2022: The Year That Crazy Broke

Intermittently, at this time of the year, I’ve written a “year in review” post. In 2014, it was the seven best trips of the year, which I repeated with less literary skill at the end of 2017. 2020, which was the year lock-down madness peaked, I wrote about local adventures. I could call 2022 the year that crazy broke, as the world went from full scale draconian lock-downs with police enforcement to learning to live with the ‘Rona, which, of course, should have been the goal from the very beginning given an infection fatality rate of well under a single percent before the availability of any “vaccines.”

PC: DB

First, the best trips of 2022 were, in no particular order:

• Crossing eastern Bass Strait by sea kayak.
• A 500 kilometre sea kayak trip 80 kilometres off the coast of North Queensland.
• Bushwalking trips in the Namadgi Wilderness, particularly Mount Gudgenby and Sentry Box Mountain and Mounts Kelly and Burbridge.

A couple of shorter, easier trips make the list simply because they were local and memorable because normal was a little bit mixed up and I believe strongly in adventuring locally:

• Rock platforms at sunrise.
• Islands at sunset on the winter solstice.

More important, however, than the ramblings of someone far too old still trying to perform at activities for the much younger are the lessons learnt in 2022:

• Challenge yourself to think differently.
• Understand that “experts” are frequently biased, corrupt, incompetent or all of the aforementioned.
• Keep working at the seemingly impossible, eventually you might just succeed.
• Celebrate every day that you can still do what you love by doing what you love, even if you only manage a few minutes or hours a day.
• Don’t waste time, that most irreplaceable of resources, trying to argue, convince, influence or change anyone else. Use your influence on yourself.

And, what do you know, that adds to five, which is a big enough number to be meaningful but small enough for us to wrap our heads around.  Get out there into 2023 and don’t let the anyone convince you that barricading playgrounds and perpetuating a culture of fear has anything to do with public health.

Finding Peace: Dark Beaches and Wild Camping

A friend of mine, a giant of a man who has punched salt water crocodiles and towed sea kayaks snapped in half by “boomers” (towering long period ocean swells) across the southern ocean recently auditioned for something called “Adventurous Australians.” Adventurous Australians are, apparently those who, and I quote: “have stories to share that are related to… Flying (lessons, scenic flights, sky diving, hot air ballooning; Driving (car racing, motorbikes, luxury cars); Dining (fine dining and wine tasting); Ocean (sailing cruises, swimming with dolphins).

Crossing Bass Strait in a sea kayak, paddling to Thursday Island, these things are not adventurous really when compared to fine dining and driving a luxury car! In his audition, Dave, who did not make the cut - damper cooked in an open fire in the middle of a six week sea kayak sojourn obviously does not qualify as “fine dining” - described sea kayaking as “audacious… out there in tiny boats … on a sometimes angry ocean.”

Funnily enough, even on days such as the two we just had, where the ocean is almost glassy calm, disturbed only by a long period, slow rolling ocean swell, sea kayaking can feel at once audacious and incredibly calming.

On Christmas Day, we loaded our kayaks with food, water and camping gear for a short overnight trip and trolleyed them down to our local beach. We paddled north, past sandy coves, rocky headlands and islands inhabited only by sea birds. Dolphins paced us and shear-waters floated in flocks on water indistinguishable from the sky. Landing on a steep beach under large cliffs, we tucked our kayaks away and spent the afternoon and evening walking through the forest or simply sitting mugs of tea in hand watching the ocean swells roll in and out.

In the morning, with sea fog shrouding the beaches, we pushed off again, in our tiny boats, on an ocean sometimes angry, sometimes calm but always offering a place where we can at once feel both small and connected to something larger than ourselves.

Photo credits:  DB

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

On Thursday we paddled over to Cullendulla on what felt like the first day of summer, warm, sunny, light winds, and practised some rolls. I ended up the last summer season with a pretty solid roll on both sides, but I started this season stiff and clunky, hanging upside down thinking “what is it I do now?” About a week ago, I’d blown my first roll, blown my re-entry and roll, and finally, after about three tries, I managed to re-enter and get up using that old stand-by the Pawlatta roll. I felt half-drowned but was, of course, fine.

Yesterday was better, a dozen or more rolls on my good side; I get up pretty easily but the roll feels stiff and clunky. I also managed 5 or 10 rolls on my off-side, although I did have to divert to a Pawlata roll a few times. That’s not bad, zero to 10 in one short session, which is a mathematically incalculable increase because if you multiply anything by zero you get zero.

The point of the previous two paragraphs is that failure must inform progress. You simply cannot succeed simply by trying harder if you’re strategy is wrong. My unbridled inclination on my off-side is to set up, panic, and pull on the paddle. Of course, this does not work, as my first few off-side attempts showed. One must instead, set up, calm the mind, and then use what-ever cue works to trigger a full sweep of the paddle, an appropriately timed hip flick with the head trailing and, then, you are up. This takes less than a minute and is over so quickly that you have to wonder what all the fuss was about.

