A walk around a lake. A big lake. All the way around.
It’s late summer. The days are long and the sun still has heat. My car whines with a high-pitched wheeze as it slaloms up the Coronet Peak ski field access road. I’m not on my way to an adventure. I’m on my way to interview two adventurers who are only slightly older than my car.
They are just three weeks back from a mighty mission, so I expect them to look haggard from the graft and stoic from the grit. Instead, I see two fresh-faced dudes flicking me an East Coast wave. They’ve picked the place not for inspiration nor aesthetics. They wanted to meet on the day lodge deck because they’re going mountain biking, and my interview for 1964 pales in importance to getting after a good ride. I like them already.
Walking around a lake might sound simple, like an afternoon stroll between first and second breakfast. But this isn’t that type of lake or that type of trip, and the guys who did it, well, they aren’t that type of guys. I am meeting the who, but I am far more interested in the why.
Tāhuna Queenstown, the beautiful little resort town with big-city ambitions, sits on Lake Whakatipu. The lake has long been mythologised. From a great height, its lightning bolt shape looks like a giant sleeping in the fetal position, and one story says this is the final resting place of a slain ogre (though oft repeated, this is not an authentic Māori pūrākau – enjoy it, but take it with a grain of salt). In turn, geologists tell of millennia and glaciers carving a deep, deep, dark lake, filled with mystery and bitterly cold water. The lake is huge. Like, seen from space huge. It’s 80 kilometres long. And earlier this year, Joel Van Beers and Nikau Barnes decided to walk around it.
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The great thing about being a teenager is that people expect the ridiculous, and the ambition of youth can take you on the adventure of a lifetime not yet lived. There isn’t some flowing mountain bike track hugging Lake Wakatipu’s shore (yet) or a tramping trail tracing its edges. And even if there were, these young guns had something more hardcore in mind, an ambitious trip that nearly everyone in town has thought about, but scoffed at once common sense kicked in. You see, this lake is cuddled by some of the craggiest peaks in the Southern Alps. The star of every Queenstown tourism campaign since way before the Middle Earth days, Kawarau / The Remarkables mountain range would only be the first hurdle. Peak upon peak would follow. Their goal was to circumnavigate the lake by walking along the tops.
They (obviously) didn’t die. But also, this isn’t a fairy tale. Settling into a picnic table, we get acquainted. Joel and Nikau, both 15 at the time of writing, are yet to feel the heavy yoke of the world, or a razor on the regular. It takes me aback. They wouldn’t look out of place on a youth rugby team, but have just ticked off a trip that I, at three times their age, wouldn’t have the brass to try.
The pair have a knack for finishing each other’s sentences, jumping in with “and then’s” in the way people do when they’ve known each other forever. But it turns out this partnership is as green as them. “We’ve known each other for a couple of years, we’d done a hike or two together and did one overnight camping trip together,” they both answer, trading thoughts. I guess when you’re 15, knowing someone for a couple of years is a big chunk of your life.
“The idea… started out on a ski touring trip last winter,” Nikau explains. “I was skiing near Crown Peak (at the summit of the Crown Range, the mountain pass between Queenstown and its sibling mountain town of Wānaka) and from there you could see Lake Whakatipu, and I just really wanted to see the lake from the mountains all around it.”
Joel continues, “In school, we have a programme called ‘explorations’ where we can work on a project or adventure for the term. Nikau came up with the idea of the big trip around the lake, as well as raising some money for charity, and I thought it was a really cool idea and I was in.”
Where was this when I was in school?
The charity of choice was the Whakatipu Reforestation Trust (WRT), which is all about reforesting the Whakatipu Basin with the native plants and timbers that once cloaked the region. One they’d partnered with the WRT, their enthusiasm spilled into an article in the local paper. There’s nothing like the public pressure of the press to press you into action, whether you’re ready or not. The trip got real real.
Soon, sponsors were on board. Outside Sports helped kit the lads out with gear, and Patagonia, the global outdoor clothing juggernaut, clothed them from head to toe in the latest. I ask what they proposed to these sponsors, and Nikau replies in his laconic way, “We just told them that we wanted to hike around Lake Whakatipu in one continuous trip, summiting peaks along the way, all under human power and raise awareness for the Whakatipu Reforestation Trust, and that was about it.”
A few months of planning later, the day arrived. As Joel and Nikau set off from the Memorial Arch in the heart of Queenstown, friends, family, teachers and supporters gathered, and hoped the location wasn’t prophetic.
The first leg was the sort of route a teenager would plan, the kind of madness good knees, boundless energy and a why-not attitude generates. They’d start with a stroll along the Frankton Track, before crossing the Kawarau River, skirting the foothills of The Remarkables, then hopping onto The Remarks’ access road and heading up. But that’s not it. Once they got to the Remarkables Ski Area base building, they would climb to the top of the ski field, head over the saddle and end up in Wye Creek, where they would camp for the night.
