Ski Touring: Gungartan, Big Brassy, Dicky Cooper Bogong

After six years in Australia, it was finally time to go ski touring. Yes, ski touring, in this dry, sunburned country when most of NSW was in drought, there was a reasonable snowpack around the higher elevations of Koscuiszko National Park. Of course, we wanted to minimise driving, which is only somewhat possible when you live on the south coast of NSW, and we also wanted to ski somewhere we had not walked, so we chose to ski north from Guthega Power Station (GPS) towards Mount Jagungal.

Doug skiing along the Rolling Grounds

We planned a route that may have been somewhat unusual by Australian standards but made perfect sense when you looked at it from a Canadian ski traverse mentality. That is, get up as high as possible as quick as possible and stay there for the duration of the trip. So, we drew a rough horseshoe route on the map that followed ridgelines around the Munyang, Valentine and Geehi Rivers starting and ending at GPS and reaching an apex at Mount Jagungal, packed four days of food and sucked up the long drive to GPS.

Plugging along up the road

There were, however, many unknowns, not the least of which was how we would fare on skis, with big packs, after so many years away from the sport. I was fairly certain I would end the trip with sore, swollen, generally beaten up feet. Over the years, I've done about two dozen long ski traverses and every trip has ended with what I call “ski traverse feet.” Pulpy, swollen and looking more like some kind of unsavoury processed meat product; these are my feet after a few days in tight ski boots under a heavy load. We had, however, forgotten that Doug is susceptible to pressure urticaria, a similarly painful skin condition, and which he usually treats with frequent low dose aspirin. Unfortunately, we packed no aspirin and a bag of gluten containing wraps for lunch, thus practically guaranteeing that Doug's urticaria would manifest at some point during the trip.

Near the Rolling Grounds

Day 1: GPS to 1996

A recent stormy period meant that there was snow right down to 1350 metres at GPS. Not much snow, but enough to ski right from the road, which was nice as our packs felt heavy enough without adding skis to the load. We skinned up the road following the switchbacks to around 1560 metres, where we left the road heading roughly west and aiming for the height of land that runs north to the Rolling Grounds and Dicky Cooper Bogong. It was as easy a start to a ski trip as I have ever had. No bush, gentle climbing, no avalanche hazard, good weather and minimal ski penetration.

Doug near Gungartan

After a couple of hours, we had gained about 600 metres of elevation and were near the alpine. We stopped to eat lunch on an exposed granite boulder and I doctored up the first blister on my heel. My feet were at the uncomfortable but not painful stage. A bit more climbing and we were up on a broad relatively flat ridge heading north. Our big alpine touring ski boots certainly felt like overkill in this terrain which is generally quite gentle and probably ideal for a lighter touring set up. 

Gaining the ridge

There were strange dark clouds to the west but little wind and it was quite pleasant skiing along the ridge top with the gentle mountains of the Great Dividing Range spread about. Around 4.00 pm we started thinking about making camp, and at 4.15 pm we coasted out into a broad saddle just below the ridge and made camp. I had forgotten how much extra time camping in winter takes compared to summer. Gloves make everything clumsy, and melting snow for water, stamping out tent platforms, and walking in a few tracks around the tent took us until sunset. It was rather chilly for coastal dwellers, down to about -11 Celsius overnight so it was early evening when we crawled into the tent. We had with us our Integral Designs winter tent from Canada which is smaller than the tent we usually use in Australia, and it was a snug fit for the two of us. I did wonder how we had managed to spend days tent bound on previous trips without going quite mad, but we eventually got ourselves sorted out and into sleeping bags.

Camp near Granite Peaks

Day 2: 1996 to Schlink Hilton

We waited until the sun hit the tent in the morning before getting out, and then hung out sleeping bags and rotated the tent to try and dry off the thick coat of frost that had formed overnight. Unfortunately, it clouded up almost immediately and remained cool so things did not dry as well as we had hoped. I had developed a swollen shin from the plastic cuff of my ski boot banging onto the bone with every step the day before, and I was very slow shuffling along behind Doug as we continued skiing north along the broad ridge line. No amount of boot tightening, loosening or general foot wiggling seemed to ease the pressure and I was limping awkwardly by the time we got to Dicky Cooper Bogong.

