All the Way Round (15 page)

Because those organising the AGM couldn’t be sure whether I was going to make it on time, I wasn’t advertised as a speaker. I didn’t have a presentation prepared so I just answered questions from the floor during a break. One question that caught me off guard was, ‘Do you ever talk to yourself?’

The only time I talked to myself on the trip was during the crossing of the Baxter Cliffs when, suffering from hypothermia, I had to shout instructions to myself to ensure I didn’t make a mistake. The question forced me to relive this difficult time. While explaining the situation, I realised what I’d put myself through during the crossing of the Bight and then the tough section from Adelaide. Before the entire Victorian Sea Kayak Club the tension I’d been keeping hidden from myself surfaced and I almost broke down. I can’t believe my stumbling went unnoticed. I could not answer the question but I managed to move on without too much fuss.

Thinking about it later, I realised the stress I was under during those times was greater than I let myself acknowledge. I never considered it an issue during the tough paddling but just did what I had to do to make progress and survive. I never gave myself an option and just dealt with the situations as they developed. But given the chance to reflect, my mind caught up with my actions and then I realised the possible consequences.

Israelite Bay to Cape Otway had been some of the hardest paddling I’ve challenged myself with. Almost three months covering approximately 2400 kilometres of dangerous, remote coastline—solo—was now behind me. I realised what I had overcome by getting as far as the AGM.

By Sunday afternoon all the kayaks had drifted away on the top of cars and the orgy of socialising was over. The next day Tony drove me back to Wye River to continue the trip.

Cape Otway signalled the start of Bass Strait, which has a fearsome reputation for those who have to navigate it. But it was a relief for me to get there as the continuous surf, headwinds and open coast I had covered to the west of Cape Otway were far more of a challenge. The waters to the east of the cape can be violent during storms but are generally more benign than what I’d been through.

The entrance to Port Phillip Bay, which leads to Melbourne, is called ‘The Rip’. As the name suggests there are strong currents rushing in and out of the narrow gap which is only wide enough for one ship at a time to fit through. I had to dodge a couple of ships during the morning and thought I’d done quite a good job of avoiding them until a large commercial fishing vessel started to approach from behind. I changed course a couple of times but it was still on track to run me down and getting closer. I could see the crew on deck so, knowing they would see me, I stopped paddling to wait until it passed.

The ship pulled up alongside me and a crew member said one of the ships heading into Melbourne had reported me to the Port Authorities and had asked the captain of this vessel to get my name and find out if I was okay. I explained that I had started my journey from Broome and was on my way to Sydney. The captain laughed and relayed my message to everyone who was on the radio at the time.

Wilsons Promontory is 160 kilometres from Melbourne and is a terrific bit of coast to explore by kayak. It has many good camp spots surrounded by dramatic coastline and islands. There are strong currents and fast-changing weather but many safe landings and walks to do should you get caught out. I had passed through a few times on various trips, as had many other kayakers.

Refuge Cove, on the eastern side, is a natural shelter from the rough seas of Bass Strait. Surrounded by wooded slopes, the 400-metre entrance opens out to provide a scenic, safe anchorage for yachts and an established camp spot for kayakers intending to cross Bass Strait. A Bass Strait crossing is a classic for adventurous sea kayakers, who always return with a story to tell.

I pulled into Refuge Cove to find another kayaker had already set up camp. It was the first time on the trip I had bumped into a kayaker who was actually paddling and not just trying to find me. Steve was making the most of a break from home where he had been looking after his young twins. I was keen to talk about anything but kayaking but when two kayakers get together I guess it’s inevitable that all things paddling are first on the list of topics.

Fairly new to kayaking—this was only the second time he had been out paddling—he was keen to discuss the stories and trips he’d heard about. I knew the kayakers and the circumstances of these events and filled in the gaps for him. One of those was about a couple of kayakers who set off to cross Bass Strait; their double kayak got washed up on a beach just north of our camp, and Steve had assumed they drowned. I was able to ease his mind and finish the story by telling him that they were rescued by helicopter a few kilometres from where we were sitting. They had to abandon their kayak during the helicopter rescue from rough seas but it was returned to them later. A happy ending.

