills (still not undulating but going up and down steeply) towards Mokau Landing campsite on the shores of the Lake. I am really lucky because the afternoon and evening are entirely clear and I have a gorgeous view of the famous ridges across the Lake. I swim and wash in the Lake and relax while applying many layers of sunscreen and deet alternatively.
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| Lake Waikaremoana - Mokau Landing Campsite - view from the tent |
The next day I have reached tropical rainforest muggy-ness and sandfly saturation point and I leave early (thinking longingly about a fresh coastal breeze). The clouds have come down, the ridge is hidden and there is a different atmosphere today. I ride another 20 km along the lake with more ups and downs than I want before starting a hair raising descent to Taui. I had a brief and surreal stop at the Maori conservation centre. I was looking for some geology info on the region but instead I was treated to the Maori legend of how the Lake formed (by a disobedient demigod daughter turned into a Taniwha (water monster) who gauged out the shape of the lake). Although the scientist in me is still wondering how all this happened, there is room and appreciation for this viewpoint as well.
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| Lake Waikaremoana - a cloudy day |
After struggling another hour or two on loose dusty gravel roads I am ready to curse all gravel - and I cycle the last 45 km to Wairoa on determination alone, ready to feel some fresh sea breeze. All the locals that day (some Maori, some beekeepers I meet) tell me it is a hilly road. It is one of those days that I moan and curse every hill. The river from Lake Waikaremoana (outflow managed by 3 hydrostations) is a lovely green blue colour and very clear. I muster up some enthusiasm to enjoy the river and the dry valleys and gorges that I ride through. After a confluence with another river the water turns grey-brownish - the next day a knowledgable local tells me that one of the upstream hydro companies had not managed their dam properly and so all the silt built up and came down in an accident with the dam last winter and the river has not returned to normal yet and is still processing all that silt. At Wairoa I can shower again (hurrah), wash my smelly clothes, and eat something else than my staple diet of bulghur wheat with tuna and dried peas or carrot, varied with tomato sauce. Phew, made it so far. Now for a bit of coast again - on with the bus to Napier and then cycling through Wairarapa to Wellington.
(This blog has been a bit delayed due to sparse and/or too weak wifi options in the last couple of weeks)
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