Near the ridge crest

We had hoped to ski right along Kerries Ridge to near Mawsons Hut for our second night but that was beginning to seem impossible given my sore shin and limping gait. Our route would take us right past the Schlink Hilton where we thought we could have a good look at my boots and see if any alterations could be effected. It is only a couple of hundred metres descent down to the Schlink Hilton but with the exception of skiing isothermic snow in the Rocky Mountains of Canada, this short descent probably ranks of one of my worst ever. Thick breakable crust that swallowed up poles, skis, pack, and skier if you broke through. Doug only crashed once, but went down hard. I had a hat-trick of crashes, on each successive fall I seemed to crater deeper than the one before. It was a relief to shuffle along the track to the hut and take pack, skis and boots off.

View over Windy Creek

After a lot of fussing about in the hut, which was delightful, we managed to stick a piece of pack towel down between the plastic cuff of the outer boot and the inner liner which lifted off some of the pressure from my shin. Doug however, discovered that his pressure urticaria had developed much more quickly than ever before and his feet were really looking and feeling quite ugly. Heading further north did not seem like a good idea. We changed our plans to rest our feet for the remainder of the day and day trip from the hut the next day.

After only one night out, it still felt wonderfully decadent to have a hut to hang out in until bedtime. Doug slept in the hut, but I slept in the tent under some large gum trees with a huge moon lighting up the valley.

Schlink Hilton

Day 3: Gungartan, Tin Hut, Big Brassy Peak

Another day of light winds and a fair bit of sun throughout the day. We skied up easy slopes east of the hut to a saddle near Gungartan and wrapped around the east side to the 2068 metre high point. Apart from about 5 steps, the entire route was skiable. We spent a short time on the summit with our map trying to get a better sense of the surrounding terrain. Working out which ridge was which was a little awkward as the terrain is so gentle and the contours so widely spaced.

Tin Hut

From Gungartan, we managed to coast with skins off almost 4 km to Tin Hut near the Brassy Mountains. This was a good spot for lunch although the hut was quite dark as the only window was buried by snow. After lunch, we skied north just below the crest of the ridge towards Big Brassy Peak. Although we were at around 1900 metres, there was very little snow, most having been blown away in the common westerly winds. With a lot of weaving around rocks and bare meadow, we did manage to ski all the way to the top of Big Brassy Peak, but a couple of warm days would see much of the snow gone completely.

More looking at the map and the terrain from a slightly different angle, and with the compass, we picked out the location of Mawsons Hut. Mount Jagungal is obvious. Our feet were getting pretty sore, so instead of continuing another 4 km to Mawsons Hut, we decided to ski back to Schlink Hilton via Kerries Ridge.

Doug near Gungartan

It is a gentle descent off Big Brassy Peak, which is probably good as the upper section had thin snow and big rocks, but Valentines Creek was well bridged and easy to cross. I had picked a route up snow filled gullies to Kerries Ridge but Doug suggested a slightly different route that looked as if it went to the same place, so we followed that route instead. It's a shame we didn't pull out the map at some point as instead of following Kerries Ridge we ended up skiing up Valentines Creek to Gungartan Pass, and around the east side of Gungartan before we finally looked down on Dicky Cooper Creek and hut locale.

Near Gungartan Pass

We wanted a ski down to end the day, so had to ski across the rocky western slopes of Gungartan until we could ski all the way back down to Schlink Hilton. The breakable crust was quickly reforming, but with only day packs, I was able to avoid crashing. In the hut we inspected the damage to our feet. Doug's were really very inflamed with red urticaria all over the soles and instep, and they looked very painful. I had one big blister but otherwise was in pretty good shape, except for a head cold I had developed.

West side Gungartan

Day 4: Schlink Hilton to GPS

Although we had one day of food left, we decided to ski out. Doug's feet were a mess and I felt lethargic and foggy headed. Skiing out via Disappointment Ridge was not a favoured option as there was not that much snow on the windward side of the valley and the trees looked thick. Instead, we would take the tourist route along the fire road to GPS. We knew from studying the map that we would go up, down, up and finally down. What we didn't know was whether the angle of descent would be steep enough on the first down for us to ski from Schlink Pass to the bridge over the Munyang River without needing skins.

Whites River Hut

It turns out we could, and quite easily, although the snow was still frozen and a bit unpleasant to ski. Past Horse Camp Hut we started encountering weekend skiers heading out for two days. There was a surprising number of people on relatively heavy telemark gear, and even snowboards. By the time we got to the top of the final switchbacks, the snow had softened nicely and the final ski down was pretty good. Down near the GPS, there was only a foot wide strip of snow at the side of the road which Doug managed to ski all the way, although I had to walk about 5 steps, but remarkably we did ski right to the road.

