Seal Rocks to Broughton Island:
Broughton Island is where sea kayakers
dream of going when they die. A sprawling island with tiny sand
coves, sea caves and arches, clefts and gauntlets, and a half dozen
other islands scattered nearby. Although Broughton Island is only
about four kilometers off-shore, access is usually longer and most
sea kayakers paddle out of Port Stephens.
As usual, our plans changed a dozen
times before we set off, but, in the end, forecast northerly winds
convinced us to paddle to Broughton Island from Seal Rocks. As the
gull flies, this is a straight line distance of about 35 km, but
obviously longer in a kayak which never travels in anything even
remotely resembling a straight line. All I knew was it would be a
long way without a comfort stop as we would be paddling a few
kilometres off-shore.
We got to the imaginatively named
"Number One Beach" at Seal Rocks just as the sun was rising
and unloaded the boats and gear onto the beach. This was our first
trip with our new water carriers made from Ron and Jean Simpson's
design and packing sufficient water for the trip was much easier than
before when we had a bunch of odd-shaped plastic bottles picked up
off North Queensland beaches.
Looking Glass Isle
Heading around the rocky cliffs of
Sugarloaf Point I looked up at the lighthouse 30 metres above us. On
our last multi-day kayak trip Ron had confessed the secret that all
sea kayakers harbour that we want tourists at lighthouses to look
down and watch us paddling our tiny craft through huge waves and
stormy seas and think how brave and daring we are. In reality, every
time I pass a lighthouse the ocean is either calm as glass - thus
providing no spectacle - or rough as guts, in which case I have my
eyes screwed shut from fear and can't appreciate the tourists gawping
at me anyway. Mostly, however, no matter what the sea state, no-one
is about, which was the case with the lighthouse at Sugarloaf Point.
Our daring maneuvers around Seagull Island went unnoticed again.
Far away to the south we could just see
a blob or two on the horizon in the hazy distance, one or both of
which we assumed was Broughton Island. As usual, I had forgotten to
bring a compass so we could not take a bearing - surely a sound case
for a deck mounted compass. In any case, we headed for those bumps,
alternately pointing the bow towards the most easterly and then the
most westerly as we really could not decide what was island and what
was mainland.
The northerly wind was completely
absent, the swell under a metre and paddling slowly south was mostly
just a wee bit tedious. We were a fair distance off the coast which
was all long sand beach and it was hard to tell if we were even
moving. In fact, after a while, Doug became convinced we were not
making any southward progress, stuck either in a weird time-warp, or
more likely a northerly running current. I thought Yagon Gibber
Headland was gradually moving away from us but could not be entirely
sure. Without a compass, there was nothing to triangulate off and
the more Doug thought about it, the more convinced he became that our
progress was virtually nil.
Eventually, Doug decided to check our
position using our mapping application on our mobile telephone. So,
he turned the 'phone on, marked our position, turned it off, paddled
for 20 minutes, turned it back on and noted that we had in fact moved
south. Meanwhile, I dribbled along paddling 100 strokes and waiting
for him, paddling 100 strokes and waiting, etc. until he caught up.
Sunset from Coal Shaft Bay
On we went. After two hours, we
decided to have a short break. I was thirsty but wouldn't drink
because my next comfort stop was still hours away. I had eaten no
breakfast, so choked down a hard-boiled egg, but it was mighty dry
without a whisper of liquid. I sat on the ocean for a few minutes,
thought "Stuff this, I may as well paddle", and started off
again before even five minutes had elapsed.
Around about 11 am, pretty much right
on schedule for this time of year, the northerly wind arrived, weakly
at first, but quickly increasing until, with our kayak sails up, we
were briskly riding down the wind waves. Our speed dramatically
increased and Broughton Island rapidly came closer and closer.
