The Sunday Paddles: Blown Off The Water

Today was a first. The first time in almost a year of Sunday paddles when we have landed and ended the paddle early. There was a gale warning. Nothing new there, Sunday seems to be guaranteed to be the one day a week when the Bureau of Meterology (BOM) will forecast a gale. In case you didn't know, the BOM issues a gale warning when winds are forecast between 34 and 47 knots. For those that don't think in knots, multiply by about 1.8 or think about wind speeds between 63 and 87 km/hour. That is a pretty strong wind.

However, in our defence, gale force winds were not expected until mid afternoon when a strong southerly would blow in. Before that we had hot, dry, unpleasant and very strong northwesterly winds blowing. The NW winds were only forecast to be around 15 knots, nothing we could not deal with, so, our plan was to paddle south for an hour or two, turn around and come back, arriving back at our home beach before the southerly winds became too strong.

We met Mike at our local beach where, even at 8.30 am, many people were already swimming, it was that hot. And, there was a cracking NW wind blowing. A stream of white-caps was blowing past the entrance to the bay. The day before, while I rolled over and over and over in the bay, Doug had paddled south for a few kilometres in similar conditions, albeit with somewhat lighter winds, and he had reported some difficulty paddling back as the wind was strong enough to snatch at the paddle blade.

Today the winds were even stronger so I suggested we paddle northwest into Batemans Bay so we could assess how comfortable we felt in the wind before heading south. It was entirely possible that if we paddled south we would not get back until the wind had changed direction and I was not prepared for that long a day out.

So we paddled around the northerly headland and across the next bay. The wind was not too bad as we were still getting some shelter, but, at the next headland, there was a froth of white caps streaming past. I would have kept going, it would be difficult to make progress, but it was safe paddling as we were close to beaches at which we could easily land, but Mike did not want to paddle into that kind of wind, which, given it was blowing at over 20 knots, is fair enough.

We turned around and started paddling back. I was staying close into shore where there was some shelter from the wind, but Mike and Doug were further out. All of a sudden, I felt a strong push against my back as if from giant's hand and my paddle was almost torn from my hands. Looking out to Mike and Doug, I could see great plumes of spray blowing up and a wind dervish appeared to be chasing Mike along. Later, Mike said he just braced as the gust blew past as he could do nothing else.

By the time we had regrouped before the next headland, the wind was a solid 30 knots with much stronger gusts. I was worried about us being blown off-shore as we went round the next headland and, had anyone had any trouble, such as a capsize, in that wind there would be little any of us could do to help.

This is the classic low probability/high consequence situation. In all likelihood, we would all paddle around the headland to the next beach and be back where we started within half an hour. All I could think, however, was that this short paddle in an area where I have paddled dozens and dozens of times before is no hill to die on or be injured on, or lose a boat.

It was a simple matter to surf into land on the beach, walk five minutes along the street, pick up Mike's car and our kayak trolleys and save all of us any potential grief.

That Chattering Mind: Explorations In The Burra Wilderness

West of Moruya there is a range of rocky ridges that catch the eye from many directions. Although only 600 metres high, their character causes them to stand out from the circumferent forested ridges so visible are they from the surrounding coastal plains. These rocky ridges are the Donovan fault line, a 15 kilometre stretch of steep, rocky ridges of volcanic origin carved through by deep creeks into steep sided gorges.

On a topographic map the area presents as an unroaded stretch of green - rare in the very tamed landscape that is southern NSW - bisected only by the winding blue lines of creeks and rivers and offering tantalising images of steep sided peaks described by the close and tortuous contour intervals.

For anyone whose passion is adventure in wild places, this wilderness compels exploration and this exploration must necessarily be done on foot; and so we found ourselves trudging up a fire trail carrying overnight backpacks on a reconnaissance trip into the area. I don't usually do "reconnaissance trips" preferring to prepare well and simply "do" the trip, but I had no idea what to expect of access roads, vegetation and ease or difficulty of travel, so this initial trip would answer some of those questions while also travelling through some scenic and rugged terrain.

Within an hour of leaving my mind began the gnawing process of undermining forward progress: the pack felt heavy, the sun was hot, I was moving so slowly, the road was steep and my feet were sliding out from under me, and on and on it went. The same thoughts that have assuaged me for the three decades that I have been adventuring in wild places. I thought it a wonder I managed to get anything done so strong is the initial desire to desist. Strangely, as we walked along the fire road back to the car on our second day out, hour nine on the go quickly approaching hour ten, my mind was blank, completely blank, and I wondered if the reason for these gruelling tests of endurance is, at its most basic level, a simple desire to still the interminable chatter of the mind.

