Paddy's right. A bright orange bit of Tupperware, or to be more accurate - a 4.5 tonne Hagglund BV-206 military vehicle - is a rare site. Particularly in a quiet alpine village like Hanmer Springs, New Zealand. But Paddy and his colleagues at Hot Tracks are looking to change that. They've introduced 30-minute Hagglund rides, taking punters on an exhilarating all-terrain drive through local forest. "We just wanted to set up a really good family-oriented activity," says Paddy, maneuvering the enormous, boxy vehicle off the sealed road onto a dirt track. "It's really taken off with the locals, too - we do birthday parties and hen's nights and everything. Most people in the village have probably had a go in it by now," he raves. Birthday parties for eight year olds are a long way from the Hagglund's Swedish origins. Built during the cold war to control the borders into Russia, the Hagglund (a name that actually refers to the vehicles' manufacturers) is amphibious. It can move at almost 5km/hr in water and can climb slopes of up to 85 degrees. The Hagglund BV-206 runs on tracks, instead of wheels, and looks kind of like a six-metre-long, square, double cab military tank - or a bit of Tupperware, depending who you ask. The vehicles are still in use as personnel carriers by a number of countries' armed forces as well as in Antarctica.
Here in Hanmer Springs I'm the only personnel being carried, bouncing and jolting around in the front passenger seat as the Hagglund rumbles up a hill. "See that there," shouts Paddy above the roar of the engine. He indicates a tussock-covered hill rising up almost vertically beside us. "This thing could drive up there, no worries. You don't even need a track!" His unbridled enthusiasm for and seemingly infinite knowledge of the Hagglund and its capabilities is infectious, and I find myself 'ooohhh-ing' and 'aaahhhh-ing' and 'woah!-ing' in amazement as we veer through brush and perch on unnatural angles upon muddy slopes.
The wide, horizontal windscreen is splattered and scraped as we splash through huge puddles and crash past thick pine branches. Comprising the main, square cab and a longer, rectangular second compartment trailered on the back, the Hagglund snakes its way over hills and round sharp corners. Climbing a steep incline, Paddy turns sharply, so we're driving across the hill face. He stops. My seatbelt strains across me. The gravitational pull is such that if my seatbelt gave way, I would fall, downwards, to my left, towards Paddy and the sloping ground that I can see through the window behind him. "We're on about a 15 degree slope," he says, nonchalantly. "Most 4WD vehicles can sustain about 17 degrees before they tip. This can go to about 40 on its side." Even at just 15 degrees, the tilt feels disconcertingly unnatural.
Chugging back down the hill we enter the forest. The vehicle's solid frame whacks away thick, spiky branches and flattens walls of gorse as we rumble along a worn path. Suddenly, we drop down a rise. Through the windscreen, the flat ground is coming towards me as we trundle downwards. The boxy front of the Hagglund comes near parallel to the ground and we plunge into a deep, swirling pool of mud. It swashes around the bottom of the windscreen as I let out a ridiculously girly scream and lift my knees to my chest, convinced I'm about to be soaked with mud. Paddy laughs and guides the vehicle forward, where it straightens up and lumbers onwards. As we bob over mounds and rocks, the trees and hills in the distance rise and fall, like we're watching the shoreline from a rough sea. Paddy talks knowledgeably about the area, pointing out items of interest as if on a leisurely Sunday drive.
Suddenly he exclaims: "Did you see that?"
"No?" I reply. "What?"
"We just ran over a boulder. I'll show you."
Throwing the vehicle into reverse, Paddy backs up the track, around a slippery looking corner, showing off the Hagglund's unbelievable traction.
"See, there," he points ahead of us and there in the path is an enormous rock, protruding at least a metre out of the ground. I'm astounded I didn't notice it; didn't feel any sort of bump or deviation from the rhythmic vibrations of the ride.
"Amazing eh?" says Paddy admiringly, as if talking about a talented old friend.
"It's surprisingly powerful too," he adds. "People think it's got to be slow because it's so big, but it's got a 2.8 V6 petrol motor, about the same size as that of a campervan."
"Watch this." With a roar, the Hagglund surges forward, bouncing along the track at an increasing speed that forces me back against my seat. Paddy slows down again. "I don't usually do that when there are kids or families on board, but some people enjoy it. It always surprises them - even the guys who are really into their cars and engines and things."
On the way back to town, stones fly up from the track and clatter against the sides of the vehicle. I lurch haphazardly in my seat, wishing we could veer off the path and motor up one of the hills that Paddy is pointing out. "We could get up there no problem," he says, proudly. "This thing'll go anywhere a bulldozer can go."
Trundling back along the tarsealed roads of the village, we once again receive the star treatment. Kids point; Dads raise eyebrows; Mums hold toddlers up for a better view and tourists snap photos. Honestly, you'd think they'd never seen a bright orange bit of Tupperware driving down the road.
Amelia visited Hot Tracks Hanmer courtesy of Hot Tracks and Alpine Pacific Tourism.
