Kinetic Chain or Floppy String

Splashalot came out of retirement yesterday for an upwind/downwind afternoon run. We did 12 kilometres, averaging 10 km/hour on the return which even Splashalot thought was pretty decent. According to my Garmin watch, I spent 9 minutes in Zone 5 and 30 minutes in Zone 4, and the graph shows a sharp dichotomy between the paddle out (all aerobic/zone 3) and the all out sprint paddling to catch runners on the way back. I felt fitter and stronger and caught more waves than usual, although the final kilometre or so I was starting to feel pretty knackered and more like a floppy piece of string than a kinetic chain.

Saturday is the end of my training week, a time to look both backwards and forwards. This weeks statistics: five days of mobility training, three core training sessions,two days strength training, two days on the climbing wall, 23 kilometres paddling (seems a bit slack but one was a hard session), 42 kilometres on foot with 2000 metres of gain, half of which was off-trail, and two nights sleeping out.

The Older I Get The Better I Was: Climbing Kane Peak

The older I get

The more I think
You only get a minute, better live it while your in it
‘Cause it’s gone in a blink.

The Older I Get. Alan Jackson

The elevation gain from Bogong Creek to Big Creamy Flats is only 500 metres, while topping out on Mount Namadgi adds just 300 metres more elevation, but walking up Middle Creek felt so painfully, paralysingly, desperately slow. Sure, there was the bushwacking, which was very thick at times, and the deep boggy grass, and we were carrying overnight packs, but are those factors enough to explain just how slow I felt walking up the drainange, like moving through rapidly setting cement or treacle in a freezer?

North Ridge Mount Namadgi

I took an old trekking pole I found somewhere (on a bushwalk long ago, I think), and was glad of it. Even with the pole, I had one of those spectacular falls where you tumble right over, my arms pinned back under my pack and it took me a while to disentangle all my limbs and stand back up. The pole was helpful because there are so many obstacles buried under the bush – stumps, boulders, logs, deep holes, wombat tunnels – and my proprioceptive ability has declined with age despite the fact that I practice walking on uneven ground virtually every day. But I no longer have the quick reflexes of youth when I could walk for hours through the wilderness of Canada, happily balancing along vertiginous ledges completely at ease.

Stone Arrangement Mount Namadgi

For some reason, as we traveled up and down Middle Creek I was thinking about a trip I did in 2009 which I led for the Kootenay Mountaineering Club (KMC). Five of us climbed Kane Peak, deep in Kokanee Glacier Provincial Park. The total elevation gain for the trip was somewhere between 2200 metres and 2400 metres and I carried the communal glacier rope (which we did not employ) the entire weekend. On the way to the Keyhole, a high mountain col which gives access to Kokanee Glacier, Coffee Pass and Kane Peak, one of the party got heat exhaustion so while he went on ahead to rest and rehydrate at the Keyhole I carried his pack the final 150 metres (elevation gain) up to the col then bounded back down again to carry my pack up. When we got to camp near Coffee Pass, I left the rest of the group resting at camp and took off to scope the route for the next day. I remember feeling positively super human because I was no longer carrying a mountaineering pack with helmet, rope, crampons, ice axe, etc. etc., and my energy seemed undiminished by the days activities. How is it possible that I am the same person?

West Ridge Kane Peak

Before We Go is a compilation of Dan John’s earlier essays published in one volume. I’m reading it now and it is probably one of my favorite Dan John books. A summation of the book would include the words reasonableness and standards. Both concepts which society has abandoned in favor of the latest fitness craze (pole dancing anyone?) and narcissistic individualism. Dan John, however is still putting up big numbers in the gym as he enters his sixth decade and rightly recognises that a healthy lifespan is predicated on muscle mass and strength. Only good things come from being able to pull weight off the floor and press it overhead.

Climbing the North Ridge of Nifleheim

I am not the person I was 15 years ago. The one who moved effortlessly like a sure footed goat across the mountains, but if I did not pursue reasonableness and standards I know I would be significantly worse off.

From the KMC Newsletter:

Kane Peak is an attractive rocky peak that anchors the south end of Sawtooth Ridge and commands your attention from various view points in Kokanee Glacier Provincial Park. It's also a peak I've wanted to climb for a long time. Access is some what longer and more difficult now that Keen Creek Forest Service Road is closed, but you can still get to Kane Peak via either a bushwhack from the Woodbury drainage or by descending Kokanee Glacier from the Keyhole.

Kane Peak

Despite my misgivings about having to hump an overnight pack up to the Keyhole in summer when all the choss and rubble is exposed, it seemed a preferable route to bushwhacking in via Woodbury, after all, there would be no actual bushwhacking. Actually, I'd never been to the Keyhole before, except in winter skiing over from the Kaslo Hilton, which really doesn't count because it is so easy.

Looking Down The Keyhole

With all the plans in place, five of us met at Gibson Lake parking lot at 8 am on Saturday, August 29. We were equipped with standard glacier travel and overnight gear. It's a long haul up to the Keyhole, over 1100 metres, so our idea was to go at a steady, but not break-neck pace. The first part on the trail was quite reasonable, but after the official "end of trail" sign - so ominous - the trail deteriorated into a scratched out path disappearing here and there into the boulders. The final climb to the Keyhole is very loose, and despite the presence of a couple of boot-beaten paths, one on each side of the final ascent gully, avoiding the paths and just stepping up boulders and talus provides firmer footing.  We had a couple of short water breaks on the way to the Keyhole, but once at the Keyhole we had a deliciously decadent break with a cup of tea brewed over Ken's compact stove.

Camp near Coffee Pass

From the Keyhole, we could look down Kokanee Glacier to Coffee Pass and I was astonished to see that not only was the glacier almost completely bare of snow, but heavily crevassed as well. Of course, glaciers in the Selkirks are rapidly shrinking and Kokanee Glacier is clearly no exception. We put crampons and harnesses on, but had no need to rope up as we were able to descend all the way to toe of glacier down near Coffee Pass on bare ice. We took an end run around a few crevasses, but overall travel was considerably easier than if the glacier had been snow-covered with suspect bridges that would have required much careful travel.

