Test Eagles in New Zealand Part 2

Now we're talking, helicopters, big vert and some blood! Mark Woods hits us with part 2 - When Test Eagles Get Hairy

Today was a double dip day with two heli drops for over 7000 feet of descent. We were full of anticipation as we made our way up the now familiar Maitai Valley to meet our pilot for 8am. “That’s if he shows.” Uncharacteristically pessimistic, Skoda was hunched over the steering wheel of the van, with furled brow, driving far too fast on the windy dirt road, our top-heavy van leaning precariously through the corners. He had good reason as I discovered. On one of the past junkets, the group waited for hours for the pilot to show. But he never did. Helicopters were forever more referred to as Unicorns by Skoda , “Mythical creatures that seldom appear.” Today however, our Unicorn would not be a mythical beast at all. Today unicorns would be very real indeed.




We stood at the ready on what was another glorious morning, watching the sun crest the ridge above, showering the valley in golden light. The bikes stood like a house of cards waiting for their noose, Skoda suspiciously silent. When the oscillation of blades echoed through the valley, announcing the arrival of our unicorn, it was greeted with a symphony of cheers, none bigger than Skoda’s. Suddenly, it was action all round. The bikes were lassoed and transported first. 4 riders at a time were then harnessed into the copter and shuttled to Dun Saddle. I was in the last load to the top, excited to get the ride underway, and tickled pink to have done 3500 feet of climbing in under 10 minutes, undoubtedly a personal best.




When we touched down on the Saddle, I found the group huddled on the lee side of a large boulder, sheltered from the howling winds. “Let’s roll!” And with that, we began picking our way through rust coloured boulders following an indiscernible trail marked only with cairns, eventually entering a forest of stunted alpine trees that was just enough to break the wind.




Pieces of trail materialized intermittently in the tussock resulting in a combination of pushing and pedalling for a slow going hour, before we finally arrived at Rock Hut, marking our descent into nirvana. Metz immediately got on the pedals, knowing what goodness lay ahead, having trod here before on past junkets. The trail was seldom used, wildly feral, at times carpeted with moss. Spider web clusters of roots spread their gnarled tendrils across our path, nestling ferns in their crux. Fast, wide open sections ran through forests of beech, their discarded leaves crunching like corn flakes under our tires. I watched Metz, turn after turn, sending up plumes of beech leaves, tires spinning for traction. It was perfect. But perfection is a temporary state of being. All that goes up, must come down, and unfortunately not always gracefully.




This day too would have its casualties. This time, it would be our team doctor, Dr. Alice Kevern. I would learn over the course of the voyage that Dr. Alice was an enigma. Soft spoken and gentle as a lamb, especially when sitting fireside with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, she is a stark contrast to her amicable self when in the saddle. Both fierce and aggressive, I daresay Dr. Alice was a different animal altogether when on her bike. I saw her hit drops in Rotorua that the boys shied away from. It was clearly a case of Dr. Alice and Mrs. Hyde. Unfortunately, while attacking a rooty, off camber steep at full throttle, her aggressive nature would get the best of her. Flying over the bars, literally landing on her face, her lip bore the brunt of the terrain. The resulting deep laceration in her lip would require a handful of stitches.




The pit crew quickly had her taped and ready to ride. She would finish the ride today sporting a wad of gauze held in place with medical tape crisscrossing her face. As we continued on our descent, we drifted through countless loamy turns, eventually finishing at the Pelorus River. We hoisted our bikes on our shoulders, making our way to the wilderness hut on the other side, where we lazily basked in the sun, each of us with contented smiles, not caring we were being eaten by sand flies while we waited for the heli. I exclaimed to Skoda that I was sure I’d ridden the trail before. “Oh really?” he asked sceptically, lifting one eyebrow, as he does. I paused dramatically, “In my dreams,” I replied with a smile. Dr. Alice stemmed her laughter, wincing with every smile.




When the helicopter arrived for our second run, the pilot carefully maneuvered between the trees to our pick up point. Alice was first on board. “This one will be quite bitchy,” warned Skoda. I’d never heard anyone describe a trail as such and assumed he meant it would be a rowdy descent. My assumptions would be proven spot on. For Round 2, we were dropped on a grassy, flat saddle at 3500 feet where our group split in two. Five of us would hike up another hour for a descent down Little Twin. It was no surprise Rob and Ritchie led our group; Test Eagle 1 and Test Eagle 2 – they were a perfect pair. I tagged along, excited to see what I was getting into. Saying our goodbyes to the rest of the company, we traversed the grassy tussock and entered the forest on our push up the peak. The trees immediately closed in, choking out the sunlight. Moss hung in thick slabs from the trees and mammoth roots coiled underfoot like writhing pythons. As we pushed up our descent, I searched for islands of safety for what would be a steep ride down. After a short break at the top, we let fly our descent. The trail was tight & moist, ideal terrain for Test Eagles. We snaked through narrow gaps in the trees re-emerging into the grassy alpine meadow, thankfully all parts intact.




We traversed the swampy flats, following the path of our comrades, who were by now well ahead of us, and began our ‘bitchy’ descent. I soon understood what Skoda meant. The first couple miles of track was an overgrown, rocky creek bed, filled with sharp, square edged hits. Branches stretched across the trail, clawing at my face as I bounced out of control through the piles of splintered rocks. It wasn’t long until someone flatted. And then another. And another. We barely had enough tubes and patches between us. Bitchy indeed!




The trail finally flowed into some sweeping single track affording us spectacular panoramas of the valley below. By the time we got to the end, the rest of the group was long gone, preparing our feast back at Kimberley House while Dr. Alice was at the hospital getting stitches, thankfully closing a chapter in our injury log. We rambled on home, the whole lot of us elated with a day of delicious descents. With over 7000 feet under our belt for the day, we joined the others at headquarters, raising a toast to ‘bitchy’ trails, another to pinch flats, and finally to a helicopter pilot who knew nothing of unicorns, at which Skoda finished what remained in his glass.

Unfortunately, the next day we wouldn’t be so lucky...




We woke to stormy skies and fast moving clouds blowing in off the Pacific. Today was another scheduled helicopter ride, but with this weather, it didn’t look promising. Skoda made his usual morning calls organizing the day’s events, then delivered the bad news we were all expecting. Our flight was canceled. Today, the helicopter would be a mythical beast. Thankfully, the ever prepared Skoda had a back up plan which would take us for a shuttle down a wet and wild Ramaka track, finishing the day with a cooler full of libations to make up for the lack of unicorns.

Tonight would mark our last night at Kimberley House before relocating to Te Mahia Bay Resort in the Marlborough Sounds, some three hours away.

As we drove back to Nelson from Takaka, the conversation turned to tomorrow’s ride menu, one of the most eagerly anticipated rides of the junket; Wakamarina. Skoda had strategically scheduled tomorrow's shuttle at the halfway point en route the next day. The pre junket outline was enticing; “Straight to Wakamarina track, you know what happens next…count them…one million switchbacks. Ed meets us at the end of the trail again and ferry’s us with several full chilly bins of wine, cheese and beer to Te Mahia… we will have all life’s essentials on hand to be able to cope.”

Little did we know, the gods would throw yet another wrench in our gears...

Stay tuned for Part 3 Premature Evacuation Wakamarina, land of a million switchbacks, as it goes live on Thursday.

If you missed part one, here it is: Part One

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