Diary of Scott Morris

Our time in Tasmania was too short. We’d planned a month, but only got just over two weeks. The last several days were a wash that we spent hemming and hawing over whether to head home or not. With travel restrictions emerging just as quickly as flights were disappearing, eventually the choice became clear: it was time to head home early. Good thing: the Tasmanian Premier eventually declared that all tourists should go home. The island was locking down.

It was disappointing, but it was hard to feel too bad for us. We’d spent four months in New Zealand and some time in Tassie. We had successfully skipped another northern hemisphere winter, traveling all over the place while supporting ourselves with mobile-based earnings. We had seen mountains tall and rivers wide. We were lucky.

And it was nearly April, so spring was coming. Well, this is what spring in the Rockies looks like:

The house that I grew up in was available for us, with my parents choosing (wisely) to shelter out the pandemic in their St. George desert house. We are fortunate to have it (thanks Mom and Dad!) to effectively and comfortably self-isolate.

The funny thing is that though we are ‘home’ we are still living out of one duffle bag each. We only have what we took with us back from Tassie, so the T-shirt count didn’t even increase by one! We don’t have our bikes or our gear. The Scamp is down in St. George, Squeaky the van is in Winter Park and our bikes are in Boulder. We’re scattered and it’s not how we planned it. But it doesn’t really matter since now isn’t the time for adventures or traveling, anyway.

I am sure we could figure out how to effectively Scamp in an isolated way, but the truth is a big part of the enjoyment of that lifestyle is not so isolated: camping with friends, visiting coffee shops and restaurants, taking minor risks in remote places, working in libraries, interacting with locals. Right now many locales and locals are not encouraging visitors or outright banning them. I know some mobile folks are making it work, and I’m impressed, but since we have the option to be indoors and all our favorite places are pretty much shut down, for now there’s not much of a decision to be made.

The truth is we were pretty travel weary, and we knew it. A consistent place to lay our heads and a roof overhead is probably what we needed more than anything. And for the first two weeks of isolation this was true: deep gratitude and nice recovery time.

The only fly in the ointment for me is that Trackleaders took a nose dive very suddenly, with all events canceled. At first it was a bit of a relief. I needed a break from working nearly every day and a constant barrage of emails. It was refreshing to check in and see no new emails in the morning! But it gradually settled in that I had lost my job, even if only temporarily. It’s a job I love and have been very lucky to have. It’s a unique job that I’ve built and kept alive for over a decade. Part of my identity is wrapped up in it. So it’s a little shocking to have that fall out from under me with very little warning. I’m missing it, already. The only thing I’ve done is talk a few people *out* of doing ITTs for canceled races, which may not have been a good business decision but was probably the right thing to do.

I think some events will figure out ways to safely operate in the summer, and the fall is looking quite busy given how many events have rescheduled. Probably too busy for us, if they all happen!

When we left New Zealand on March 4 we were aware of the new corona virus, but there were no travel restrictions other than China and no talk of quarantines or staying home. It seemed like it might affect our plans but there was no reason to change anything yet.

A couple flights brought us into Hobart, Tasmania. We picked up a cheap rental car and headed into the city center. Last year in New Zealand we met Hobart residents Mark and Jen Oates. I think everyone that attended the NZ packrafting meetup that year feels lucky to have met them. Mark impressed us all with his packrafting skill, instruction and ability to keep people safe and on task. He seemed larger than life.

He was so kind as to offer his house as a base, and our timing was particuarly fortuitous: he was leading a packrafting trip and putting on an instruction course on the first two weekends we were there. Lucky us. We had planned to make a first pass of Tassie without bike or boat — keep it simple and then go back to dig deeper. But we couldn’t turn down two weekends of packrafting with loaner boats and gear.

We ran from Mark’s house into the hills around town. We’d heard that Tasmania was the ‘New Zealand of Australia’ but it’s such a different place! Excitement grew as we entered spooky eucalyptus woods, heard strange bird sounds and caught sight of bouncing marsupials off in the periphery. Time to explore a new place!