Late summer, Kokanee Glacier From Kane Peak

From the Keyhole, we could look down Kokanee Glacier to Coffee Pass and I was astonished to see that not only was the glacier almost completely bare of snow, but heavily crevassed as well. Of course, glaciers in the Selkirks are rapidly shrinking and Kokanee Glacier is clearly no exception. We put crampons and harnesses on, but had no need to rope up as we were able to descend all the way to toe of glacier down near Coffee Pass on bare ice. We took an end run around a few crevasses, but overall travel was considerably easier than if the glacier had been snow-covered with suspect bridges that would have required much careful travel.

Descending Kokanee Glacier

Nearing the toe of the glacier, a herd of mountain goats, on rocky terrain (old moraine) between the toe of the glacier and Coffee Pass scattered at our approach. Bert, who had climbed Kane Peak back in 1970 - yes, that is 39 years ago - recalled a goat nursery in the same location. Undisturbed by humans, this area has clearly been favoured by goats for a long time.

Old School Weather Forecast From Radio

We debated traversing east to Coffee Pass over loose terrain to find a campsite, but, in the end, we thought that there may be no water available there and we found ourselves small, goat-like ledges on the old moraine to camp, with water provided by the copious ongoing glacial melt. Vicki and I shared a tent, and a comfortable tent platform, tucked nicely out of the catabatic winds that streamed down the glacier with Dave, who had his own small tent, while Bert and Ken, the two hardy mountaineers slept in a bivouac bag and under a silt-tarps respectively.

Southeast Face and Ridge, Kane Peak

That afternoon, after fortifying myself with another cup of tea, I scrambled east over loose terrain under a couple of rock slabs to gain the old moraine that lies above Coffee Pass. As is typical of old moraines, this one is steep and loose, particularly on the south side, but a short descent down the north side, puts you easily into Coffee Pass. A small tarn, with no visible inlet or outlet lies slightly north and down from Coffee Pass and would provide water for a campsite.

Southeast Face Kane Peak and Ascent Route

Kane Peak has a long south ridge that curls right around back to the north, and encloses a rocky basin, once glaciated, but now full of rubble and with only small patches of steep bare glacial ice clinging to the highest ridge lines. From Coffee Pass, I climbed slightly, heading northeast. and gained this ridge-line somewhere between 7,500 and 8,000 feet. From here, there are two obvious routes up Kane Peak to the standard southeast face route, one is to drop 60 to 80 vertical metres down into the rubble filled valley and toil up loose slopes until you can gain the col on the south ridge of Kane Peak; the other is to hold your elevation and traverse around the basin using ledges and benches and to reach the upper basin and then continue up to the col. Which you choose, is probably a matter of picking your poison. Next day we took the traverse route which had a couple of sections of loose rock in gullies, but was technically easy and reasonably fast.

Grays Peak from Kane Peak

Back at camp, we all had dinner and pretty much everyone was in bed by soon after 7.00 pm. Dave and Vicki gave me grief for daring to use my headlamp to read my book until 9.00 pm, when I turned it out, not because I was tired, but because the loud sighs emanating from Vicki's side of the tent were intruding onto my quiet reading time!

Our Austere Camp Site

Next morning we got up in the dark at 5.00 am and left camp at about 6.15 am, retracing my steps of the previous evening and quickly gaining the ridge. Not everyone was totally happy with my choice of route, but, in the end, we all headed off together and found the route quite reasonable with no more loose rock than is encountered on any average scramble in the Kokanee Range. Once we'd traversed into the basin the easy talus slope leading to the col was visible and with a minimum of fuss we were all at the col.

Vicki and I on the Kokanee Glacier

From the col, the small glacier on the east side of Kane Peak looks quite shrunken and almost totally bare of snow. A couple of large gendarmes lie along the ridge between the col and the peak of Kane, most of us descended a short distance - perhaps 30 metres - and cramponed across bare glacial ice to the base of the southeast slopes of Kane Peak, but Bert, quickly nipped across snow and rock ledges just below the gendarmes and arrived at the base of the main peak before the rest of us.

Dave Tags the Summit

The final scramble to the summit is easy - class two or three - but care must be taken for loose rock as there are some large blocks lying about poised to tumble down with the slightest touch. There are actually two little summits - one more northerly than the other. We figure the most southerly is the highest (it also appears that way on 1:20,000 BC Basemap), but most of us touched both summits just in case.

Obligatory Poseur Summit Shot

After snacks, photos, and signing the summit register (placed by LC in June 2009), we returned the way we had come and were back at camp in time for lunch and a cup of tea. I used the last drops of white gas in my stove making Vicki and I a cup of tea. An event I thought bespoke excellent planning but the old mountaineers asked "What would I do in an emergency?" Luckily, my body fat stores are sufficient to see me through any such condition, at least for a short time.

Vicki Kane Peak

I certainly wasn't enthused about shouldering my pack and plodding back up the glacier, particularly in the heat of the day, but there is no other way to get home. In the end, cramponing up from Coffee Pass to the Keyhole is infinitely easier than grovelling up the loose choss from Gibson Lake. Bert headed off first and set an excellent route back up to the Keyhole, all on bare ice and with not a single crevasse to be crossed.  We had another snack at the Keyhole and changed into shorts and tee-shirts for the baking hot descent on the other side, and then slowly, with some painful knees made our way back to the trailhead.

Mount Namadgi

“We’re not like other people,” said Doug. “How so?” I asked. “Well, there was kangaroo dung everywhere beside the creek when I got water out for us to drink, and we just drank the water.”