Valentine Creek valley

The Blue Cave: Tollgate Islands

A short video from a paddle around the Tollgate Islands earlier this week is here.

Trolley: The Movie

A movie mostly about trolleys and hardly at all about sea kayaking, watch it here.

Kayaking The Nadgee Wilderness Coast

The Nadgee coast is a bit like Atlantis to sea kayakers, a lost kingdom where there are no roads or motorized access, as complete a wilderness as you can find in a heavily developed country like Australia. As such, the Nadgee is on every sea kayakers bucket list. The lead up to our five day trip featured the usual twice daily weather checking of various different models, adjustments to “leave by dates” and, finally, an agreement to meet at 10 am at Boydtown at the tail end of April, 2018 packed for a five day excursion.

The standard Nadgee trip is about 100 km long and takes in the rugged and undeveloped coast between Boydtown and Mallacoota. Water is available at a few locations, but once past Bittangabee Bay in Ben Boyd National Park, all camps require surf landings. Even some of the bays north of Bittangabee Bay (and including Bittangabee Bay) close out in big swells.

Boydtown to Mowarry Bay:

Boydtown is a sleepy little location on the south side of Twofold Bay. There is a big hotel, which always seems rather quiet, a new housing development up the hill, and a couple of large grassy campgrounds. It never seems busy, but perhaps in the middle of Christmas school holidays it is a rowdy as most Australian sea side locations.

While Doug and Mike put the car shuttle in, a respectable two hour turn around (pretty good for five days of paddling), I shuttled loads down to the beach. We had lunch before we left, and then paddled east out of Twofold Bay. A moderate southwesterly wind was blowing which was beam on to our kayaks, but the sails did help lift our loaded boats out of the water a little. Once we passed Boyd Tower we were almost completely sheltered from the SW wind and it was an enjoyable paddle south past striking red rocky cliffs and Leather Jacket Bay to Mowarry Bay.

There is a small but level campsite tucked under a steep hill with the grass kept well cropped by resident kangaroos and wombats. We arrived with an hour to spare before dark, just enough time to wander around the headlands and watch the sun set over Twofold Bay.

Mowarry Bay to Bittangabee Bay:

Sunrise was beautiful, and, as we were not going far, I walked north along the track in the early morning enjoying the sun rising through misty tea trees. After a leisurely breakfast, we packed our kayaks and paddled south in glorious autumn sunshine and paddling into each small and large bay. There were dolphins, seals, and many sea eagles along the coast. The SW wind was still blowing but we were quite sheltered below the cliff line.

At Bittangabee Bay, it felt warm enough to have a swim, albeit a quick one. Doug wandered all around the headlands south of the bay until he was able to get a mobile signal to get an updated weather forecast, and I wandered along the Light to Light track to the north of Bittangabee Bay strolling along scenic rock platforms.

Bittangabee Bay to Merrica River:

It was a day of calm winds and low swell, very different to the last time we had paddled around Green Cape. We headed off from Bittangabee Bay knowing we would not land before Merrica River. Conditions were about as good as they get. We passed close by the lighthouse at Green Cape, with only a metre of swell languorously running. There were seals sleeping off the Cape, and as we paddled into Disaster Bay, the ocean flattened and smoothed until the surface was glassy.

By the time we reached Merrica River, I was feeling very cramped, and, upon seeing an easy landing, I rushed into shore negligent of any real timing. I was just extricating myself from my broached kayak when a large wave reared up behind me picking my boat up and dragging it across my back as my face was ground into the sand. When I emerged both the boat and myself was clogged with sand. It took me an hour in the lagoon behind the beach to clean out just half of the sand deposited in the cockpit, and I didn't get sand out of my ears until we returned home.

After lunch and an hour or more kneeling in the lagoon to clean out my boat, I scrambled around the rocks south of the river outlet where a catwalk runs along above the rocky shore line. I followed it south until it became too crumbly and unsafe to continue but it was a wonderful vantage point to spy sea eagles and dolphins.

Merrica River to Nadgee River:

South of Merrica River is new paddling terrain for Doug and I. Although we have walked the Nadgee Wilderness track from Wonboyn to Mallacoota, seeing the coast line from the ocean is quite different. It's a wonderfully scenic section of coast with seals, dolphins, sea eagles, caves and cliffs.

