A harsh frost overnight froze our water, not to mention my shoes and socks I’d left drying by the fire – they certainly weren’t dry! But that didn’t stop Pete, I assume rather tiredly, purloining one of my soaked socks – and rather amusingly refusing to give it back as he didn’t want put another icy cold sock on! For some reason I thought it a good idea to carry Pete’s rejected sock on my seat bag, maybe I was tired too after the Dampier and a frigid night of little sleep. I happily put my waterproof socks on, which in wet icy shoes was a winner.
Guess which bike spent the night in the trees, comparatively warm.
After the big previous day and chilly start, it was a leisurely seven-thirty before I got away and immediately had to cross, confusingly, another Esk River. The morning was spent on farm tracks that increasingly grew to wide gravel roads. Generally it was undulating, with the odd dive down to cross a waterway and grovel back up onto the plateau. A beautiful morning, there was plenty to look at; the sun didn’t take too long to hit me and warm things a bit. I caught up to Andy and enjoyed riding with him for the rest of the morning. Carrying a lot of extra batteries and so on, he was trying to capture this long section on video for the official film (Rob couldn’t make it in here).
Leaving Anderson Hut.
Andy also seem besieged with odd mechanical problems. He’d cracked a carbon seat post the day before, but never mind – he was carrying a spare! The mind boggles. By now one of the rivets on his leather saddle was sitting a bit proud, causing some discomfit. As we were riding along chatting, taking photos and so on, Andy happened to look down and notice the quick-release lever on his rear axle was missing. Thankfully, the axle was firmly in place and in no danger of removing itself – the main problem this missing lever could cause would if the wheel had to removed for some reason, it did not need this for now.
Someone was having a laugh with a few of the appropriated road signs around.
It was a most enjoyable morning with some easier miles, actually being able to ride for a bit was a welcome change, and such views to soak in as we pedalled along. Reaching the Mt White Station buildings, there was extensive new construction happening – Andy saw his chance to ask some tradies for a file to smooth off that pesky rivet. I continued out of the farm alone, dropping down to the Poulter River and grovelling up the other side as it got a bit warmer.
Down to the Poutler.
Just a short section now to the short highway section, above the Waimakariri River it was exceedingly pleasant.
Shortly before the highway, the first trail angels (Sue and John, I think) were happened upon. Could hardly say no to a cuppa and some ginger slice before the few kilometres north to the Cass River. What was this here? Some sort of trail magic convention? A healthy gathering of faces familiar from the GSB were out in full support mode – Dan (preferring the term “trail wizard”), Nina and Katie (without question “trail angels” fitting better) – and had plenty of tasty treats on offer; I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some sort of competition in rider-feeding. I wasn’t complaining, any variety in my diet was welcome. I may have lingered too long, understandably I maintain, as both Olly and Jeff caught up and passed me. Guess I’d better head up the Cass River bed too… But not before jettisoning Pete’s sock (why was I carrying that?) and changing out of sweaty waterproof socks, unfortunate to be using one of my dry night-time socks – but at least I eventually remembered I had them.
Well fed, and buoyed by company both reminding me how mad and fortunate I was to be out here, the hike up the Cass River bed and then up and over the saddle was not too daunting. A baking afternoon, the short rideable section soon gave way to pushing and lifting the bike over the large river rocks and often the river itself. The cool water sweet relief on the feet, the habit of soaking one’s shirt and hat in the mountain water an effective heat management strategy – albeit with a second or two of shock putting a cold-soaked shirt back on. Again the stuffable backpack was deployed – filling this with my seatbag (all my sleeping kit), a full water bottle and a few other heavy items worked fantastically well for hike-a-bike by removing considerable mass from my bike and making it much easier for me to overcome gravity and the occasional awkwardness of lifting over obstacles.
Forward progress continued to be made with Olly and Jeff; it took us about an hour before we left the river to climb through more beautiful beech forest. Averaging a shade over ten percent, the hiking trail was frequently steeper – one particularly memorable part up a steep bank looked impassable, but there was an almost-as-difficult alternative at the top; that took some balance and effort. Cooler in the forest, I still found it a warm afternoon – there were frequent breaks, drinking from cold streams and much chat. I was happy making steady progress and seemed to have a far better time than most accounts of this section.
Shortly after Cass Saddle Hut (a wee hut, with a split stable door as a curiosity), the forest gave way to the tussock and the large avalanche/rock chutes came into view. It was great being up in the mountains and I enjoyed hearing about all the different tracks in the area – I don’t think just because it was a distraction from the one I was on! The trail mostly disappeared and it was back to lugging my bike through and over it; this only seemed a problem for me at that time, but still – forward progress on a wonderful day. Five o’clock had us at the saddle (three and half hours for that eleven kilometres), time for decent break to eat and enjoy the view.
Looking southwest from Cass Saddle.
The back (compared to the only other part I’ve visited) of the Craigieburn Range.
Northwest to the Black Range.
Over the saddle, the first two hundred metres of drop was unrideable – far too steep for me. No matter, after that it was pure bliss – what a downhill through beautiful native forest. Constantly engaging and so much fun to soak in, I was down at Hamilton Hut just after six. This had been suggested as a good overnight spot, but it was too early to stop for the night – even if a sudden wave of tiredness hit me (it had been a good, but clearly exhausting day). I paused for ten minutes to eat another tuna meal and chat to the hut maintenance crew, refuelled there was a little track left before getting to the Harper River.
Looking over Hamilton Creek, one can make out where the track is in the forest, Cass Saddle and the Craigieburns up there too.
The two hours down the Harper River were a complete drag/carry/wade/push. The 4WD track crossed the river dozens of times, each requiring a dismount (if one was fortunate enough to be riding) and it wasn’t always easy to see where to go – but downstream was often all that was needed. When not in the river, the track was often completely flooded in standing water – was a little warmer I guess than the river. Unsurprisingly, Olly caught up to me – he’d been delayed by a loose cassette.
Route finding at the confluence of the Avoca River proved a bit difficult with more matagouri and then bigger rocks to negotiate.
Still it was a gorgeous evening, it was nice to be in new country and I hadn’t been at work that day (“I’m not at work”, and “I chose to be here” being a oft-repeated mantras that week when things were a little less than rosy).
Finally off that river section, the town of Methven only sixty kilometres away was mildly tempting to get to. But the easterly was building again, I didn’t fancy a headwind – and there was a long no-camping stretch. After thirteen hours backing up on the previous day, I was happy to find (with a little effort) the Trustpower Campground and call it a day – we’d at least managed over a hundred kilometres! In bed shortly after dark, it was shaping to be another clear, cold night as I drifted to sleep satisfied with another TTW day of steady progress and no drama (sock theft aside!).
