Day 4 – Wharfedale Track to Springfield
This was a day of survival tests. First up, who would survive – me or the sandflies? It was a close contest for a while (in fact the sandflies were winning at one point), but I managed to brew a hot chocolate, eat a can of peaches and pack everything back onto the bike without losing too much blood. I was feeling really down, very lonely and missing my girls at home heaps.
At least I could see where to cross the river and after once more repeating the de-shoeing and re-shoeing process I was underway.
The lesson here is just get wet feet. 200 metres later, another river crossing, then a swamp, then another crossing – all before getting onto the track proper. So my sodden, muddy shoes and I continued. The track (for me anyway) was almost completely un-rideable. I think the 1.6km to the hut was about the best bit (until the very end piece).
At the hut I stopped for a nosey. Not much, just the hut & a long drop. Water needs to be from the river (no water at hut).
Continuing, the track got worse. Large roots, rocks, holes and muddy bits were the order here. At one point I could only ride 20 metres at a time, before having to dismount to lift the bike over the next obstacle. Some obstacles included little gullies – areas were the track just fell away, resuming on the other side. Did a little bit of damage inside one shoulder in my effort to get bike and gear down then up a 2 metre deep monster, that also had rocks and roots in it (just to make it interesting). I had several meltdowns on this section. I knew it was grade 4, so anticipated some gnarly bits, but not a track I would struggle to even go tramping on! I had to keep going. My original idea was to get the Wharfedale done in the morning, then tackle the ride over Arthurs Pass in the afternoon/evening. How naive! At one point I thought I was wasting too much time getting on my bike, only to get off it 1 minute later that I just gave up and started pushing. A slow march out of this nightmare.
Track signs told me how far I still had to go. Track goes from the hut up to a saddle, then down, then undulates before a final descent. About 14km in total, from the hut to carpark.. Even walking with the bike was hard. I definitely had too much weight on board, the bike was too ungainly – lifting up/down and around was very hard work.
I had thought after the summit I could ride more – wrong! I did manage a quick couple of kilometres with only one or two dismounts, then it was back to the slow trudge again. Another couple of huge obstacles and I knew I didn’t have far to go. What would end first? Me or the track? Wharfedale track has no suitable camping spots and the whole forest hums with far too many wasps, so it is not a place to linger. Even answering the call of nature is hazardous!
Had one final meltdown when I arsed over on a wet section of boardwalk, then suddenly the sign saying 2km to the carpark. YAY! There is a reasonably flat grassed area at this end for any future camping activities. No water or toilet though.
The road down to the valley below was steep, rough and contained (closed) gates. The return back to civilisation couldn’t come soon enough.
At the main road, I called Sandra. I let it out – I couldn’t help it. I was filthy, completely exhausted and an emotional wreck, but she gave me the encouragement I so desperately needed at that point.
Continuing on to Sheffield was slow but steady work. Over the railway lines & there was Sheffield Pie Shop. (that’s actually about all there is in Sheffield, apart from the public loo at the sports pavilion 1km down the road. Looks like it would be possible to camp there too in a pinch).
It took two goes to get my PIN into the eftpos machine at the pie shop (I just couldn’t push the right buttons on the keypad) and while the lady was bagging my purchases I had already made significant progress in eating one pie at emergency speed.
I sat outside, ate, phoned, resupplied & rested. People turned up. Some looked like they felt sorry for me, others looked horrified. I looked a mess – I was a mess.
I decided to move on to Springfield, 10km along one of Simon’s gravel backroads. There I could hopefully purchase dinner & breakfast supplies, before maybe getting to Flock Hill Station as my evening campsite.
The slow surface of the gravel and my lethargic legs meant I took a while to cover that 10km. It was after 5pm when I got to Springfield. There’s a bit here - the cafe/shop has most supplies, but closes at 5ish. I was the last customer there, while they were mopping the floors. The dodgy named motel/backpackers is dodgy & the upmarket motel is true to looks. After being assured by a local that Flock Hill Station (accommodation/cafe) was 40km away over Porter’s Pass and doing a quick internet search to confirm this (yay for mobile phone internet!), I realised I was probably better to stay put for the night & get an early start over Arthur’s Pass tomorrow.
Springfield pub – a good old kiwi country pub was my haven for the night. Hiring one of their port-a-cabins gave me space. The shower was in the hotel part upstairs & was a bit grotty – but at least it was a shower and the locals were – well – locals. Bloody good! Once again into the recovery tights where I sat shivering (it wasn’t that cold – it was just exhaustion) in the dining room – good old pub grub (steak, egg, chips & beer). Recharge the phone, recharge the light batteries, call Sandra, call Mum, repack things, then bed.
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