After some hours, we rested atop a ridge above a 300 metre descent to Burra Creek. We had caught glimpses of one of the rocky peaks and among more rounded ridge lines, it's outlines were appealing. Walking down to the creek was easy, near the bottom we dropped into a side creek to avoid a short cliff line and found ourselves beside the clear running Burra Creek where it carves through the Donovan fault.

We had only four kilometres until we planned to camp but it was a slow four kilometres. Vegetation along the banks of the creek was so dense as to be almost impenetrable and recent floods had pushed over many trees all of which faced towards us and had to be clambered over, under or through. There were, however, occasional patches of easy travel as we walked over rock slabs or along short distances of river gravel. These were few, however, as the creek was running high after a wet winter and spring. I lost track of how many times we took our shoes off to wade across the creek and then stopped again to put them back on. For a while we walked in the creek in plastic sandals but the water was deep and fast moving and this was not much easier.

Nearing our planned camp location, Doug managed to hop on slippery river stones across the penultimate crossing but it was a step too far for my short legs. He offered to take my hand and help me across and I got my leading foot across before teetering with a loss of momentum and slipping off into waist deep water thus obviating the many times I had taken my shoes off to keep them dry.

Soon after, we found a camp-site on the river bank, swam in warm clear water to wash the sweat and grime of the day off and settled down to a well earned cup of tea.

We had a little drizzle overnight. Just enough to wet the tent and the bush, and the morning brought low fog hanging over the river that would later burn off. Our goal was to cross a low saddle between the Burra and Coondella Creek drainages and we set off hopefully at 7 am.

Above camp, the vegetation was extremely dense, thick trailing vines, cobblers peg, large leaved thick stalked cabbage type plants that reached over our heads; in short all kinds of noxious invasive weeds. Simply walking through the herbage was a struggle as the vines wrapped around our legs and waist, there were boulders and holes to stumble on, and fallen logs hidden under a mat of greenery. We clambered over trees, crawled under trees, stumbled over boulders, and dragged long mats of vines around our waists as we walked. It was hellish and slow.

It took us about two hours to reach the saddle that was a mere kilometre from camp. Suddenly, the alluring green space on the map with no roads was not quite so appealing. We had many kilometres to travel and doubts about getting out in one day began to surface. My chattering mind awoke again.

I had spent some time the night before carefully studying the map and plotting a route that avoided very steep climbs but now we knew that steep slopes would be the only ones we could travel with some kind of expediency so we quickly reworked our route.

We managed to descend the kilometre to Coondella Creek much more quickly by walking in the creek itself. This also presented challenges where a single fallen tree could hold us up for several minutes as we climbed through its branches, but, travel was definitely easier and we arrived at Coondella Creek in under an hour.

It was a pleasure to wade across Coondella Creek and cool our legs and feet before walking up a steep ridge to a high point overlooking Diamond Creek. On steep slopes, there were only large eucalpyts and very little undergrowth and travel was simple. Below us we caught glimpses into rocky and precipitous Diamond Creek and several waterfalls could be seen through the trees.

After a few kilometres, we dropped down a spur ridge to Diamond Creek arriving right near a lovely deep and cool swimming hole and a delightful waterfall. Unlike Burra Creek, the water was cold and refreshing. We swam, ate and filled our water bottles for the long walk up and over Coondella Trig.

And then we walked. A long 400 metre climb was followed by a gradual descent of many kilometres down a dusty dry fire road. In other conditions, the walk over Coondella Trig would have been pleasant as the forest was open eucalpytus and to either side of us the ridge dropped steeply away into a blue haze of gum forest covered ridges with higher mountains to our west and the blue ocean to the east. But we had been travelling about 7 hours before the start of the ascent and had three hours of road walking to do.

There is a zen like state one enters when you have been walking for hours and there are many kilometres to go. There is a determination to finish the trip, to keep walking, simply putting one foot in front of the other. The mind, normally so insistent and persistent just quietly slips into somnolence and there is nothing but each foot fall, the sound of cicadas screeching in the bush, the occasional rustle of light wind in the trees. It is as near as I will ever come to the sublime, a kind of walking meditation only reached once a certain level of effort or time has been breached.

I have done this walk so many times before on long climbing trips and ski traverses. And each moment captures such an evocative memory: cresting the final ridge above camp at 10 pm as darkness steals silently across the valley, or making camp on a high mountain ridge after a long day skiing over mountains and across glaciers to finally dig a tiny tent platform into a ridge at 3,000 metres as dusk obscures the precipitousness of camp.

Or, in this instance, simply walking slowly, yet purposefully, down ridges, to cross small creeks and finally return to that other life, the one lived in the shadows of the wilderness, where one is not quite alive, just merely subsisting until it is time again to be lost in order to be found.

Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen; depart, be lost but climb. Edna St Vincent Millay.