It’s true, as a rule, we don’t worry about stuff like that. Sure, we avoid skanky pools full of cow shit, but a small creek in the middle of bushland with clear water, and we’ll drink the water without treatment. After 40 years of this practice, neither of us have ever got sick which speaks to either gut acculturation, anti-fragility, or luck. Once, on a sea kayak trip, our friends assiduously treated all the water they got from rain water tanks with a steri-pen while chomping down on Tim Tams and lollies. The point escaped me.

We’ve walked into Big Creamy Flats to hike Mount Namadgi in Namadgi National Park. Of course, simply saying “we walked into Big Creamy Flats” does not describe the walk in, which involves one kilometre walking on a mowed trail across the Bogong Creek grasslands followed by a ten kilometre bushwack. The first two kilometres is relatively easy, although, since the bridge over Bogong Creek was pulled there is a mandatory boots and even trousers off creek crossing. But there is a very old vehicle track that runs about a kilometre up Middle Creek which allows an “easing in” to the bushwacking.

For whatever reason, as you progress northwest up Middle Creek, the bushwacking gets worse. Some big boulders delay progress, not because they are large but because they are big and brushy. There are multiple side creeks to cross where the ground is boggy and thigh high thickets of sedgy grass proliferate. Somewhere around the four to five hour mark we both realise our hip flexors are tiring. That’s the thing about this kind of bush-wacking, each step is a high step, and the only people used to high stepping for hours are members of the Ministry of Silly Walks.

Our time to Big Creamy Flats seems about usual, 6 to 6.5 hours from the car, and it is wonderful to finally break out of the trees at 1500 metres to a sunny valley with ridges of granite boulders to the north and south. We have time for a mug of tea and a short laze by the tent before the sun dips below the ridges and the temperature falls.

In the morning, we walk half a kilometre around the southern edge of Big Creamy Flats until we are near a minor creek draining the ridge of Mount Namadgi. More bushwacking to the summit, until around the 1700 to 1750 metre level where the bush eases back to low sub-alpine growth and there are large granite slabs to walk up. The peaks along the boundaries of the ACT are not high enough to have true alpine terrain with easy walking. More common is a bush thrash until very near the summit.

But the views are always worth it and Mount Namadgi does have superb views. Down to Big Creamy Flats, east across smaller and smaller hills, south to the other peaks of the Scabby Range and west to the Bimberi and Brindabella Ranges. We can see all the other peaks we have climbed in the area: Mounts Burbidge, Kelly and Gudgenby, Sentry Box Rock andSentry Box Mountain, and Mount Murray and Bimberi Peak on the ACT/NSW border divide.

Our initial plan had been to spend a second night camped at Big Creamy Flats and I had been looking at the ridge opposite to see what might be the best route up, but we have errands to run in Canberra before driving home and decide we will walk half way out breaking the unpleasant bushwack into two parts.

Back at the tent, we drink tea, pack up our gear and begin the walk back. It’s impossible to find the “best route” and a couple of times we end up too high, in fields of big boulders, other times, we are a little too low and mired in boggy grasslands, but, eventually we find a grassy area beside a small side creek and find a camp for the night.

The final kilometre or so of bushwacking passes relatively easily and we are back at the crossing of Middle Creek and soon after that the grasslands, Bogong Creek and the car. At a picnic bench at the car park we brew coffee, eat a second breakfast and enjoy a last view up Middle Creek to Mount Namadgi.

Sharpening An Axe

Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe. Abraham Lincoln.

Yesterday’s paddle was south into a 10 to 15 knot headwind. Doug calls me a sandbagger and says I always underestimate the difficulty of climbs and the strength of winds. I could be a habitual self-deprecator, but mostly I think - realistically enough - I’m 60 years old, female (remember that’s not sexism just realism), and have never been particularly physically gifted. It would take a lot to convince me that the Grade 20 climb I just sent was really Grade 24, or the wind was actually 30 knots and not a much more moderate 20 knots.

But, I came back and checked the wind observations yesterday and the wind I had pegged at 7 knots, at most 10 knots was actually in the 10 to 15 knot range. As expected, there was a bumpy sea. Three days of strong northerlies followed by a big southerly blow will do that. That’s good training for ocean paddling, paddling on the ocean in “conditions.” I threw in a few kilometres at tempo, my second tempo session for the week. The first was a running tempo workout.

Tempo is that pace that feels good, which is why lots of people overdo tempo, end up with a poor aerobic base and level out on a long and intractable capacity plateau, which is only relieved by going backwards and training at or below aerobic pace.

Steve Bechtel has written some simple but comprehensive articles on energy systems training, which, although targeted at rock climbers, provide at least a starting knowledge base for folks that don’t really understand that base training – be it basic strength training (there is a reason Pavel Tsatsouline calls his business Strong First), or basic aerobic capacity must come first.

This week’s statistics: seven days of mobility training, five core training sessions, three days strength training, one day on the climbing wall, 31 kilometres paddling (my ten day rotation is not finished yet), 40 kilometres on foot with 852 metres of elevation gain and 12 kilometres on the bike. Less volume than last week but more intensity with two tempo sessions and one session of all out sprint paddle intervals (zone five) one every kilometre for 14 kilometres.

Looking Backwards

You can’t connect the dots looking forward, you can only connect them looking backwards. Steve Jobs

Certain segments of society might profit from looking forwards rather than backwards, but here is my training week in review. If you can remember back to Sunday School - I think most Aussie kids of a certain generation went to Sunday School - God was busy creating stuff each day, but apparently rested on the seventh day. What a slacker!

Anyway, seven days of mobility work, five days of core training, 3 days of strength training, 40 kilometres walking with 1550 metres of elevation gain (I don’t track the loss – what comes up must go down after all), and 35 kilometres paddling … except my paddle training is planned over a 10 day period and totalled 49 kilometres for the ten days. Most of this was aerobic, but I also did some paddle sprints (one each kilometre for 14 kilometres) and about an hour of tempo training.