There are a couple of very small sandy beaches, even in low swell, washed with waves, and then the longer expanse of Jane Spiers and Newtons Beach where even today the waves crashed onto the steep beach. More rocky coastline and another couple of small patches of scoured sand and we arrived at the small, semi sheltered beach at the mouth of the Nadgee River. Landing at the south end was easy and I took more care than the day before not wanting another dunk and drag experience.

Behind the beach we found a sheltered and soft camp among wind beaten tea trees. Doug and I walked south through thick scratchy moorland to Nadgee Lake where the haunting sound of black swans echoed across the lake. The beach at Nadgee Lake is more exposed and looked to present tougher landing conditions. I walked north along rock platforms near Nadgee Lake and by the time I came back to camp, it was full dark.

Nadgee River to Mallacoota via Gabo Island:

Our last day and we are away early with a long way to travel. It is a beautiful, if chilly morning at Nadgee River, and the rising sun washed the beach golden. Dolphins paddled past our boats again as we headed south soon paddling around Cape Howe and into Windtoria where the ocean was eerily calm. Smoke from fuel reduction burns floated out over the water and all we could see of Gabo Island was the striking red granite lighthouse suspended in haze.

We paddled around the south end of the island, slipping between this island a wave washed rock with Australian fur seals on one side and New Zealand fur seals on the other. They were curious and jumped into the water to swim around Doug's boat. At the north end of Gabo Island there is a small sheltered beach, underwater at high tide. We landed and carried our food bags up to the helicopter pad where we cooked up a late breakfast. The lighthouse custodians came down for a chat and before we left I walked up the island to the monument remembering the ship Monumental City that ran aground on nearby Tullaberga Island in 1853.

A light northeasterly wind gave us a gentle but appreciated push along the final stretch of coast from Gabo Island to Bastion Point where regretfully our Nadgee trip was over.

Currarong To Bendalong By Sea Kayak

It was perhaps unsurprising that Rae suggested paddling home from the annual NSW Rock and Roll sea kayaking weekend. After all, Currarong to Ulladulla is only 70 km, an easy day out for Rae. In deference, however, to the weaker members of the party, we agreed to pack for a two to four day trip and for each person to choose how far they would paddle. In the end, there was a staggered series of drop-outs, starting with Jenny and Stephen, who dropped out before they even started, followed closely by Doug and I, who pulled out at Bendalong. Rae finished up at South Durras, which left only Greg to continue on to Batemans Bay.

Rae opened the bidding for an ambitious early morning departure from Currarong at 6 am, which, over beers and barbeque the night before somehow stretched out to 7 am; a time still early enough to cause Greg considerable consternation and some confusion as to how he could manage his two mandatory and leisurely cups of coffee before departure. Doug and I simply got up early, around 5 am, and scarfed back our usual half litre plastic jug of black gold while making breakfast.

In the end, it was 7.15 am when, waved off by Stephen and Jenny on the beach, we paddled hopefully down Currarong Creek and out into Crookhaven Bight. The circuit around Beecroft Peninsula, finishing up Carrama Creek, is one of best long day trips in NSW, and, at least one party had enjoyed an epic day out, ending with multiple capsizes in the surf off Warrain Beach at dusk during this year's Rock and Roll.

We weren't looking for any epics, just a good few days paddling a scenic part of the NSW coast, and, the Beecroft Peninsula which is riddled with caves, clefts, gauntlets and grottos is about as scenic as it gets.

Although there was little wind, a reasonably large swell was running which made for bumpy conditions along the sea cliffs, and more looking into caves than paddling into caves. Still, it was a spectacular paddle along the 80 metre high sea cliffs. Highlights were the seals resting at Drum and Drumsticks, the gorgeous Cathedral, and the steep, clean cliffs of Windjammer Wall.

From Point Perpendicular, we crossed south to Murray Island, and had a comfortable lunch stop at Murrays Beach before continuing south down the slightly lower, but no less spectacular cliffs that lead south to St Georges Head. We were getting more tired as the day wore on and the incessant rebound from the cliffs became somewhat trying. Steamers Beach, offers a possible landing spot but the swell was messy and landing looked difficult so we continued round St Georges Head into more sheltered waters to find a small landing site and camp spot.