We headed some three hours north (to the other end of the island!) camping near Liffey falls. Walking the well formed trail my eyes were trained for snakes. There are three snakes in Tassie and all are poisonous. I’ve never had an issue with snakes in Arizona, so while the logical part of my brain was convinced it would be similar here, it was hard not to be overly cautious in unfamiliar surrounds. I figured I needed to tune up my vision system’s snake detector algorithm, too, having not spend much time in AZ snake season since moving into the Scamp.

As it turned out, we didn’t see a single snake in Tassie, and that’s OK with me. There was plenty of other fascinating wildlife to discover, not mention strange and gigantic trees.

There might be a higher denisty of waterfalls in Tassie than anywhere else we’ve been–including New Zealand! Seeking out short hikes to waterfalls quickly became our default activity of the day. It seemed no matter where we were there was always a cool waterfall around.

photo by Mark Oates

We met up with Mark, Jen plus crew and it quickly turned into a Hyperlite convention. The packs are popular with packrafters for good reason! Mark’s nephew and brother-in-law were along, as well as a fellow outdoor instructor and his daughter. It was a wonderful group of people.

A short walk had us camping on the banks of the Mersey River. Conversation around the fire mostly focused on food and candy — what exists in the USA versus AUS and different names for different things. That was fun, but I also really appreciated the chance to talk with locals and try to understand their relationship with the landscape and with recreation. I’ve found that each place is a little different, and yet we all have similar goals and aspirations. The local perspective and knowledge on this trip was huge.

In the morning we packed up the boats and headed up river. Some of the walking looked like this:

photo by Mark Oates

And some of it looked like this:

Ah yes, tramping! They do that here too. Fungus and fern were found on what was a lovely forest walk.

There are no sand flies in Tassie and I’m not sure we even saw any mosquitos. However, there are leeches! Most in the group got a few that latched on. I got lucky and didn’t find any but Eszter got several that were tricky to remove. Jen had a nasty one that found a vein on her neck (it got under her drysuit gasket) — it was gnarly and resulted in an impressive stream of blood! I believe most of the leeches came from off trail adventures when we were making contact with vegetation.

How fortunate were we to be here, now putting boats on the water in a wild and mysterious canyon.

Mark had described the float as ‘easy’ and the fact that two teenagers with minimal packraft experience were along was a comfort for my meager whitewater skills. When we reached the first horizon line and apparent 5 foot drop it gave pause. Jen was standing at the top in shin deep water. I approached and asked “should I get out and take a look first?” She gave the aussie version of “she’ll be right” responding with “nah, you’ll be right.”

And sure enough when a drop has a transition, a roll out, there isn’t much you can do wrong.

Yeeehaw!

There had been some mention, in passing, of some waterfalls along the way. I assumed that meant we’d see some crashing in from side streams. As it turned out the waterfalls were huge drops in the river itself!

photo by Mark Oates

We scrambled around and down, sometimes getting back in the river for the final mini cascades. Looking at the above picture, which Mark took and is a rare photo of both of us, it doesn’t seem real. What a place, what a river, and what a trip.

The kids were eating it up — loving it. So were Eszter and I!!

A few ropes came out for the last one, mostly due to the slippery rocks. Once again we were so lucky to have Mark, Jen and Todd to guide us on this trip.

We all reluctantly left the wilds, driving back to Deloraine to go our separate ways. Mark and Jen had classes to teach and I had the Iditarod (re)start to manage, with Matthew out on the ice in Alaska. We checked into an Airbnb late that night and over the next couple days of reliable internet began to wonder how Covid-19 was going to affect our travel plans.

 

I’m stepping down as the ‘unofficial’ race director of the AZTR. It’s always been a loosely organized and underground ‘event’, but still does carry with it some work and weight of responsibility. For a number of reasons it makes sense for me to move away from it and transition to new leadership.

That leadership is one John Schilling and I cannot imagine a better choice. I’m really pleased that he is up to the task and that the AZTR will live on. He’s got more stoke for the trail than anyone, and knows it better than anyone from a bikepacking perspective. Thanks for stepping up, John!

The new website is here:

http://aztrail.home.blog/

Please note that 2019 will be a transitional year. John is the new RD de facto but I’ll still be around. I’ll be involved with the tracking as well. There’s a new email address for questions, but please don’t expect a super quick response. John may also not be in attendance at the start, as his plans to ride the 300 are still a little up in the air. Either he or perhaps long time AZTR supporter and Tim McCabe will be on hand to pass out SPOT trackers, and maybe give the little spiel before starting.

