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.
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