All the Way Round (2 page)

The ability to endure over the long term is more a mental ability then a physical one. So the main task was to work more on the mental, rather than the physical, side of training. I read motivational books, books that targeted the thoughts and reflections of explorers, adventurers and survivors. I developed my attitude for endurance. Ultimately, though, I concluded that mental strength can only be developed through experience, not theory. So I gave up looking for the answer in a book and resigned myself to the fact that I would find out which way I’d swing when the time came.

The real issues

As it turned out, infections, dysentery, food poisoning, rashes, torn knee ligaments, infected spider bite, damaged toes, hypothermia, heat exhaustion, broken tooth and tendon problems in my wrist were the actual issues I had to deal with. But more about those later.

Something I will always regret not doing before I left was improving my rather limited photography skills. Sure, I made some weak attempts by looking up a few web pages, but mostly I thought, ‘I’ll just take lots of photos and something good will happen.’ There are a few approaches I took that would generally not be recommended; I’ll be the first to suggest my tactics on photography is one of them.

What if things went wrong?

I carried a personal locator beacon (PLB), a device you can fit in your pocket and if you get in real trouble you just push a button and it sends out a signal, which is relayed to a control centre that sends out the cavalry.

Actually, I’ve always considered this attitude dangerous with PLBs, which was confirmed when two devices failed on me.

I also carried a mobile phone but, despite the enthusiastic claims of phone companies, they are pretty much useless in areas where you can’t see a two-storey building. As such I didn’t consider the mobile phone a safety device but a convenience when I got to town.

I didn’t carry a satellite phone because it didn’t fit with my ethics. My own rules allowed for a PLB as a last resort should all my efforts of self-preservation fail, but a satellite phone seemed to blur the line between convenience and desperation. Another reason for not taking a device which would allow the world to know where I was at any given time is because I didn’t want the world to know where I was at any given time. The struggle of getting through a remote area on my own and checking how my shares were performing didn’t seem to mix. The only time I relented during the trip was when I borrowed a sat phone for my crossing of the Bight—sometimes ethics have to give way to common sense.

Electronics don’t like water, so the only other devices I carried were a GPS and a shortwave radio for weather reports. This kept it simple, which is how I like it. I didn’t have to compromise on the quality of what I took; I didn’t waste time considering my options and just got on with it. This attitude is not common these days, but because I’ve been around long enough to remember life before GPS, internet and mobile phones, it comes easily to me.

Getting the green light

It’s often an underrated achievement to get to the starting line of a trip properly prepared. There are many hidden obstacles in the way of an adventurer, which require planning and determination to overcome. I call this the ‘Dark Side’ because nobody wants to talk about it. There is no glamour in this aspect of adventure but it’s the main reason most trips don’t get past the ‘dreaming while standing’ stage.

The first task to be addressed from the Dark Side was to get the okay from my family. This was not the usual announcement of a trip where I would be away for a few weeks, this was a time scale that took the commitment to a whole new level. We were looking at Sharon leading the life of a single parent, looking after our two girls, aged seven and four, for well over a year. We have no family to help with the kids and the drop in income meant we would have to tighten our belts and freeze our mortgage payments to get through on Sharon’s wages. All this would be put on Sharon’s shoulders to allow me to chase my dream—and my success was far from assured. So before I could even contemplate the trip, I needed her on side.

It was a week after my announcement before Sharon told me she would support the trip. I have a feeling she’d decided within five minutes but dragged it out, making me sweat so I’d really appreciate the answer when it finally came. Very reasonably, Sharon agreed to my plans as long as we waited about three years, until the kids were old enough to get themselves to and from school. It was my green light.

Sharon’s side of the story

People often asked me (and still do) the thoughts and rationale that led to my decision to let my husband go away for sixteen months on such a long, wild, challenging trip, leaving behind not only a wife but two young children as well.

Of course I had concerns. How would I cope with looking after our daughters alone while I worked three days a week, 90 kilometres from home, leaving at seven in the morning and not returning until twelve hours later? How would they cope without their dad? Could I wear both hats? Would we have enough money to keep life as near normal as possible?

