Three Days In April

My nephew, who has some passing interest in rock climbing (mostly in the climbing gym) occasionally drives south to stay with us for a couple of days. He is 32 and thus, of an age where young men should be challenged mentally and physically. This is basic evolutionary biology which exists – like binary sex - whether you believe in it or not. An increasing proportion of society would like to erase the precepts of science arguing instead that humans have no common genetic traits and are, as John Locke theorised in the middle 1600’s, merely blank slates (tabula rasa) upon which are imprinted societal constructs. That’s not turning out very well for either individuals or society but humans are mostly not rational, despite what we like to believe. All philosophical arguments aside, when my nephew comes to stay we plan activities, because young men like cattle dogs are best behaved when tired out at the end of an active day.

The first day we went rock climbing. Despite vowing every year to stay in shape for climbing, the end of summer finds me in perilously bad shape. Strength based skill sports get harder and harder each year, which is no doubt why there are so few older rock climbers around. Nevertheless, I try to – as RedGum would say - “keep the faith,” and keep climbing. We put Mitchell on a couple of projects at the crag. I’ve climbed one of them clean on top-rope but the second one I’ve never been able to do two or three crux moves that make up the middle part of the route.

There was zero chance of M sending either; the flexibility and strength of youth cannot make up for slip-shod footwork. I have one leg markedly weaker than the other despite years of trying to bring the weak leg up to the stronger leg. I’ve always assumed that it is this weak leg that makes the opening moves on this particular route feel desperately hard but watching M slip, slide, fall, and thrutch on the same moves I wondered if the weakness might be somewhere else up the kinetic chain, my fingers or core perhaps? There’s so much weakness when you are old that it’s best not to catalogue every imperfection.

On the second day we went sea kayaking. There was a big swell with a long period. The period was up to 16 seconds which is almost unheard of on the south coast of NSW where a long period is in the order of 10 or 11 seconds. Sixteen seconds is more typical of the Southern Ocean. In addition to the long period, the waves were very large. The wave buoy, which was three kilometres due east of the Tollgate Islands last time we found it, was reporting maximum swells to six metres with average swells in the three to four metre range. The swell was too big to get off our beach safely, in addition to breaking across the mouth of the bay, the water was surging across the parking lot so there was nowhere to launch a kayak anyway.

We trolleyed about five minutes further to a beach facing north into Batemans Bay where we were able to launch into Short Beach Creek and out to sea. I’ve wanted to paddle out Short Beach Creek for ages but you need either a lot of rain or a very high tide, preferably both. I had walked along to Observation Point in the morning to suss out the route to a couple of surf spots in the Bay that are good in big conditions. Batemans Bay is very shallow and in heavy swells there can be surf breaks all the way across the Bay from Square Head to Observation Point.

I had picked a line that went to the west of the westerly cardinal marker and then slightly northeast past another marker out into deeper water but when we launched, the change in tide height meant that the waves were breaking to the west of the cardinal marker but not to the east! We went out single file, me leading, M behind me, and Doug coming last. The swells were very big and rising steeply in the shallow water. At one point, I turned around and noted that M had drifted off my course and I yelled to get him back into position. It felt a bit like skiing a big avalanche slope: you’ll be quite safe as long as you stay off the convex roll!

We paddled right around the north side of Snapper Island keeping well off reefs and into the more sheltered waters to the west of Square Head. Cullendulla Creek runs out here and with a falling tide, you can get really long rides on friendly waves. The tide was rising so conditions were not as good as other times, but I notched up four kilometres riding in and then paddling back out again. M did quite well but lacked the pattern recognition to know when to paddle hard to stay in front of the wave. He only flipped once and managed to cowboy back in. We had a break on shore and then paddled over to Cullendulla where there were lots of families and few surfers. After trying a couple of spots, we found a nice metre high green wave that provided long rides in a spot where we were not in danger of wiping out any small children. It was lots of fun.

On the way back, we looked at paddling back the “inside route” which passes between Snapper Island and Observation Head. There are multiple reefs and sandbars through here where the water is less than two metres deep so it can be very dodgy, particularly with big sets coming in, to get through safely. In the end, we decided to go around. Getting caught by a bigger than average wave would be really nasty, these swells were very powerful! As we paddled into Caseys Beach and shelter from the dry reef, one set of 4 or 5 big swells stood up and curled slightly at the top. M who was dutifully following my line in, asked “is that going to break?” “No, no,” I said, more confidently than I felt, “just keep paddling steadily.”

