Nestled amidst the rugged beauty of New Zealand’s South Island is the breathtaking Hopkins River Valley, a paradise for outdoor enthusiasts seeking a wilderness escape. While I’m under no illusion that the Hopkins is a well-kept secret, it remained a mystery to us. Despite being just a four-hour drive from Christchurch, the Cashmere crew (that’s us) had never quite found the right moment to pack up and hit the road down to Ohau. Then New Year’s 2024 presented itself, with yours truly in a cast and unable to ride bikes (our other expensive hobby). Wheeling and camping became the obvious activity of choice. But of course, the New Zealand weather was not going to make it easy.
Our original plan was to convoy down south on Dec 30, camping along the way and then spending Dec 31 in the Hopkins. We would welcome a new year surrounded by beauty and serenity. MetService advice persuaded us to wait out a huge storm at home in Christchurch. Because we are stubborn, some of us drove part way to Geraldine and spent New Year’s Eve in the last two cabins (miraculously available) anywhere in South Canterbury. We endured an absolute deluge of rain and a few quiet cold ones before retiring well before 2024.
On New Years’ Day, our expedition of five vehicles met at Lake Ohau, including three trusty Mitsubishi Pajero SUVs, a Hilux, and a VW Amarok. Despite the holiday season bringing a surge of travelers to the roads, we were amazed at how few people we encountered once we ventured up the valley, highlighting the serenity and solitude that await those willing to explore off the beaten path. The Hopkins River, not even deep enough to crest the bonnet, somehow acted as a magical barrier that filtered out most of the traffic – almost including one of our own.
I will pause to mention that despite the water level not being problematic for experienced 4WDers, it was still deep enough to ruffle feathers for those newer to the convoy. Our lovely Sophie faced her ultimate nemesis during our weekend expedition: crossing the river in their capable Amarok. At first, Sophie’s confidence was as shaky as a leaf in a storm, and she clung to the passenger seat with a death grip, muttering prayers to the car gods for safe passage. By the end of the weekend, however, she had not only conquered her fear but also claimed victory over the driver’s seat, maneuvering the truck with the finesse of a seasoned off-roader. Who knew that a river crossing could be the ultimate confidence booster?
The drive up the river valley is rather tranquil, punctuated by occasional water crossings that add a touch of excitement to the journey. It’s less about serious wheeling and more about the incredible access to such a breathtaking place, offering magnificent views at every turn. As we ventured deeper into the valley, the landscape unfolded before us like a masterpiece, with snow-capped peaks, lush beech forests, and the opaque turquoise river creating a mesmerizing backdrop. However, amidst this natural splendor lurked a predictable nuisance: relentless sandflies. These tiny pests proved to be a formidable foe, testing our patience and resilience throughout the trip. Our first evening became a battle against the bugs, with us hastily eating dinner on the move and pacing around camp in an attempt to outsmart them. By 9.00pm, defeated by the relentless onslaught, we surrendered and retired to bed earlier than anticipated, conceding victory to the sandflies.
We opted to camp at a random spot on the edge of the valley, a decision we regretted the following day when we drive over to the idyllic Red Hut, a picturesque camping spot with an indoor option for sandfly solitude. By this point, however, we had set up camp and left it for the day – committing to our beautiful, bug-infested option.
After morning tea and commiserations, we left Red Hut for our scheduled adventure of the day: a 3.5km, 600 vertical metre hike to Dasler bivvy. With a four and six-year-old in tow, we hoped to make it but prepared not to. This route is no joke either, with a consistently steep gradient, significant exposure, and chains to assist with genuine rock climbing, we knew we might be pushing our luck. As it turned out, the children, powered by lollies and competition with each other, were near the front of the climb the entire hike, setting a formidable pace for the eight adults behind. The track ascended to a breathtaking viewpoint that offered panoramic vistas of the valley below.
After lunch and not very much rest at all thanks to the little people, we descended back the way we had come, welcomed on the valley floor by our vehicles and their stocked refrigerators. Back behind our wheels, the convoy bounced along to the end of the 4WD track. It was a picture-perfect spot to be, on the day after New Year’s Day. Getting out there can be a lot of work, with all the food prep, truck maintenance, planning and replanning (and planning again thanks to winter in the summer), but when you and your best mates are drinking tinned margaritas in one of the most beautiful places in the world, without another soul in sight… it is worth it.
Upon return to camp, all of those not in a cast bravely endured a swim in the glacial river before cracking another cold one and lighting the BBQs. And as night descended upon the valley, we gathered around a crackling campfire… just kidding. We respected the fire ban and paced around our campsite yet again, questioning the purpose of sandflies on planet Earth. The following day revealed another perfect clear blue sky, and nature’s worst invention joined us for breakfast, ensuring that we all kept our step count up while simultaneously fueling for the day ahead.
With a gentler walking route planned, we set off in search of the orange arrows to start another hike. Dave “Big D” took the lead, despite a lack of markers to follow. Zigzagging through the wilderness like a lost pack of adventurers, we couldn’t help but wonder if we were on a quest for hidden treasure or simply Big D’s secret stash of snacks. Eventually we found our route, which was an interesting track with an epic swing bridge and a dynamic trail that eventually took us down to the Huxley riverbed. Just when we thought we had ventured to the furthest reaches of the wilderness, Liz, our resident social butterfly, managed to defy all odds by bumping into familiar faces in the most remote corners of the earth. With her uncanny ability to turn even the most isolated hiking trail into an impromptu reunion, we were forced to leave Liz behind, lost in a lively conversation while the impatient children took off again. We were all reunited back at the trucks, where we basked in the sun before turning the wheels towards home.
As we reluctantly bid farewell to the Hopkins’ majestic meadows and mountains, I couldn’t help but feel like I was starring in my very own rendition of The Sound of Music. The hills were indeed alive with the musical sound of engine revs and sandflies buzzing. Surprisingly, not a single truck in our convoy succumbed to any mechanical misadventure, which, let’s be honest, was a minor miracle; a positive omen for 2024. And as we emerged from the valley, greeted by the shimmering of Lake Ohau, we couldn’t resist the temptation to take a dip (or rather, all of us without a cast, again). Nothing washes away the dust of a rugged adventure quite like a spontaneous swim in freezing water. It was the perfect ending to our New Year’s escapade, complete with sun burns and bug bites.