Almost but not quite on track with my training plan. I missed two days of training on the climbing wall. By all accounts we are heading for a hot summer so I don’t see much climbing happening this summer – I’ve got other stuff going on – but I do like to keep climbing training ticking away year round. It’s just too hard and demoralising to get onto the “in shape/out of shape” see-saw.

A Spring Day in Spring Creek

Since walking down the eastern fork of Spring Creek, I’d been thinking about the western fork and, after looking at some images on Google Earth and NSW Six Maps, I’d become convinced that the images I had seen online were from the western fork. Back I went along the same fire trail (FT) but a bit further, around 4 kilometres in total, to a spot where the FT crosses the western fork of Spring Creek on open rock slabs.

A hundred or so metres down stream from the road, easy walking on open slabs, I found a rope tied to a tree and curled neatly below. An obvious but dubious hand line which I did not use, scrambling down the slabs instead. After about 300 metres of easy walking I reached a confluence and followed this tributary upstream, again on easy rock slabs. I turned around about 40 metres from the FT where the creek got bushy.

Back on the main creek, I followed the granite slabs downstream finding the travel much easier than on the eastern tributary as the creek bed is wide and open in this section. At one point, I got to a dry waterfall formed by a basalt (I assume) dyke which required a scramble down to skiers left. A little further down, at an open area, the granite ran out and the creek became just a normal creek again, albeit with some very large stinging trees in the nearby bush. Interestingly, I was only about 250 metres from the point I had turned back on the last trip! Lots of flowering orchids along the creek edge.

Back at the FT, I paused for a drink of water before the hot FT walk out and noted that there was not one but two pythons on the slabs about 5 metres away. We did not bother each other. On the FT on the walk out I found the very fresh remains of a half eaten bandicoot. Certainly, this corpse was not there on my walk in. I have seen dingoes in this area before and have often heard their howls, so I presume at least one dingo was nearby in the bush as I walked past.

Mornings On The Lake

Paddling on a calm lake in the early morning is not something I normally do. I’m obsessed with practicing under the conditions in which performance is demanded. My performance arena is the open ocean and so I train almost exclusively on the sea. But, Doug and I have driven up to Burrill Lake to get some coaching from my friend Rae who paddles on Burrill Lake a couple of times a week. Paddling a kayak forwards seems so simple but is actually so complicated. Getting the catch, the rotation, the exit right takes even expert paddlers hundreds – or more probably thousands – of hours of practice. And, it is hard to isolate different parts of the stroke and practice them well on the ocean where a paddler is almost always dealing with what the UK paddlers call “conditions.”

The lake is peaceful and calm on this early spring morning. Rae reports that holiday season is different. Motorboats and jet skis zoom up and down, but, at 8 am in September, there are only a few other non-motorized users on the water. The water is clear, a seal surfaces and disappears, and small fish swim by in the shallows.

After the big Queensland paddle trip, which we are still living down among the neighbours, I gave myself permission to take two weeks off. I enjoyed the time away from paddle training. But, on Sunday, it was time to get back at it so Doug and I paddled north up the Murramarang Coast to Dark Beach where we had the briefest of stops – not even a cup of tea – before returning via the east side of the Tollgate Islands. There was a long period swell running through with some waves well over two metres and I kept away from all reefs and bommies. In the last month, a NSW sea kayaker, of some repute and experience, had been caught in some big swells with serious consequences. The sea demands respect.

Position Of Island Is Approximate: High Peak Island By Sea Kayak

Camping on High Peak Island is very remote, 160 kilometres north of Yeppoon, 180 kilometres south-east of Mackay and can be reached by boat only. Broad Sound Islands National Park website.

Preamble:

High Peak Island is out there, the most easterly island along the Capricornia Coast. Plunked down in the middle of a big deep ocean with tidal heights reaching nine metres and nearby only a smattering of small islands and islets none of which are amenable to landing a sea kayak. The nautical chart for the area is liberally marked with the symbol for overfalls, tide rips and races, and, my personal favorite: “position of island is approximate.” And, if one needed any further reasons to visit, we knew of no other kayakers who had ventured that far east.

The Rugged East Coast of High Peak Island

But, as Boromir said in The Fellowship Of The Rings, “one does not simply” paddle out to High Peak Island. Any trip through the Shoalwater Bay Military Exercise Area requires careful planning. Fresh water is scarce, tides are massive, currents are strong, overfalls, tide rips and races appear and disappear depending on wind and tidal conditions but are overall ubiquitious, the trade winds can be strong and persistent, mobile telephone and radio reception poor to non-existent, and civilisation far away.

Passing Morpeth Island with a Following Wind
PC: DB

While Doug loaded Plotyak™ onto his computer and got down to the serious business of plotting bearings for crossings and departure times, I proceeded with the more mundane and prosaic work of drying more dinners, making batches and batches and batches of lentil crackers, and increasing our supply of water bags from five to ten enabling us to carry in excess of 50 litres of water when required. A start date was chosen to ensure we were paddling the more difficult crossings with smaller tides and the inevitable car shuffle sorted.

Sunset Over Corio Bay

There is no getting around the long drive north from the south coast of NSW to the Capricornia coast in Queensland. On the way up, we operated on the assumption that four shorter days was better than three longer days, but reversed that on the way back. In retrospect, I think I prefer three shorter days. There is some pleasure in getting such an unpleasurable activity over as quickly as possible, and good places to stop for the night along the way are lacking. My definition of a good place to overnight is a quiet and uncrowded caravan park without bright lighting but with a decent camp kitchen, away from the endless grind of road trains which characterise Queensland roads, and with some nearby natural area where one can walk off the stress of the days driving. In my estimation, there are two places that meet these criteria on our long route north: Wellington Caves Campground – run by the local council and just wonderful – and Isla Gorge National Park.

