Sometimes when I slip into my sea
kayak, the whole experience feels like coming home at the end of a
long day, kicking off my tight shoes, and sliding my aching feet into
a pair of comfortable slippers - everything just feels right. The
boat rocks under me, but my hips are loose and automatically I lean
this way or that, the boat steadies, and all is well. Other times,
the boat feels foreign, it rocks and cants, yawing from side to side,
and I catch myself leaning crazily from side to side, hoping that I
won't be spilled unceremoniously into the water, and cursing the poor
primary stability of my kayak.
The day we paddled from Pivot Beach out
to Lawrence Rocks near Portland, was one of the latter. Lawrence
Rocks are a cluster of wave battered rocks in the Southern Ocean
lying about two kilometres southeast of Point Danger and home to a
large colony of Gannets. Isolated rocks such as these will always
garner the attention of sea kayakers, much as splitter cracks in a
granite wall attract rock climbers. There is just something
overwhelmingly alluring about paddling across the ocean to a small
cluster of rocks, just as hand-jamming your way up a granite wall is
incredibly satisfying.
Lawrence Rocks from Danger Point
As soon as I saw the rocks on the
nautical chart I wanted to paddle out. Doug and I don't get much
time paddling in big ocean swells, and, although a two kilometre
crossing is short, particularly after some of our long (18 km)
Queensland crossings, paddling in the cold Southern Ocean is way more
serious than paddling in the warm, reef protected waters of Northern
Queensland. But, we were lucky, the weather forecast was for only 15
knot winds (a light breeze here in Windtoria) with a two metre
southwest swell. We would have some protection from the swell for
the first four kilometres until we approached Point Danger.
One of my best single day trips
kayaking in Australia was a 22 km trip from the sheltered Dolans Bay
in Port Hacking north along Cronulla's surf beaches to the tiny
protected Boat Harbour. We had even milder conditions for that trip
with five knot winds and a half metre swell. Paddling out on the
open blue waters of Tasman Sea was simply superb. Paddling out to
Lawrence Rocks was just as much fun, but a bit more difficult, and
thus more satisfying.
Ready to launch from Pivot Beach
We launched from a little beach (Pivot
Beach) about 4 km (one hour) north of Point Danger and ambled along
towards Point Danger enjoying the wonderful sensation of floating
over kelp beds in the clear aquamarine water. Point Danger was
breaking well out so we turned off to Lawrence Rocks before and, in a
gradually rising swell, paddled out towards the rocks keeping a
careful eye on the breaking swells. We paddled, and we paddled, and
we paddled. We did inch closer to Lawrence Rocks, but, for every
stroke closer to Lawrence Rocks we seemed to move an equal number of
strokes closer to the breaking swells. A current was dragging us
west at a similar speed to that at which we were paddling.
This is the rub of sea kayaking in
general and particularly in Australia. Nautical charts in Australia
seldom show current direction or strength yet a two to three knot
opposing current will stop just about any kayaker dead. Kayaks also
sit so low in the water that seeing exactly where swells are breaking
and where the clear passage is can be very difficult. We did edge
closer to Lawrence Rocks, and were probably 75% of the way there,
but, the whole scenario was becoming strangely reminiscent of our
circumnavigation of Hook Island that started with us being dragged
south to the tidal rips off South Molle Island. Doug noted that
there appeared to be a small passage between the breakers that
stretched between Point Danger and Lawrence Rocks, but navigating
through with the strong current running seemed beyond our skill
level.
On the sheltered clear waters near Pivot Beach
Interestingly, I came across a report
from an experienced sea kayaker on the paddling opportunities around
Portland and he notes that "the SW swell wraps around Cape Grant
and accelerates towards Black Nose, where it hits a series of shallow
reefs and bommies which gives rise to some breaking waves." He
further notes that "there is a channel through it all"
although the current can run at up to four knots.
We turned around, and, as the swells
rose in front of us and our kayaks bounced in the current I got
horribly sea-sick. The kind of sea sickness that is accompanied by
vertigo and dizziness. I instantly began sweating prolifically as my
head swirled about. Doug suggested rafting up, but I did not want to
get dragged any further west, so I fixed my eyes on the relatively
still horizon and paddled forward. In lots of ways, sea kayaking is
not that different to trad climbing. When you are trad climbing you
have to relax onto small holds in a position of balance, find the
right piece of gear, slot it into position, clip your draw, clip your
rope, and only then can you move again. Sea kayaking you need to
relax into the boat, find your balance point and keep moving forward.
Gradually, we pulled out of the current
and into the more sheltered waters closer to the coast. Rafting up,
I took my paddle jacket off which was soaked with sweat, and we both
breathed a little easier.
Inside the sheltered waters north of
Blacknose Point, Lawrence Rocks behind
Doug was probably ready to give up, but
I was not. It seems to me that if there is something you really want
to do in life, you'll most likely do it, no matter what. I really
wanted to paddle out to those rocks, and the weather and sea state
would never be better than it was. I had an idea that we should have
paddled out from Blacknose Point keeping well to the east of the
rocks. Ironically enough, the paddling notes I found later
(referenced above) indicated that this was the best tactic to reach
Lawrence Rocks.
So back out we went, heading more of
less southeast and keeping Lawrence Rocks well off to our starboard
side. It's about four kilometres out to Lawrence Rocks from
Blacknose Point, and we were now paddling into a 12 knot wind and the
rising swell so it took us about an hour to get close. The closer we
got, the more we had to aim off to the east as we were still getting
dragged west, but, gradually we closed in on the rocks, and were
thrilled to watch the gannets flying around the flat topped rocks.
In the eastern lee of the rocks, I was even able to take my hands of
the paddle to snap a few pictures.
Into the wild
Feeling happy and satisfied, we turned
around, and began the paddle back. I immediately felt the old queasy
sea-sickness as the swells rolled forward before me, but, I now knew
how to deal with it. The kayaks, of course, suddenly felt quirkily
unstable as we had both a following swell and sea, and our flat
bottomed rockered kayaks seem to require constant weight adjustments
to maintain stability and avoid broaching on a following sea.
We arrived back at Pivot Beach with
almost perfect conditions for riding the now small swell straight
into the beach. Looking south towards Point Danger, the sea was now
white-capped extensively. We had paddled about 22 km, pushed
ourselves just the right amount, learnt something about yourselves
and the sea, and felt that small glow of satisfaction you feel when
you have faced your fears.
Sometimes we are tempted to practice
the small skills endlessly in preparation for tackling the bigger
objectives, but somehow the bigger objectives never come. We stick
to short, safe climbs instead of heading out to climb longer routes
in the mountains, we stay on the groomed ski runs instead of skiing
the backcountry, we paddle only in protected waters instead of
venturing out into the open ocean. We tell ourselves that we just
need to ski, climb, or paddle a little better before we can realize
our dreams. It's a myth. At some point, your skills are good
enough, maybe not perfect - they will never be perfect - but they are
good enough to move beyond the arbitrary boundaries you have
embraced. It is time to move into the wild.
In the lee of Lawrence Rocks
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