Pedalling Where Trains Once Thundered: Otago Rail Trail

Posted by Roy Sinclair in Queenstown and Southern Travel Stories
Thursday, 11 May 2006

It promised to be an idyllic pub crawl.

We imagined ourselves pedalling the best part of 150 kilometres down the Otago Central Rail Trail, from Alexandra to Middlemarch, with a moderate nor-wester on our backs. We would have ample time to relax a-while in the licensed premises of rejuvenating towns along the trail.

Reality was different. We were cycling into a nasty nor-easter. And at the first pub stop, Chatto Creek Tavern, I was politely admonished.

Mine host, pulling our beers, asked how many days we had planned for the Rail Trail. Her question sounded casual enough.

"Two,'' I replied, a tad apologetically.

"Then you have no time to sit around drinking at Chatto Creek,'' she chided.

Starting late morning from Alexandra, we had clocked a mere 17 kilometres in the first two hours, dawdling in a agreeable landscape of schist rock and wafting fragrances from wild thyme. Another 42 kilometres lay between Chatto Creek and Oturehua where we planed to spend the night.

We scoffed a Chatto Creek toasted sandwich before scurrying.

Modelled of the successful Rails to Trails projects elsewhere in the world, the Otago Central Rail Trail has become a real hit, drawing an abundance of New Zealanders along with cycling tourists mostly from the United States, Australia, Europe and Japan.

Small towns, in decline since the Dunedin to Cromwell railway finally closed in 1990, have enjoyed a confident recovery.

Much of the credit goes to the Department of Conservation. DOC acquired the disused Middlemarch to Clyde railway embankment in 1993. Six years and $850,000 were spent preparing the trail for re-opening in February 2000 as a recreational facility for mountain bikers, walkers, and horse riders.

With my pedalling partner, Haruko, I have returned to spend many days soaking up the atmosphere of the Rail Trail – its solitude, distinctive schist rock landscapes, high bridges supported on crafted stone-work piles, tunnels with spooky pitch-black interiors, and intermittent rural towns. At the end of the day there was always a country pub to call at for a pint in what is unashamedly known these days as ``Grahame Sydney country.''

And there was the joy of cycling away from the highways. A 2-kilometre detour led  to Ophir, a former gold town with an excellent backpackers’ lodge and intriguing history.

Born during the 1860s gold rushes, Ophir’s streets are wide. Buildings are solid – fashioned from schist or mud brick. Did the town have expectations of supporting tramcars gliding along grand boulevards? Tall brightly-coloured spears of hollyhocks spring from dry ground.

Ophir has the ring of a biblical name. Ophir is where the Queen of Sheba found her gold for King Solomon. 

Otago’s Ophir is a ghost town with 20 residents and an elegant working post office built in 1886. Postmistress Val Butcher served us coffee as well as postmarking our letters for collection by New Zealand Post’s rural mail car. We also bought a beautifully-presented packet of hollyhock seeds to plant at home.

A short bike took us to the Daniel O’Connell suspension bridge (named after an Irish liberator) over the Manuherikia River. We approached on a gravel road through a deep rock cutting emulating, perfectly, a scene from an Indiana Jones movie.

Returning to the Rail Trail we pedalled precariously above Pool Burn Gorge, and across the 37 metre-high Pool Burn viaduct supported on schist piers and abutments. For many kilometres we had the trail to ourselves, experiencing an uncanny loneliness. Occasionally we would discover a railway ganger’s hut, dog spikes, or fishplates used to bolt rails together.   

Oturehua, in summer, is one of New Zealand’s hottest places. In winter it is one of the coldest. We arrived at the Crows Nest backpackers and pitched our tent on the lawn. Our hosts, Graeme and Annette, welcomed us with a generous slice of fruit cake to share with a cup of tea.

Oturehua is home for a semi-recluse albeit celebrated poet, Brian Turner. His many accolades include becoming the fourth Te Mata Estate New Zealand poet Laureate in 2003. He is also a bike rider, often out on the trail imagining himself (he told me) a competitor in Tour de France, his yellow jersey blending with golden landscapes.    

Gilchrist’s historic store is another Oturehua highlight happily benefiting from the Rail Trail.  Stepping inside was delightfully like entering a museum to rural shopping. Almost every conceivable item can be found, from bread rolls and freeze-dried food to hardware and gumboots. It is also a convenient place to buy  lunch, or to select and send a postcard.

Rough Ridge, the highest point, is 618 metres above sea level. Nearby,  the trail crosses the 45th Parallel south. We enjoyed a pleasant downgrade to Wedderburn, a tiny one-pub town made famous by Grahame Sydney's 1970s' painting July on the Maniototo. 

The painting shows the railway good shed in the snow. It had been taken away when the railway closed but was subsequently found in a coal pit and returned to its former site. It has been re-painted and prepared as a small Rail Trail museum.

Ranfurly is the largest rural town. Its former railway station has become an information centre with a superb collection of memorabilia.  

The Rail Trail led us through a jagged landscape contoured at the whim of the Taieri River. Looking ahead, the railway creatively banked at each bend, appeared as a work of art. For the first time I saw its closing as an act of vandalism.

Later, weary and discouraged from the onset of rain, I imagined being snugly aboard an afternoon express from Alexandra to Dunedin: Six smart carriages, and a an Ab class confidently steaming at the front. A cup of coffee awaits at the Middlemarch refreshment stop. Just another hour or so before dinner in Dunedin.

Reality was different – tired muscles, rain trickling into my jacket, and a seemingly fast-turning hour hand on my watch mocking a slow-turning Cat Eye kilometre recorder.

South of Hyde we arrived at a stark monument to an infamous train crash in 1943, claiming 21 lives. It presented a gloomy monument to human frailty.

Day’s end saw us in Middlemarch lodgings, protected from the rain and preparing a welcome meal. We had seen so much, experienced so much. No wonder the Chatto Creek woman had threatened to deprive us of cold beer for trying to do it all within a mere 48 hours.

Our journey to Dunedin concluded next day aboard the very scenic Taieri Gorge Railway. The train station at Pukerangi, 19 kilometres from Middlemarch, was found at the end of a gruelling climb. Oh well, at least we were getting fitter.

Postscript:

Another cycling/walking rail trail is being developed along the 44 kilometre Christchurch to Little River branch line closed in 1962. The first section of the Little River Rail Trail, Motukarara to Catons Bay near Little River, opened on 28 May, 2006. 

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