The Bubble of Chaos Freshens Up at Five Rocks

PC: DB

We met up with FishKiller Pearson – also known as the “bubble of chaos” - after our latest experiences paddling the Capricornia coast with FishKiller - at the BarraCrab Caravan Park at Clairview. The BarraCrab is a bit of an odd caravan park, strangely popular given the locale, the facilities, the meals from the cafe, the rigamarole required to book, and the disappearing and cloudy water (the tide goes out a very, very long way) that fronts the beach, but, there is a small sand boat ramp, and the shuttle back to Bangalee to start the paddle is shorter than finishing the trip at any of the small towns further north. The large tides and flat beaches along this section of the Queensland coast mean that all trips must end at or very near high tide to avoid very long carries across mudflats.

Near Water Park Point, PC: DB

The first hurdle of the trip was getting three boats on FishKiller’s roof racks and all our kayaking and camping gear, including about 30 litres of water and two weeks food into the interior of the car along with three people. This took more hours than I like to think about and was facilitated by the wooden extensions to FishKiller’s roof rack which Doug had constructed at home. After this was finally achieved, we retired for our last night in civilisation.

Sunset Over Pine Trees Point

Day 1: Bangalee to Little Corio Bay

With northerly winds forecast for the first several days of the trip, we had realistic plans for heading north up the coast and had planned just 16 kilometres for our first day. Unlike the previous year, launching from Farnborough Beach at Bangalee was easy and we paddled north following the beach up to Sandy Point, across the mouth of Corio Bay – which was a mess of breaking waves last year – and landed at beautiful Little Corio Bay with pandanus trees for shade, a kilometre long white sand beach and an easy walk up onto the height of land where native flowers flourished and the sunset over Corio Bay was stunning. The relief at being out of the car, away from civilisation and at the start of two weeks of wilderness paddling was immense.

Little Corio Bay

Day 2: Little Corio Bay to Three Rivers

We start the day paddling north around Water Park Point which has a big cave on the eastern side, even FishKiller follows the rocky coastline closely. Then it is a steady paddle north into a light headwind beside Nine Mile Beach until we reach Stockyard Point where there is once again interesting rocky coastline bisected by sea carved corridors of rock to explore. At Five Rocks we land the kayaks and walk the short distance up the track to spring and waterfall that miraculously bursts out of this dry landscape.

The Cave At Water Park Point, PC: DB

Water bags are filled and salty bodies washed before we continue paddling north. The previous year we struggled to find an easy landing site along this coast but today conditions are so calm we paddle through a tiny gap in the rocky reef that separates Five Rocks from the beach. Five Rocks Beach is about five kilometres long and marks the start of the Shoalwater Bay Military Excercise Area. Beyond this point there are no roads but minor military roads, no settlements, no people.

Waterfall and Swimming Pool at Three Rivers,

PC: DB

With calm seas and just a light headwind, we paddle close in along the shore enjoying the many interesting gauntlets carved into the bedrock. We are looking for a good campsite, any one of the small beaches along this section of coast will suit. At the back of the first small beach we reach, a small waterfall can be seen bursting out of pandanus trees. “This is tonight’s camp,” we all agree quickly. A pretty beach framed by rocky headlands and a gushing freshwater waterfall are too good to pass by. Landing the boats, we walk up to the waterfall which has a deep pool at its base. The only downside of the camp is the masses of plastic garbage washed up at the back of the beach. These easterly facing beaches collect the plastic detritus of the world. Carefully picking up our used tea bags to carry out with us seems futile among the plastic debris, but we can at least not add to the garbage.

Three Rivers Beach, PC: DB

Day 3: Three Rivers to Port Clinton

Before leaving Three Rivers we filled all ten of our water bags, a two litre bottle and our PFD bladders totally about 60 litres of water distributed between our two kayaks. Doug’s boat was so heavy I could barely move it! The boats did feel ponderous and heavy as we paddled north towards Cape Manifold but the scenery is so good, the water so calm and clear that we soon forget how heavy our boats are and just enjoy the spectacular environment.

Caves Near Three Rivers, PC: DB

We find a big slot on the first headland north of Three Mile and then a series of small, pretty bays separated by rocky headlands before we reach Cape Manifold where the coast turns abruptly west. There are a number of gauntlets that cleave the rocks of Cape Manifold and we choose one to paddle through meeting up with FishKiller, who, as is normal practice for him, has paddled straight to Cape Manifold. At Cape Manifold we encourage FishKiller to continue on to find a camp site near Port Clinton so that we can fully explore the coast as we travel north. Off he goes soon becoming a speck in the distance.

Calm Conditions at Cape Manifold, PC: DB

Doug and I paddle along the north side of Cape Manifold and across to Cliff Point where tall cliffs fall straight into the sea and a female Humpback Whale with a calf is slowly swimming along the cliff. We squeeze in close to the cliffs, the conditions are so calm I can reach out and touch the rocks, while the whales rest nearby. From Cliff Point we head straight north to Quion Island and paddle through the calm, deep passage that separates a mini Quoin Island (unnamed) from Quion Island on the south side. Quion Island has 30 metre high columnar basalt cliffs on the east side and is spectacular.

Humpback Whales At Cliff Point, PC: DB

The northern three to five kilometres of Cape Clinton is riddled with massive sea caves and conditions are perfect for exploring them all. The first cave we paddle into is so deep that the back is completely dark and would require a headlamp or torch to reach the end. There are caves with big openings and caves with small openings, narrow caves, wide caves, slots, gauntlets, passage ways, we expore them all, paddling through narrow passages and backing into dark caverns. The conditions are amazing and we wish Nick were here as he would love this coastline.

One of the Massive Sea Caves: PC: DB

Eventually, after 30 kilometres we paddle past Cape Clinton, paddling through one last slot, to find FishKiller eating oysters on a northerly facing beach. FishKiller has been amazingly patient not unpacking his boat as he waited for us to dally our way up the coast, and we quickly decide this beach is good enough. There are so many good campsites on this coastline and so much to see and explore that you could spend three weeks just getting to Stanage.

