In Search of Montague Island

A friendly seal popped his head up right near my kayak as we paddled out of Wagonga Inlet and an unfriendly Maritime boat almost ran over Doug near the bar entrance, but soon after these two events we were heading southeast with light winds and low swell. The lighthouse on Montague Island was just visible 10 km distant and floating eerily in a misty sea fog. But, it was a case of now you see it now you don't as, within minutes, the sea fog had rolled right across the horizon and sky and sea met in a blank sheet of grey.

Friendly seal near Narooma bar

We paddled on for another 15 minutes, scanning the horizon constantly for a glimpse of the island or the lighthouse, but ocean and sky seemed merged in to one quietly heaving liquid form. Of course, I had forgotten the compass, again. Doug suggested we paddle for an hour and then check where we were with the map on our mobile telephone, and this seemed like a reasonable suggestion, so we groped along for an hour in the deepening fog. Soon, the fog rolled right over us and settled on our skin like a clammy blanket. I kept mistaking rolling ocean swells for land and the denser the fog became the louder the waves sounded crashing on the rocks to our right.

In search of Montague Island

After about an hour, we checked the map on the 'phone and found that we had travelled much further south than east, and were only about a kilometre off-shore. We needed to travel due east, a direction we could only roughly pin-point. Doug thought we should simply paddle down to Mystery Bay and skip Montague Island but I, ever the optimist, thought the fog looked to be clearing so we decided to paddle straight into the wind – which now appeared to be easterly, not northerly as reported - for another 15 minutes.

Arriving at Montague Island

Within 10 minutes, a ghostly stretch of coastline appeared, enough to convince of us we could find the island, and within 20 minutes, we were in bright sunshine again. It took another hour to reach the island, paddling all the way into a light headwind. We reached the island a little south of the lighthouse and were immediately greeting by the caw and cry of wheeling sea birds, and the splashing of small seals. The water was wonderfully clear and a few seals were very curious and followed along behind our boats for half a kilometre, jumping and splashing over and under our boats.

Meet and greet the local inhabitants

The north end of the island has big granite slabs that slope down into the sea and this is where most seals congregate. The bulls are obvious, big and usually barking, they are surrounded by a harem of females. When the screams of gulls and shearwaters mingle with the bark of seals, the result is a wonderfully loud and discordant cacophony.

Swimming under our boats

We paddled along the northern shore and down the east side of the island where you never see any other boats. Even in a low swell, the east side of the island is bumpy with random haystacks as a steady current always seems to be running past.

At the south end of the island, we unfurled our sails and sat back for a fast ride to Mystery Bay in the predicted 20 knot northerly. Initially, we were sailing along briskly, but, just as quickly the wind gradually decreased and then died altogether. By the time we reached Mystery Bay, there must have been all of 1 knot of wind. It was, however, another wonderful day messing about on the ocean in a small boat.   

The Parable of the Bombora or Ulladulla to Mosquito Bay by Sea Kayak

Day 1: Ulladulla to Bawley

Nine sea kayaks are lined up along the small beach inside Ulladulla Harbour. The briefing is short, but complete, spoken in plain English, not in perplexing parables. About half of us know this section of the coast relatively well: where there are sheltered landings and campsites, where reefs and bomboras pick up the swell. There are one or two bruisers in the pod, but most of us are cruisers and this is definitely a cruiser trip.

Legitimate Bruiser

There is some talk of the long period swell and allusions to bomboras and reefs, but the general plan is to paddle out around Warden Head and turn south with a lunch stop at Crampton Island. Paddling around Warden Head, the sea is as calm as I have seen it, except for the occasional big roller rumbling through. Usually Warden Head is a mess of clapotis and rebound, but today it is pretty smooth. There is just enough wind to sail and the paddle south to Crampton Island is uneventful, apart from a seal at Warden Head.

Surprisingly calm Warden Head

It is easy to land on the north side of Crampton Island for lunch something even the bruisers on the trip can appreciate. Often, we land on the north side of Crampton Island and paddle out on the south side, but today the rip that usually provides easy passage is very narrow, and occasionally breaking big, so we head out to the north again before turning south.

Crampton Island

Near Bawley Point, John scopes a reasonable landing just north of a rocky headland and he paddles in to confirm the landing is reasonable. However, we have neglected to discuss a signal before hand so John, after waiting a while for people to land, paddles back out again to tell us the landing is fine. It's a big group and a reasonably narrow easy landing zone so it takes some time for everyone to get ashore. I am getting better at waiting out the back for my turn to land instead of crashing through decapitating other paddlers as I blunder blindly towards the beach.

The crew near Bawley

We carry our kayaks across the sand to a small lake and paddle upstream to a delightful campsite shaded by she oaks. In the afternoon, the group disperses, some paddle the lake, others practice eskimo rolling and I, of course, walk. I find a good forest track that takes me out to an exposed headland and north to another quiet lake.

