Up The Hill, Down The Hill, Across The Flats.

After boasting about my early rising yesterday,  I woke with a start to sunlight on the tent at the almost-lunchtime hour of (gasp) 0630. I don't know what I was worried about: I still had plenty of time to take a walk on the beach and pack up in a leisurely manner.

Samphire on Port Wakefield beach in the morning.

The public convenience behind which I camped.  As good a place as any for a leaving photo, given I forgot to take a picture of my campsite.

I'd convinced myself last night that I would take an easy day and just tootle up the highway and across the samphire flats to Port Wakefield.   Well, two seconds on the highway convinced me that I'd rather go back up the hill I came down yesterday and take the road less traveled, so off I went and surprised myself by riding most of the hill, being defeated in the end by loose gravel as much as gravity. And with the odd snake-break, of course.

From here on I followed the Walk The Yorke (WTY) markers, bouncing along the ridge line with expansive views out across the Gulf to the west, and across wheat paddocks to the east.

Today's occasional ruin.

Just when I was ready for a rest up popped a WTY shelter complete with expansive views and a water tank filled with, surprise, water! (The tanks are often dry: to find it full was a genuine surprise).

A place to sit a while and contemplate where I go next.  From here I could trace my path to the highway, pick out the samphire flats, and see the trees of Port Wakefield in the distance.

See?

Back I went to sea level and detoured for a stickybeak at the old Yararoo Station wool shed, built in the 1870’s to store wool shorn from Yararoo Station sheep. Later, it was used as a repository for mining equipment on its way to the copper mines at Kadina, Wallaroo and Moonta.  On a more somber note, in the early years of white occupation it was also a place where indigenous people were imprisoned and massacred.

After a suitable period of shed admiration I rode back up Shed Road, only to turn around and go back past the Shed to the coast with the intent of following the WTY foot trail in the scrub beside the highway. It was too sandy to ride, so back up to Shed Road I went. But maybe it's worth giving the WTY a red hot shot, I told myself.  Back down again went I. Nope, still too sandy, definitely can't ride that. Back up Shed Road again, turn right into Samphire Road and commit to a direction. Yoyos have nothing on me.

Samphire Road spat me out on the highway for an unpleasant couple of km until I could turn off to cross the samphire flats to Port Wakefield. 

Port Wakefield away in the distance,

and behind me the hills along which I rode.

This should have been a lovely ride through colourful samphire, dry salt mud cracking under my tyres, little birds tweeting in the undergrowth, the Port Wakefield Bakery ahead of me. Unfortunately my old friend the wind turned up in force and we were now in conflict, me having reached the top of the Gulf St Vincent and started heading down the other side. The argument escalated to the point that I periodically gave up and walked lest I be blown unceremoniously into the samphire and who knew how many snakes were hiding in there?

Port Wakefield Caravan Park had nice green grass with a river view, right beside a grand camp kitchen complete with kettle and a comfy couch.  I had it all to myself because everyone else was tucked into their caravan kitchens.  I quite enjoyed looking out across the river to the samphire flats, now that I didn't have to cycle/walk through them.

This'll do.

I was happy.