I want to thank everyone that has been involved over the years. The Arizona Trail Association itself deserves most of the credit for the trail itself. The trail was the inspiration for the race, plain and simple. So many people have ridden and pushed their hearts out on the trail as a part of the event and the stories that have emerged from it have been beyond epic and beyond inspiring. I know that for me the AZT and all my adventures on it have been transformative in my life and oh-so-memorable.

Thanks everyone and here’s to 2019 and beyond!  I’ll be following along.

 

Ahh, bikepacking in NZ. Quiet 2-tracky roads in deep forest and no wind.

Sometimes it is that good. Eszter lured me into not backtracking to town for food with the promise of this shortcut route,
which turned out like a dream.

When the dream ended, we still had nothing more than a kilo of oatmeal (porridge) in our bags. When we spied this sign, we thought
we were saved. Bikepacking signs are rare, so we always follow them.

We climbed a steep hill to the Huha farmstay. The owner offered us a not-so-cheap room.

“So, why does the sign say HuHa bikepackers?”

“Oh, is that sign still there? I think that’s from the previous owners.”

More than anything we were hoping to share bikepacking stories and meet some interesting folks. Instead we rolled on to a sandfly infested campsite just down the road. I borrowed a stove from our car camping neighbors so we could heat up the oats for dinner (a nice european couple, working in China and touring NZ paddleboarding). It was not so luxurious.

Friend! We pedaled some nice miles with Heather Rose.

Heather got us to go rafting down the Buller River out of Murchison. Last trip we’d ridden along the river and been impressed by it.

We spent most of our float in the river, swimming or floating down in our life vests. It was the correct strategy for a hot summer solistice day (Dec 21). Though “rest”, it was not.

No, duh.

Especially true on ‘push’ bike.

Following the TA route took us to the “Big River” hut, the first we’d stayed that is supplied with coal for heating.

The heavens smiled and rained on us, making the hut a little chilly and a fire welcome. Our first attempt at the fire whimpered out… you have to use a little wood to get it up to temp before throwing the coals on. Once those coals are going though…..

Nice boardwalk singletrack!

Duffy singletrack too!

Per usual, we underestimated the Big River track. Despite recent trailwork, it was still harder than expected for our ‘touring’ setups.

Blackball, NZ. 1080 is a poison that is dropped into the forest in an attempt to kill stoats and other introduced species that prey on native birds.

Blackball has it right. 4 hours is plenty.

They got their start fighting for a 30 minute lunch. Seems preposterous now that the miners were only given a 15 minute break. Maybe in 100 years it’ll seem preposterous to work 8-10 hours a day as people do now?

Blackball is on the Westcoast, in the rain forest.

We climbed a lovely trail, semi-loaded, to stay in the hut at treeline. Little did we know the DoC trail crew was there setting up the hut for a massive trail construction effort.

They were ever so kind and fun to talk to. And ever so easy to make fun of.

At some point late at night I asked why the generator was running (while we sat laughing around the table under dim candle light). The trail boss sheepishly admitted he was charging his phone (!). A generator for one phone.

Top priority was to make a flat spot for the BBQ that, sadly, hadn’t been flown up yet.

We continued up onto the “tops”.

A glorious ridgeline towering over the ocean to our left. To have clear weather up here is rare.

We appreciated the day and all we had, even as the going was slow and arduous.

Our new trail crew friends have been building high-grade “great walk” quality trail all along this ridge that we stumble-plucked our way through on this day.

“Pretty average” trail conditions. This was the good part of the trail.

Not as easy as it looks.

Near the car park the track gets semi-rideable. We came upon a fossicker looking for gold in the creek.

“So how was it?”

“That was some good bush-bashing. The track is in pretty bad shape up there. We’re pretty glad to see the car park.”

Hand outstretched, “Ahhh, WELCOME TO NEW ZEALAND!”

It felt good to put a bit of a proper adventure ride in our back pockets. It isn’t really what we’re aiming for on these trips, but we are bikepackers, dammit, so bikepacking we must, even if it means hours of dragging our bikes for just a wee payoff.