If you are trying to improve, each attempt should feature a quick debrief so that you can correct errors next time around. Debriefing however, although something that we all acknowledge as vitally important generally deteriorates, almost immediately, into ego massaging or avoidance. Something about our frail and foible filled human minds means that actually admitting error is, even when the error was almost fatal, almost universally a shit show of excuses and platitudes.

And so, after four long paragraphs, I finally come to crux of the post, when a debrief is not a debrief but a group hug session and almost, apart from the warm and fuzzies that come from group hugs, virtually useless.

I wrote previously about the gentleman impaled by an ice axe and this morning (my time) The Sharp End Podcast had a live question and answer with the two protagonists. The story was briefly recounted but most of the podcast involved how the two “victims” were physically progressing now. The gentleman, and “bless him” (we all know “bless him” is a preamble to saying something less than complimentary) has recovered well and is incredibly optimistic, even talking about climbing Mount Denali (‘nuff said). The lady, however, has recovered less well both mentally and physically and, as she admits, her climbing days may be over. This is clearly not a win-win situation and anything that could have prevented this outcome is worth entertaining no matter how seemingly ridiculous.

Ninety-nine percent of the audience comments were group hug, warm and fuzzy, “love you” comments which are nice enough but completely unhelpful. This would be very similar to Doug saying to me as he watched me flop back into the water after a failed roll “big hugs, you got this, love you.” Kind of sweet, in a sacchariny fake sweet kind of way but does nothing to get my kayak right way up with me still seated in it.

A couple of people (one mysteriously called bramblerumblefumble) and I mean literally two out of a couple of dozen, asked about things that could have prevented the accident – the use of running belays, ice axe belays, placing pickets, etc. Gob-smackingly, even the host of the show used the phrase “coulda, shoulda, woulda” which like “bless her” is code for “Don’t you understand this was an accident, completely unpreventable and coming, like a bolt from god, out of the proverbial blue?”

Except it wasn’t. It’s clear that the two victims were NOT operating within a reasonable safety zone. They were both so close to the edge that falling over occurred in a fraction of a second. Accidents like these (both victims had extensive injuries) are costly, both from an economic point of view but also from lost opportunity, pain and suffering, ongoing mental and physical impairments. Putting myself in their shoes, if I could prevent something like that, with fairly simple actions, I would. I certainly hope I would not resort to “coulda, shoulda, woulda” justifications for not recognising my limitations.

In answer to the two questions about simple activities that could have prevented the accident, after the grimace inducing “coulda, shoulda, woulda” comment, both victims said that people do not normally use running belays, pickets, ice-axe belays, or any other sensible safety precautions on the terrain they were on. This is true, but most people may well be more competent than these two people, and most people do not fall and impale themselves on an ice axe. Alex Honnold just soloed a bunch of rock climbing routes in Red Rock Canyon during his HURT event. I’ve been on routes in Red Rocks when soloists climbed past my belays. That’s fine and perfectly acceptable if you are operating within a large margin of safety. If you are teetering on the edge, so tenuously anchored to the slope that you are starting to worry about how you are going to get down (victims words) or unable to pause for even a minute or two, you do not have the margin of safety to operate like Honnold, soloing. Just because most people do not do something does not mean you should not either.

It’s like correcting a failed roll. It does me no good to keep doing the same thing and hoping for a different result. Here’s a couple of folks whose bench-mark skill is below the average climber on Mount Rainier (remember they are climbing the easiest route on the mountain). High fiving yourself and “coulda, woulda, shoulda” does not remove your weaknesses. Bless them, it’s time to step back, learn how to use an ice axe in both self-belay and self arrest mode, climb snow/ice slopes in balance, when and how to use pickets, how to identify a no-fall zone, etc. When they have done all that, they can return to the mountains and, like the average climber, summit Mount Rainier without the need for running belays, etc.

Habits Make The Day

The change gurus tell us that the way to make lasting change – and surely personal change is one of the most difficult of human tasks, else why do we fail so often ? – is to make small incremental habit changes. Gradually, each small change is stacked one upon another as bricks in the wall until one day a new person emerges. The only people who view this as a linear experience are the ones who believe in a land where unicorns frolic under rainbows with pots of bitcoin at either end, or that watching or making TikTok videos is a great way to spend your time. Change, like the sea, is an up and down process.

I have no doubt this model of change works for some people some of the time. But even small habits changes can require large doses of grit. Eating junk food or smoking cigarettes. On the surface, these are pretty small habit changes, eat eggs for breakfast instead of oatmeal or any other breakfast cereal (which is basically just sugar), or, stop smoking, not buying cigarettes will basically ensure you never smoke again. In reality, both of these habit changes are infinitely more difficult due to complex reward sequences wired into our brains, and, as anyone who has tried to quit addictive substances will attest to, neither of these small changes are easy at all.

