Galloping away

It had been an age since I was last in the saddle, and having gaily signed up for two days' riding I now quaked at the prospect.

Recalling my abortive attempt to stay on a beautiful but unhinged creature by the name of Crazy Kerry on a previous trip didn't help.

To a questionnaire asking about my previous experience I replied that I was hoping for a horse that wasn't too flighty, but nor too staid.

And so I met Tacker, a gentle-looking creature of somewhat advanced years, who had apparently once been a bit of a goer but had since settled down. Phew.

Tacker and I were chaperoned on the 48-hour trek - the "Overnighter" - by Matt, on board Hocus Pocus, a capricious beast who shied at everything. He was even spooked by his own reflection in the water trough.

After a commendably concise safety briefing ("Wanna hat?"), Matt gave me a leg up into the deep armchair of a saddle, and off we set.

Hurunui Horse Treks is an hour's drive north of Christchurch in the rugged high country of North Canterbury. Set amid an utterly unspoilt landscape of wide open pastures, rivers, hills and distant snow-capped mountains, the land is farmed by a few hardy souls and there is no cause to come here unless tending sheep, horse-trekking or disappearing.

We rode along the Waitohi River as it threaded its way across the plain, and Tacker was disarmingly responsive and understanding. We meandered sedately in brilliant sunshine, gawping at the scenery and the wildlife - mainly hares, rabbits, paradise ducks, harrier hawks, geese and quail. Oh, and sheep galore. The yellow gorse was in bloom, filling the air with the warm smell of coconut.

We lunched on huge sandwiches by an abandoned village known as Lanky Town, named after the Lancastrians who settled here to mill flax before leaving to build roads during the Gold Rush.

In the afternoon, we rode the old gold trail up into the hills. We trotted occasionally but it was hard to get up speed on the narrow hillside paths. Just as the pace began to tell on my backside, we reached Seven Hills Station, my base for the night. We unsaddled the horses, brushed them down and turned them loose. After five hours in the saddle, my legs were very, very stiff.

Matt went home while I stayed in the nearby homestead (to British eyes more a suburban bungalow plonked in the wild than a farmhouse) as a guest of octogenarians Jack and Nancy. There were just the three of us and Jack was thrilled to have company.

"I love it when trekkers come through," he said. "Only time I get pudding." And what a pudding! An enormous home-made chocolate sponge with ice cream and custard preceded by boiled beef and veg. A bottle of Kiwi sauvignon later and I fell asleep in my chair, listening to Jack's yarns.

Next day, we rode 750 metres up into the foothills of Mount Self, the wind roaring around us. It was thrillingly wild, with jaw-dropping views of the craggy, wonderfully named Hooligan Range and beyond, across the plain, to distant blue hills beneath a vast expanse of sky. I felt every inch the cowboy, especially when we opened the throttle and galloped alongside the Hurunui River.

It was as get-away-from-it-all as can be and an utter, exhilarating joy.

I swear there were tears in Tacker's eyes as we parted. There were in mine.

Further info: Hurunui Horse Treks (hurunui.co.nz) has treks from one to eight days; Tourism New Zealand newzealand.com.