Then Steve asked where I’d paddled from to get to Refuge Cove. I told him I had set off seven months ago from the other side of the country. Things went quiet for a while until the distance I’d paddled registered then the conversation resumed. I have to say that I really enjoyed the evening with Steve and our chat, as I’m usually camped on my own.

From Wilsons Promontory the last feature to overcome before getting to Cape Howe on the southeast corner of Australia is Ninety Mile Beach. There are all the usual problems with a long surf beach but it’s quite something to paddle along the same beach for days with no change in the view. It’s also quite a relief to spot the relative shelter of the rocky headlands as you approach the little town of Mallacoota. The southeast coast has many interesting inlets, headlands and empty beaches in remote settings and is one of my favourite areas to paddle. Strong winds and big surf give it a serious side, but it’s worth it.

Cape Howe is the southeast corner of Australia, splitting the Victorian coast, which runs east to west, and the New South Wales coast, which runs south to north. Rounding Cape Howe on 4 December marked the end of the south coast and the start of my home state. Although I still had a massive task ahead, I was just focusing on getting to Sydney, and it was a relief for the kayak to be pointing right at it.

The town of Tathra is 99 kilometres north of the New South Wales and Victorian border and is the birthplace of Nadgee Kayaks. This is where Dave Winkworth designed and built his kayak, testing it in the waters of the nearby Nadgee National Park and naming the kayak after the area. Just down the road near Bega lives Laurie Geoghegan who, after returning from our Antarctic kayak trip, took over from Dave and now makes and designs the Nadgee range. I was glad of a rest and the hospitality offered by both. I took the opportunity to ask Laurie to work on the keel, which had started to wear down after eight months of dragging the loaded kayak up and down the beach.

These kayaks are designed and made by expedition kayakers, which helped ensure I didn’t have to make any adjustments to mine and paddled it as it was delivered. It came with a sail, a trolley system, foot pump, spare paddles and rudder, and anything that wears out or breaks on the kayak is designed to be fixed with a multi-tool. There are three storage compartments; these were watertight when I accepted delivery and were still watertight when I finished the trip.

Kayak choice is a personal thing. What one person thinks is the perfect kayak may not suit you. Another paddler may not feel comfortable in your kayak or they may want to kayak for different reasons. A kayak that surfs well may not be fast, one that is fast may not be stable enough for you to feel relaxed on the ocean, and a big kayak may be too hard to turn. It’s a trade-off between the various characteristics. Some kayaks are made to do one job very well, some are designed to handle a few jobs quite well and some try for the lot. For this trip, a Nadgee kayak was the only choice for me.

Normal use of a sea kayak is perhaps one day a week. Its owner takes it down to a familiar launch spot, with soft grass or sand, and a rehearsed launch and landing of the empty kayak ensures no scratches or bumps blemish its pristine hull. It’s cleaned inside and out with fresh water before being popped back on the car after just a couple of hours on the water.

The strain put on my kayak was far greater. It was always loaded, often landed through surf and reefs and always in unfamiliar areas where dangers were unknown, then dragged away from the surf. It was packed and unpacked every day, paddled for seven hours daily (and sometimes more) in most conditions found at sea, almost never cleaned and only inspected when something wore out. Despite my neglect and the excessive use, the only things that needed repairing during the entire trip were worn-out rudder cables and the keel Laurie fixed. I had to replace the hatch covers and the sail that had degraded due to the sun. Oh, and replace the rudder which got eaten by an inquisitive shark, but I don’t really count that as wear and tear.

During my few days with Laurie and Dave a bit of weather had stirred up the sea and although the wind had died down the swell was still quite high. It wasn’t a problem on the ocean, in fact it was fun running along with the swell, but it did turn out to be an issue at the end of the day as I landed 60 kilometres further up the coast at Narooma.