We hit the only store in Blackball because it was fish and chips night.

The owners might be the grumpiest couple in the entire South Island. No matter what subject you might bring up, they’d have something negative to say. It was truly something to behold, and quite entertaining.

After gorging on fish and chips I selected a few more snacks and took them to the register.

“Ooooh, big spender!”

“Uh?”

“You people usually don’t have any money.”

(You people? What does she mean… Americans? White people? Computer Programmers? Oh, bike tourists!)

“You usually just come in here waving a water bottle, ooohh, give me some water!!” (she made a hilarious mocking face while holding up a bottle, one that I will never forget).

“But you give it to them, right?”

(Long pause, thinking)…. “oh, yes, we aren’t so heartless that we wouldn’t give them water, but they could at least buy something!”

….

We pitched our tent at the community center for the right well price of $10 NZ ($7 US). Here we met the DJ for Blackball’s very own radio station. He was a sweet old man, but perhaps the slowest talker in the entire South Island. The introduction to a tune would take several minutes, followed by another minute of silence before the LP (yes, a record player!) would engage.

“Tonight… we have … some special guests….. A couple of YANKEE DOODLES!”

“Ah, yes, my name is Scott Morris and I’m a Yankee Doodle. We have a couple mountain bikes and we spent the day thrashing about the tops, connecting the Croesus and Moonlight Tracks….”

I proceeded to fumble through the story.

“…thanks to Blackball for the hospitality and for the lovely community center for travelers to camp at. We like it here.”

It was true, we really did like Blackball.

Greymouth wasn’t as kind to us. We’ve squeezed our bikes onto full buses before, but this one had more luggage per person than usual, so we were out of luck. There’s no guarantee they’ll take us with bikes, and we knew that going in.

Still, it was a frustrating hour spent waiting and trying to figure out what was going on.

A flat white (coffee) was needed before plan B could be conjured. The barista asked,

“How is the day?”

“Not bad, but we just got kicked off our bus.”

She handed us some free wifi vouchers with our coffees. Sometimes a small act of kindness can go a long way. I try to remember that and be on the giving side of such a small kindness whenever I can.

Free camping on the beach was a good consolation.

No penguins though. Just distant dolphins and maybe whales.

We were pretty stoked with our impromptu beach camp. Little did we know the next night would top it — an impromptu rain forest camp surrounded by glow worms!

These little guys ‘fish’ for insects with their sticky lines, attracting them by bio-luminescence.

It’s a temperate rain forest, but camping in it was pretty interesting. Moist and plants everywhere.

We wandered the forest finding denser and denser pockets of glowing bugs. It was pure magic.

Could the glow worm forest be topped? Yes. We got a hostel room due to a west coast rain storm (that did bring moisture most of the day). Our timing as perfect. It was Christmas Eve and the guests are treated to a feast!

We chatted with Czechs, Germans, Israelis, Indians, Chinese and some kiwis too. There was beer and wine, and … Christmas crackers (those dorky things you pull apart and have a little toy inside), commonwealth style. It was a pretty special international Christmas.

Back tramping. The rata (red flowering beech trees) were strong this summer.

Destination: backcountry hot springs… with a hut nearby.

The secret to this soak was to hit it mid-morning, when the sand flies are nearly absent and the other hut guests are already hiking back to the car park.

Another bus (riding the west coast highway during high season isn’t an experience I need in my life) took us to Wanaka to meet up with Heather again, and…

Indie pup!

Plus her owners, Scott and Jo. Look — we did a regular, reasonable, fun mountainbike ride!

Scott texted us: “Having a cruisy morning. Is it heaving there? Should be there in the arvo.” God I love kiwispeak.

New Years-ish camping and hanging out with these van-lifers. We were hoping some of the coolness that is van life would rub off on us.

Indie gets her own door to the trails.

Ah the crown range road. I don’t know what we were thinking riding this road on New Year’s morning. And on day 3 of the Rhythm and Alps festival. We got going early-ish, but there was no such thing as early enough.

The TA route took us off it mid-descent, onto lovely quiet dirt into Arrowtown.

