It's the contrast that gets you. On one side of the road is the picture-perfect Mackenzie Basin view — a stunning blue lake glistening in the afternoon sun, nestled below snow-capped mountains.
On the other side, blackened earth and charred tree stumps. A paddock full of helicopters, blades whirring to life. Tendrils of smoke twisting in the air from small flare-ups in the scrub.
This is the road into Ohau.
The small village at the edge of the lake has long been a haven for holidaymakers and retirees, and its 16 or so permanent residents.
It’s idyllic and isolated. The closest place to grab a coffee is about 30km away in Twizel.
From the scenes in the town over the past couple of days, it’s clear isolation breeds a strong sense of community.
People have stopped bereft Ohau residents in the street, offering them a warm meal and a place to stay.
Twizel’s tiny town centre bustles as emergency service staff, residents and journalists converge.
The Twizel Event Centre has become a central hub for those affected. For many it has become the closest thing to a home they have, since they abandoned their own in terrifying nighttime escapes as the flames closed in.
Around noon yesterday it was finally safe enough for them to get their first look — through the tinted windows of a bus they were not allowed to get off — at the village they had fled from.
As someone who is paid to write, it is still difficult to describe the grief on their faces when they got off those buses a couple of hours later.
Residents who had been stoic, hopeful even, in the morning fought back tears as they hugged friends and family.
It is a sobering reminder of the long and uncertain road ahead for so many.
At another media briefing, Otago Principal Rural Fire Officer Graeme Still calls it the worst fire in terms of property damage that he has ever seen.
The salt-of-the-earth, a-spade-is-a-spade firefighter has been in the industry for four decades. He has not had much sleep over the past few days, he admits.
Then it is the media’s turn to board a bus and drive through the scene.
I have never known a group of journalists to be so quiet.
We stare out the windows at sheets of corrugated iron, twisted into unrecognisable shapes. Water tanks that have melted down one side from the heat. Houses reduced to ash.
The smell of smoke hangs in the air and burns eyes and throats.
It is remarkable to see how the fire has completely destroyed some homes and left others, just metres away, untouched.
A reminder of just how much damage an errant ember can do.
As we arrive back in Twizel, the work continues.
Helicopters will dip in and out of Lake Ohau until dark, filling monsoon buckets. Firefighters on the ground will continue to tackle hot spots.
Meanwhile, dozens of people are preparing to spend another night in unfamiliar beds, waiting until it is safe enough to stand on the scorched ground themselves and start picking up the pieces.