Hauling kayaks

That evening, as we sit around cooking and eating, John relates the “parable of the bommie:” The story of a young kayaker trashed by a surprise wave near Green Island on the south coast. We all sit around in hushed silence like kindergarten kids at story time. How many of us think “that could be me?”

The pod waiting for a signal from John

Day 2: Bawley to Murramurang

It is a morning when a competent kayaker should be able to get off the beach without getting their hair wet, yet, when I go to launch, my boat gets pushed sideways, and the rip current starts sucking me towards a rock reef. I have to power out without regard to the oncoming waves and take one full in the chest.

Another bruiser on a cruiser trip

We paddle south with a good tail wind even this early in the morning passing Bawley Point and down to Brush Island where we paddle between the island and the mainland. All the times I've paddled this coast and we always go inside Brush Island. I need to go back and paddle around the eastern side.

As we approach Kioloa, Belowla Island resolves itself into an island distinct from the mainland. Mindful of the parable of the bommie, I give a wide berth to the sloping rock platforms of Snapper Point and O'Hara Head. Sometimes these platforms break further out than expected. Just past Dawsons Islands, John paddles into Snake Bay which frequently offers a surprisingly sheltered landing site, although the beach is very small. We have a short break here with Durras Mountain looming above.

Snake Bay

This is my favourite section of the coast. Mostly national park with only a couple of small settlements; it is a green coastline, small rocky bays and tiny sandy beaches overhung by gorgeous spotted gums. There are half a dozen little islands, hidden beaches, and sheltered landing spots if you know where to look. There is an influx of tourists over the summer months, but for most of the year, and especially in winter, it is gloriously empty.

Leaving Snake Bay

From Snake Bay we paddle south in a brisk northerly wind. Point Upright is impressive as always and we are ripping along surfing down wind waves with puffed out sails. Durras North almost always has a sheltered landing and we are stopping here for lunch. As usual, there is a little traffic jam as 9 kayaks surf into the beach and I somehow get caught on a curling wave behind Karen.

Point Upright

Amazingly, we are both caught by the same wave, but at different times. Karen capsizes but rolls smoothly back up, while I teeter on the brink of a capsize, caught off-balance watching Karen. I almost manage to brace back up but make the rooky mistake of keeping my head up, instead of down, and, after a long moment caught in limbo, I too am upside down. My roll, unlike Karen's is not consistent and I have to exit the boat and swim in.

Not sure how I managed to swim here

The wind has risen while we are having lunch and the afternoon's paddle is just about perfect. The wind and swell combined make the paddling engaging but not too terrifying and I feel like I am riding on the perfect cusp of adventure where the challenge is just great enough that you aren't completely confident that you can succeed. This is the place where the magic happens.

Having fun

All the beaches in the Murramarang National Park have a south facing component and most have steep beaches with dumping swells that can make landing a kayak challenging. As usual John goes in first to check out the landing conditions. I am impressed, as always, by John's extensive sea kayaking knowledge. He comes back from the first beach saying “We will have swimmers,” but successfully lands on the second beach and holds up a paddle to guide the rest of us in.

Beach master John

Determined to redeem myself, I follow John's instructions assiduously, paddling hard after a big waves passes and getting over the first break easily, and then side-surfing the second wave into the beach. There are two swimmers, and one errant paddle, which Tony rescues and styles the landing while paddling with two blades in his hands.

Tony bringing back a lost paddle

We have a perfect campsite on level grass under steep cliffs. I walk up in the gorgeous gum forest behind the beach under towering silver barked spotted gums through ferns and burrawang palms with lizards scurrying off into the undergrowth and kangaroos bounding away. The wind slowly subsides and the beach slivers golden as sun sets.

Evening Light

Day 3: Murramarang, Tollgate Islands, Mosquito Bay

There is a big roll of clouds spiraling along the coast when we launch but within an hour or two, the cloud is gone and sun is back. We paddle south with no wind this morning, past headlands and small beaches. Near North Head, my timing while weaving through a rocky reef is just slightly off and I have to paddle hard not to get hit by a breaking wave. When I pull out the other side, John is shaking his head: “That closed out completely behind you” he says, obviously wondering if I have already forgotten the parable of the bombora.

Morning on the water

A couple of people paddle through the wave washed slot near Three Islet Point but I pass by this time thinking that I have used up one of my escapes from bommies already. We have a leisurely break on Judge's Beach looking out to the Tollgate Islands and then with a light snifter of wind, paddle south out to the twin Tollgate Islands.

Everyone loves the Tollgate Islands

We point out the Blue Cave to the non-locals and I am surprised that even John is not going in today but the swell is a bit northerly and the dark, narrow defile looks as evil as it ever does. We wander around the islands, watched by a curious seal, paddling into small bays and passages and finish up on the south side of the island near a big sea arch.