As do most folks, I have a couple of morning habits – with the exception of coffee which is actually a requirement to life not a habit – the first is to meditate for 10 minutes, the second is to walk for an hour (unless I have plans to go rock climbing, or bushwalking, or any other thing that will entail a minimum one hour walk). Neither of these things are really hard, but some days, it’s hard to follow through.

Take today, I’m stiff and a bit sore from the activities of the week – paddling and climbing on my home wall on Monday, trail running and strength training on Tuesday, rock climbing on Wednesday – and I could easily make another coffee and see what’s happening with the Twitter files, but, #habits. So, off I go walking. Habits are much easier to keep if you simply do not indulge in rethinking them.

All the pictures in today’s blog post are from the “work in progress” Batemans Bay Coastal Headlands Walking Trail. This trail has been a long time coming (around 2010) but is finally being upgraded although it will not be finished until 2024. Late last week, walking along the track between Denhams and Surf Beaches, I noticed that there was new flagging and recent clearing of overgrown areas, and later that day, when we paddled south from our home beach to go surf kayaking, I saw some guys in fluorescent work-wear clearing the track along the cliff edge.

A couple of days after that, on my usual morning walk, I strolled through the reserve to Caseys Beach and followed the route of the Headlands Walking Trail around to Sunshine Cove and south almost all the way to Denhams Beach. What a delight. The little track had been getting quite overgrown and difficult to navigate, but it has been cleared all the way south to what will be one of the final lookouts on this section of track before the route detours around private property.

This track will be a real asset to both the community and visitors as the scenery is lovely, there are multiple points to access the track and either end is accessible by local transit. It’s great to see work finally underway. Particularly nice for locals, who’ve been walking along this track for years is the now clear delineation between public and private land. Quite a few properties that back onto the track have, over the years, expanded their back gardens into the reserve and walking the reserve, although public space, has felt uncomfortable.

For sure my #habit of early morning walking just got way, way easier as I can simply stroll down the street and onto the track.

You Can See Better From The Sea: Walking Booderee National Park

The south coast kayak Christmas event was at Greenpatch last weekend, although it barely feels like summer in southeastern Australia. Distracted by other things – mostly more rock climbing routes – Doug and I drove up without kayaks intending to walk around Booderee National Park instead of paddling with the squad. We’ve paddled around this big headland before, most recently in August when Doug got his new kayak, yet I have never walked the tracks.

Governor Head

On Saturday, we set off on a walk around the southern area of the park: from Steamers Beach to Blacks Waterhole covering all stops along the way. This was a nice walk but mostly the track is away from the cliffs and coast so you only see the really spectacular scenery every so often when a side track leads out to the coast. Lots of pretty spots, however, and Blacks Waterhole is lovely for a final rest stop before walking the old road back.

Bowen Island

Sunday, we were heading home but walked a shorter northern circuit, out to Murrays Beach and Governor Head where you can overlook Bowen Island, then south through open heath with views to the old Cape St George lighthouse. Paddling along this spectacular coast I had often looked up and wondered which is a better way to view the coast, by kayak or foot. Kayak wins.

Caves south of Governor Head

The Longest Way: Bangalee to Seaforth by Sea Kayak

This is how adventures begin: you see an island in the distance glowing blue against the horizon or perhaps a tall mountain stands high above all the others, and your mind, regardless of the body which must do the work, starts wondering how to approach using only your own wit and skill.

The preparation seems endless. Preparing and drying food, calculating necessary drinking water stocks and resupply locations, gathering tide charts and current data and collating all this information into a paddling plan that can deal with strong currents and winds and long crossings between islands, and, of course, the ever present training. Eventually, however, it is time to leave, to push off from a safe haven into the unknown.

Day One: Bangalee to Five Rocks

There is a line of surf and a brisk ESE wind blowing onto Farnborough Beach at Bangalee. The beach is very flat and the tide is rapidly rising. The ebb current runs north at around a knot along this section of coast but as you travel further north, the currents become much more complicated sometimes flooding north (not usual for the Queensland coast) or west and reaching peak rates of six knots.

Launching is difficult. We have 21 days of food, 40 litres of water, in addition to all our camping gear, the beach is flat and there is a line of half a dozen breaking waves to get past. Doug, last off the beach, only gets out on his fourth try as his boat is continuously getting knocked broadside. Once afloat, it is a hard paddle to get out beyond the breakers.

Nick B picture

We turn north and unfurl our sails into the beam on wind. There is a large and consistent groundswell of around two metres. Unusual for this far north, and with a lively one to two metre sea on top, conditions are interesting. We had plans to stop for lunch north of Corio Bay and to camp in Little Five Rocks Bay, but none of these plans came to pass.