After the sea cliffs, caves, seals and bouncy rebound, paddling southwest to Bendalong seemed somewhat tame. We had a late enough departure to allow Greg his requisite two coffees, and headed mostly west to Cudmirrah where a huge swell was breaking on a couple of off-shore reefs. Then it was a downwind run, for those of us with sails, to Washerwomans Beach at Bendalong.

Neil kindly drove up from Ulladulla to take Doug back to Currarong to pick up our car, while Rae and Greg, after a leisurely lunch headed south towards Ulladulla. That journey was uneventful apart from a capsize and successful roll off Narrawalle Bar. That episode was enough to convince both Rae and Greg that paddling an extra 8 km to Ulladulla was worth the sheltered landing. This had the added advantage of a night in a real bed, a hot shower, and a good meal, before Rae and Greg headed south again the next day.

Hardly A Promenade: Around Wilsons Promontory By Sea Kayak

Preamble:

It may be only 85 km from Tidal River to Yanakie, but paddling a sea kayak around the southern most point of the Australian mainland is not without challenge. Wilsons Promontory is, after all, in Windtoria, where the gales blow from the west, except when they blow from the east. In the two weeks leading up to our departure, true to form, gales blew from the west until they blew from the east, then switched back to the west again.

At some point, as we were all running out of time to fit the trip into our various schedules, a weather window, or more appropriately, a weather sliver, appeared in the steady forecast of east, west gales and the trip was on.

The drive to the Prom, from the south coast of NSW was way more grueling than the paddle. At one end we got caught in the insane traffic that marks the coincident beginning of school holidays and start of the long Australian Easter break – as if one or other by themselves isn't bad enough. At the other, we drove into a wild easterly gale that threatened to rip the doors off the car every time we opened them.

Finally, however the five of us met up in Tidal River at Parks Victoria's incredibly expensive basic campground ($60 night!). In the weeks leading up the trip, there had been endless surveys of various weather forecasts and discussions on where we should start, finish, and where we might hole up in the event of the guaranteed gale. None of us thought we would get all the way around the Prom without a gale or two. We had seven days of food, and three or four days of water, five single kayaks, one with a disturbing leak and a non-functioning electric pump, sails, tow ropes, and sundry other camping and kayaking equipment – and, we would use every bit of kit.

The currents running around the Prom are disturbingly strong. This is, after all, the southern most tip of the Australian mainland, and the massive semi-enclosed lake that is Bass Strait floods in and out four times a day. Rae, who has paddled across Bass Strait twice, once on the east side, and a second time solo on the western crossing, has by far the most experience with Bass Strait currents, and Doug and I looked to her for guidance in managing this added complication.

Day 1: Oberon Bay Attempt:

Easterly wind at 36 knots with gusts to 56 knots. 3 kilometres.

It was windy, really, really windy, blowing from the east, so, at Tidal River, on the west side of the Prom, we were facing a very strong off-shore wind. Our goal for the day was to shuttle cars, then paddle south to camp at Oberon Bay. Rae thought that leaving at 3.00 pm would minimize the distance we had to carry our fully loaded kayaks – Russell Beach is wide, flat, and the tide runs a long way out. We could float our boats part way down Tidal River, but, despite the name, the tide does not seem to come up into Tidal River with any real regularity.

We left two cars at Yanakie, where you could barely stand up in the wind, packed our boats, had lunch, and waded our kayaks down Tidal River to where the small creek fans out onto sand at the mouth. We will still a hundred meters or more from the surf, so the straps came out and we lugged all five boats down to the surf.

Was it a good idea to launch? I'm not really sure. The off-shore wind was so strong that there would be no chance of a rescue if someone got in trouble, and a not inconsiderable possibility that one or more of us would be blown out to sea. It was one of those times, all too common when kayaking on the ocean, where you can (semi) reliably only look after yourself. But, after a long day of driving, two weeks of weather checking and postponing the trip, inactivity was virtually impossible, so we launched.

I am the smallest paddler, in the biggest boat, so I always struggle a bit more than everyone else and I battled to paddle down to the south end of the beach. I was worried about getting dumped by a rogue wave, so hung off the beach a bit, but the further off the beach I was, the quicker I got blown off-shore and paddling back in was hard, slow work. By the time we fought our way to the south end of Norman Bay, I was already thinking we should turn back.