PC: DB

The next day we went mountain biking. We had only one more goal to achieve, tire M out so that he was unable to ride up the hills. We had him falling while climbing, capsizing while kayaking, so this was all that remained! I honestly thought it would be harder than it was but, on the last uphill on the trails as I puffed along the trail coming DFL (dead fucking last) – my quads were starting to quiver – I found M pushing the bicycle up hill. “Time to go home,” I thought. “Our work here is done.” Good times all round and M was pretty well behaved!

Tomaree Coastal Walk

Apparently, the 20 minute walk to the top of Tomaree Summit Head is a Grade 5 walking track. That’s right, a paved trail with handrails and stairs, excessive signage and which takes about 20 minutes to walk comfortably is Grade5, or, descriptively “very experienced bushwalkers with specialised skills, including navigation and emergency first aid. Tracks are likely to be very rough, very steep and unmarked.”

Here’s what you should do if you are walking in the area, ignore the rating and stroll to the top. I walked up twice, once in teeming rain with no views and once the day after Doug and I walked the full Tomaree Coastal walk. On a very windy and rainy day, I walked from Fingal Bay north to Tomaree Head. The trail is a mix of beach and bush track and passes by Box, Wreck and Zenith Beaches, all little beaches tucked under short steep hills. Tomaree Head has a series of short trails, one to the top, and another that wraps around the north side. These can be linked together via rough bush tracks.

One day later, the weather was a lot better with only sporadic brief showers but gusty winds and large swell. I walked south from Fingal Bay while Doug drove to Birubi Point and walked north. The track is well marked and there are lots of side tracks to different rock platforms and lookouts: Fingal Head, Fingal Point, Snapper Point and Big Rocky. It’s worth walking out to all of these if you have the time and energy.

After Big Rocky there are two longer beaches, Samurai and One Mile Beach. Both were pounding with big surf as I walked along them. South of One Mile Beach is Morna Point with a very scenic slot that was awash with massive waves. A further half kilometre south is Boat Harbour which reminded me of paddling south west Tasmania: big swell and scary looking but also reasonably safe if you paddled out right through the middle. The coastline runs due west from Boat Harbour to Birubi Point. This is another interesting section of coast with rocky bays and headlands. The rocky coast abruptly comes to an end at Birubi Point and long Stockton Beach runs all the way to Newcastle.

Coming Through

It would be easy to dislike E-bike riders, too easy. E-bike riders seem to have an affinity for stopping on the trail, which necessitates analog riders either getting off their bikes to shuffle around or calling “coming through.” As soon as the E-bike riders see that the “coming through” bicyclist is a somewhat chubbier than she should be old lady, they feel compelled to spring immediately upon their bicycles, push the assist gear to high, and zoom up behind. What’s an analog rider to do then? Push on and have a cardiac or get off their bike – again – to let the E-riders past? If you are an analog rider all the old proverbs about rolling stones gathering no moss and “… trust inertia, it is the greatest force in the world,” are ineluctably true, we want to keep our bicycles moving; it is much easier if we do.

Paddling last Sunday, one of the other paddlers noted that he only used his E-bike assist on the hills, which is really the only time you are doing anything much on a bicycle unless you are riding steep trails where you must poise spring like over your pedals with your muscles in an isometric contraction. This is analogous to saying, “I only use a motor on my kayak when I am paddling.” The machine is doing the bulk of the work! Pedalling on the flats or downhill is basically just spinning your legs around and reminds me of the rather useless device someone once gave my mother (sold every year by Aldi) wherein an “exerciser” sits on the couch and spins their legs about. I’m not sure a more useless piece of equipment has ever been invented; but I could be wrong.

Also on my Sunday paddle we were talking about how tough people were in earlier generations. We all know this, no “studies” are required. Before the industrial revolution the bulk of people were tough as nails because they had to be to survive. I am in the same boat as everyone else: I’m not tough either. Every time I go out and do something difficult I have to remind myself it won’t kill me and will, in all likelihood, make me a better person. But it’s seldom I don’t have to remind myself of these two facts: “it won’t kill you, you’ll probably be better.”

If we learn to speak positively about risk and difficulty and hard work, and we make doing so a habit, it completely changes our relationship to same, and we become different, more capable people. Our opportunities and trajectory are forever altered, and we aren’t as inclined to settle for less than our greatest potential.  Mark Twight.  Poison.  

Rain and Wind on the North Coast of NSW

Was it a cut-off low or an east coast low? I don’t know, probably nobody knows. Humans have developed categorical designations for all sorts of things which make us believe we are both precise and accurate when in many instances we are neither. With no precision or accuracy I can say it was wet and then windy followed by wet and windy. My first Rock N Roll (RnR) at Jimmies Beach on the north side of Port Stephens, my first RnR as a trip leader and a wet baptism it was.