Obviously, I was also worried about Stu. In particular, I was kept awake at night by the thought of all the nasty unpredictable wildlife both in the south (sharks) and the tropical north (crocs). This is something which he would have absolutely no control over, no matter how experienced a kayaker he was. This was a real concern for me both leading up to the trip then for months while he was actually in these areas.

It wasn’t an easy decision. On the one hand I was drawn to saying ‘Go’, wanting to be loyal to Stu and his adventurous ways. Yes, of course, he was being selfish but I knew he had his heart set on it and if I said ‘No’ I’d have to live with the decision of denying him his dream. On the other hand, the practicalities of day-to-day life and how we would cope were hitting home.

But in the end I agreed, and he went.

The first month was very hard as the girls and I adjusted, especially to the longer hours in childcare after and before school. But with the valuable help of some close friends we soon got into the swing of our new routine.

I got the kids involved in the trip as much as possible by putting a large map of Australia up on their walls and following Stu’s progress. Every time he called or we received a postcard or letter, we would mark it on the map so the girls could see exactly where he was in relation to Sydney. I think this really helped them to understand the large distance he had to travel and how slowly each area was covered by kayak. Sixteen months and 17,000 kilometres is hard to imagine when you’re only six and ten.

I must admit, though, there were times of resentment towards Stu when I was tired after a long busy day at work. We’d get home late, it was cold and dark, and there was dinner to cook, the fire to light, the dog to walk, homework to be done, etcetera. But these moments were generally short-lived and after a good night’s sleep we looked forward to the next instalment of the trip’s progress.

Sometimes, too, I felt sorry for Stu as he missed out on special moments in the kids’ lives, like winning sporting events or getting awards at school. They grow up too fast and these are things that can never be repeated.

I respected Stu greatly for having the drive, passion and get-up-and-go to even think about a trip of this scale—especially when you have a young family and a regular nine-to-five job with four weeks’ annual leave. But he is living proof it can be done and I am living proof that we survived without him, managing well with the help of some generous and thoughtful friends and by finding strengths within that I never knew I had.

This whole experience has taught me that anything is possible if you have the drive and commitment. No obstacle is too big and any hurdles can be overcome one way or another.

The logistics

Having received the blessing of my wife and family, I needed to tackle the issue of getting time off work. This involved some basic number-crunching to come up with a timeframe.

I worked out the distance and average times of my previous trips, then had a look at the prevailing weather at various parts of the coastline. I paid particular attention to areas where success was very dependent on the weather. For example, I didn’t want to be up north during cyclone season, I wanted to avoid paddling into headwinds along the west coast in summer, and I didn’t want to be stuck with southeasterlies across the Great Australian Bight.

My estimate for how long the trip would take me boiled down to 1000 kilometres paddled each month and a total distance of approximately 17,000 kilometres, so with some creative maths I calculated sixteen months was needed.

My boss at the time was also an adventurer and took months off to explore far-flung parts of the world herself. With her support I managed to get the signatures of management three levels up the tree on the necessary forms. However, three years later there was a change in who I reported to. With weeks to go before I planned to leave I found a less-than-sympathetic attitude towards my adventure. It was only with two weeks before I left that I was told my leave forms would be honoured. It was pressure I could have done without as I had to negotiate with Sharon the option of resigning to do the trip. Not having a job to return to raised the domestic stakes considerably.

So, all sorted! I spent the next few years saving money and sacrificing holidays while trying in vain to convince Sharon that it would only take two years, not three, for the kids to be able to get themselves to and from school.

Where to start

With family and work under control, the next big issue was when and where to start. Every other attempt to kayak around Australia had started at Melbourne or Sydney. It would certainly be more convenient to start where I lived and a finish in my home town of Sydney could be a big event, but the success of the trip overruled this. I thought the hardest half of the trip was Broome to Sydney. This was the half that had the three sets of cliffs, the Great Australian Bight and the wild south coast. There are sections where the prevailing winds would be against me at certain times of the year making obstacles such as the cliffs almost impossible during some seasons.

