We are
surrounded by dolphins. They swim under our kayaks and pop up in the
wave at our bows before diving again. The water flashes bright white
under our boats as they tumble under our keels before emerging again
on the opposite side of our kayaks. The pod must number around 30
and they have been keeping pace with us for 15 minutes as we paddle
northeast across the empty Southern Ocean. It is early morning and
the sun slants sharply into our eyes. South Australia, it seems is
almost always sunny and clear.
Doug
and I look at one another and laugh with pure joy. Momentarily, we
consider fussing about with cameras to get that perfect shot, but
then we laugh again and let that thought slide away. This trip has
been all about enjoying the moment, so many moments of stunning
wonder and beauty. Trying to capture this grand landscape in which
we have been fully immersed for the last five days within a single
photograph is futile. It really is a case of "if you weren't
there you wouldn't understand."
Five
days before we left Taylors Landing as the tide was flooding up
Spencer Gulf with the aim of circumnavigating Uncertain Island; the
most interesting island in the scattered group of islands that
sprinkle the Southern Ocean near the southern entrance to Spencer
Gulf. We had an easy crossing to Taylor Island, this far up the Gulf
no real swell penetrates and even against the tide the paddling was
easy. Just north of Taylor Island lies tiny, low lying Owen Island,
home to Cape Barren Geese and Pacific Gulls and we had a short break
before heading across Thorny Passage to Observatory Point. A
southwesterly wind blew up and quickly created a sharp beam on chop.
South
of Observatory Point we rested to wait for the tide to change, walked
the beach, watched sea lions playing in the clear shallow water and
rested under the round bright orb of a full moon. Next morning, as
the tide was ebbing we paddled along the sheltered eastern shore of
the island. Granite slabs gave way to colourful eroded limestone
cliffs with shallow low tide beaches below. South of Horny Point,
small sandy bays between granite slabs topped with eroding limestone
caps continue south to the granite slabs and short cliffs near
Waterhouse Point.
When
the tide turned, we found a small beach with some shade under stunted
salt tolerant scrub to wait for the next low tide. A long but easy
walk following the foot pads of black footed rock wallabies led to
the most southern part of the island overlooking Albatross Island and
two remote southern bays. Long tidal races were visible streaming
out into the Southern Ocean, but, overall, conditions at slack ebb
when we intended to paddle the southern tip should be manageable.
Overnight we lay on the flat sand as the huge round moon rose red in
the setting sun and lit the sand beach like day. A black footed rock
wallaby and bilby sniffed around our gear, largely unconcerned by our
presence.
Timing
slack tide is an inexact science and when we arrived at Waterhouse
Bay next morning suspecting we were a little early and would be
fighting the current, we waited 15 or 20 minutes until somehow, the
time seemed right.
Paddling
around Waterhouse Point was a lesson in contrasts: from the sheltered
east coast waters to the southern tip where tidal races stream out
for hundreds of metres and the Southern Ocean swells roll in and
crash onto the cliffs. For the next several hours these rolling
ocean swells would be our companions, booming onto the cliffs with a
deafening roar. Paddling past the very southern prominence of
Uncertain Island was both exhilarating and humbling. I tried to
photograph Doug as his kayak danced among the waves and sea spray of
incessantly surging swells but no single image could capture the
gestalt of paddling such a small boat in such a large place.
Heading
northeast to Fossil Point we passed granite slabs and cliffs gouged
into deep notches and gauntlets by the Southern Ocean. Tucked around
Fossil Point, we had some shelter from the rising and falling swells,
and rested for a while before continuing northeast.
A long
curving bay leads northeast to Carrington Point east of Hopkins
Island. Bright orange 100 metre high limestone cliffs drop
precipitously into the ocean along the entire length of the bay. The
cliffs are carved by wind and sea into deep caverns and caves, and in
many places, chunks of the cliffs have dropped into the ocean and
become isolated twisted islets.
A
kilometre before Carrington Point the cliffs abruptly drop away and a
swell swept sandy bay picks up the last remnants of the great
Southern Ocean swells. This entire bay is shallow and studded with
rocks and reefs and requires paddling out around breaking swells to
navigate safely. After negotiating a final line of swell off
Carrington Point we paddled into a deep sheltered bay lined by
limestone caves and bluffs.
This
is our last rest spot on Uncertain Island and after eating a late
lunch and storing our gear in the minimal shade of the eroded
limestone crags, we walk south up onto the tops of the limestone
cliffs of Carrington Point. At 40 metres high and covered only in
low vegetation and limestone slabs, the walking is easy yet the views
astound. We stroll south until we have a view of the looming orange
cliffs of O'Loughlin Bay and southwest to Cape Catastrophe and
Williams Island. Rock wallabies shelter from the sun under broken
limestone cliffs while sea birds shriek and moan.
At the
tail end of the next ebb tide we push off the beach, leave our
sheltered bay and paddle southwest passing Hopkins Island and
crossing over to the southern tip of Smith Island. In the passage
between Hopkins and Smith Islands we encounter the first boat we have
seen since leaving Taylors Landing and sheltered waters. It is a
large tourist boat enroute to Neptune Island for Great White Shark
viewing.
Gobsmacked
to see kayaks bobbing around in this exposed ocean, the boat drives
over and circles around and around us. The tourists flock onto the
deck and stare at us open mouthed. A crew member shouts down to ask
whither we go and come; and, as is usual for those who travel
exclusively with motors he is both impressed with our journey and
unable to comprehend it asking "Have you done all that today?"
This
is the tale of two solitudes that marks the lives of those who live
on the fringe of normality, who dive constantly into the wilderness,
seeking challenge that must inevitably be marked by struggle. The
life has great rewards but is also so far outside the ken of normal
that again, "if you were not there you would not understand."
As the
boat powers off, we slip back into our own normal world where time is
dictated by sun, moon and tide, and we make progress by dint of our
own efforts. We seem to have timed the tides exactly right as our
passage to Williams Island is smooth and fast, and within another
hour, we are paddling around sloping granite slabs past lounging
Australian Sea Lions, overseen by circling gannets and ospreys into
the most perfect white sand bay imaginable.
We
breakfast on big granite boulders and then scramble up broken rocks
to the top of the island and walk over to the light station. West
Cape is only two kilometres to the north and far in the distance we
can see the low ridges of Point Whidbey on Coffin Bay Peninsula.
Walking due west we scramble down low limestone bluffs onto extensive
granite sea platforms on the west side of Williams Island. We ramble
and scramble over these platforms for the next coupe of hours,
watching the waves crash into narrow gauntlets, peering into deep
rock pools, and scrambling up, over and around obstacles. It is
tremendous fun and we walk all the way back to camp grinning to each
other pausing only to watch sea lions cavorting in the shallows.
Having
lunch on granite slabs in the shade of boulders near camp, four sea
lion pups out exploring walk right up onto the slabs until they are
only a metre from where I stand and we stare at each other in wonder.
The sea lions break the spell first, tossing their heads and
flipping back into the water before swimming north to clamber up
among resting cormorants.
Our
last night and another stunning moon rise, another early morning
making coffee in the dark of pre-dawn. Packing our kayaks, noting
the rising tide, leaving Williams Island and paddling out towards
Thorny Passage and as the sun slants across our decks, paddling with
dolphins.