The rain started on Friday night and continued all day Saturday, “heavy at times” as the weather man (person) would say. Sunday was mostly dry in the morning but windy – very farking windy - and the rain moved in by afternoon and continued solidly for the next couple of days.

PC: DB

I felt disorganised the entire weekend because our gear was either stuffed in various places trying to keep it merely damp rather than dripping wet or sitting in puddles of rain water. The end result was that I couldn’t find my PLB (Personal Locator Beacon), left my mobile telephone on the coffee table at someone’s house, lost my paddle leash, and misplaced a dozen other items. Additionally, for some reason, I had only brought summer paddling gear with me, despite the horrendous forecast. I was wet as the proverbial drowned cat all weekend and had to keep moving to stay warm.

Nevertheless I fronted up to the leaders breakfast at 7:30 am on Saturday morning. And, had my first experience with “impostor syndrome.” There was a general decision to stay inside the heads and with a strong northerly forecast along with heavy rain, that meant paddling somewhere along the northern shore of Port Stephens. As it turned out, onshore, the wind didn’t amount to much so we could have paddled over to the south side of Port Stephens but it was, if you can excuse the colloquialism, pissing down and a few hour paddle was quite enough.

PC: DB

I teamed up with a sea instructor from Victoria to take a group around Corrie Island. Pleasant enough but it did make me realise that I’m not much of a flat water paddler. I find it a bit boring – my apologies to everyone who loves flat water paddling. I had thought we might be able to eddy hop up Myall River but there are few eddies, the current was stronger than I expected and the persistent rain quickly sapped my enthusiasm.

Sunday the weather was worse, if that is at all possible. Back at the leaders breakfast at 7:30 am and I’ve seldom felt less like paddling! The previous day’s northerly strong wind warning was replaced by a southwesterly gale warning. For the land-lubbers, that equates to wind speeds of 34 to 47 knots, or bloody windy. This is the kind of wind that blows your paddle out of your hand and your kayak across the beach. In sea kayaking texts this is described as “dangerous conditions …. each paddler must look out for himself and rescues impractical [sic].”

How then did I find myself out with a full contingent of paddlers in these conditions? Well, you can blame Mad M. and my inexplicable decision to avoid driving anywhere. Amazingly, we ran seven trips under those wind conditions but all of them, with the exception of mine and Mad M. were either right inshore, in the Myall River, or out of Mungo Brush on a small lake with little fetch. Only Mad M. and myself were mad enough to paddle across Port Stephens in those conditions. Ironically, the reason I teamed up with Mad M. instead of one of the other leaders was because the other trips (that did not involve driving) sounded a bit miserable. As if paddling into the teeth of a gale wouldn’t be miserable? This is proof that even those of us who consider ourselves logical and rational are anything but.

PC:DB

The trip was supposed to include a small number of paddlers with solid rolls and minimum Sea Skills/Grade 3 designation but somehow - and I blame Mad M. for this - we ended up with half of the paddlers either unable to roll or without a reliable roll (which is pretty much the same). When I tried to question the paddlers I did not know, the answer I got from all of them was “I’m a local. I know the area.” “How nice,” I thought, and “how irrelevant. What matters is can you handle the conditions?”

The group spread started right off the beach as half of the paddlers underestimated the force of the wind and had drifted a couple of hundred metres down the beach whilst the stragglers launched. I rounded the group up and got them to “hold position” using a transit while we waited for the late launchers. The last two paddlers were a problem from the get go. One had a brand new paddle and some kind of problem with his rudder set up (henceforth known as Rudder Paddler), and wanted to sit out on the water faffing around with his rudder and foot-pegs. Mad M. told him to “suck it up or go back,” (not exactly those words but that sentiment), so Rudder Paddler returned to the beach. Meanwhile, an older paddler paddling a Zegal with a Greenland stick (henceforth known as Stick Paddler) was falling behind immediately. I stuck with Stick Paddler for a while, but it was clear he was not up to the task. In strong wind, you simply have to be able to paddler faster than the wind blows you backward.

Mad M. and the faster paddlers were quickly streaming away from me and Stick Paddler. My exhortations to him to speed up were useless. I sprinted ahead and caught up with Mad M. and told him I would take Stick Paddler back. Thor – the fastest stick paddler you’ve ever seen - happily agreed to accompany me. Mad M. with barely a pause said “We’ll meet you on the other side.” So Thor and I took Stick Paddler, who was pissed at me, back. Stick Paddler informed me that he would happily paddle over by himself. “In what universe would I leave someone to paddle out into a gale alone?” I wonder.

