Playing Journeyman
 

Words & Photos: Laurence Mote

Matariki. Aotearoa New Zealand’s uniquely indigenous celebration of the beginning of the lunar new year. Ko te Tau Hou Māori, the Māori new year, when Matariki (Pleiades star constellation) and Puaka (Puanga or Rigel) rise with the dawn over the eastern horizon after a brief absence from the night sky.

Not dissimilar to our European hūanga, whose New Year coincides with the deepest darkest winter days. Matariki is a time for reflection, for resolutions (not wishes), feasting, and farewelling loved ones lost over the previous year.

This time last year I was spinning my way southwards alongside companion and legendary journeyman, Huw Kingston. All of the planning and preparation for our Alpine Odyssey Aotearoa behind us as we embarked on our haerenga nui, our great journey, to traverse the length of Aotearoa by bike, human powered, stopping off to ski at all 25 ski-fields along the way.

All smiles and fresh legs, Te Rerenga Wairua. Photo: Derek Morrison.

I’d managed to convince Huw, a proud Welshman and Australian citizen, that Matariki was indeed a tohu, a sign for us to begin our journey down the island, Te Ika a Māui.

“Down the Island?” Huw asked. “Of course”, I replied, “Te Ika a Māui is the fish of Māui, we are starting at the Te Hiku o Te Ika, the tail, and riding up to the Upoko, the head. Why else would Poneke Wellington harbour have the shape of a waha, mouth?”. Poor Huw. As for any journey, certain threads accompany the whole trip. Me starting off rallying against the colonial construct of North and South was in hindsight a nice introduction for Huw to the milieu of race relations in NZ Inc. 2025.

See how easy it is to get diverted? While bikepacking or cycle touring (as it used to be) there is plenty of time to get lost in your head. Back to the story, indeed, the journey.

At this point I could ask you to ‘wait for the movie’. For aside from the journey and the skiing, we were also filming, and fundraising. Huw is an ambassador for Save the Children, and we’d already committed to raising funds for a pilot project to build a climate resistant container classroom in Vanuatu. Indeed this new classroom at Suango Primary School was opened in April of this year, with help from the AU$80K generously donated by our supporters, including the odd gold-coin, one such donation from a lovely wahine on the Rawene Ferry.

Were we asking too much of a simple journey? Probably, but as ever, the sage of journeying, Huw, responded with “Ko te mea nui, ko te haerenga”. Now I’ve probably got that wrong, as first and foremost, Huw can’t speak te reo Māori (‘our’ trip goal was to work on his pronunciation), so he probably said, “the journey is the most important thing”.

And what a journey it was. 96 days, 4,500 kms ridden, and walked. 55,000 metres of elevation gained, and lost.

Te Kopi Ōpihi, Burkes Pass.

Starting at Te Rerenga Wairua. The visible clashing of tide and oceans, Te Moana a Rehua and Te Tai o Whitirea, the Tasman sea and the Pacific Ocean, meeting like a Wallabies vs All Blacks rugby scrum, neither side willing to give up ground (or sea floor). Northland was a blur of rain and rainbows. Bodies leaning into the rhythm and pure physicality of active transportation gone rogue.

Pre-trip fears of long lonely nights under nylon turned into deep hungry sleeps of 10 hours or more, each of us cocooned in our own Nemo tent and sleep system – note that while I was focused on managing my fatigue from a not-so-recent brain injury, Huw was up late managing our partner obligations and fundraising.

Lake Takapō, Manahuna.

An afternoon ski at Snow Planet, an indoor ski-area-come-ice-box in greater Tāmaki Auckland was a perfect shakedown for the ski gear that had followed us on trailers thus far.

A generous month was spent in the North Island. More rain greeted us on Taranaki maunga at Manganui ski area, then clear skies and tailwinds gave way to the first real storm of winter as we ascended the slopes of Ruapehu to Whakapapa. Number three on our to-ski list, but still human powered as we skinned up a thin snow pack to the top of the Far West T-bar. A day or so later, joyously stretching our legs around the maunga in knee deep power, too deep to see your footing, too shallow to ski-tour, we knocked off Tūkino and a lift assisted Tūroa.

Remutaka Incline. Photo: Caleb Smith.

At this point I could almost smell Te Wai Pounamu, the South Island. And we fair galloped to board the ferry to my tūrangawaewae, homeland. We gave it our best to try and hitch a sailboat ride across Te Moana o Raukawa, Cook Strait, alas to no avail.

There’s no place like the home field. Broken River, Kura Tawhiti.

After a bit of plain sailing, it quickly became less than plain sailing. A horrendously bad ski season was upon us. For sure, part of our journey was to use it to highlight the stress and danger climate change is placing on Pacific nations, but surely our own hedonistic desires of endless powder and arm’s length climate alarm could also be realised? Touché.

The remainder of the trip now required light-on-pedals reactive and agile planning. Easier said than done for two middle aged men.

Now heading South, it was pointed out to me how neatly the name of the seat of the Duke of Marlborough, Blenheim, was woven into the name of the region, Marlborough. My bristles raised as I was left to ponder the provenance of such place-naming nomenclature on this landscape. The Māori name of Waiharakeke, Wai – meaning water, and Harakeke – flax (of a sort), tells me a lot about this place. With the nearby Wairau Bar being the site of the earliest occupation by Māori, this descriptive place naming is both useful and poetic.

Te one roa a Tohe and Ninety Mile Beach each have their own provenance. The former, a reference to a final journey a father took to see his daughter, the latter a guesstimate of the distance along the beach based on how far a horse could walk in a day. I like both.

In Te Wai Pounamu we faced the proper mountains. Ski field access roads challenged our resolve and shear strength. Standouts include: Rainbow ski field – the first is always the hardest. We had a doctor along for the ride, and honest-to-goodness I asked her if she thought I might be dying, or at least at risk of an imminent heart attack; Mt Lyford – our first real riding on loose slippery snow; Mt Hutt – a most beautiful and scenic campsite halfway up on Scott’s saddle; Round Hill, Takapō – corrugations and cars, with much of the ride up spent in a tunnel of dust and diesel fumes as the ‘Christchurch commute’ roared past; Awakino, Te Kohurau – simply brutal, gradients of 19%, fresh snow on the downhill; The Remarkables – feeling fit and strong, sleeping bag and tent left in Queenstown, a fortuitous time to tackle the longest road with the most elevation. Even better for having my son along for the ride; the final one, ski field number 25, Broken River – we even chose to eschew the ‘Tyndall Tramway’ in favour of riding up to the ski-huts.

Broken River also delivered the deep dry powder that had been so lacking for the rest of the journey. As if a final attempt by the ski gods to tempt us back into our reverie of ski seasons long past.

Marilyn, a rose between two roughies. Broken River.

Now, how did we come to have our last ski day at Broken River, finishing with a brisk Nor’west tailwind into Ōtautahi Christchurch, and still reach Motupōhue Bluff along the way? You will have to wait for the movie.

I was asked the other day by some cheeky sod what was my next adventure? “Perhaps walking backwards the length of the country?” He suggested. No thank you. But I do miss the rhythm and physicality of the journey, ride eat sleep repeat.

This Matariki, I’ll be at home, resting on my laurels. Seeking the companionship of friends and family – with one eye on the snow forecast, and a wardrobe of Ground Effect clothing to ward off any excuse to get outside.

Mānawatia a Matariki e te whānau.

Not bluffing. Motupōhue.

All the finer details of Alpine Odyssey Aotearoa are on www.huwkingston.com and the pre journey Q & A on the Ground Effect Blog.