The rain is sluicing down, the path is awash, ankle deep in parts, and the trail resembles a wombat tunnel more than a track. How is this possible, a mere kilometre from Currarong, a very popular tourist destination with more Air BnB’s and holiday homes than permanent residents? My cynical self thinks it has something to do with how generally unfit and out of shape the denizens of the modern world are. My less cynical side, well, I don’t have one of those. I managed to tunnel my way to Whale Cove, Abrahams Head, Honeysuckle Point, and Lobster Bay before running out of daylight and squelching my way back along the main fire-trail which was well cleared but still ankle deep with water.
I was staying the weekend in Currarong for a training weekend with the NSW Sea Kayak Club. There were ten of us in all, two instructors/assessors, two guide aspirants, and six other paddlers who would act as participants, or victims, depending on your world view. My goal is Sea Guide, while M is training for Enclosed Sea Guide. There’s not a big difference between the skill set required. Sea Guides must be able to launch and land a group through one metre surf, but both types of guides have to be able to manage a group in up to 17 knots of wind, and need to be both reasonably proficient paddlers, be able to coach strokes and techniques, and also have that elusive but requisite “situational awareness” or “mountain sense,” as we used to call this uncommon way of thinking back in my mountaineering days.
M led Sunday’s paddle, while I led Saturday’s paddle. Saturday, was a pretty normal summer day, although it was autumn. Sunny, warm with a building northeasterly wind. My assignment was to take the group north from our launch site at Currarong Creek to a stretch of beach where we could land and launch through the surf, and then paddle back south, around Whale Point and into Honeysuckle Bay.
It’s hard to summarize in three to five points, how to land in the surf. There can be so much to consider: is it a spilling wave or a dumper, are there sandbars, what about rips, are there any rocks, swimmers or other hazards nearby, what’s the best way to brace if the kayak broaches, etc., etc., etc. CA, one of the assessors, has a really nice short and effective series of tips that he communicates before surf landings, whereas I tend to blather on like a chipmunk hyped up on amphetamines about all the things a paddler could, should, or might have to do.
In the end, everyone landed and launched without any drama which I think was more testament to how easy the landing was, than my great skill. While there was a series of waves to break out through, none were packing that much of a punch. After relaunching, we paddled over to Bosom Beach for lunch, and I, rather stupidly, let my guard down and failed to prepare the group adequately for the moderate northeasterly winds which were now steadily increasing.
We all got around Whale Point and into Honeysuckle Bay with no drama and I attempted, with little success, to do some stroke coaching. It was a bit windy, paddlers were bumping around and having trouble maintaining their positions, and eventually, I got the nod that we could head back.
The wind had increased a bit and the sea state was lively. We had some minor drama paddling back around Whale Point. The GPS track from my watch showed that we were 250 metres further off-shore than when we had paddled around Whale Point an hour or so before. It turns out that a lot of paddlers really don’t like paddling broadside to sea and swell. Down here on the south coast, paddling with a beam on sea is common. There was a capsize, but speedily resolved as CA had dashed back and was assisting the paddler within a minute or two of the familiar “paddler in the water” cry. I herded up the rest of the group and we headed back into sheltered waters. There seemed no point risking a second capsize by keeping slightly unstable paddlers out in the freshening wind. We had a magnificent feast for dinner and a pleasant evening sharing kayak tales and listening to the wind blow around the house.
Sunday was M’s day and we left from tiny Honeymoon Bay in Jervis Bay. Conditions were excellent if you like calm conditions and a very low swell. We paddled easily past Longnose Point to Point Perpendicular and then paddled back to Black Boat Cove (also known as Boat Harbour) via The Corridor, a narrow tunnel through the cliffs which is less than a paddle width wide. Everyone went through as CA and A sat in their kayaks at either end. It was a first cave for some paddlers!
Paddling out of Black Boat Cove the sky to the west was black with clouds as a rapidly moving and strong front approached. Within seconds, the wind went from calm to 25 knots with stronger gusts, and pelting rain. Stopping to buckle my new hat on so I didn’t lose it, I was immediately blown downwind and almost all the way back into the cove. After getting the boat turned around and paddling back out, I found I was far behind the rest of the group except for H who was struggling to keep the bow of her boat pointed into the wind and also struggling (with a too long paddle and poor stroke) to make any headway. I paddled alongside H for a while, offering encouragement and trying to keep her boat tracking mine but, we were getting exactly nowhere and H was white with anxiety. My plan to put H on tow was stymied as my paddle caught under my kayak and I almost capsized!
As we were less than 500 metres from the shelter of Black Boat Cove, I decided the smartest thing to do was run back downwind to shelter where we could get ourselves sorted out. In all likelihood, the worst of the squall would blow through and winds would ease. At a minimum, I could switch my flat blade for my wing blade and effect a tow. A was the only person within site, the rest of the group had disappeared, so I tried to let him know our decision but I did not want to leave H in case of a capsize so, after shouting for a while, H and I ran back to Black Boat Cove arriving only a minute or two before A.
I was concerned that H was cold so offered up some clothing but she said she was fine and, as we discussed options CA arrived. CA rapidly instituted a tow and with H paddling behind CA and me keeping close watch on H, we made reasonable time. I was very glad to have switched my wing blade for my flat blade and felt all the power that a good paddle and stroke can give. A went ahead to gather up the rest of the group who were sheltering under cliffs near Target Beach.
As we approached Longnose Point, we could see waves breaking out to sea, wind waves, in other words. CA and I snuck around close in to the point, with me keeping pace with H who I was still worried about. As we rounded Longnose Point, large standing waves, 1.5 metres high reared up. I was talking to H, instructing her to keep her bow pointed into the waves and paddle over them but she again was white with fear. Soon, A came along and told me to go out front, while he looked after H, and soon again after that, CA was towing H. The marine chart bears the warning “Dangerous Ground, Breaks” and indeed it does. If you were feeling confident, however, it was actually quite fun paddling up and down over standing waves that were almost like ocean rollers.
It felt like it took a long time to paddle the few kilometres up what is called on the chart “The Groper Coast” to Honeymoon Bay but my GPS track shows we were averaging between four and five kilometres per hour. If you were comfortable in the conditions, and not towing someone, the paddling was really fun. Finally, we reached Honeymoon Bay. I lined my kayak up just outside the entrance so that if people turned in right where I directed, should they capsize, they would be washed harmlessly into the bay instead of into reefs on either side. It was a happy group that landed on the small beach.
No comments:
Post a Comment