Conditions would be worse in Oberon Bay. Boulder Saddle, the low point between Oberon Bay on the west side of the Prom, and Waterloo Bay on the east, is only 80 metres high, with Mounts Boulder and Wilson lying to the south and north respectively. The easterly wind would be even stronger as it funnelled through the saddle from east to west and the possibility of us being unable to paddle east into Oberon Bay seemed very real.

In the shelter of some rocks at the south end of Norman Bay we grouped up and a quick and unanimous decision was made to turn around and paddle back to Tidal River. Paddling back was slightly easier, possibly I was less gripped on the way back, but I was still blown off-shore consistently and Rae kept calling me back closer in to the surf.

We landed and dragged ourselves (wet through, of course) and our boats up the beach out of reach of the tide. There really was nothing for it but to settle down at Tidal River for the night and hope for more favorable conditions the next day.

Day 2: Southeast Point.

Easterly wind with gusts to 41 knots backing to NE wind 14 knots. 25 km.

By morning, the easterly gale had declined to a mere 20 knots. We met on the beach ready to go at 8.30 am and the last minute weather check indicated the decreasing winds would continue to fall and would swing around to moderate northeasterlies by evening. By Rae's calculations, we would have favourable currents until early afternoon by which time we hoped to be reclining on the beach at Home Cove with all the tough paddling behind us.

Such are dreams. And, the first half of the day was mostly dreamy. Paddling south across the mouth of Oberon Bay, the off-shore winds were strong enough to convince us that yesterdays decision was correct. It would, however, have been nice to have that extra 7 kilometres taken off the agenda for this day, but again, such are dreams.

South of Oberon Bay we had easy and exceedingly pleasant paddling all the way to South Point, the appropriately named most southern point of the Australian mainland. There was little wind or swell on the west side and we paddled closely along the colourful granite slabs that define Wilsons Promontory. Stunted, windblown trees were bent over high up the cliffs.

After a few hours, we drew abreast of Wattle Island, and just ahead, a string of granite islets trailing out from South Point marked the southern tip of continental Australia. Beyond South Point, there is foaming water and rising waves, and I remark to Doug that “Things are about to get real.”

We pass South Point and our progress slows, eventually our forward pace will drop to only 2 to 3 km per hour. The current and swell is obvious here but things are not too hairy yet. We pass the big gouge in the coast that is Fenwick Bite and then the lighthouse, which stands starkly atop the cliffs of Southeast Point, comes into view.

I estimate that the next 3 kilometres took us one hour to complete although my watch is put away and I am merely focusing on keeping pace. As we approach the lighthouse, a big swell begins to develop and off Southeast Point there are 3 to 4 metre cresting waves and a mass of rebound and clapotis. Mark paddles way off shore as he usually does while Doug and I stay closer in. Neil and Rae have fallen behind.

Above the roar of wind (a headwind now) and waves as we bob about in this wild bit of ocean I faintly hear Rae blowing her whistle. Doug and I are about to head off-shore further to avoid breaking waves and I am not keen to go back to where Rae and Neil seem dangerously close to the cliffs. Stupidly, I don't even consider that they may be in real difficulty. I am more concerned with how hard won the distance has been and how I would rather not surrender any ground. Wisely, however, Doug insists we go back.

Neil is in some distress as his hips have cramped up and he really feels he must get out of the boat. Mark is now a speck off in a seething, white foamed ocean and we four agree that he is now on his own and travelling as a solo paddler. Rae, Neil and I paddle into the shelter of South East Point but there is nowhere for Neil to land so he gets out of his boat and floats in the water. Somewhat disturbingly, I notice that Rae is pumping a large amount of water out of his boat with a hand-pump. Apparently, Neil has a leaky boat and non-functioning electric pump.

After about 15 minutes, Doug paddles in from the lighthouse and reports that he can just see Mark, but he is far out from the cliffs, seemingly going nowhere fast. Although he does not want to, Neil gets back into his boat and we paddle out of the shelter of South East Point and into the turbulent ocean again. Out of nowhere, Mark appears again and we are back paddling as a pod of five.

Paddling past the lighthouse conditions are wild. The waves are easily 3 metres high and the entire length of a kayak seems to fit on the face of each wave as we paddle up and over the peaks and drop into the troughs. We are clearly against the current which is further churning up the ocean with bouncy rebound and exploding haystacks that shoot 2 metre high pyramids of water into the air. Although I feel stable, any capsize here will be dramatic and I have to keep saying to myself “It's just like GreenCape, it's just like Green Cape.”