Passing Little Corio Bay we are almost three kilometres off shore to avoid breaking swells on the shifting sand bars that stretch kilometres off-shore. The outgoing tide against the easterly wind is causing the swells to rear up dangerously. On the north side of Water Park Point, we paddle in towards shore looking for a sheltered landing site but there is a half kilometre line of breaking waves to get through so we keep going.

By the time we get to Stockyard Point, Nick is looking green and near vomiting from sea-sickness. Beam on conditions for over 30 kilometres are beginning to take their toll. Amazingly, we find a way to land on a small patch of sand uncovered by the low tide on the south side of Stockyard Point as we are able to duck behind a sheltering reef. Nick lays prostate on the ground for a while and I distribute ginger to those with queasy stomachs.

We could camp here, we have paddled 31 kilometres, but there is half a kilometre of beach exposed at low tide and we hope to camp north of Stockyard Point in Little Five Rocks Bay where there is a grassy camp under pandanus trees and a freshwater spring. The clapotis and rebound around Stockyard Point is a metre high and the closest we can get to the beach is about 600 metres off-shore. Continuing north, we surge around Five Rocks in challenging conditions and find a sheltered landing tucked into the very southern corner.

One by one we land. We have travelled 36 kilometres in conditions that were much more challenging than we expected – an experience that comes to reflect the entire trip. It takes a long time to get camp set up. The tides are near their acme and there will be very little beach left at high tide. Beyond the flat beach, steep sand-dunes rear up and offer no camping opportunities. Late in the day, the long carries are done, the tents are carefully positioned right against the dunes and we are having our first evening meal of the trip.

Day 2: Little Five Rocks Bay to Freshwater Bay

Another day of beam on wind, seas and swell but our camp will be near Freshwater Bay only 21 kilometres north where there is drinking water, a sheltered landing, and millions of mosquitoes. As Meatloaf opined so many years ago, “two out of three ain’t bad.”

Before we leave, three of us walk around the reef at Five Rocks into Little Five Rocks Bay. Since I was last here in 2017, National Parks have done a lot of work. There are new steps, interpretive signs, and bridges over the spring (a tributary of Findlays Creek). Last time we paddled past, finding a spring gushing fresh water out of the dry inland hills was magical and is no less so this time around. I have carried a five litre water bag which I fill and carry back. Fresh water is so scarce on this trip that I am loathe to go past a source without gathering at least a little.

Back at Five Rocks, there are boats and gear to be carried down to waters edge. As our paddle day is short, we are leaving around mid-tide and the carry while still long is shorter than yesterday. The tidal range along this section of coast can be over six metres. Launching is easier, but I am still grateful for a push out to sea, and not one of us escapes a few breaking waves over the bow.

There is more long beach to paddle up, although we pass a few small headlands and, after 14 kilometres of beam on conditions again, we reach Cape Manifold and Manifold Island. There is deep water between the two, so we are able to paddle between Cape Manifold and Manifold Island easily. From this point on, the paddling north is almost all interesting. There are a few longer sections of beach, instead, there are islands and bays, rocky reefs, and islets all of which spawn ripping tidal currents and generate paddling that is either fun or challenging depending on your ability.

At Cliff Point, five kilometres to the northwest, we pass a sea eagle nest perched on a tower of rock and then sneak in between a round rocky island and the shore to land at the southern end of Freshwater Bay. We have made good progress and the tide is high when we land so our carry is short. We have time to spend walking the beach, bathing in a fresh water pool, walking out to the rocky island which at low tide joins the mainland and swatting a million and one mosquitoes.

Day 3: Freshwater Bay to Delcomyn Bay

The previous evening, we started our dinner routines – Nick, Doug and I had simple dinner arrangements consisting of “heat and serve” options while Mark’s dinner involved complicated and involved machinations, frying garlic or onions, cutting up root vegetables, simmering lentils – at 5.00 pm. This would be our normal dinner hour unless interrupted by unforeseen circumstances and resulted in our disappearing into our individual tents by 6.00, or at the very latest 7.00 pm when the mosquitoes came out to rule the world. Yes, we did feel like old people but, to be fair, with the exception of Nick, we are old people.

Similarly, unless we had a long crossing or a particular tidal current we needed to work around, our normal departure time became 8.00 am. This gave us enough time to have a decent breakfast (dried eggs for Doug and I), a big jug of coffee, and get packed up without undue haste.

Today we continue heading north past Port Clinton and towards Pearl Bay. The swell is slowly decreasing each day but the winds still feel beam on and paddling conditions are remain mildly challenging. We paddle straight north to Quoin Island, which is just a small ring of rock offering a little shelter on the western side. I had wanted to explore the coastline between Quoin Island and Cape Clinton as on our last trip we had found a huge cave complete with resident bats, but with the swell still running easterly at 1.5 metres, conditions were too rough for paddling into exposed sea caves.