More Fun in Caves: PC: DB

Day 4: Port Clinton to Island Head

The predicted northerly winds had been kind. Although present, the wind never exceeded about 10 knots so even with heavy boats we were doing fine, but day four, the northerly winds were forecast to increase ahead of strong northerlies the following day. FishKiller, having once caught a fish at Island Head, was determined to return to camp on the island and perhaps catch the biggest fish of his entire career.

FishKiller in Search of Big Fish

Our original plan, conditions permitting, had been to paddle north via Split and Dome Islands – the location of many caves, tunnels and arches – and paddle by the small but scenic looking Clara Group of islands on our way north. This route would put us into the brunt of the northerly winds so we settled for paddling up the coast instead.

Heading Up Flinders Watering Gully, PC: DB

Our first stop would be a small beach marked on the topographic map with “Flinders Watering Gully.” How could there not be water at such a place? The previous year, conditions had been too rough to approach the location as strong tidal outflows collided with a solid southeasterly sea driven along by moderate winds and we had instead passed by outside of shifting sandbars and breaking waves.

Fresh Water Bliss, PC: DB

At Flinders Watering Gully we found a small beach and water. A very deep pool below a trickling creek in a deep shady gorge. Not much water coming in and only a small trickle running through and out but clear fresh water nevertheless. We refilled our containers, dunked into the pool, and continued paddling north passing inside Rankin Islet in very calm sea conditions. Sadly, we passed by the mouth of beautiful Delcomyn Bay, which we had luckily been able to explore the previous year, and at Pearl Bay we passed east of the few small islands that cluster near the south end and then straight north to another stunning section of coast.

Stunning Cliffs South of Island Head, PC: DB

The final six kilometres to Island Head the paddling just got better and better. A few small beaches tucked between headlands but predominantly cliffs, rock islets, gauntlets, passages and corridors all off-set by a solid blue sky and clear, clear water. We passed turtles, dolphins, whales and sharks. The last northerly facing beach before Island Head would make a wonderful campsite surrounded by steep columnar cliffs that fall straight into the sea.

The Paddling Gets Better and Better, PC: DB

Strong tidal currents swirl around Island Head, there are shifting sandbars and you can generally catch a single wave and ride it for upwards of half a kilometre. FishKiller was tucked into a corner on the mainland patiently waiting for Doug and I to arrive from our dalliances under the big cliffs, and we crossed over the swirling currents to land on the eastern sandspit at Island Head.

The Cliffs Near Island Head, PC: DB

The campsites were a bit scrappy as steep vegetated ground comes right down to the high tide mark, but we both found a suitable spot for our tents and had our usual afternoon swims. That evening, FishKiller did indeed catch a fish which was very tasty but he seemed less than enamoured with the idea of catching more. The entire clean, gut, cook procedure hardly seeming to offset the possibility of eating fresh fish.

The Sand Spit at Island Head, PC:DB

Day 5: Island Head

The northerly winds blew in as forecast. Our rest day, which was otherwise enjoyable, was interrupted by endless moves from one part of the beach to another to try to find some shelter from the wind where we were not getting unwanted facials from blowing sand. Doug and I both walked up to the top of Island Head which was surprisingly easy if you used a bit of common sense. An easy walk up to a broad saddle and then eastward to the top. The only difficulty was some thick scrub on the summit which had to be skirted on the north. The views were excellent.

Walking up Island Head

FishKiller, in his usual “bubble of chaos” fashion set off to fish from a rock platform at the southern end of the island and, with fishing rod in one hand, fishing net in the other, and with extra clothing tied like nappies around his waist proceeded to lurch across the steepest part of the hill side to reach the exposed rocks. Watching this ignominious traverse, I strolled around on the rock platforms below.

Island Head View

My kayak had been leaking into the back hatch every day of the trip so Doug carefully dried the keel and stuck on some “gaffer tape.” The resulting repair was tested with a few litres of water from an unbroken bucket found around the island. The bucket, which will feature briefly again in this account, was kept full of sea water and near our camp to facilitate washing up. Overnight, the sound of the waves breaking on the sand spit was so loud that Doug and I both put ear plugs in to aid in sleep, which is likely how we did not come to notice, until morning, the metre of sand that had been lost to the sea overnight. Doug’s kayak was within 30 centimetres of being washed away, mine not far behind and the bucket, still full of water left precariously on 30 centimetres of remaining sand.

Close Call for the Kayaks

Day 6: Island Head to Bomb Crater Bay, Townsend Island

Finally, after nearly a week out paddling, it is time to paddle north to the premier destination of the trip, High Peak Island. High Peak Island is 42 kilometres due north of Island Head. Earlier Plotyak™ calculations had indicated we should leave around 9 am for the crossing to maximise the benefit of tides. This could be pushed back as far as 10 am, but, that would put our arrival time at around 4:00 pm, provided nothing went wrong, with a smaller window of remaining light than ideal.

Passing Pine Trees Point, PC:DB

Overnight, the northerlies, as predicted, had swung southerly and at Middle Percy Island the wind was blowing near 30 knots. From our last trip, we knew exactly what 30 knots of wind on the various currents would do to the sea state. Breaking waves could easily reach two metres or more. Our alternate route was to paddle north up the east side of Townsend Island to camp in a bay near Raynham Island. The following day, with winds forecast to moderate, we would paddle 37 kilometres northeast to High Peak Island. The wind direction would not be quite as favourable but we should still get some assistance from our kayak sails.

Caves on Townsend Island, PC: DB

As we had only a short day ahead, we decided to detour over to Pine Trees Point to see if we could find the elusive fresh water supply which we had been unable to locate on our two previous trips up this coast. Years before, FishKiller had not only got good water but the group had also had fresh water dips in a deep pool. Accordingly, we landed on the beach and made our way up a dry creek bed to a dry waterfall. There was a small pool of skanky water at the base, but forays above the waterfall revealed no water further up. Doug remembered checking this drainage the year before when it had been completely dry. Finally, the mystery of the Pine Trees water was solved. Good rain immediately before the trip is a necessary condition of finding good water.