Then we made the mistake of camping outside Queenstown, in a secret spot that I guess isn’t so secret. A couple of cars pulled in after dark, one parking the front wheel a few feet from our tent. Once they finally got settled it was…. four episodes of “Friends” on their laptop at full volume. Occasionally they’d adjust the laptop, which was resting on the steering wheel, sending a lovely honk right at our ear drums. They’d laugh and giggle at that.

We had ear plugs (standard NZ equipment) but it was a funny night with minimal sleep.

Our next mistake was leaving Queenstown midday to ride out of the chaos and to Glenorchy. It felt ‘cool’ as we sat by the lake and the breeze ripped into us. It was anything but cool riding the highway out of town.

Beautiful, yes, and luckily there was a cold lake to jump into.

Multiple swims wasn’t enough. After a shiver inducing jump in the lake we’d still overheat in 2 minutes of riding in the sun. My avid brakes had that warranty issue where the plunger swells and activates the caliper… making the lever very firm and adding a strong bit of braking resistance.

The ride was a low point of the trip for me, but we got food in Glenorchy, enjoyed a more chill atmosphere and found a sweet free campsite with views of glacial mountains.

The next day I rallied for the main purpose we’d headed this way, and something we didn’t get to last year — running the Routeburn Track.

We hit the high point above the saddle on the route, squeaking in a good fjordlands weather window… glimpsing Milford Sound and the coast.

In hindsight, we should have chilled and waited for another good weather window (there were many) but at the time we knew the weather is different in this part of NZ and couldn’t believe we’d have weeks and weeks of more sun, pretty much no matter where we went.

Yeah, it was starting to dawn on us that we were tired.

falcon, new NZ bird!

But did we rest? Not really. We did decide to switch to a little different mode, though. The bike touring parts of the trip had been the hardest, or least enjoyable. Perhaps mostly due to my low tolerance for busy roads, and heat. But nonetheless we always seemed to not put a priority on the touring sections. It was just our way to get around, but we kept underestimating it and kept going into it tired from previous adventures.

So we based out of Glenorchy. There was plenty to do, free camping, huts, an almost passable grocery store and …. a cheap hostel with the best internet we’d found yet! First trip was a ‘hut-pack’ bike ride up to nearby huts used for Scheelite mining.

We pushed bikes up to the lovely McIntosh hut. Ez left hers inside and I unloaded mine. There was a giant mountain to climb!

Eszter got ahead, unencumbered by carbon fiber and spokes, and we both took a wrong turn above the upper hut. I saw her up above, but did not see her cut back to the actual track we were supposed to take to Black Mountain. Since I didn’t have these tracks on my GPS basemap, or any other way to navigate, I hurried to try to catch up, but never caught glimpse of her again.

Eventually I dragged my bike and topped out at a magnificent peak… but not Black Mountain. Ez was nowhere to be found, but I left my bike and tried my bike shoes at traversing along the ridge for a while. No fresh prints. Neato scrambling, but, she must have disappeared!

As I descended I saw the track we should have been on and took it until we ran into each other. Chalk that up to failure to communicate (about staying together, navigating, expectations).

We stashed the bikes in town and took a shuttle back to Arrowtown… a tramp intruiged us and we had an ambitious ~week on foot planned.

For several miles we simply walked up this… river, or maybe creek. Pretty average.

Actually dang fun, and refreshing on a hot afternoon.

The climbing thus commenced on steep, narrow and barely existent track.

It was damned lovely. Just what we were looking for. Wide open spaces.

Super nice huts. We stayed in two just like this one, which was empty.

Exciting sidling. The Motatapu Track is not for anyone uncomfortable with exposure.

These little steps made themselves just by people walking on the grasses.

Straight down, straight back up.

That is a decidedly non-IMBA approved trail layout right there. 100% fall-line. Yet it works.

I’d hike Motatapu again.

We hit the end of the track just as the only car in the car park was dropping its passengers (trampers going the other direction) and heading out. Struck it just right — instant ride to Wanaka for resupply.

We had planned to complete the loop by tramping over Cascade Saddle in Aspiring Park, but the weather had us decide otherwise. Plan B was to hitch-hike a ways towards the Pisa range and head up to the Meg (pronouced Meeeeg) hut for a night. It doesn’t look like much, but it was a favorite stay. And… finally, a respite from the NZ sun.