The infamous Blue Cave

John, Steve and Jenny take turns backing gingerly in under the arch, and then Tony backs far into the back just as a bigger set comes through. He side surfs and slips about in the wash and breaking waves, but makes it out without any damage to body or boat.

Steve preparing to enter the arch

From the Tollgate Islands, we sail down to Black Rock some of us passing to the east, some to the west. I am happy to be out on the water with my tribe away from the slow-drip stress of looking for a house, and paddle around the east side wondering how long I can spin out this wonderful trip away from connectivity, away from the world. But, paddling around the south end of Black Rock, I see kayaks with sails flying heading in towards Mosquito Bay and I know that another trip is over.   

More Coastal Kayaks: Point Upright, Tollgate Islands, Tuross Bar

2,617 times. No, it's not the daily (or even cumulative total) of Trump's alternative facts that has been tweeted out. It is the average number of times that a mobile telephone user touches their 'phone. These 2,617 encounters result in an average of 145 minutes spent on mobile telephones per day. And, the phenomenon is not limited to Millennials, Centennials, or Gen-X'ers. I have watched a frightening number of my cohort become addicted to allure of the mobile telephone instantly reaching to swipe when the notification tone sounds.

Paddling around the Tollgate Islands, always fun

I am not a fan of the insidious spread of the “connected” life. Half the time, I don't know where our one mobile telephone, which Doug and I share (inexplicable as that is to most people) is, and I certainly don't interact with our telephone anywhere near 2,000 times per day. But, since we began looking for a home to buy, both Doug and I have found ourselves more than ever connected to this diabolical device. In fact, on only one day per week, do we allow ourselves to be out of touch of the invidious reach of our mobile telephone. That day is Sunday where nothing much happens in the world of real estate.

Tollgate Island spire

Sunday has thus become paddle day, and, to minimize driving (which I also deplore) we try to launch from the closest location to where ever we are squatting when Sunday comes around.

Heading south towards Point Upright

Almost exactly mid-October we met Mike and Mark at Cookies Beach (South Durras) and paddled north past Point Upright to Pebbly Beach where we landed, had lunch, and listened to greatly conflicting stories of Mike and Mark's recent North Queensland sea kayak trip. Even though the swell was not very big, the waves were crashing onto the rock platform at the base of Point Upright (a must do walk).

Point Upright

A week later, Doug and I launched from Maloneys Beach and paddled out to the Tollgate Islands, arguably the best day paddle easily accessible from the Batemans Bay area. It happened to be Doug's birthday, but, as usual, we forwent present and cake for a day out. Looking back at our trip database (doesn't everyone have one?) it seems that most of Doug's birthdays have been spent rock-climbing, usually in the USA, but one year in Mexico, and a few years were spent scrambling up peaks in Canada.

After our usual lap around the Tollgate Islands, poking into a few little bays, we were paddling north to have lunch at North Head Beach when a mother and calve humpback whale started breaching and tail slapping nearby. We quickly paddled over and one whale breached about 5 metres in front of my boat, close enough that the ripple waves as the whale hit the water rocked my boat. Doug declared it a grand birthday.

And that brings me to yesterday, paddling out of the Tuross River, over the infamous Tuross Bar, and north to Mullimburra Point. Before leaving, we tried to ignore both the Batemans Bay wave data - which had combined sea and swell height at well over 1.5 metres - and the rather confronting mass of breaking waves marching in over the bar. Pete, who has intimate knowledge of Tuross Bar, had picked a diagonal line that would take us out through the increasingly narrow channel, hopefully avoiding the largest of the breakers.

Much smaller swell in the afternoon

At Caravan Park beach, it was chilly, grey and surprisingly cold for November, and, just thinking about a dunking in the channel made me shiver. Peter promised such an easy passage we would not even get our hair wet. Indeed, the passage Pete led us through was cunning and relatively easy, although not without the mandatory five minutes of terror which any passage through Tuross Bar (unless the swell is very low) seems to evoke. I am sure, however, my entire boat was airborne over a couple of waves. Doug took a larger breaker in the chest and ended up surfing backwards, which, had his rudder not chosen that moment to jam full port, would not have been too bad, except he was rapidly getting turned broadside. But, somehow, we were magically outside the bar on the open ocean, a bit damp, but otherwise undamaged. Pete managed to wriggle Doug's rudder free, and we paddled north with a light southeasterly wind behind us.

Pete and Doug near Bingie Bingie Point

Pete was off on a big training day, so he left Doug and I at the little beach north of Mullimburra Point and continued north, eventually reaching Burrewarra Point before heading back (a solid 60 km day). Doug and I had lunch and a thermos of hot tea, and then walked the Dreaming Track south to Tuross Heads. I've done this walk numerous times but I always wander off the inland option at some point (at low tide you can walk the entire distance on the beach). Sunday was no different and we ended up walking through open banksia forest and small grassy dales before we found the track again.

We were back at Tuross in time for a late afternoon tea, Pete arrived in time for dinner.