A start at Broome at the end of the wet season would get me down the west coast in winter when the strong southerly winds were at their weakest. This also meant the south coast would be tackled in winter when the winds blew from the southwest—in summer the winds were southeasterlies which I’d have to paddle into. Winter, however, also brings storms, cold weather and consistent swell from the southwest, which meant big surf, but that somehow sounded better than headwinds.

Going by the estimates of my speed, I would find myself past Townsville in northeastern Australia around April. This was the end of the wet season, when my chances of being hit by a cyclone would be diminishing by the week.

So I decided that despite the cost of getting myself and the kayak to the other side of the country I would stand a better chance of success if I started the hard half at a good time of year. This removed the lottery of having to estimate my arrival time at the tricky Zuytdorp Cliffs after paddling halfway around the country and gave me a chance to cheat the easterlies on the south coast.

What to pack

Everything you carry in a kayak increases the weight. This lowers the kayak and increases its surface area in the water, which in turn causes more friction and makes the kayak harder to paddle. As well as burning up energy, the extra effort of propelling a loaded kayak also means more blisters on hands. So obviously the less you have on board the better. It also means the task of loading, unloading and carrying everything to and from dry land is made much easier. For all these reasons it’s common for a sea kayaker to dump kit as their trip progresses.

At the end of this book, there’s a list of what I carried. When piled up in a big heap, it didn’t look like it would fit in the kayak. As well as actually getting all the stuff in, there are a few things to consider which will make a big difference to the day’s paddling. There has to be an even distribution of weight. If the kayak is too heavy in the nose, it will dive into the waves, and if it’s too heavy in the stern, it will be hard to steer—either will make the kayak slower. So you need to pack the heavier items close to the centre, as well as the things you need easy access to while paddling. Anything you don’t want to get wet has to be sealed in dry bags.

Most paddlers have their own way of packing their gear, as it depends on what they carry and the kayak they use. I used a kayak called a Nadgee Solo which is generous in its storage space, in part due to the hull being concave and not convex as most hull designs tend to be.

My way of packing was to stuff a small bag of things I would not use often—like the first aid kit, repair kit and my spare undies—right up the pointy ends of the bow and stern and there they stayed for most of the trip. Next in the bow went my small inflatable mattress, sleeping bag and half the tent, all jammed up towards the front as they were light. Also in the front hatch was most of my food, placed as close to my feet as I could get it due to its weight. This helps the handling of the kayak and helps to keep the ends from diving into the sea. In the back hatch went my sleeping mat, clothes, radio, tent poles and the other half of tent, and couple of bags of bits and bobs.

I had one hatch I could reach while paddling that held items I might need during the day. Because I opened it many times a day, there was a chance a wave would wash in while I had the hatch cover off. For that reason I only put stuff in there that could get wet, such as cans of food, spare water, my cooker and cooker fuel, waterproof camera and the food I needed while on the water.

If I had to paddle five or six days without stopping to resupply, I could fit extra food in the back hatch and load up some water bladders in the cockpit. I generally carried about a week’s worth of food and two or three days’ supply of water without too much bother.

Without the luxury of space I could carry only basic clothes for on and off the water. In the warmer areas I had a pair of long trousers, a pair of shorts, two pairs of underpants, one pair of socks, a polypropylene top, a perforated teabag-type shirt, a cotton long-sleeved shirt, T-shirt, waterproof paddling jacket, neck warmer, broad-brimmed hat, peak cap and merino thermal. In the coldest areas I carried long trousers, thermal bottoms, fleece paddling trousers, two pairs of woollen socks, two pairs of underpants, a polypropylene top, two merino tops, fleece top, beanie, cap, neck warmer, paddling jacket and Gore-Tex jacket. I always wore my neoprene booties and sunglasses when paddling, regardless of the weather. I tried to keep some items clean for when I got into town, but no matter how well I thought I’d done I always felt a bit grubby before my trip to the washing machine.