At Port Clinton we paddled straight across to Entrance Island to avoid standing waves as the tide ran out of Port Clinton and regrouped in the shelter of Entrance Island. Then west to Ranken Islet and rebound and clapotis as we paddled north along this scenic bit of coast. Just south of Delcomyn Island, a deep bay, which had the appearance of a small fjord as we approached from the south beckoned and we paddled in through surging water.

To our surprise, once inside the “fjord” the bay opened up into two separate sandy bays separated by a rocky headland. This was one of our most beautiful campsites, and, although we had only covered 25 kilometres, we were all happy to stop for the afternoon. The east facing beach behind the island had a dumping swell while the south facing beach to the north offered an easier landing and wonderful campsites tucked up behind the beach under pandanus trees.

To either side of camp were rocky headlands that offered interesting scrambling and views out to nearby islands, including the Hervey Group. There were even fresh coconuts and a hill behind camp which was easily ascended to retrieve the weather forecast. The only thing lacking was freshwater (which may have been obtainable at the east facing beach).

Day 4: Delcomyn Bay to Pine Trees Point

Three of us are keen to explore the southern Hervey Islands as we continue paddling north. This small group of islands spans a 10 kilometre north-south distance and includes two stunning islands: Dome and Split. Under the right conditions, and at high tide it is possible to paddle right through Split Island, the gap between the two islands is barely a paddle width wide. Here is a link to video from our passage through the split – complete with collision – from 2017.

A drizzly grey morning as we pack up and paddle out of Delcomyn Bay into the clapotis near Delcomyn Island. With sails up, we make quick time to Dome Island and here Mark goes ahead to wait for us in more sheltered waters. Mark has an almost pathological aversion to bumpy water! Doug, Nick and I paddle slowly up the eastern side of Dome Island which is 100 metres high and rises abruptly from the sea. There are big caves, arches and gauntlets to paddle through but conditions allow us to watchfully explore only some of these.

We find Mark in the gap between Split and Dome Islands and as we explore Split Island, Mark again goes ahead to gain some shelter on the north side of Split Island. There are smaller caves and arches at the south end of Split Island and a big cave, which even Mark backs into, on the sheltered northern side. The split, however, looks rough, but we paddle around to have a look at the western side and find that at low tide the split dries out!

Leaving Split and Dome Island, we head northeast to a small east facing bay where we thought there may be some freshwater. We still have a 1.5 metre swell, however, and landing in the bay will take both time and timing and there is no certainty that we will find a freshwater stream. Accordingly, we continue north to a north facing bay where we can land for a short leg stretch before passing to the southwest of Island Head across the mouth of Island Head Creek.

Travel is fast and easy. We are mostly sheltered from the swell and sea but the wind is still blowing behind us so we make quick time to Pine Trees Point. We had been told that there was drinking water behind the dunes at Pine Trees Point and we need drinking water for the next several days as our next known source is Middle Percy Island (not, it turns out, a good location to depend on). I land on the south side of Pine Trees Point in a brisk wind, pull my boat up and spend some time looking for water. Last time we did this trip we had searched for water along and behind every beach for almost seven kilometres to the west of Pine Trees Point and, although we found some streams, they were all salt flooding with every tide. There was not a drop of fresh water to be found.

Doug waits for me, while Nick goes on ahead to the next beach and Mark goes all the way to the first major beach west of Pine Trees Point. I am soaking wet after a difficult launch into the wind and sea but join Doug and we paddle around to the next beach west. Here, Nick and Doug land and look for water. Then we move west and meet Mark and repeat the process with all four of us looking for water. Finally, we admit what I had feared for a while, there is no water at Pine Trees Point. Our “reliable” information source either came right after a monsoonal event or is mistaken on the location.

Over our usual 5.00 pm dinner, we hash out our options. We need to top up our fresh water supplies before leaving Townsend Island for Hexham Island as it may take us a several days to get to Middle Percy Island due to a few days of strong southeasterly winds in the forecast. On previous trips, we have obtained water from Collins Island where there are some abandoned buildings with water tanks and a dam and a 20 kilometre detour to Collins Island now seems like our best option.

Day 5: Pine Trees Point to Eliza Island

By 8 am the tide is running west through Strong Tide Passage and with the usual southeasterly winds, our speed ticks up to 13 kilometres per hour with minimal effort. After a short stop on a steep coral beach near Round Rock we paddle against the tide across to Leicester Island as squalls darken the skies behind us. We need to wait a couple of hours on Leicester Island for the tide to change so we walk and swim and with some surprise even manage to get enough mobile reception to get a weather forecast.

It is a 15 kilometre hop across to Collins Island and the southeast wind helps. Near the island, the tide is rushing east and it is more work to maintain our speed. Mark, whose home-made kayak has no rudder works harder than Doug, Nick or I who have plumb bow boats with rudders designed for fast travel. At the western end of Collins Island there is a tidal race with the usual strong current and standing waves requiring one last effort to get around into more sheltered waters.

