The Sunday Paddles: Ulladulla Harbour to Sussex Inlet

Time again for the Sunday paddle, and, after a busy week, I was scratching my head for a good paddle that could accommodate a diverse group under conditions that could only be described as interesting - 15 to 20 knot southerly winds, two swells with a combined wind and wave height of up to 4 metres. In the end, my plan was for a relatively safe, but not without it's challenges, paddle south from Wimbie Beach, so paddling into a head wind in what would surely be lumpy seas.

Most sea kayakers don't seem to like paddling into the wind. However, I consider this an essential skill in a solid kayaking repertoire. Not being able, or willing to paddle into the wind seems to me the equivalent of refusing to skin uphill to ski downhill in the backcountry, or ride your mountain bike uphill so you can flow down single track. The hard graft is also an essential part of the experience and should be embraced. Resilience and strength is built by doing difficult things, not taking the easy way.

As it turned out, however, only two people signed up. One was, of course, Doug, who is up for anything I suggest, no matter how hare-brained, and the other was Rae, who in general, as long as it is kayaking related, is also up for anything.

Heading out of Ulladulla Harbour

With only three of us committed it seemed sensible to do a more interesting trip that involved a car shuttle. I don't like car shuttles - they eat up time and spew out carbon. Many times, however, they seem a necessary evil. But, if we were going to car shuttle, I wanted to find a car shuttle that allowed for a solid day paddling with minimal shuttling. I also wanted to run the trip out of Ulladulla as mostly Rae and Neil make the trip south to paddle and it seemed only fair to drive north occasionally.

And so the plan to paddle north from Ulladulla to Sussex Inlet and across St Georges Basin to Basin View was hatched. This plan should give a minimum of 40 kilometres of paddling (about 30 on the open ocean), an interesting bar crossing and a car shuttle of only 60 minutes. It seemed like a bargain too good to be true. The only problem was my somewhat piss-poor preparation.

St Georges Basin is a large lake with a narrow outlet channel that meanders six kilometres out to sea with an average width of around 150 metres. So a big body of water has to rush in and out a narrow passage with the tide change multiple times each day. Now, as any rookie knows, or at least should know, the change of tide at the ocean does not correspond to when the tidal stream into or out of the lake changes. So tide change at the coast may be 2.35 pm (as it was for us) but the water in the lake will continue to run out - often very swiftly - for hours after this.

Heading north under sail

Not only does this mean that paddling up the channel will be slow hard work as you fight a strong tidal current, it also means that any waves at the bar will stand up as the tide runs out against rising ocean water and swell. Finally, the other danger, perhaps the most significant, is that anyone who capsizes and comes out of their boat will be washed out to sea and into bigger waves with more dangerous conditions and not into the safety of the channel and away from the waves.

Rae had anticipated many of these things that I had not and she cautioned that we should not try to cross the bar until around 4.30 pm, about two hours after tide change. It turns out, this is an underestimation of how long the tide runs out and three or even four hours after low tide at the coast is likely a better benchmark,

Initially, I had said Doug and I would leave our place to head north at 7 am. I am an old mountaineer, not necessarily an old, bold mountaineer, but an old mountaineer in any event and mountaineers leave. Throw up your breakfast in the dark early, because mountain days are long and dangers frequently intensify with daytime heating. So, my knee jerk reaction to any trip is "leave early."

Heading north from Bendalong

So, we ended up leaving Ulladulla Harbour at 9.30 am, around about 3 or 4 hours too early to catch the tide right at Sussex Inlet bar thanks to a slightly faster travel speed (around 9 km an hour) and my not taking the time to work backwards to decide on the time to leave. What is inexplicable to me is that I know this stuff, and have done for years.

We had a good tail wind to push us north from Ulladulla Harbour although the sea was lumpy and bumpy. The swell was up, maybe three metres for the biggest waves but not as terrifyingly large as our last trip from Moruya to Ulladulla. We got to our lunch spot at Bendalong, which was busy with weekenders, at 11.30 am and way ahead of schedule.