Bomb Crater Bay, PC: DB

From Pine Trees Point we passed by the entrance to Strong Tide Passage and paddled, with sail assistance, north up the east coast of Townsend Island. Townsend Island does not have the steep cliffs found further south, but the coastline is lovely. Small sandy bays, rocky headlands, caverns and caves to peer into, and prolific marine life. Pairs of Humpback Whales – females with calves – were resting in shallow bays, turtles were everywhere, a pod of 30 or 40 dolphins were hunting, sometimes leaping completely clear of the water, and four sharks were cruising up and down the beach in shallow water when we landed.

Sunset Over Pine Trees Point

Day 7: Bomb Crater Bay to High Peak Island

Our most committing crossing of the trip because, although High Peak Island is only around 40 kilometres northeast of Townsend Island, it is 120 kilometres east of the mainland Queensland coast. Plotyak™ had charted a course which would take us close to Rothbury, Tweed and Berwick Islands, all small inhospitable islands with no suitable landing places. This was the only navigational mistake of the trip as the waters around these small islands are full of overfalls and tide races and rips. Passing to the north of Tweed Island would have been much less risky.

Humpback Whales off High Peak Island

Leaving Bomb Crater Bay conditions were strangely calm but within an hour we were into steep seas, a brisk wind, and sections of what I can only call “squirrelly water” where the waves would abruptly increase in size and steepness. As we approached Rothbury Island, the sea got rougher and rougher and large breaking waves were visible to the south and east of Rothbury Island. Doug, our chief navigator, called for a change of direction and we turned further to the north to paddle between Rothbury and Tweed Islands. We literally surfed into the gap between the two islands with large breaking waves on our eastern side, each of us responsible for keeping the keel side of our kayaks down – a rescue in these conditions would be difficult.

Beach at High Peak Island

On the northern tip of Rothbury Island we found a tiny space of lee shelter and stopped to regroup before the final eight kilometres to the beach on High Peak Island. Raunchy conditions continued until we passed Berwick Island with more tide races and overfalls. As we neared the southern tip of High Peak Island, sea conditions eased leaving us with a stiff headwind to reach the beach.

Looking South Over High Peak Island

She Oaks created shade at the back of the beach and we found camp sites in the bush. But, walking between our kitchen area and our tent, I discovered a pile of human faeces and about three rolls of toilet paper strewn around. This would not be the first time, nor the last, on this trip. Piles of poo and toilet paper distributed by person(s) unknown which we dubbed the “Capricornia Crapper.” Modern humans would die without modern society as a good chunk of people alive today have no idea how to manage such simple matters as human waste. Distasteful as the scene was, I cleaned the mess up, burning the toilet paper, burying the shit, and pouring a couple of pans of sea water onto the entire mess.

Sunset at High Peak Island

Day 8: High Peak Island

We were determined to have a day to enjoy High Peak Island and not merely arrive and leave the next day on our journey west. Doug made a magnificent loop of the two high points on the southern side of the island. Walking up slabs to the south of camp, he reached a 100 metre high saddle on the east side of the island. The easterly winds were blowing strongly, but he continued scrambling rocks to reach 130 metre high point at the southeast end of the island and then dipping westward into another saddle and walking to the top of the most westerly high point. The views were fabulous as the east side of High Peak Island features a series of steep cliffs cut by rocky saddles.

The Stunning East Coast of High Peak Island

I walked north from camp following steep rock slabs around to Camp Cove, a broken coral beach facing north. Whales were swimming idly off the west side of the island and a pod of perhaps 50 dolphins were leaping clear of the water. Later, I followed Doug’s route up to the eastern saddle and wandered north along slippery exposed rocks to peer into deep chasms and over steep cliffs on the exposed side of the island.  FishKiller went out in the boat for some fishing, caught no fish, but did watch sharks swimming in the shadows and had a close encounter with the pod of feeding dolphins.

Floating Boats off High Peak Island, PC: DB

Day 9: High Peak Island to Hexham Island

High Peak Island has a fringing coral reef which dries at low tide which could have presented some problems for leaving in the morning but we put our boats right at the reef line and, by the time we had packed in a desultory manner, the tide had risen enough to cover the reef and we could float out. With wind and tide assistance, the 32 kilometre crossing to Hexham Island was relatively easy. After 10 kilometres we passed rocky Morpeth Island, and a further 21 kilometres brought us to the steep orange cliffs on the southern end of Alnwick Island. We paddled past Shields Island and landed on the northerly facing beach on Hexham Island.

Orange Cliffs on Alnwick Island, PC: DB

Hexham Island is only 40 kilometres from the fishing community at Stanage and there were a couple of recreational boats fishing off the western headland, and, more disappointingly, the Capricornia Crapper had recently been to the island and multiple piles of human feaces and soiled toilet paper were in the bushes behind the beach. This time FishKiller had the distasteful job cleaning up.

FishKiller Passing Shields Island, PC: DB

Hexham Island has good mobile telephone reception from the hill to the west of the beach. There is even a faint footpad leading up. In the evening, I went up to pick up the weather forecast instead of Doug. Had Doug done this, as was his normal habit, we would have found out we were listed as “missing persons” a day earlier. Although the beach at Hexham Island had been eroded by the northerly winds, it was still wonderful swimming.

Hexham Island

Day 10: Hexham Island to the Duke Islands

From Hexham Island we continued almost due west to the Duke Islands. The Duke Islands Pastoral Company owns three of these islands – Marble, Tynemouth and Hunter – and runs cattle on the islands. We paddled through the group to an isolated camp for the evening. Again, we were treated to an easy crossing with the wind at our backs and tidal assistance.

