We quickly plate a farm-to-table spread featuring an impeccably tender, 55-day aged fillet steak alongside creamy potato gratin and a roasted kūmara and bacon salad. A vibrant Pinot Noir complemented the beef, while a chocolate torte with berry coulis provided an indulgent conclusion. We dimmed the lights and ate in the homestead’s stately dining room, watching the light fade over the high country.
Dinner on night one. Photo / Karl Puschmann
Following Henry’s advice, we’re on the trail by 8.30am. Our luggage, meanwhile, would be making its own journey to Quartz Hill.
RockRidge trail begins at an old woolshed, which also serves as a small museum. It’s filled with historic photos of the family and the homestead, as well as a barrel filled with old walking poles. I select a pair that I suspect are repurposed ski poles, but they do the trick and prove invaluable.
Day one is a demanding 14km journey that climbs to an elevation of 1000m and oscillates between steady climbs and alpine straights. The scale is immediately impressive. Walking through the pine forest, native birds call from the canopy, but entering a steep gorge carved from volcanic rock, the sheer age of the land stops me in my tracks. It is a humbling sensation.
The first major challenge is the ascent to Snowy Peak. The reward for hauling yourself up this steep, rocky incline is a majestic panorama of the Canterbury Plains, which stretch toward the glistening Pacific Ocean in one direction and nearby snow-capped mountains in the other.
With the forest behind us, we cross tussocky fields, drinking in astounding views that can only be described as spectacular. At this altitude, traversing such remote land, it’s a genuine shock to find a fully functioning flush toilet. After the grasslands, we plunge into a beech forest where the vista is replaced by birdsong.
At the 10km mark sits Cook’s Cliff, an astounding piece of geography, and the recommended lunch spot. We settle on to the rocks whose weathered formations resemble a stack of wobbly plates, and crack open our lunchboxes to tuck into roast chicken sandwiches, date scones, and chocolate brownies.
Hike. Photo / RockRidge
We’d been tipped off that if one person scoots ahead, there’s a prime spot to photograph their partner. It takes a few minutes to descend the rocky trail, but as I turn back to frame the photo, I’m hit with a sharp wave of vertigo. Our picturesque lunch spot was perched beside a perilous 40m drop. I quickly snap some photos and wave my wife down, silently willing her to be careful as she navigates the narrow spine of the ridge.
We continue on, rock again giving way to grass. As we begin the descent from High Peak Summit, strange, guttural calls bellow through the valleys. “Cows,” my wife says, with a confidence that is clearly, and hilariously, misplaced.
These gruff calls grow louder until eventually, we round a corner and see a giant stag with gnarly antlers as vast as the mountains we’ve just climbed, standing barely 600m ahead, right beside a gate we presume we have to go through.
The stag fixes us with an inscrutable stare. We freeze. For the next few minutes, we remain locked in what I’ll call a “Mexican Stag-Off”. Then, he arcs his head and lets out a mighty roar, finally solving the mystery of the strange calls – cows, indeed – before continuing to stare at us.
RockRidge. Photo / RockRidge
Fortunately, a trail marker on a nearby pole catches our eye. We inch toward it, breathing a sigh of relief when we find it pointing away from our new friend. We later learn that deer are also farmed on the station, meaning this chap, for all his staunch bluster, was more worried about us than we were about him.
It made for a memorable end to the first day’s hike. We’re picked up and driven down through the station to the Quartz Hill Quarters, our home for the night. Before being converted into rustic chic accommodation, it’d been the old shearing quarters, where the farm’s workers lived. That heritage remains alive as the buzz of shearers at work this afternoon echoes from a nearby shed.
We soaked our weary muscles in the outdoor hot tub while waiting for the sauna to heat up, and watched the sheep on the other side of the fence showing off their fresh, new haircuts.
Keeping in theme, tonight’s dinner was slow-cooked lamb shoulder. It melted in the mouth, topped with an exquisite mint jelly and was accompanied by duck-fat roast potatoes. The wine match, a velvety Merlot, proved the perfect partner for the rich lamb. I managed to keep my eyes open long enough to wolf down a cherry tart for dessert before collapsing into bed for a deep, sound sleep.
At 8.30 the next morning, we’re back on the trail. Yesterday had been perfect, with sun-drenched paths and crystalline views. But the weather in the south is just as dramatic as the landscapes, and today a thick, grey drizzle has settled over the station. While the panoramic views are shrouded by impenetrable fog, I’m not disappointed as the visceral fog casts a distinct Southern Gothic mood over the high country.
Today it’s a steady, forgiving decline. We make our way to the Bluff Shelter for a final trail lunch (gourmet ham and cheese toastie, fresh muffin, and raw energy bliss balls) before descending through the primordial forest to Washpen Falls.
Outdoors. Photo / RockRidge
Four hours after setting off, we complete the loop at Birchview Homestead. Megan, Henry’s wife, meets us with a warm smile, hot coffee, and a roaring fire crackling in one of the lounges where, after a hot shower, we retreat to to wait for our shuttle back to the city.
Over our two days, RockRidge never failed to impress. The sheer variety of terrain kept us eager to discover what lay around the next corner. From golden, windswept grasslands to the Jurassic canopy of the forests, or the startling ancient rock formations, the change was constant and exciting. The walk had been moderately challenging but never gruelling. Despite the aches forming in my office-chair legs, it felt incredibly satisfying.
The next morning, I step on to my bathroom scales. After 31km and two days of walking up hill and down dale, I’m excited to see how much I’ve shed. I stare at the number as memories of rocky paths, forest tracks and sky-high grasslands fade to a montage of gourmet meals and tasty treats.
Walking RockRidge is the most activity I’ve done this year. I put on 1.5kg.
The writer travelled courtesy of Rock Ridge.