How Dogs Climb Ladders

When we first got our dog, Kumo, we taught him all kinds of things, including how to climb a ladder. Most people think a dog will never need to climb a ladder, but our dog was a climbing and skiing dog and, as such, he sometimes climbed ladders. Kumo was never very good at climbing ladders, but he could climb a ladder. The thing about teaching dogs to climb ladders is that they focus only on their front paws and leave their back legs to get dragged up behind them.

I took my nephew climbing on Saturday and he climbed a bit like Kumo when we first taught him to climb ladders. It was all upper body with the feet dragging behind. It is not that my nephew was particularly bad, in fact, he did quite well for someone who has only climbed a couple of times at an indoor gym and never outside. All new climbers spend all their time looking at their hands and worrying about what they are going to grab while all experienced climbers spend most of their time focusing on their feet. As a mountain guide once said to me "climb with the feet and the hands will follow.

Rock climbing, of course, is a skill sport and as such is not necessarily that much fun when your skills are very poor. Like most things in life, you need to find a way to enjoy the process of skill acquisition, which is a fancy way of saying, you better get used to failing. In a world where we increasingly value comfort over all else, the idea of struggling and even failing is an anathema to many and seen as mostly something to avoid.

I am a life long enthusiastic failure and have managed to not succeed at a plethora of different sports. I don't ski very well, nor am I a talented climber, I am a mediocre sea kayaker, and just plain not good at whitewater kayaking. I can manage to pilot my mountain bike around green trails but often fall or wimp out on blue trails, and I run, really quite slowly, but still manage to cover a reasonable distance. But none of that matters because trying and failing is the one of the most important and rewarding things you can do in life. And, after you have failed a hundred times, one day you magically succeed.

If you want to listen to a really good long form podcast about the importance of being wrong, which is really just a different type of failure, go here.

The Sunday Paddles: Crossing The Durras Lake Bar

After a wet spring, the Durras Lake bar opened up. This, of course, raised all sorts of ideas for new paddle trips; the one I was most keen on, required launching at the far NW end of Durras Lake, paddling the length of the lake (about six kilometres) and then paddling out through the bar and heading south to our local beach.

Accordingly, I went out one day to see if it was possible to launch sea kayaks into Cumbralaway Creek where it crosses under the Mount Agony Road. Although the topographic map marks this point as the tidal limit on Cumbralaway Creek, it must be a very big tide indeed, as the creek was a small, vegetation choked ditch, and clearly not navigable by sea kayaks.

Similarly, I looked at launching from Durras Drive into one of the southern arms of the lake. This was possible, but only at a very high tide, and there was virtually no parking. Thus the only reliable place to launch turned out to be down near the mouth of the lake; in which case paddling around the lake before exiting out to the ocean started to seem contrived.

The idea went onto the back burner for some weeks and I did not think of it again until Doug organised the Sunday paddle when I was otherwise engaged and planned to cross Durras bar in two directions (out and in).

The standard summer northeasterly was forecast so we got away from our home beach before 9 am and rapidly crossed the glassy waters of the Bay to North Head. From North Head to Durras Lake beach we had a light headwind which only really started picking up to around 10 knots as we paddled from Wasp Island to the mouth of Durras Lake.

After my swim of shame a couple of weeks ago, I was well prepared for this surf entry with a helmet and by stowing away my paddle leash. There is a small rock reef right in front of the Lake opening and this reduced the magnitude of the swell and it was actually a very easy paddle - except for a strong outgoing current - into Durras Lake.

It would have been nice to have both the time and the energy to paddle around Durras Lake but with the tide rapidly falling, it was looking like the bar might completely dry up. We had a good lunch break and stretch out of the kayaks, and then rode the current easily back out to sea and into a 12 knot northeasterly wind.

Even using my sail, I got slower and slower as we headed south as I got more and more tired. The last couple of kilometres into our home bay felt like a slow grind, even with a tail wind. Turns out sitting on your arse driving a car all over the place is not good training for anything.

The Sunday Paddles: Cruising The Bay

We had a NSW Sea Kayak Club weekend on the south coast this past weekend. On Saturday, due to a strong wind warning, we had to move the paddle from the Bay up to Nelligen where we also had a post paddle BBQ. On Sunday, however, we had mostly light winds albeit with a good size swell.

Twelve paddlers turned up to Corrigans Beach and headed out to the Tollgate Islands. At the Tollgates, we split into two groups with one group paddling around the exposed east side, while the other group pottered around the arches and rock formations on the east side.

Then it was south to Black Rock and west to find a little beach for lunch. Finally, a lazy paddle back via the beaches where some of us managed to catch a few waves.