PC: DB

Stick Paddler had drifted way east by the time we got near the beach, but Thor was more than happy to chase him down and herd him back. Thor is like a giant, friendly Border Collie rounding up sheep or paddlers in this case. As it happened, we dropped Stick Paddler off (with much grumbling and dirty looks at me) and found Rudder Paddler hanging around on the beach and so Thor and I lost one paddler and gained another!

It was a long slow haul over to Fly Point on the south side of Port Stephens as we were against the wind and the tide, and the current rips out of Port Stephens. Coincidentally, RnR happened to be held on a weekend with a very large tidal (and hence current) range. Although our compass direction was SSW, I paddled the entire way across with my kayak pointing due west. Essentially a 5.5 kilometre ferry glide! I copped a few breaking waves over my head so despite the fact it wasn’t actually raining, I was soaked. Rudder Paddler was doing OK, but was a bit slower than me and a lot slower than Thor.

As we neared Fly Point, Thor dashed over to Shoal Bay to see if the rest of the group were waiting for us there, while Rudder Paddler and I plugged into the wind and the current. Near Fly Point in standing waves and maximum current we were barely pulling three kilometres an hour. However, at a small beach near the marina, I was relieved to see kayaks lined up on shore. I had begun to wonder if Thor, Rudder Paddler and I would be on our own. Paddling in wet clothes, I had chafed an open sore under my arm so trotted off to the toilet block to undress and slap some tape on while Rudder Paddler fiddled with his rudder. The wind was building along with the outgoing current. In a strange way this rather unpleasant paddle had been kind of fun, because real fun is actually seldom fun.

Mad M.’s original plan had been to paddle west along the shore to Corlette Point where we would turn and run downwind back to Jimmies Beach. There were a couple of issues with this plan not the least the lack of shelter from wind on the south shore as the wind was blowing very westerly, and, we had missed the current by at least two hours and were now paddling against near maximum flow. Nevertheless, off we went. Mad M. out front and me bringing up the rear. Within a kilometre, in fact, probably a few hundred metres, there was more trouble as Upside Down Paddler was very slow, so slow that at West Point, I could have sworn she was not moving forward at all.

I probably should have put Upside Down Paddler on tow right away but the idea that I would tow someone further into these conditions struck me as somewhat nutty. Additionally, I am uncomfortable putting paddlers on tow when they are not fully incapacitated. As it was, I noted Upside Down Paddler had her paddle upside down. Rectifying this made little difference, so I asked Thor, who had circled back to check on us, to put Upside Down Paddler on tow. With the tow on, Thor shot away like a bullet with Upside Down Paddler hydroplaning behind.

By this time I had begun to think that I was well outside my pay grade. The wind was getting stronger and stronger and our ability to rescue anyone out in the middle of Port Stephens where we would face the full brunt of the wind was questionable. Here we were with at least three people who had no roll and who were struggling in conditions that were much easier than anything we would encounter in the middle of Port Stephens. The thing with paddling into the wind is, that although it is tough physically, it is actually very stable as the bow is well anchored. Turning beam on or downwind is technically much more difficult as the kayak suddenly becomes highly unstable and boat control is challenging.

We pulled into the beach again and had the conversation we should have had before leaving Jimmies Beach. This resulted in a split group. I would take three people back to Little Beach where we could leave two kayaks at Upside Down Paddlers nearby unit and take two kayaks back on a friends vehicle (a huge thank you to Mark who drove over and picked us up). This left five people to complete the downwind run. Those five people were comfortable with the fact that rescue, in the event of a capsize, was likely impossible. I still feel a bit disappointed that I missed out on the downwind run – Doug said it was a hoot – but it was more important to me to make a good decision (admittedly, merely one out of a series of bad decisions) than it was to enjoy a ripping run. I simply felt that my ability to rescue a capsized paddler was very far from guaranteed and I did not think I should be leading a group under those conditions.

As it was, we were back at Little Beach within minutes barely paddling. There was some fun paddling in a tidal rapid around Fly Point, but otherwise comfortable paddling. I tied our two kayaks to the toilet block while we carried the other two kayaks up to the unit as I have had my kayak blown across the beach in that wind strength before. We had time for a quick cup of tea before our pick up arrived.

Monday arrived with more rain, more wind, and an enormous swell and I for one was very happy to pass on anymore paddling.