We pull the boats up on the north side of Collins Island and go in search of water. We find water and mosquitoes by the millions. I think our tally is one mosquito bite for each tablespoon of water. Mark has promised us a mosquito free camp on nearby Eliza Island another 1.5 kilometres to the west. Anything is better than Collins Island where the sky is black with mosquitoes and the tide goes out to reveal kilometre long sand banks.

It is dark by the time we land on Eliza Island where there are mosquitoes but not in the copious numbers found on Collins Island. Carrying boats and gear, establishing camp and making dinner is made more awkward by having to be done by headlight and by the time we fall into our nylon cocoons we are all tired from our 42 kilometre paddle day.

Day 6: Eliza Island to Hexham Island

A glorious sunrise on the water as we paddle north to Hexham Island compensates for packing in the dark and even having to paddle 27 kilometres without coffee. Thank goodness for No Doze or my head would have exploded from a caffeine withdrawal headache. “My name is Sandy and I am a coffee addict.”

We are aiming off to counteract the tidal drift, but it later becomes apparent that we have aimed off too far and the final half dozen kilometres feel like we are trying to sail very close to the wind. By the time we get to the northwest end of Hexham Island the southeasterly wind has whipped up a messy sea so, although it would be nice to take the long way around around the southern coastline to camp, it will also be a slow, rough paddle. Ducking around the north side of the island we are immediately into calm water and a beautiful cirque of islands shimmers in the midday sun.

Hexham Island has a half circle of clean white sand and forested hills behind. We make camp under pandanus trees overlooking Shields Island to the north where more sandy white beaches break up the forested hills. There is a rough track through grass trees up to the hills to the west of camp and views across the neighbouring islands, and, handily enough mobile service to get the all important weather forecast.

Day 7: Hexham Island to South Percy Island

God might have rested on the seventh day but sea kayakers can not. Today we are going to South Percy Island. Sea kayak trips like this are all about trying to make the best decision you can with incomplete information. Weather forecasts change or turn out to be inaccurate, water and campsites are not found where they are expected, even your fellow paddlers may not be what you think. The only thing you can do is put the whole mishmash of information you do have together and make your best call.

Our best call has us leaving Hexham Island at 8 am for a 32 kilometre crossing to South Percy Island. The new forecast was for 10 knot northerlies tending west southwest up to 15 knots. The actual conditions were westerly at 25 knots so it was an exciting crossing. I am pretty sure Mark, in his rudderless kayak, saw God out there.

Day 9: North West Bay to Chase Point, South Percy Island

Nick, Doug and I had a full rest day out of boats on day eight. The forecast SE blow arrived as predicted and a big power boat and yacht moved over from West Bay at Middle Percy Island, (apparently not a sheltered anchorage in very windy conditions) and anchored east of our camp in Broad Sound. No-one came ashore and I do not think the occupants even knew that there were kayakers on South Percy Island. Mark paddled a short distance along the shore, looking for mobile reception and fresh water to wash his smalls (underwear). Doug walked up a high point on the island and got savaged by mosquitoes and I found a low level route around the cliffs west of camp to a hillock where we could get mobile reception and the weather forecast.

On day 9, with very strong southeasterly winds blowing, Doug, Nick and I paddled west along the island to a small bay near Chase Point. The wind was so strong that my boat skimmed side ways across the water with me in it as we passed a low point on the island where the wind roared down a drainage.

Near Chase Point, we carried the boats up a rocky beach and tied them all to a pandanus tree – it was so windy we feared the boats might blow around – while we walked over to the east side of the island where the sea was whipped into a tumultuous state. Mark claimed to have found fresh water on the next beach east from our camp beach so we landed there on the way back to wash our smalls. The only water we were able to find was black with suspended mud. Even so, I dunked in and washed my clothes, later dismayed to find they were stained black in great splotches.

Day 10: South Percy Island to Middle Percy Island

Another day of throwing all the information you have into a bag and making your best guess. With another day of strong southeasterly winds forecast we decide to time our transit around Hixson Point on Middle Percy Island for slack water; or more appropriately what passes for slack water in these parts which is merely a slight lull in the rushing currents. There are overfalls and tidal rips marked on the chart off Hixson Point and having recently encountered similar conditions coming past Hixson Islet on South Percy Island we are keen to reduce our exposure. With the wind blowing over the currents, these tidal features throw up two metre breaking waves. A capsize in those conditions would be very difficult to recover from and we are not even sure we could successfully rescue a capsized paddler.

Broad Sound has three knot east-west currents marked on the chart but it is only eight kilometres across and we figure that should anyone come out of their boat in Broad Sound they will, eventually, be blown to the Middle Percy Island. Our departure time of 11 am is pushed to 10 am as we get tired of waiting in the hot sun while being tormented by blood thirsty mosquitoes.

