My (now legal) car Arnie is now giving me the freedom I have sometimes felt lacking since arriving in Queenstown. Yes, there are lovely places to run here, but being able to run and write about a new place (when a few months ago I would be in a new place every few days), is refreshing. So this morning with my new found freedom, me and Arnie took the short trip to neighbouring Arrowtown, 19km from Queenstown. 

Arrowtown is a quaint and historic tiny town; the kind of place you’d take your Nan to visit. Rather than parking up in the town centre to ponder the pretty shops and old wooden buildings, we stopped by the river, where a number of trails lead into the surrounding hills. It was the perfect place to happen upon for my run and thanks to the good signage I was able to choose the 8km Sawmill Gully loop trail; perfect for the leisurely afternoon run I had in mind. 

Now the thing about living in a mountainous area in the winter time, is that even when the sun is shining, chances are it won’t reach you. Shaded by the high hills, most places only get treated to a couple of hours of sunshine per day. Leaving the car park along the trail, the sudden chill was undeniable. However, working up a sweat can be the best way to fend off the winter chills; pounding the path I made for the hills, where the sun might still reach the soil. Remnants of last week’s snowfall were everywhere, making the trail slippy, slushy or muddy at most points. Thanks to this it was a steady journey up into the hills and my need for trail shoes rather than road runners was very apparent. 

Up higher I was treated to some sun, lots more mud, and of course fantastic views. I couldn’t help but think of my Dad, a seasoned fell runner, and how he would have enjoyed the run (but definitely left me struggling to keep up!). The trail wound through the gullies, where I guess there was once a sawmill, and crisis-crossed over streams. Miraculously I skipped over the stepping stones every time, avoiding a foot or fall in the river. The final stretch of the trail was a well established, stable and mud-free path where I enjoyed a pacey last few k’s. 

Back at the car park I took a closer look at the antiquated little buildings dotted around.  It turned out to be a Chinese settlement, from some of the first Asian immigrants to New Zealand in the gold rush of the late 1800’s. I could only imagine their journey over seas and settlement here in chilly Otago. Looking at their makeshift shacks (reconstructed in the 1980’s), I felt a great amount of respect for the struggles they must have endured. I’ll think twice before I complain about my own cold cabin in wintery Wakatipu.