The high seas were breaking right across the narrow harbour entrance which was flanked by rock walls, making it a dangerous place to catch a wave, so I looked at the beach north of the harbour. I couldn’t see any nasty rocks but the surf was banging in. It was reaching high and dumping quickly, with real force, which is not the preferred surf for landing. Plus it was the end of the day and surf landings in the dark are dangerous. I weighed up my options; I could either head further north in the hope of finding a better landing before dark, or land on the beach I was at. But there were no sheltered landings close by, and because all the beaches faced the same way it was unlikely I’d find better conditions, so I went in to have a closer look.

I got too close! I realised too late that I had crept into the break zone when I looked around to see a smooth wall of water building until it crumbled into a frothy hand reaching over to swat me. I made pathetic, desperate attempts to get beyond its grasp but seconds later I was swamped in the violence of the dying wave. It was short and sharp, and I got rolled. I tucked myself up against the kayak to protect my head from the seabed while being thrown side to side and up and down, hoping my last quick gasp of air would hold out long enough. I rolled up when the wave was exhausted, and while gulping air realised I still had a few similar breakers to cheat before the beach. I saw my chance to retreat and headed back out to sea, paddling over the lumps of swell before they matured into waves. After all that I was back where I started, but now I was wet, shaken and fast running out of daylight.

I set up for another go, knowing what I was in for, but now almost all I could see were the lights of Narooma; there was only one more chance for a landing with enough light for me to time the sets. So I braced myself and went hard towards the beach, missing two sets of breakers and feeling pretty pleased with myself just before being reminded who the boss is. The last wave caught me with such ferocity that it ripped my gear out from the life jacket pockets. If things hadn’t been tied on with cord, I would have lost it all. I rolled back up and made it to the beach in the dark, feeling a bit like a Christmas tree with my PLB, whistle and knife hanging off me. Just what I needed at the end of the day.

The New South Wales Sea Kayak Club (NSWSKC) had arranged for me to do a presentation on Saturday 11 December but there was no way I could have done the 350 kilometres from Tathra to Sydney in two days. So it was arranged that Laurie would pick me up from wherever I was two days after leaving Tathra and drive me the rest of the way to Sydney. After the excitement of Narooma, the next day I made it to Moruya with much less drama and met up with Laurie.

The NSWSKC had booked a room in the Bundeena RSL Club and had done well to organise the get-together at short notice. I was happy to have a break and talk to other paddlers about the trip for a couple of hours. By this time I’d gathered a few photos and put a presentation together, so I was prepared to talk about the hard times without shedding a tear. Again, meeting with other paddlers and finding out people were actually following my progress and were prepared to dip into their pockets was incredibly motivating. The generosity of the club and its members caught me off guard. A huge amount of effort had been made to organise an auction of kit and other forms of fundraising, and I was totally unprepared for the positive interest and response. I was so grateful for everyone’s generosity.

The next day Laurie drove me back to Moruya so I could get on with paddling. I was motivated by the comments from those at Bundeena and made good progress into familiar territory as I got closer to my hometown of Sydney. On 13 December at Bawley Point I met up with Mike Snode, who brought along a very yummy Moroccan spiced lamb with couscous. Mike, at the age of 65, crossed Bass Strait solo in a kayak he designed and built himself. He was quite an inspiration, and not a bad cook either.

I was trying to get to Sydney by 19 December so I could attend a barbecue Sharon was putting on for the friends who had helped her while I had been away. Things like mowing the lawn, looking after the kids so Sharon could have a break and fixing the TV can’t be underestimated. It was a comfort to me that the family had support in my absence and I was very keen to thank everyone who had helped out.

The coast of New South Wales is mainly comprised of beaches split by headlands, particularly the further north you go. A couple of exceptions that stand out are Point Perpendicular near Jervis Bay, about 150 kilometres south of Sydney, and the Royal National Park 30 kilometres south of Sydney Harbour. Both have dramatic cliffs and interesting waters and were a pleasure to paddle along. Point Perpendicular has lots of caves and rock gardens to explore, while the wooded hills of the Royal National Park run right down to the cliffs and beaches, giving a wilderness feel within sight of the city.