The shortest way into the sheltered
beach at Esmeralda Cove is via Fishermans Passage between Broughton
and Little Broughton Islands but, from our angle of approach, the
passage was invisible so we went around the southern end of Little
Broughton Island. The wind made for bouncy conditions around Little
Broughton Head, but we were now only two kilometres from landing. We
pulled the sails down as the wind was swirling in the lee of the
islands, sometimes blowing down in strong downdrafts, and paddled the
last distance into Esmeralda Cove.
There were a dozen sea kayaks already
on shore as we staggered out of the boats 5.5 hours after leaving
Seal Rocks. A swim, a leak, some lunch, some tea, all the good
things followed. There are five campsites at Little Poverty Bay,
three large wooden platforms and two grassed sites which you book and
pay for on-line. We had booked one of the wooden platforms and from
our vantage point above the beach we stood about with our lunch and
tea watching the dozen kayakers getting ready to launch.
Esmeralda Cove
Such an organized bunch we had never
seen. Sea kayakers are like mountaineers, strong willed, independent
and intractable to coercion. Any pod leaving the shore will almost
instantly break apart with kayaks going in every direction regardless
of conditions. This group, however, had a long briefing on the
beach. Then they gathered in a circle and engaged in various
calisthenics and warm-up exercises. Kayaks were carried to the
water. Another briefing ensued. Finally they launched. Then there
were various safety drills. Some people eskimo rolled, others
performed assisted rescues, some swam, a couple even stood in their
boats and paddled them SUP style. It all provided highly
entertaining lunch time viewing. Eventually, however, all the
paddlers were back in their boats ride side up, another on-water
briefing was held, and they paddled off around the island.
With no further ready entertainment
available, Doug and I ambled over to Providence Beach and wandered
along the beach in either direction scrambling over the rocks and
enjoying being out of our boats. After a couple of hours we
sauntered back, put the tent up, had dinner, and strolled over to
watch the sunset from Coal Shaft Bay. The ubiquitious fisherman were
casting lines off the short cliffs and drinking tinnies. Here at
last were some tourists who were impressed with us. Although they
had all come out in power boats, they were terrified of sharks,
waves, the ocean in general, and swore they would never paddle a
kayak on the ocean.
Back at Little Poverty Beach the other
kayakers had headed up Pinkatop Head for sunset and we watched their
head torches congo line back down after dark.
Providence Beach
Around Broughton Island:
Next morning, the mystery of the
strangely cohesive sea kayaker pod was solved. The entire dozen of
them was up early, packing their kayaks just after sunrise went I
went down to the comfort station. "We are with the military,
Ma'am" one strapping young lad told me. A weak southerly was
forecast mid-morning and the group were hustling to paddle back to
the mainland before its arrival.
Another hours entertainment for us as
we made breakfast and drank our litre jugs of coffee. This morning,
the pod was all business but, there was still a long briefing
followed by a round circle of calisthenics and warm-ups. Should the
invasion arrive by sea kayak, Australia will be well defended.
Our plans for the day were much less
ambitious. We would doddle around the island in our kayaks,
exploring all the little coves and crannies. It was a perfect day
for it. Sunny with a very low swell. First stop had to be
Conspicuous Cleft. Just off the south end of Broughton Island is
Looking Glass Isle and, slightly north of midway along the island, a
tunnel leads right through the island from east to west. I expected
the tunnel to be reminiscent of the Blue Cave on North Tollgate
Island, a dark and menacing slot always churning with large and
powerful waves. But, the cleft is much wider than that, although you
could not turn a kayak around in it, and lit with green light from
above. The first time through, I heeded Doug's warning to "paddle
smartly" and whipped through very quickly. Way too quickly to
get a good look in the tunnel. So, we went back through much more
slowly. Part way through, a minor horizontal waterfall was blowing
spray out into the tunnel and the bright sunlight lit up the clear
green water. A magical place.