Crossing Broad Sound is rough but feels like a doddle compared to the conditions we had a few days before and we even get into sheltered water once we pass West Spur. There are standing waves off Hixson Point but we sneak by close to the shoreline and then it is an easy and very scenic paddle up to West Bay. Middle Percy Island is just over 240 metres high and covered with regrowth forest. The water is as clear as glass and a gorgeous aquamarine colour and there are rocky bluffs and caves to paddle past.

At West Bay, we find three yachts moored. For many sailors getting to Middle Percy Island is a big achievement. The island is 80 kilometres off-shore and the majority of yachties are more comfortable sailing (frequently motoring) around the more sheltered inshore islands. There is a big wooden A frame on the beach filled with assorted memorabilia, and a capsule history of Middle Percy Island.

We are only staying one night, although it would be nice to have time to explore the island the winds are favourable for us to move on to Digby Island the next day. We do, however, need fresh water. It turns out that fresh water is not that easily acquired at Middle Percy Island. The homestead has rain water tanks but the big A frame has no water collection apparatus, and there has been little rain at Middle Percy Island for the last several years.

After making radio contact with Cate at the homestead, we set off to walk up to the homestead with our water bladders where we hope to collect enough fresh water to get us to Scawfell Island which has a rain water tank. It is a long, hot walk. Up over a sandy hill, down to the now dry lagoon, back up again and along ridges in the centre of the island. By the time we arrive, we are dripping with sweat and dying of thirst. When Cate offers cold lime cordial we are more than happy to guzzle a few litres each.

Cate is generous with water and allows us to fill our bladders from their rainwater supply and even organises for the water to be transported down in a truck to the A Frame when a couple of volunteer workers – currently mincing up goat meat – drive down to the Tree House where they are staying. The island has a long and somewhat contentious history which we cannot even begin to understand in the short time we have available.

It is dark when we get back to West Bay and by the time we get our tents up, cook dinner and organise our gear for an early departure the next morning any recovery from our recent rest days is forgotten.

Day 11: Middle Percy Island to Digby Island

We paddle west from Middle Percy Island just as the sun is rising. We pass the Pine Islets to the south and get dragged north by the tidal currents before we settle into an “aiming off” strategy to compensate for the two knot currents. It is 40 kilometres to the Beverly Group and Digby Island where we will camp. With a southeasterly tail wind the crossing is uneventful until we get close to Penn Islet, northeast of Digby Islet where the current grabs us again and drags us north. There is a tidal race between Digby Island and Keelan Island but once through this we are into sheltered waters and land on a small beach six hours after leaving Middle Percy Island.

In a dramatic statement issued immediately upon falling out of his kayak, Mark swears off long crossings for the remainder of his sea kayak career. We find campsites in the shade under pandanus trees with views across to the rocky islands that comprise the Beverly Group. There are not many sandy beaches in this island group but it is wonderful walking on rock platforms around Digby Island. Mark, who is leaving the group early tomorrow morning to paddle into Sarina Beach, walks up to the top of the island to look out over Knight Island where he will camp the next night.

Day 12: Digby Island to Prudhoe Island

At 6 am we wave goodbye to Mark as he paddles west towards Knight Island. He looks a lonely figure paddling off into the dawn by himself and his sea kayak a small craft for crossing such large oceans. However, we are off in our own small craft a couple of hours later. We have another 22 kilometre crossing to Prudhoe Island but for 10 kilometres we can paddle along the other islands of the Beverly Group. We pass Henderson Island on the sheltered western side and then cross to the eastern side of Hull Island. This is interesting paddling but the southeasterly wind and the currents have set up a lot of rebound and paddling the east side is lumpy and slow. At Beverlac Island we cross back to the sheltered west side and continue to Minster Island and around to the northwestern tip where there is a small broken coral beach.

Nick B picture

We have a short break among the tea trees and plan our “aiming off” strategy for the next 22 kilometres. The currents are not as strong here and our strategy works perfectly and we arrive at the southern tip of Prudhoe Island 2.5 hours later. The consistent southeasterly winds have been a boon on these long crossings.

Prudhoe Island has a 329 metre high point and a fringing reef. As usual, there is a stiff tidal race at the southern end with big standing waves. Once past this we relax and float over brightly coloured hard and soft corals. The hills behind the small beach are wreathed in mist and palms march up the hillsides. By the time we have landed the kayaks and traversed the beach selecting shaded campsites, we find our boats high and dry on a reef, and have to manhandle them back into the water to shift north along the beach towards our tent sites. This camp site is pretty much inaccessible at low tide.

