If I was going to pick a day for rain then this would have been it. We intended a shorter day with a view to some recovery after a couple of bigger days and another lined up for tomorrow. Dave Lear and myself had started up a 4 wheel drive track to boundary hut beyond the Mavora Lakes last year but had to turn back to catch a ferry to Queenstown across lake Wakatipu. With no ferry running this year we thought we could go to the hut as an out and back trip. The Mavora lakes are incredibly beautiful, set in beech forest in a glacial valley. The rain just made it more atmospheric and we considered ourselves very fortunate to be there. The track to the hut runs in the deep sand next the lake, dipping in and out of the forest and is just the most incredible fun to ride with lots of line choices. I managed to set the tone by beaning myself on a low hanging branch, not the first time in recent years. This one wasn’t too bad but I was almost ejected off the back of the bike and had a lengthy and very untidy recovery with legs flailing like windmills while I tried to get the bike back on the plane. Dave L is a prick and took great delight in capturing this moment of weakness on his go pro but was suitably punished later. The track heads up into the valley side above the lake where of all things we were held up by a traffic jam of gentlemen taking their tractors for a ride. Eventually we were able to get past when we dropped onto the plain above the lake.
Conditions were very slippery and without going into too much detail the gentlemen from the tractor group were able to extract one of our group from under thier bike about 10 meters after being overtaken. They are probably still relating the story over their post drive beers.
Having had refreshments at the hut we headed back, having a ball with multiple water splashes, creek crossings and just general lumpy goodness. When we got back to the beach, Dakar lived up to his name and disappeared serenely into the distance. He is an expert skier and it shows when he gets into the soft stuff.
Back to Mossburn for lunch in soaking rain, all of us thankful for hot food and drink. By then we had enough and so rode the 2 hours to Cromwell without stopping. Queenstown was quickly dispatched. Dave Lear and myself had a brief but robust argument about which one of us hate the place more. I begrudgingly think he wins. On to Cromwell with the sun coming out and the temperature jumping from 15 to 30 degrees between the 2 towns.
Somehow it’s past my bedtime.
Tomorrow we carry on north on the last technical day of riding. 
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