The walk along the ‘tops’ of the Pisa range wasn’t filled with views, but the fog and moisture felt divine.

Somehow we managed to get sun burned through that layer of thick clouds. Only in NZ…

Back in Glenorchy, our foot and hitch-hike loop was complete. We picked up the bikes and again headed into the scheelite country, this time on a more rideable old track.

There is no shortage of elevation gain in NZ.

Storms! None reached us, having to cross the ‘barrier range’ from the west coast.

Scramble! Mt. Alaska was the big mountain above our hut this time. I took my bike as far as ‘reasonable’ then joined Ez on foot.

Whoooooooooo….

Down down down.

Tiny old mining shack. Lovely place to spend a night with a hell of a view. The cables hold the roof on…. or hold the hut from flying off the mountain (which has happened to a number of huts in NZ).

! Day use only? Bummer.

Descending to town was frigid in the morning — the only time we rode with all our layers we brought. Sadly it was a one day cool spell.

Ride to the tramp! We rode a fair bit of gravel, and then some tramping track, before ditching the bikes when the going got…

muddy. Poor Ez found a nasty deep mud hole.

We had yet to see a Kea, those mountain clowns, alpine parrots, perhaps smartest bird in the world. This steep climb led to Kea Basin… maybe, maybe, it would live up to its name?

No keas, but behold… a glorious amphitheater of glacier fed waterfalls. Beyond imagination, beyond belief.

Our next wee tramp took the imagination even further, as we climbed our way to the head of the Earnslaw glacier.

Keep getting closer…. is this real?

The tent, let’s set up the tent here!

The falls roared all night, but goodness gracious, what a place to wakeup.

For the route back we tried an ‘easy’ tramp, fighting through the bush to gain tree-line. Then struggling through speargrass (owie!) and slippery snow grass to gain the ridge, where the fun scrambling began. It was, as most thing are, harder than expected.

Going down! The tramp description said this was an easy slope to descend.

It was classic kiwi understatement. But we loved it.

I found this photo in the pub near the end of our stay in Glenorchy. That’s a scheelite miner creating a ‘track’. Possibly one we pushed our bikes up. It says so much that I love about NZ, encapsulates the attitude, toughness, beauty and at the same time, nuttiness of it all.

I think we reached the interior of New Zealand right as it finally became summer.

I can’t say we saw all that much of the friendly little fireball in the sky previous to this. But we were about to learn just how strong the NZ sun can be. I don’t know …. [Continue reading]

Queenstown. Adventure capital of NZ. It’s a funny place, and also a beautiful one.

Kaitlyn was resting and getting her knee checked out while we did shorter day trips.

Including the bike park. We had pretty capable bikes, so why not?

Deluxe accommodation in Queenstown. The grass …. [Continue reading]

What can one say about a summer spent in a Scamp? A summer lived without a plan?

Was it a worthwhile summer? Was time spent outside? With friends and family? Adventures had?

Without a plan it could go either way. Nothing might happen, a summer wasted.

climbing steep …. [Continue reading]

Eszter and I are back in the Scamp after spending 9 weeks living off our bikes in New Zealand. It was such an experience, and we are already missing many things about those cool little islands at the bottom of the world.

More on that, hopefully soon, though Ez has done a fantastic …. [Continue reading]

We moved ‘full time’ into our little Scamp trailer at the end of February, 2016. All our belongings fit in the van/trailer, and we were officially rent-free and on the road. Wahoo!

How would it go? What would we learn? What unexpected challenges would there be? What places would we visit, what trails would we …. [Continue reading]

photo by Lee Blackwell

It started innocuously enough. Lee and I pedaled a graded dirt road into the Black Hills east of Safford.

The original idea was to recreate a memorable bikepack we did on a rather iconic section of the Grand Enchantment Trail some years back. We hiked our bikes a lot …. [Continue reading]

The first photo on this blog has been, for the last month, a photo of my green Lenzsport Mammoth. The bike was leaning against a ledge of that beautiful white rock on Gooseberry Mesa. Sadly that bike was stolen soon after we returned to Southern Arizona for the winter. It had seen many a mile, …. [Continue reading]