As the tide falls there are interesting rock pools to explore on the dry reef and a rock platform to scramble around to the north. Under the trees, I find another dry creek and a swampy area but again, no fresh water. This is the first location of the trip where we can get mobile reception at camp and with the next day forecast to be moderate northerly winds, we slot in a rest day. The next island we plan to visit is Derwent Island, 40 kilometres to the north and no-one wants to turn a six hour crossing into an eight hour crossing by paddling into a headwind.

Day 14: Prudhoe Island to Derwent Island

Our first and only windless day all trip. Leaving Prudhoe Island at 9 am we had an hour of paddling against the tidal current before our speed gradually increased until an hour out of Derwent Island we were cruising along at 10 km/hour. Turtles and whales kept us company. Reaching the southern side of Derwent Island we found a wonderful vibrant fringing reef and floated over enjoying looking into deep blue holes as fish darted past.

Our campsite on Derwent Island turned out to have its own adventures which you can read about here. It was the night of the full moon and we were treated to a stunning moon rise over the dry reef in the early evening. We only had a few hours to enjoy Derwent Island as we left again the next morning, but this was one of my favourite camps of the whole trip, night time tidal ingress notwithstanding.

Day 15: Derwent Island to Scawfell Island

Today we are paddling to Scawfell Island, a place we have wanted to visit since we had paddled through the Cumberland Islands in 2017. Before heading west, however, we paddle east to Skull Rock, an islet with a name like that begs exploration and so we paddled around Skull Rock in calm conditions with the current swirling around the base.

It is 30 km, however, to the campsite in Refuge Bay on Scawfell Island so we must crack on. The current is against us, however, and it is a slow paddle with no wind to Three Rocks, only nine kilometres away but it seems to take an age to get there. There are a couple of very small coral rubble beaches and it is possible that a small kayak camp could be found, as long as the waves were not too big or the tide too high as camp would barely be above the high water mark.

On the west side of Three Rocks, the wind ticks lightly up. Scawfell Island is spectacular and a rock climbers delight. The northeastern shore line is all tall granite cliffs plunging into clear green water. We drift along admiring the rock formations, comfortably pushed along by the wind until we turn the corner and have to paddle into a headwind into Refuge Bay.

We are now much closer to civilisation and had prepared ourselves for many boats and possibly even campers, but there are only a couple of yachts moored in Refuge Bay and they are quite far out as there is a fringing reef and no anchoring allowed inside an area marked off by buoys. The tank has water, there are tables, a toilet and a shade shelter. Even more fantastic, there are fire-flys.

The following day, we leave camp and paddle around Scawfell Island stopping for a lunch break on a small tidal sandy beach on the western side of the island. At night, the woods dance with fire-flys which come out in hundreds and are so magical they almost enable us to believe in the prospect of world peace and fairies living at the bottom of the garden.

Day 17: St Bees and Keswick Islands

Although we have less than 30 kilometres to paddle today, we leave at 6 am as the southeast winds are forecast to peak at 25 knots and we know from paddling around St Bees and Keswick Island previously that there are tidal races and strong currents. The wind is a bit beam on as usual until we reach St Bees Island where we stop on a northern beach for a leg stretch. Both of these islands have relatively healthy coral reefs and as we paddle into Egremont Passage we watch the soft corals pass by under our hulls.

The western most campsite on Keswick Island offers the best shelter from the southeasterlies and we find a lovely campsite shaded by big leafy trees. At low tide, I walk into the next bay and right around the back of the bay behind a mangrove forest. A colourful reef is exposed at low tide. This is our last island camp, and the penultimate of the trip

Day 19: Cape Hillsborough and Seaforth

Despite a weather day the previous day, I feel a bit weary on our last paddle day. Perhaps it is just the psychological effects of knowing the trip is over. We have a 37 kilometre crossing to land at Cape Hillsborough and, despite some wind filling the sails, the paddling feels awkward and tiring. The sea is sloppy, with waves running all ways as we cross over multiple shallow sand shoals. In some places the sea is only three metres deep and in places the current drags us inexorably south.

Eventually, however, all crossings come to an end and we land in small surf on Hillsborough Beach into a dropping tide. The final 12 kilometres into Seaforth is some of the easiest paddling of the trip as we paddle into sheltered water west of Cape Hillsborough and then get a gentle push over flat water into the beach right at the Seaforth Caravan Park. As soon as we land, Nick trots off to retrieve his vehicle which is now sitting on the only piece of tarmac left inside a locked fence and surrounded by diggers and other construction equipment. We have a hearty laugh about this but, after the weekend, when Nick’s car would have been towed, the affair would have been somewhat less amusing.

Culture shock hits, as it always does after these trips. We have dinner at the Bowling Club and sleep on a small tent site in a caravan park surrounded by sedentary holiday makers. No-one asks where we have come from or where we are going and the anonymity is somehow comforting implying that we could simply slip away again, back out to the islands, to the place where adventure begins.

Most photos:  Doug Brown.