Cons Cleft
A bit further north on Looking Glass Isle there is a second cleft but you cannot paddle through this one as the
ceiling has collapsed. We poked in as far as we could and then
headed north and meandered around Coal Shaft Bay. The modest
southerly blew in as we were paddling north from Coal Shaft Bay
towards Providence Point stretching a band of cloud across the sky.
This section of the island is riddled with narrow sea slots that you
can back a kayak into. The water is clear and gardens of sea weed
wave under the kayak with flashing silver fish. Coming out of one
sea slot, I turned around to photograph Doug who was backing in and
watched with horror as my day hatch cover - normally tied on with
cord - dropped off the boat and slowly floated down into the depths.
I frantically jabbed at it with my paddle trying to scoop it up
before it disappeared but it was gone.
Doug suggested I jump into the water
and swim around in case I could see the kayak cover and retrieve it.
This really seemed rather extreme to me. We would have to retrieve
my face mask, which was securely packed away in my back hatch, I
would have to take off my spray skirt and life jacket, and jump
overboard, and what about all those sharks those fishermen had been
banging on about? But, replacing a day hatch would also be
difficult, and no doubt, expensive, so I agreed.
Doug managed to take the spare paddles
off the back of my kayak, unhook my back hatch cover, take the
neoprene inner cover off, and scrabble around for my face mask while
we bobbed off-shore rafted up. I took off all my usual kayaking gear
and slipped over the side, while Doug struggled to keep both my boat
and his from being blown on to the rocks by the southerly wind.
Doug heading into Conspicuous Cleft
The water was warm, clear and offered
really good snorkeling. There were all manner of different sea
weeds and sponges growing and lots of different fish. Inshore,
however, where I had dropped my hatch cover, the water was foaming
from surge and I was getting sorely bounced about. I swam up and
down but the whole endeavour seemed hopeless. The water was fairly
deep and without swim fins it is was questionable whether I would
even be able to get to the bottom if I saw the hatch cover. Which
was also highly questionable as the surge could have moved it a long
distance and the reef was full of nooks, grannies, and tall sea-weeds
all of which well hid a hatch cover.
After a bit, I swam back to the kayak
and thankfully climbed in and tugged on all my kayak gear. Doug's
next suggestion was to land the kayaks in one of the sea clefts and
scramble along the rocks to peer into the water for the hatch cover.
This seemed as dubious of success as the last endeavour but still
worth a try. We pulled into the nearest narrow cleft, and tugged the
boats up the rocky shore. Easy enough at this tide height, but that
would change.
Doug went overland to the next cleft
south while I went along the rock cliffs. There was one deep slot
between me and the cleft where I dropped the day hatch where I had to
jump into the water, swim the slot, wait for the surge to retreat at
the other side, then scramble out. We met up above the location
where the hatch had been lost and this time Doug volunteered to jump
in and look.
I waited on the rocks above, just out
of the surge line, while Doug swam back and forth. Once, he even
swam down and I was modestly hopeful that he had found the cover,
but, it was just some interesting fish. Eventually, he also declared
defeat and swam back towards the rocks. I acted as lookout and when
the swell was lowest waved him in so he could scramble back on shore
without getting beaten up by the waves.
Back at the kayaks, the tide had
dropped considerably and launching the boats was now quite difficult.
A large rock had appeared in the middle of the surge channel and the
southerly blow had picked up enough wind waves to wash nastily over
this big boulder. We managed to man-handle Doug's boat over, and I
stood in the sloshing surge, struggling to keep my feet, while he got
in and quickly paddled out of the constricted channel. Left by
myself, I somehow managed to bump the boat over the obstacle -
plastic boats are good for something - and in a lull in the waves, I
vaulted in and paddled quickly out without fussing about putting on
my spraydeck.