While eating an early lunch, we began discussing the next stage of the journey. There were unknowns. None of us had actually paddled into Sussex Inlet bar and trying to gauge exactly what the bar was like from looking at historical images on Google Earth only convinced us we might find anything when we got there from a steep wall of breaking waves to a narrow passage that was at least deep enough to paddle. We were hoping that the little rock island off the point at the bar would at least reduce the intensity of some of the swell, and our plan was to wrap around this to the north before coming back south to find a passage through. Rae had got some information from Marine Rescue at Sussex Inlet, but they only cross the bar very sporadically and only one hour each side of high tide. Certainly, we had not seen any boats at all since leaving Ulladulla as conditions at sea were "interesting."

Doug passing Berrara

Crossing these bars is tricky, particularly in a big swell with confused seas. In a kayak, we have no hope of out-running any waves, and sit so low in the water that even getting a view of what is ahead can be impossible. If we could not get across the bar at Sussex Inlet, we would have a 10 kilometre paddle back into the wind and swell late in the day to confront. It would be doable, just.

So, it turns out we had a fair bit of time to kill. Rae wanted to leave at 3.30 pm, Doug wanted to leave at around 3 pm, and me, well, I don't do down-time well so I thought "why not leave now?" Luckily, sense prevailed and we ended up starting paddling again at 2.30 pm. We spent about 30 minutes surfing the little waves that were wrapping around the headland at Boat Harbour and Doug managed to capsize in a wave quite close to the rocks, but luckily rolled back up again before his boat ran onto the reef. About 3.00 pm we headed north.

It was a bumpy ride north. We tried to paddle in towards Berrara as none of us had ever managed to land there, but there are a lot of reefs off-shore and the waves were breaking a long way out. I almost got cleaned up by a big one when my sail cord slipped away from me and I was faffing around with my head down. A quick sprint paddle and I nipped over the back of the wave just before it broke. Sometimes I shudder to think how many times that happens.

Finally, around 4.15 pm, we arrived at the heads at Sussex Inlet and wrapped around the reefs and islands to the north and, as planned started heading back south. There was no clear way into the channel, the waves were closing out the entire passage and it seemed like the tide was still running out of St Georges Basin even though the tide had turned two hours ago.

Paddling in behind the reef towards Sussex Inlet

We spent some time paddling back and forth looking at potential routes in. There was one or two narrow escapes from breaking waves again as we tried to get in close enough to see without getting cleaned up. Doug and I would probably have tried to land on the beach, or at least get right into the swash zone and paddle south along shore, but Rae was keen to try towards the middle of the channel. I think this is actually where the waves were biggest and the big sets were coming through strongly.

Finally, after watching for a few minutes we decided to give it a go. In better conditions, that is, a smaller swell, I think you might be able to diagonal in from north to south, but we had no chance of that without getting caught by breaking waves so we attempted a more direct route in. At some point, Rae just took off, Doug started following, but then hesitated and tried to turn his long 580 Mirage around to head back out again as a bigger wave picked up. I was following Rae but hoping to come in on the back of a wave - what a laughably futile plan - when I saw Doug's boat spike up and crash down and he was over and soon out.

My boat immediately broached and I reflexively leaned hard into the wave. For a while, all I could see was breaking wave but when I did manage to look up, I saw with glee that I was hurtling in towards the beach. So Rae and I made it into the swash zone where there were lots of breaking waves but none really powerful and turned to see Doug arduously trying to swim/wade his boat in.

I felt quite powerless to help and dithered between trying to paddle back out and tow him in to landing quickly and swimming out to help. In the end, as he seemed to be making progress, albeit slowly towards shore, I did nothing but watch and worry. After a while, he got on his feet and was in less powerful waves and was finally able to turn his electric pump on and even get back in the boat.

Somewhere between Berrara and Sussex Inlet

We were all wet and a bit chilled so we paddled into the calmer water and edged into an eddy so Doug could bail out the remaining water from his boat. A hoard of gawkers came down to ask what on earth we were doing and where had we come from.

So now it was 5 pm, we had a 10 km paddle against the tide, were all chilled and there was still that hour long car shuttle. We did manage to sail a bit up Sussex Inlet even though the wind was sporadic in the passage and we definitely had a strong current to paddle against. Upon arriving at a boat ramp and picnic area we reassessed. We would be lucky to be back in Ulladulla before 10 pm at night, and, as Rae said, the interesting part of the trip was over, so, with little hesitation we called it a day and Neil, who was kindly assisting in the car shuttle, came to pick us up.