Our progress is agonisingly slow. Although it is only 4 to 5 kilometres to Home Cove it will take us two hours unless conditions dramatically improve. And, just as I manage to crawl ahead of the pod again – surely a sign that the pod is in trouble – Rae's whistle blows, and this time I turn smartly back. When I reach the pod, Neil is being supported by Doug and Rae is towing both boats back around to the west side of South East Point. Neil looks desperately ill and I fleetingly wonder if we need to activate a PLB.

But, Rae has the matter well in hand, and, despite the surging swell, which actually stops her kayak dead and pulls her back up the face of the waves, she is gaining ground, and with relief we pull into the shelter of South East Point again.

It is just another day when little discussion is needed. Although Neil is no longer vomiting, he is in no condition to paddle 15 km back to Oberon Bay, and, frankly, I wonder who among us is. It is a difficult but not impossible spot to land. Some steps have been cut into granite boulders at the waters edge, and there is a vague and dilapidated old track up to the crest of the ridge where we can camp.

The only way to get the boats ashore is to manhandle them up slippery granite boulders for which Doug and Mark seem best suited. Accordingly, they both jump out of their boats and scramble ashore. Rae and I tend the kayaks, while the lads work out a way to get the boats up on to a rudimentary platform above high tide. Doug's plastic boat goes up first to work out the system which is enhanced by laying down scraps of wood from the fallen down stairway to use as rollers.

I swim ashore next, and while Doug and Mark haul boats up onto the slippery rocks, I unload gear and carry loads up the slope above. The lads have the brunt of the work and it is an awkward environment in which to be hauling laden boats, but eventually, we get all the boats and all the people ashore. Neil is wiped and lays down fully dressed, while Doug strings a hand-line consisting of two tow ropes tied together up the steep, loose slope to the ridge above.

It has been a long and challenging day. We cook dinner down on the rock slabs, which, if you are able to ignore worries about how we will get off next morning, is a spectacular dining location. By 8.00 pm, all the tents are set up on the ridge, and we have crawled into bed to sleep. Before dark, I walked down the walkway on the east side where the maintained landing area for the lighthouse is now situated. The ocean was wild, windy and big, with huge swells washing far up the rocks. Not a chance of landing a kayak.

Day 3 Refuge Cove:

N to NNW wind, 16 to 24 knots, gusts to 40 knots. 18 km.

I wake early the next morning to the deafening silence of light winds. Walking down to the east side landing area, the sea is almost unrecognisable from the previous day. I am immediately seized by a sense of urgency to launch while conditions are good. There are lowering clouds all around and a squall could blow in at any time.

Doug and I wake the others, then hustle down to the boats and get ready for the day. Had we been on our own, we would have launched immediately, paddled the 7 kilometres to Home Cove and had breakfast on the beach. But, we are with a crew of carbo-crashing junkies who must eat before we leave; although I am not sure that slurping down 60 weetbix pulverised into an unappetizing powder can actually be called eating.

In any case, it takes a frustrating long time to begin the arduous process of packing boats on the sloped granite slabs, sliding them into the water on wooden “rollers” and setting them adrift in the bay. Rae's boat goes in first and gets sent out into the bay a little too aggressively which leaves Rae with a longish swim. Next is Neil and his boat, then Mark's Dart, and finally the two plastic boats.

Only Doug and I are left on shore as the dark storm clouds to the west finally loose wind and rain. Instantly, a 15 knot wind blows the sea into a half metre chop and threatens to dash all the boats onto the rocks. The next 15 minutes is chaos. I get into my boat, but Mark has my paddle and is too afraid of smashing the Dart on the rocks to bring it over to me. Without a paddle, the wind quickly pushes me towards the rocks. Rae tries to tow me out but is herself in danger of breaking apart on the rocks and is forced to retreat. Inexorably and inevitably, my boat rides up sideways onto the boulders and tips me out. I get beaten around trying to get my boat off the rocks, while Doug and his boat are being similarly battered.

Somehow, we manage to get the boats off the rocks. Mine is full of water, the rudder cable has been dislodged and my sail ripped in half. Fibreglass boats would have been destroyed. Even after emptying my boat and reattaching the rudder cable, the rudder is sloppy, unresponsive, and the entire boat ponderous and heavy. I am worried that one or both of my hatches has been breached.