Evening Light on Pinkatop
North of Providence Point,
Inner Rock lies about a kilometre off the northern tip of Broughton
Island. Another 1.5 km east is North Rock. Of course, we had to
paddle around both. Doug is convinced I suffer from FOMO, which is
not a fear of missing out on what other people are posting on (anti)
social media, but the conviction that something really interesting
lies over the next ridge line, in the next valley, atop the next
peak, or on the other side of the furthest island. FOMO has dragged
us many kilometres out of our way. Doug especially did not want to
go out to North Rock as it would mean paddling back into the 15 knot
southerly, but, such is the power of FOMO that we did. And yes, it
was worth it.
Providence Beach made a
grand spot for lunch and a thermos of tea, before we continued our
circumnavigation. On the way east to Fishermans Passage we found a
couple of big sea arches that went right through the rock. The tide
was just a wee bit too shallow to paddle right through but we paddled
around into the entrance on either side. There was also another
horizontal shower, more caves and clefts.
We passed by Fishermans
Passage and paddled along Little Broughton Island to the spot we had
arrived at the day before returning to paddle through the Fishermans
Passage. There is a small island in the middle of this narrow
passage and the water is shallow at low tide. There were more big
caves and sea arches to explore on the west side of Little Broughton
Island but with current and wind, it was getting a little bumpy.
On the south side of
Broughton Island we wove around a few more rock reefs protruding in
the falling tide and finally back into Esmeralda Cove. As we paddled
in, I looked for the track up to Pinkatop Head. It leaves from an
old National Parks sign just above the rocks a short scramble east
from Little Poverty Beach.
On the tent platform next
to us, a huge edifice, worthy of a United Nations refugee camp had
been set up by three fishermen. They had a massive tarpaulin
stretched across the half acre platform, three tents, stoves, lights, refrigeration units, and 18 fishing rods. Our small backpacking
tent looked insignificant beside the ghetto city.
A relaxing afternoon cup
of tea was quite difficult as we listened to some kind of nasty
1980's bad rock, and listened to "fuck this, fuck that, fuck the
other." Similarly disturbing was breathing second hand
cigarette smoke. Had we been smart, we would have moved right then
to another platform down the other end of the beach but we did not
know whether any of those were booked.
I put ear plugs in and
wished I had a gas mask as well.
Before dinner, we
scrambled along the north shore of Esmeralda Cove and found the rough
track that goes up to Pinkatop Head. We arrived just as the light
was casting a wonderful glow over the landscape.
Sunset at Broughton Island
There is mobile service
from Pinkatop Head so we checked the weather forecast which was good
for one more day and then decidedly nasty with a strong southerly
flow bringing gale force winds and heavy rain. We managed enough
mobile reception to book a spot on the daily bus from Tea Gardens to
Bungwahl to retrieve the car.
Back at camp, things were
still a "fucking mess," but, for some reason we persevered with our camp for another hour until we finally had enough. We
picked up our tent and carried it off our platform, along the beach,
and set it up on a grassed site. Instant relief from glaring lights,
bad music, foul mouths and polluted air. Why didn't we do it sooner?
Broughton Island to Hawks
Nest:
There are few places I
would rather be than out on the ocean at sunrise in a kayak. It's
not that often that we are on the water that early, but, every time
we are there is that magical moment when the sun tips over the water
and the ocean is painted crimson.
It's about 17 km into land
at Hawks Nest and we were counting on the low swell making landing
easy. We were away too early for the wind so had to paddle all the
way in, and, once we'd picked out the large white building of the
surf club, we aimed for that. There was a small shore dump, but
nothing too bad and we landed easily, carrying the boats and gear up
to some picnic tables near the surf club.
On the track to Pinkatop Head
Doug had a big breakfast
as he had elected to do the bus shuttle which might involve a tedious
11 km walk along the road from Bungwahl to Seal Rocks. After he left
to get the bus, I made my own breakfast, washed all the gear and the
boats, hung everything out to dry, and, was just settling in to a
MOBing session when Doug arrived back, having got a lift from
Bungwahl out to Seal Rocks. And, just like that, another kayak trip
was over.
You can view the video here.
