Chasing gold
Home » Magazine » Good, issue 5 » Chasing goldMiners once rushed to Central Otago in pursuit of gold. Now there’s a new gold rush—cyclists chasing adventure, history and the area’s dramatic landscape. Judith Doyle went south to cycle the Otago Rail Trail, with six of her 60-something friends
ABOVE: Kildare Hill rose above St Bathans until 19th-century gold-diggers reduced it to a huge crater that fast filled with water. The white mining scars that surround the new lake intensify its brilliant blue colour.
It served me right, disobeying the “Cyclists Dismount” notice and riding my bike through a dark railway tunnel, one hand gripping the handlebars, the other holding a torch.
My cuts and bruises have healed now, thank you.
Price’s Creek is the first of three tunnels on the Otago Central Rail Trail, which curves in a wide horseshoe between Middlemarch and Clyde, in Central Otago. It was opened as a cycle trail in 2000, a decade after the old railway line was closed.
I’m not the only one to have a minor tumble; others in my group of seven catch the sides of the track’s narrow bridges or farm gates. The champion skid of the trip is into gooey mud beside the Clutha River.
There are those who do the whole 150-kilometre trail in two or three days, their stiff upper lips in place and saddlebags bulging with gear. Not us.
No spring chickens—all seven of us are in our late 60s—we choose a supported tour with a ‘sag wagon’ that takes our suitcases from one overnight stop to the next.
Wedderburn’s shed, made famous by painter Grahame Sydney, marks the halfway point—but there’s more uphill riding to go.
It takes a tumble for me to learn that discretion is the better part of valour. Walking through the spooky interiors of the tunnels along the trail is recommended
We deviate to Ophir and cross its stone-piered suspension bridge.
Bridges on the trail are all shapes and sizes.
The long daylight hours down south give us plenty of time to savour the pale gold landscape of Central Otago, explore its old goldmining towns and revel in its spectacular, unpeopled panoramas.
Starting at Middlemarch, our first stretch has a gentle gradient (trains didn’t like steep hills either) but sometimes a rough surface. As I judder along, my tail bone receives a bizarre kind of massage.
A shower, then wine by an open fire is restorative—we’ve cycled 27 kilometres in an afternoon. Also dining at the Otago Central Hotel in Hyde is another group cycling in the opposite direction, from Clyde to Middlemarch. After dinner, we debate which way is easiest. “Both ways are probably uphill,” concludes one cyclist.
The sweep of the Maniototo Plains opens out from Price’s Creek tunnel, which is where I meet my Waterloo. I dust myself down after my spill and take in the surroundings. Plains stretch into the distance. On the horizon are the Kakanui Mountains, Raggedy Range, Dunstan Mountains and the Rock and Pillar Range—a shortcut to the Otago goldfields in goldrush days, more recently transformed into Middle Earth.
Approaching Ranfurly, you’d swear you were on a Roman road, straight and unbending. The town’s tin roofs shimmer like a mirage in the desert. Ranfurly’s art deco buildings reward the effort of getting here. The highlight is the Centennial Milk Bar, where rail passengers once imitated a rugby scrum in their push for refreshments during the train’s brief stop.
A long downhill run through pale gold tussock, past jagged rocks jutting out like the bones of the land, delivers us to a green corrugated iron shed. It’s the Wedderburn shed made famous by artist Grahame Sydney. He paints this region so lovingly—wherever you look you see one of his paintings.
The bleached landscape spreads out below the track’s highest point (618 metres) on the way to Oturehua. Great tiers of schist rock resemble the profiles of grumpy old men. Much of the land is scraped bare, witness to the ravages of rabbits.
In the evening, our support van whisks us to St Bathans, 20 kilometres from Oturehua. Most of Central Otago’s pubs have pianos and we’ve been enjoying our evening sing-songs. An organ at St Bathans challenges us to dredge up some hymns from the depths of long-ago schooldays, until the bartender can’t stand it any longer. “Are you convent girls or the daughters of funeral directors?” he asks, and calls up the competition, a local bagpiper. Our duets, combining bagpipes and organs, produce a God-fearing sound indeed!
Central Otago’s desire for rain is finally met. My waterproof leggings, rain jacket, woolly hat under my helmet, and ski gloves make quite a change from the shorts and t-shirt of the previous day.
A rainbow arches above us as we cycle into the hazy hills in ever-increasing rain. By the time we reach Lauder, the water is pouring down my neck, shoulders and into my shoes. My rear wheel has thrown a column of mud up my back. Central Otago averages only 30 centimetres of rain annually; we cop a goodly proportion in one afternoon.
All is forgiven when the morning dawns dry and sunny.
The final stretch is lined with wild flowers—blue borage, white clusters of yarrow, briar roses and spikes of woolly mullein—and the air is filled with the fragrance of thyme. Introduced long ago by Chinese goldminers, it now covers the hills.
The highlight of the trip comes last—and not on the actual rail trail. At Alexandra we can ride on to Clyde along the rail trail, or switch to the 12-kilometre Clutha River Trail. We choose the river ride—a rollercoaster of humps and dips, with sharp turns right and left. The sun’s rays slash through the willows and poplar trees like arrows aimed at the water. It’s glorious.
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