Camp in the Duke Group

Day 11: The Duke Islands to Wild Duck Group

As far east as Duck Island, the tidal current runs east to west. West of Duck Island, the tidal current begins to run north to south to flood and drain the massive Broad Sound. Peak currents reach over three knots, a speed with which a kayak cannot compete. Plotyak™, however, was able to give us reasonably accurate times to leave to catch the best currents and soon another 30 kilometre crossing was finished.

Island Views, PC: DB

Wild Duck Island has a freshwater lagoon where you can actually swim not just plunge, so we enjoyed that facility before finding a campsite for the night.

Wild Duck Lagoon

Day 12: Wild Duck Group to Flat Isles

Paddling west from the Wild Duck Group we would no longer have tidal assistance. “Plotyak™ is no use to us anymore,” Doug sadly opined. We had another crossing, this one in the region of 20 to 25 kilometres to the Flat Isles. At the Flat Isles we would be within 20 kilometres of the coast, a fact that was both cheering and depressing at the same time. Heartening, as Doug and I were thoroughly sick of our dinner “slop”, but saddening because this wonderful trip was nearing the end.

Storm Brewing, PC: DB

As we paddled west with sails up and a modest tail wind, FishKiller remarked “There may be a storm coming.” I looked around and noted grey clouds lowering on the southern and eastern horizon. With Doug’s assistance to raft up, the seas being somewhat bumpy, I put my cagoule on, but Doug was confident nothing would eventuate. “FishKiller is mad,” he said confidently. We continued paddling, our sails filling with more and more wind until, in an instant, the squall hit. The wind quickly increased to 25 knots, the seas churned up into steep breaking waves, and suddenly we were all just hanging on, surfing down waves, bracing for support on one side, then the other. It began to rain, heavy pelting rain and we fought to keep sight of one another. Soon, we were well separated from FishKiller and Doug and I pulled our sails down.

FishKiller Sails Into The Storm, PC: DB

FishKiller appeared to our northern side, and we agreed to paddle without sails until the worst of the squall had passed. The wind was driving us straight towards the Flat Isles but was also blowing across a northerly running current so the seas were big. Paddling without sails we felt slow, but likely weren’t, but were at least in control. We were still running down the face of waves but avoiding broaching was easier. As the winds eased to 20 knots, we decided to try sailing again, but Doug’s sail had fallen off his mast, so I had to raft up with him to fix that.  Sails up, we began speeding towards the Flat Isles again. Gradually, however, the rain stopped, the wind eased, and we arrived at a somewhat exposed campsite with winds just under 20 knots. That afternoon, both Doug and I had good wanders around the island. The wind, however, was a bit abrasive at camp.

Island Sunset, PC: DB

Day 13: Flat Isles to Clairview Via Roundish Island

In a straight line, we were about 20 kilometres from Clairview where our car was parked but, between us and Clairview was a forecast of continual southerly winds, northerly tides, and, of course, the inevitable need to arrive at Clairview at or very near to high tide to avoid being unable to land. We floated options that ranged from leaving at 4 am to leaving at 4 pm, none were completely satisfactory given the forecast for moderate southerly winds.

Sunset Little Corio Bay, PC: DB

At 4.30 am, when I got up, the waves were crashing onto the beach and a modest southerly was blowing. Nevertheless, we got up, readied for departure and headed south. Our back up plan was stopping on Roundish Island or possibly Flock Pigeon Island, although, if we got as far as Flock Pigeon Island we would have paddled the 21 kilometres to Clairview.

Cape Manifold, PC: DB

Wind on tide had created steep waves and with each paddle stroke it felt as if the kayaks came to a dead stop and had to be restarted again. In the southeast, more squally weather looked possible, and I dreaded the prospect headwinds as strong as we had encountered the previous day. Luckily, the squalls seemed to ameliorate as they approached but we had a long, slow paddle to Roundish Island, the 10 kilometres taking 2.5 hours. At Roundish Island, we were lucky enough to find a spit of sand among the boulders where we could land the kayaks. In a desperate situation we could also scratch out a camp.

Camp at Little Corio Bay, PC: DB

We spent three or four hours on Roundish Island. With the tide now running solidy north at a couple of knots and a 15 to 17 knot headwind, reaching Clairview would be either a long drawn out affair or more likely impossible. Around 1:30 pm, we noticed that the wind was no longer roaring over the back of the island, and, walking around to the south, the sea state was rapidly calming. We repacked the boats, slowly. Doug wanted to wait until 4:00 pm to leave but the wind was forecast to blow in at 20 knots from the east by 4:00 pm and I wanted to leave sooner than that.

North of Three Rivers, PC: DB

Two weeks of packing and unpacking boats meant we were expeditious even while trying not to be that by 2:00 pm we were ready to go. The final 12 kilometres to Clairview was completed in the calmest conditions we had the entire trip! Although the tide was still out when we arrived, paddling south along the coast just to the north of Clairview we found a spot where someone had removed enough rocks to fashion a sandy landing and we pulled the boats out onto a small beach near a bus stop and park, 13 days and some 300 kilometres after leaving Bangalee. Another magical trip along the Capricornia coast marred only by several encounters with the California Crapper.

Sunset Over Corio Bay

Denoument:

While FishKiller and I carried boats and gear, Doug walked 1.5 kilometres south to retrieve our car, now gaudily festooned with “Police Aware” and “missing person” signs, and to order us dinner from the BarraCrab cafe. By the time Doug got back, FishKiller and I had carried up all three boats and had begun sorting and packing gear. The long process of putting three boats on a roof rack designed for two was interrupted near the end by a call from the cafe to tell us our take out was ready. Sitting in a bus stop, salty and tired, we ate one of the most disgusting take out meals I have had the misfortune to encounter. A cardboard box filled with chips fried in rancid industrial seed oils and a sad piece of meat cooked in the same poison. Not a lettuce leaf or slice of tomato as accompaniment. We were, however, ravenously hungry and ate every bite, but Doug felt sick all night and I woke feeling like the California Crapper myself.

Fine Dining in a Bus Shelter, PC: DB