Scott Fellers greets a new decade in Southland style

Story and photos by Kristen Fellers.

After a winter of trip cancellations due to torrential rain, flooding, track closures, and two “one-in-one-hundred year” storms, our little family was ready to get out of town. We didn’t manage one overnight 4WD trip between June and October due to mother nature’s tantrums and the apparently mandatory presence at work, so our planned 10-day exploration around Otago and Southland had us fizzing the whole month of November. Scott, the proud owner of our occasionally trusty Pajero, was also turning the big four-oh during the trip, a milestone perhaps not eagerly anticipated but certainly worth celebrating, so cold food was kept at a minimum to ensure plenty of room for beer in the fridge. (By the way, if anyone in your life is turning a significant number and you need a gift idea – the 4WD fridge is it. Game-changer. So good.)
While the second half of our holiday would be in Queenstown, meeting friends to ride bikes and relax, the first five days involved taking the (extremely) scenic way to get there. Because of the multi-activity nature of our trip, the Paj was packed to the absolute hilt with roof box crammed with camping gear, back loaded with mountain bikes, inside full of the ridiculous amount of accoutrements a two-year-old requires to survive. We set off for our scenic drive with the not-so-scenic travel from Christchurch to Timaru, the journey improving as we turned west into the Kakanui Range and eventually reached Dansey’s Pass Road. While a 4WD is not required, it makes for a comfortable ride on this stunning gravel track in the middle of nowhere. We took our time, stopping to throw rocks in the river and enjoy our hard-earned peace and quiet. Near the Naseby end of the road is Dansey’s Pass Hotel, aka: my new favourite place in New Zealand. With a fireplace my town car could fit in, stags on the walls and country music playing in the background, it felt like home away from home for this American girl, and I easily could have parked there for the weekend.
Relaxing in one place is not something Scott is wired to do, however, so after a peaceful camp in the DOC site near the hotel, we carried on with our eyes set upwards on Mount Buster. The Mount Buster – Mount Kyeburn track is a steep, rugged and windswept track that promised stunning Otago views as a reward for the vertical first gear climbing. About half an hour into the drive, after a lovely traverse to the base of the mountain and as we were sharply ascending the narrow track, I heard a noise. Screech. Best ignore it, right? Thirty seconds later… screech screech. Just a rock in the wheel, I assured myself. But each time the truck dipped or dived, screech, squeal. Finally, I asked Scott what the noise was. “Dunno” he said, visibly attempting to will the noise away with his mind. We found a flat spot eventually and parked up for assessment. We climbed under and on top, rocked the truck back and forth, ran alongside trying to diagnose the mystery noise. I believe it was Benjamin Franklin that said, nothing in life is certain but death, taxes, and the constant presence of a mystery noise in your 4WD vehicle.
With 80 per cent of the Mount Buster ascent in front of us and no idea what our new problem was, we made the annoying decision to turn around and push through to Alexandra, where truck parts would be more available if needed. Disassembling the rear wheels at first seemed to show that some large river stones caught up between moving metal parts may be our problem… until the next step of eyeballing the brake pads made the problem crystal clear. Unevenly worn and beyond bare, we had our culprit. Thanks to Repco, had ourselves up and running with only a few hours lost. Unfortunately, a few days of uncharacteristic rain moved in on Alexandra, so we had to settle for wine tasting and some explorations of the local river tracks.
Two days of rain gave us plenty of time to reorganise the truck, stock up on essentials, and ensure everything else was mechanically sound. Our friends Richard and Michelle ambled into town with their red short-wheelbase Pajero to join the next leg of the journey. Local intel suggested that our original route would be somewhere between no fun and impassable due to mud and snow, so instead of circling up to Bannockburn for a longer traverse of the Old Man Range, we headed south towards Roxborough, soon cutting west and ascending Symes Road towards the top of the range. Though we left Alexandra in the sun, heavy cloud pressed down on us as we drove, eventually surrounding us and making visibility near nil. With the occasional surprise gate appearing in the mist, we trekked slowly, as the edge of the track and the edge of the mountain-side were both a bit of a mystery in the cloud. On the radio we caught snippets of conversation from other drivers, “no idea where we are mate” being one of the more concerning ones.
Our topo map showed us we were nearly at the top, and our plan was to backtrack slightly to the 26-metre-high 4WD-famous Obelisk, before heading south along the tops towards Piano Flat. As I navigated via topo, I noticed rays of sunshine piercing the clouds, making it even harder to see than before. No way… were we going to… yes! Breaking through above the clouds! How good. As we reached the track along the top of the Old Man Range, we emerged through the clouds, making for moody driving with rolling clouds pressing on the range from the east and sun shining from the southwest.