That’s 27 kilometres of walking and 1700 metres of elevation gain. I sit up a bit straighter. What I covered in my car today is one third of the elevation and distance they had walked on day one. I raise my eyebrows. They shrug and continue their story.
The next day brought them down Wye Creek and back to lake level, where they could re-supply, connect with the support crew and tell of the toll. Then, venturing back onto the skirt of The Remarkables, they pressed on towards Kingston. They weaved along farm tracks, through gnarled native brush and above the imposing Devil’s Staircase, which bluffs out the route and forces walkers upwards, again.
The relentless ups and downs and punishing sidehills were already asking a price. Rarely it’s broken bones that send a trip sideways. It’s something as simple as a blister. Small at first. A little hot spot. Not even worth stopping for. But soon, it’s a raging painful volcano in your sock and even the hardest alpinists reach for a stick to bite on. Progress slowed as sore feet met diabolical terrain. The Devil’s Staircase was behind them, but the beach wasn’t the paradise they had hoped for. Deadfall pushed them onto their bellies to commando crawl through. Sometimes the only way past was in the water. It was a balm for the feet, but a bomb in forward progress.
It took two days, but the small town of Kingston was a sanctuary, as was a warm bed. Crashing at a friend’s house, they plotted the next section. Their strategy was evolving on the run. The unrelenting foot-sore hell meant that a plan B was needed – now. They’d gone too far to turn back, so kayaks were the way forward. Twenty kilometres of paddling later, they found themselves at Halfway Bay, the mouth of the Lochy River.
Proving that they were always on the mind of their crew, a boat buzzed in the distance and grew closer as they neared the end of the kayak leg. George, a friend who had walked the first leg with them as far as Frankton, was dropping in with cookies and words of encouragement. Everyone needs a George in their lives.
After a four-kilometre walk up the Lochy River, they camped at the Long Burn Hut. Then, after busting a window trying to kill a sandfly (for which they both are still very sorry) they busted out another massive day. Hiking on healing feet, they arrived at Cecil Peak Station. The next morning brought another visit from George, this time with pies and Powerade. A swim in the lake at Hidden Island, and it was time to make tracks. Once again getting into the kayaks, they paddled towards Walter Peak Station, their next stop.
The station, operated by RealNZ as the destination for the TSS Earnslaw steamship day cruises, welcomed the lads. Joel and Nikau joined the buffet line, where they hoovered plate after plate from the Gourmet BBQ, while the tourists they mingled with were none the wiser to their extraordinary itinerary.
Morning brought another form of travel – their mountain bikes had been rolled off the Earnslaw. Off they went. Pushing through tricky terrain, they notched K after K as they pedalled past the Greenstone Valley, and arrived at Kinloch, the next stop. It was time for a rest day; Nikau and Joel had been on the go for eight days. Meanwhile, the support crew had tickets to the Gibbston Valley Summer Concert. To be fair, they deserved a break as much as the guys; they’d moved more bikes and kayaks than Outside Sports for the Boxing Day sale.
Rest day over, they paddled back from Kinloch to Glenorchy, swapped to bikes and rode to Moke Lake. Those who know, know: that hill is brutal on a bike. But camping there, you can almost smell home. It’s just over the hill. (Although maybe that was just George. Once again, he was there to cheer the pair on their way and deliver some breakfast pies.) Then it was up and over Ben Lomond, summiting the peak that first drew Joel and Nikau together. From the top, the entire lake explodes into view, and if they squinted hard enough, they could almost see the whole adventure unfold.
Queenstown buzzed, and the outline of the Memorial Arch glimmered in the midday sun. Fueled by the imminent finish line and ice creams inhaled at the Skyline Gondola top terminal, they bounded downhill, picking up supporters along the way. Almost before they knew it, after eleven days, they were done.
I ask about the hardest parts. Typically, the duo are understated: sandflies, blisters and challenging terrain come up. But when I ask about highlights, the superlatives flow. The natural beauty and the disconnection. Phones that didn’t get used, tents in outrageous places. They had a goal of raising $2000 for charity, and they have just crested $4000. They’d planned the trip for a year, had to change it on the fly, and they still got it done.
Did the trip bring them closer? Maybe. What’s for certain is that they truly understand one another. They know their differences, and that may not lead to a sequel and that’s okay. Nikau’s love of the bush and a passion for Rakiura Stewart Island and Joel’s love of the alpine and the snow will likely fork the road for this team.
The legacy of their adventure has been swift. Even while they were still in the hills, their classmates were catching the wind of inspiration. They were going on hikes, planning their own trips. The seeds had sprouted, hopefully spreading Joel’s sentiment that, “being up there, it just makes me want to work harder to protect it.”
With that, it’s time to ride. The boys grab their bikes and slip off into the late afternoon sunshine. There’s a lightness to them, buoyant about what the future may bring and not anchored to what they’d accomplished. Still, as Nikau observes, “I think for the rest of my life, I’ll look at the mountains and the lake and anywhere I see, I can say, ‘oh, I’ve been there.’”
Scott Kennedy