The Swim Of Shame

It was supposed to be a big northerly blow and, after all the thrashings we have had paddling with Splashalot, who says we go too slow, we opted for a downwind run instead of another thrash into the wind followed by a downwind run. Because the thrash component was taken out of the adventure, Mike agreed to come, so we were four.

It was an uneventful but very pleasant paddle south from our home bay to Guerilla Bay where we stopped for lunch. I think the little beach that is tucked into a sheltered corner behind a rocky anvil shaped reef must have hit social media lately as you see more and more cars come down to the parking area, pause, then turn around and go right back out again. Check mark, Guerilla Bay done.

Up to this point, the forecast northerly wind had been a bit of a bust and Mike had not even bothered to hoist his sail. We had an interesting paddle out of Guerilla Bay as the swell had picked up and the reefs and bommies were breaking. Around Burrewarra Point, the wind finally puffed itself up and the race was on.

Mike put his sail up, while Doug, Nick and I began the sprint to catch runners. Nick, of course, was the undisputed winner, beating Mike who had his big sail up. I have no hard data, but I think I was faster than previous times and I caught lots of runners. I was fatiguing from the sprint towards the end, however.

At Mossy Point, Mike sensibly paddled in while the rest of us started surfing. I told myself I would catch three waves and then quit. First wave, check, lovely long ride, peel off before I hit the beach, all good. Wave two, I careered down too steep, and, as always happens on steep waves, immediately broached. No worries, lean into the wave and side surf in until it releases me and I can paddle back out for my third and final wave. Except, my stern got swung around and before I had time to react, I had dropped off the back of the wave and I was leaning the Pace way over on its side into green water, and thus had no support and over I went.

As usual, I thought about trying to roll and then immediately panicked as my reptilian brain screamed "you're going to die," except this time, I had my paddle leash wrapped around my body and I actually thought "I'm going to die." I ripped off my deck and swam to the surface but I was wrapped tight to the boat in a big set of waves with the leash around my body a couple of times.

Luckily, my paddle leash has a big red ball for an attachment and all I had to do to release the leash from the paddle was pull the red ball. The paddle got picked up by a wave and took off, but I was still wrapped to the boat by leash so that took a bit more sorting out before I could feel comfortable that I was not going to have my head beaten in by the kayak.

Finally, free of boat and paddle, I could begin the swim of shame, which was moderately long as the tide was going out.

Currowan Creek

On Tuesday, after a fair bit of rain the week before, we went off to explore Currowan Creek where it runs through Currowan State Forest. Apparently, there are some high falls on Currowan Creek further north in Budawang National Park, but these are very infrequently visited.

Currowan Creek rises high up under Mount Budawang and runs south then east to eventually join the Clyde River upstream of Nelligen. Most of the time, it is a small stream and easy followed along the bank.

After a very wet spring, the creek was running high with many, many deep pools and swift currents. We were unable to follow along the bank as the water level was just too high so ended up side-hilling along steep banks through verdant, spiky, and altogether too tall and too thick greenery that has grown up after the bushfires.

Travel was slow, and fording the creek at one point required us stripping off to the waist. On the way back we were fortunate to find a tremendous natural log bridge to cross back over the creek.

The Sunday Paddles: More Surfing

Another Sunday with a wild forecast: a strong wind warning with southerly winds at 20 to 25 knots and rain. Clearly this would be a Sunday when only the formidable or foolish came out. Most local rivers were near or at minor flood stage and so silty brown water was everywhere.

I had been out on a training mission a couple of days before and had found good rideable surf on the north side of the Bay and we should get lighter winds in the Bay than further east so that seemed like a reasonable destination. I think Nick was a bit dubious but this turned out to be a good choice.

To save driving over the bridge, we launched from one of our local beaches on the south side of the Bay and got quickly blown over to the north side. I was feeling twitchy and unstable so I tried a couple of rolls to get more comfortable with the concept of capsizing. After shakily righting myself, I blew two rolls in quick succession and had to bail out, empty the boat by hand - my battery had packed it in that morning - and re-enter the boat. Another couple of rolls and I was feeling better.

It turns out we had good surf near Pinnacle Point and were able to catch some really long friendly rides. I prefer this location if it is running to out in the middle of the bar as capsizing and blowing your roll there can lead to a harrowing and desperate non-rescue as it is hard for anyone to assist you. One of my kayaking friends had a really nasty experience in the bar as she got recirculated in surf and current for a long, long time with no possibility of anyone effecting a rescue.

Gradually, as the tide dropped, the wave energy got leached out by sand bars further out and our waves got smaller and smaller. It was time to head back to warm dry clothes and hot coffee. We caught a couple more good rides crossing to the south side of the Bay and then a solid but mercifully short paddle into a 20 knot headwind and we were back. Another Sunday paddle wrapped up.

You can view a short video here.