Avoiding the Rain

It’s a month since I’ve been in the sea kayak and it sure feels it. The wave buoy is at 2 metres with a 12 second period but it must be mostly southerly as my home bay is calm, one of the easier days to launch and stay dry. There’s no one else about which is no surprise as it is cold and grey although there is no wind. Still, the sea surface is messy after the storms of the last couple of days.

I’m by myself and the kayak feels wobbly, the paddle awkward and my pace very, very slow. I cut across the bay to look at the latest “eco-resort.” There are plans - aren’t there always - to build a hotel, villas, restaurants, bars, and “put Batemans Bay on the five star tourism map.” Right now, there are a series of “glamping tents” built on very low lying land that is sure to be inundated the next time an East Coast Low coincides with a high tide, which could be later this week. All the big news announcements are from three years ago and there is bugger all going on now so who knows what has happened to putting the Bay on the tourist map. Most of the locals would probably rather stay off that map.

These developments are so bizarre given the government is always bleating about sea level rise and climate change. The land there is all sand with a height above sea level of a metre or less and, it’s very prone to erosion by big tides and storms. In April this year, a storm event saw homes further to the west and on higher ground flooded by sea water. At my home bay, which is significantly higher, waves wash into the car park at high tide during storms, and the one house that is a metre or so above high tide is wrapped in sea weed after a storm event. It’s obvious to anyone with a functioning cerebral cortex that these developments should not be approved and the cost of remediation and relocation will be paid by future generations. Realistically, however, that is business as usual in Australia where we’ll never pay for today something we can push off until tomorrow. Fuck the future as we say here, or don’t but we would if we were being honest.

The tide has turned so it is slow plugging my way northwest up to the big bridge over the Clyde River and I paddle under all the little jetties on the way past. The tourist boat, that plies up and down the Clyde River daily is nearly empty but it runs every day regardless of numbers. West of the bridge, I cross back to the north side as the current will be less. There’s an oyster shop on this side of the river, a quirky little place that also sells coffee and is never super busy but always has some patrons. Further east, the next restaurant is temporarily closed, but the caravan park further east has a surprising number of patrons for this time of year. There’s a gaggle of kayakers in plastic boats at Cullendulla, but I pass by Square Head and paddle south back to my launch site. Frustratingly, I’m three kilometres short of 20 kilometres when I get back so I have to head back out again and south this time to make the magic number. I get back to the house just as the rain starts.