After a few mandatory snaps at the Obelisk and sighting an uncommon grasshopper (Alpinacris tumidicauda) notoriously spotted at the Obelisk, our little convoy of two turned around and drove south. The scenery on the Old Man Range is barren but unique, with towering phallic rock formations, crumbling old stone walls and huts, low weather-beaten vegetation, and scenery so moody that real life appears almost black and white. We took some side excursions, enjoying the gentle grade 3 driving. As the track descended into Southland, the dirt gave way to massive rock slabs, increasing the technical driving and passenger excitement. The final descent into Piano Flat tilted much steeper again, and the rocks became dirt again, or rather water-logged mud. Thankfully the rain held off for us, allowing a safe descent; though whoever slipped the entire way down with two wheels in the culvert on their all-terrains (likely the day before us) left an impressive series of skids down the hill and can’t possibly have avoided panel damage on the way down!
Piano Flat was everything that the Old Man Range was not: green and lush and full of birdlife and sunshine. As we set up camp and panned for gold on the eve of Scott’s 40th birthday, we took a moment to reflect: how good is this?! A fleck of gold was found (and lost again), chili and beer consumed by a lovely fire, mud puddles ridden through by the littlest 4WD-er, and plans for the next day confirmed. The drive out of Piano Flat is a long road, winding out of the beach forest and into true Southland, green pastures and happy-looking cows. We stopped in Lumsden to refuel, re-caffeinate, and observe the tractor-to-car ratio (1:1, easily) before turning our wheels west towards Athol.
Just before the bustling metropolis of Athol (two cafes, both shut, it’s not like I was starving or anything) is Eyre Creek Road. It looks like a farm road, because it is. Beyond the farm, should you obtain farmer’s permission and a gate code, lies a delightful piece of 4WD track that criss-crosses Eyre Creek and provides peaceful beech forest views along the way. But first, the farm.
Sometimes you see a bog hole and you think, that’s just some mud in some ruts, no worries. Normally you don’t assume the ruts have a massive hole in them, and are as full of cow excrement as mud, and are deep enough to swallow a small red Pajero. But alas we watched Richard drop in and thought we’d lost them as thick “farm mud” coated 60 per cent of the vehicle. Thankfully no one needed a tow, because I don’t know who would have crawled around in that mud to hook up the strap. Another surprisingly deep set of ruts saw our long-wheelbase needing a snatch, all these shenanigans before we even reached DOC land.
Once we passed through the final gate, the track became much more interesting, meandering back and forth through the river, kindly rinsing some mud from the underbelly of our half-brown trucks. Old washouts and weather events provided alternate lines and dead ends, making the enjoyable driving even more entertaining. Our bikes, strapped to the back, were bouncing along with us but as the track got more exciting, the stress about bike damage grew. Eventually we stashed the bikes deep in the beech forest, agreeing that the likelihood of bike thieves having psychic navigation skills and capable 4WDs was low. A fantastic decision indeed, as the angles of the track had some sharp and steep moments! A favourite was navigating up a stunning waterfall of cascading rapids, as the track had completely deteriorated on either side of the river.
We came upon many more mud holes and having lost all trust due to the first bovine-latrine bog, I hopped out several times to poke them with sticks. My diligence was never required however, as every other menacing mud puddle turned out to be firm based and a fun splash. Winding through the beech trees became tighter and somewhat technical, with evidence of probable Nissan panel damage laying on the ground and marked upon the tree trunks. Our narrow Pajeros wiggled through the muddy turns with just the right amount of fun though, and the right amount of damage (none). After a few hours of entertaining driving, we passed a wide-open spot in the forest, next to the river, with no wind and flat ground. A perfect camp for the night, how good! We decided to push on a bit further, across the river and up a small rise, which prompted Scott to shout over the radio, “This, my friends, is why we own a 4WD!” The narrow track opened before us, revealing a glacial valley surrounded by towering snow-capped mountains, the quintessential Southern Alps view. A perfect birthday present indeed.
The track carried on much further, and we enjoyed another two km of stunning views, a dodgy lean over the river, a steep hill descent, and finally a well-deserved beer by the river before turning back to set up camp at our beech tree haven. After being on the road for several days, a rinse was much needed, and our funky but efficient 4WD-shower provided a hot alternative to jumping in the freezing cold river. It was an amusing dance to keep oneself covered in soap and water long enough to keep the sandflies at bay, while balancing on the rocks and attempting to get clean!
The morning’s return trip was uneventful, with the tight manoeuvres and suspicious puddles having been sussed out. No bike thieves felt like doing a late-night four-wheeling mission, and by lunchtime we were airing up surrounded by cows and muddy vehicles. While we wholly enjoyed rolling into swanky Queenstown in our stinky, mud-spattered trucks, and had an awesome time riding bikes with friends after our 4WD trip, I do believe it was the camping and the fire, the native bush halfway between Wakatipu and Te Anau, our 4WD mates, the beers, the yarns about our adventures, and the 14 million sandflies that came out to say happy birthday that really made the Old Man’s 40th so special.