New Zealand: Wild about biking

By Kari Bodnarchuck, Globe Correspondent
To avoid panicking, I focused on maintaining my balance and freeing my legs, which had disappeared up to my knees in mud. I gripped the handlebars and tugged fiercely as my bike’s wheel slipped toward an abrupt edge beyond which was a 200-foot drop to the meandering stream. A limestone cliff, called Battleship Bluff, loomed overhead. One by one my fellow bikers and I attempted to walk our bikes across a fresh 20-foot-long mudslide, politely called a “slip’’ in this part of the world.

Pictured: Sandy Waters of New Zealand, pauses for a minute after trudging across a knee-deep mudslide on Battleship Bluff.

We were biking along the Mountains to Sea Trail on New Zealand’s North Island, in an area so dense, hilly, and remote that the native Maori never bothered settling here. Giant tree ferns, moss-covered beech trees, supplejack vines, and towering rimu trees created walls of vegetation so thick we couldn’t see a big valley or river until we were upon it. The 200-mile trail starts on the slopes of a volcano, passes through two national parks (Tongariro and Whanganui), includes a jet-boat ride down a placid river, and ends at the Tasman Sea on the southwest coast.

Pictured: A biker walks her bike along one of several bluffs.

The Mountains to Sea route also forms part of Nga Haerenga, the New Zealand Cycle Trail, a new bike-path network that will eventually include 18 so-called Great Rides, mostly off-road trails stretching from Cape Reinga on the North Island’s northernmost point to Bluff, the South Island’s southernmost town.

Pictured: A mountain biker navigates a section of the Mangapurua Track in Whanganui National Park.

With our time limited, four of us signed up to do a 22-mile section that included the Mangapurua Track and the Bridge to Nowhere extension. Even our guide had only cycled it once before, and he approached it from the opposite direction. Our group of New Zealanders and overseas visitors included mostly intermediate riders. I recommend having a significant amount of confidence on a mountain bike before attempting this challenging route.

Pictured: A mountain biker trudges through a mudslide on Battleship Bluff.

Our plan was to drive an hour south of National Park Village, the main “town’’ for the Tongariro and Whanganui parks, to a remote access point 19 miles down Ruatiti Road. We would then bike 22 miles through the wilderness to a boat landing on the Whanganui River. Here, we would meet Richard, a local farmer who would whisk us by jet boat more than an hour up river to Blue Duck Station. The trick: We had to meet Richard by 4 o’clock in order to make it back by dark; in these parts, you can’t see a thing on the river at night.

Pictured: A biker cuts across a meadow on the Mangapurua Track.

The ride started with a one-hour uphill grind until we reached the entrance to Whanganui, the country’s newest national park, established in 1986. We passed a quarry and an old explosives cave near Mangapurua Trig, the trail’s highest point at 2,175 feet. Take a short detour to this overlook on a clear day for dynamite views of Tongariro National Park (the country’s first national park, established in 1887) to the east.

Pictured: The 200-mile Mountains to Sea Trail starts on the slopes of Mt. Ruapehu (back left) in Tongariro National Park and passes through two national parks and dramatic wilderness.

It was all downhill from there, as the trail cut through virgin rain forest and abandoned farmland that had been settled by returning servicemen after World War I. The government leased pieces of land to these men, nearly 40 in all, who set off with their high hopes to make a go of it in the bush, building homes and farming the wild terrain. Most walked away within the first few years. By 1943, all had left. We biked by old chimney stacks, fences, and hedges that stood as reminders of those hardy souls.

Pictured: Wooden markers listed the family name of each pioneer who had homesteaded there.

Stewart Barclay, owner of Adrift Guided Outdoor Adventures and our guide, was right when he had warned us that, “It will be a dirty, slimy, slippery, mucky ride.’’ The area had just received 11 inches of rain in a few short days, so the rivers looked chocolate-brown from all the runoff, the trail disappeared under several inches of water, and we had mud caked on us from the eyelets on our soggy shoes to our eyelashes. The views of the waterfalls plunging off the hillsides, the limestone bluffs, and the stunning valleys were well worth the mess.

Pictured: A biker trudges through a mudslide on Battleship Bluff.

The trail narrowed to singletrack and the landscape opened up as we made our way south, giving us sweeping views of the Mangapurua Valley, the stream a couple of hundred feet below and, one by one, the towering bluffs. With a healthy fear of heights, I was happy to learn it is required for bikers to dismount and walk several hundred feet along the limestone cliffs, because of the extremely narrow and, in some places, unstable ground. A fence and a sign at the start and end of each cliff let bikers know when to dismount and remount.

Pictured: Bikers walk along a narrow section of the Mangapurua Track.

The path skirting the first couple of bluffs had dirt-packed surfaces and proved easy to cross. Even the dropoff to the river proved only moderately fear-inducing. Then we came upon the dramatic “slip’’ on Battleship Bluff. If we retreated, we would face a 20-mile, mainly uphill ride back over rough, muddy terrain to reach the closest road, mostly in the dark.

Pictured: Bikers cross one of many bridges located on the Mangapurua Track.

If we successfully traversed the slide, we would have less than a 2-mile ride down to the famous Bridge to Nowhere, a beautiful cement bridge built by the settlers that looked overly grand for its location, and the Whanganui River where Richard would be waiting for us.

Pictured: The famous Bridge to Nowhere, located in Whanganui National Park.

My knees felt wobbly and tired, as my bike’s back tire slid toward the trail’s precarious edge. I managed to dislodge my left foot from the cement-like mud and take a step, using forward momentum to yank the bike’s tire back up onto the trail. Each step took full-body effort, and staying upright while one foot or the other was sucked into the muck was not easy. I eventually tugged and lunged my way across the slide, dragging my bike dragging behind me like a resistant child. I waited for the last two bikers to follow. Safely across, we rolled down to the river.

Pictured: A mountain biker gets ready to cross one of many wooden bridges along the Mangapurua Track.

Richard loaded our bikes onto his jet boat and delivered us to Blue Duck Station in Whakahoro, a settlement with a historic old farm from the Bridge to Nowhere era that still had authentic settlers’ cabins on site, shown here.

That night, station owner Dan Steele, pictured, and his wife, Sandy, served us a delicious goat curry, venison sausages, and quinoa salad, all made with ingredients fresh from their farm. Over dinner, we learned that Steele had bought a small patch of land here just six years earlier. He started farming the land, raising livestock, restoring the old cabins, and purchasing more land in the valley. He also developed a project to eradicate the area’s nonnative pests, such as stoats and possums, so native species such as the endangered kiwis and blue ducks could survive and thrive.

By the time we met Steele, he owned 5,200 acres, had a successful sheep and cattle station, ran four lodges and a cafe, and had a crew of people working with him on his ambitious conservation project. He had taken a wild and neglected swath of land and turned it into a self-sustaining homestead and a thriving business.

Pictured: The view from a hilltop at Blue Duck Lodge in Whakahoro.