There is nothing we can do, however, until we reach Home Cove, so we head out around the lighthouse for the third time and paddle surprisingly easily north along the coast and into the sheltered waters of Home Cove.

Home Cove is delightful. A small sheltered beach backed by dense forest. A tourist boat is parked near the beach and some befuddled looking penguins are shifting bemusedly from foot to foot on the beach as if wondering why they have been abandoned so far from their natural habitat (the pie shop).

An inspection of my hatches reveals no leaks and I am able to fix my rudder and sponge the last water out of my cockpit. The weather, however, is cool and drizzly, not conducive to a long stop so we soon head back out. With another two days of westerly gales forecast (what a surprise) we are planning to camp at Refuge Cove where we will have access to fresh water over our enforced rest days.

While no less dramatic than the west side of the Prom, the east side does have the benefit of many sheltered bays and coves which offer easy landings and camp sites. We paddle up the length of Waterloo Bay and then around granite slabs on the shoreline past Bareback and Larkins Coves until we reach Refuge Cove.

There is another penguin boat sheltering in the bay, a huge boat with about five paying guests which certainly raises some questions about the economics of these tour boats. We land near the Boaties camp which is at the north end of South Refuge Cove and whose only real amenity is a new outhouse. It is drizzly and cool, so the tents go up quickly and Doug and I string our tarp up as a communal rain shelter.

Everyone seems a bit weary and glad to stop even though it is only midday. After lunch, the weather clears up and I wander up to Kersops Peak where there are tremendous views south to the lighthouse and north over Refuge Cove. It starts to seem more than a little odd to be onshore not paddling in the best weather we have had thus far.

Dinner is enlivened by strong debate about our plans for the next few days. Two days of westerly gales are forecast, before the wind switches to the north. Barring any more unforeseen weather changes, we should be able to make Yanakie in two days of paddling. The decision to stay at Refuge Cove for the next two days is as unanimous as any decision made among a group of five headstrong kayakers and we retire to our tents with thoughts of a sleep in next day.

Days 4 and 5: Refuge Cove

Westerly gales 40 knots gusting to 65 knots, heavy rain

Two days of gales, heavy rain, and the end of the weekend mean that Refuge Cove is very quiet. There are no more tourist boats, and the few yachts that are moored hunker down, most occupants don't even come ashore for a short time. We engage in the usual rest day activities, short walks between rain squalls, stretching, reading. Our tent, which holds up surprisingly well during 60 mm of rain gets inundated with fine brown dirt which blows through the mesh walls and coats all our gear in a grungy dark dust.

Day 6: Biddies Cove

NW winds to 11 knots. 35 km.

We have a long paddle day ahead of us but we are all well rested from our two enforced camp days and get away early the next morning. The wind has abated overnight, the yachts have fled, and the Prom feels gloriously empty.

As we paddle north, the terrain becomes less rugged. Granite headlands give way to long beaches backed by low lying scrub plains. There are a few small rocky headlands and we pass by Rabbit Rock and Rabbit Island and stop for lunch at pretty Johny Souey Cove.

There is an estuarine river at the back of Johny Souey Cove and some open level campites along the shore of the lagoon all inexplicably marked “No Camping” by Parks Victoria. I find the “official campsite” which is up a short steep hill, sloping, lumpy and covered with a forest of bracken fern and other foliage. It is a desperate campsite indeed. Again I wonder if anyone that works for National Parks has any idea what it is like to sleep outside in a tent.

After a long lunch break, we head north again with the currents helping our progress. The remainder of the paddle is along long low beaches and the water becomes even calmer as we are protected by Snake Island and long sandbar that runs parallel to shore.

Doug and I have camped at Biddies Cove before and it is just as we remember it. Sandy dunes scattered with salt tolerant vegetation and scattered granite slabs. Diminutive Mount Singapore, under 150 metres high, lies abuts camp on the west side.

Dusk is approaching and we have paddled 35 km and are happy to have our evening swims and set up camp with our last camp kitchen on a large granite slab behind the tents.

Day 7: Yanakie

Light westerly winds switching to strong NW winds

It seems appropriate to finish the final 18 km of the trip with some help from the rising tide and the morning sun radiantly piercing the clouds over Snake Island. It is impossible to see Yanakie on the low land to the west so we use a combination of Rae's GPS and compass to head west.

Arriving at Yanakie, I am sad and glad. Sad that the trip is over but happy that despite challenging conditions we have successfully paddled around Wilsons Promontory.