It had been a grand adventure. One of those trips where you dance along the fine line between adventure and epic, never knowing for sure if you will make it out the other side.

Plan B: Narooma to Bermagui

On Sundays I organise a sea kayaking trip. I have an email list of about 26 people who get an invite. Some days we have a big group, some days it is just two of us. The point is not necessarily to have the biggest group, the toughest trip, or the most social media worthy experience; the Sunday paddle is about getting together with friends - new and old - enjoying the sport, the scenery and the company.

Strange rituals on the Sunday paddle

This past week, the email went to a much reduced list of possible participants because I was planning a more committing trip out to Montague Island. In a direct line, Montague Island is six kilometres off shore, but, most trips leave either from Mystery Bay or Narooma, from which the distance is nine kilometres. The East Australian Current runs south between Montague Island and the mainland and is strong enough at times to drag kayakers well off course.

One of the many reasons why paddling to Montague Island

is such an outstanding trip

Through the week, the forecast winds slowly built from light to moderate until finally on the day of the trip we had a strong wind warning. A long time ago, a fellow adventurer said to me "I try to never be involved in any incident where I can not explain the circumstances to rescue personnel." Now there was the incident of the stuck knee on a big mountain in a far away range which did have have our rescuers raising their eyebrows just a tiny bit, but, other than that, we have self-rescued from any and all other incidents, and I see no reason to blow that record now.

At least it was a stunning place to get a body part 

stuck in a crack

Nick had come up with a plan B, which involved paddling out of Narooma as planned but taking an inshore coastal route past Mystery Bay to Bermagui. The car shuttle was only slightly longer and fairly efficient with a party of four paddlers and we would have some time for rock gardening before what promised to be an excellent down-wind run.

Down wind running

This trip ended up having two parts, the first, between Narooma and Mystery Bay we had light winds and were able to wander around in various gauntlets and sea caves. A few winters ago, we paddled this section of coast in really calm conditions and got into all the slots and sea caves. Conditions were not so friendly this time and we did not get into the most interesting gauntlet which consists of two very narrow slots on either side of a detached rock block.

Exploring the coast south of Narooma

The second part, after lunch at Mystery Bay, the wind had built to 20 to 25 knots from the north and we had a cracking downwind run. A downwind run in a sea kayak is analogous to skiing powder snow in the backcountry. It is just so much fun. With a sail, catching runners is easy and the kayak really flies along. Nick is a fast paddler and he was catching runner after runner without using a sail, while Doug and I cheated and used a sail. Neil progressed in a much more sedate fashion.

Doug catching runners

It was a hoot, and when we pulled up on the beach at Bermagui we had the biggest smiles.

Pent Up Demand: Moruya to Ulladulla By Sea Kayak

Pent up demand is a term originally coined by economists to describe a rapid increase in spending for some good or service after a period of depressed spending. But those of us more at home in the backcountry than the mall know pent up demand as the gung-ho fever that causes an up-tick in avalanche involvements as backcountry travellers pour out into the mountains when the sun finally comes out after the mother of all winter storms.

Skiing in conditions that lead to pent up demand

Down here on the South Coast of NSW, Doug and I were certainly feeling the pent-up demand for a few days kayaking and camping along the coast. A summer of fires and closures had meant that no-one ventured far from home, never knowing if we would have a home when we came back. Finally it rained, not near enough to break the drought, but enough that the last of the local fires were considered contained and we started thinking about paddling again.

New Years Eve 2019

No-one felt very fit. In five months, I had only paddled a dozen times and some of those paddles were pretty short, but Doug and I had pulled off a 40 kilometre day on Christmas Day with no special training so paddling from Moruya to Ulladulla, a distance of roughly 100 kilometres seemed feasible. The forecast was for light southerly winds with a long period and a big swell. It would be a trip to learn well the lesson of the bombora.

Doug arranged some reasonably elaborate car shuttle arrangements. I am not good at organising car shuttles. I seem to have some spatial black spot in my brain that makes juggling around which car is where and with how many boats near impossible. Most of the time I would much rather use public transit to return to my car after a one way trip but public transit between Ulladulla and Moruya involves at least two bus transfers and the critical bus leaving Ulladulla does so only once per day. So, car shuttle it was.

Launching in the Moruya River

We launched into the Moruya River about a kilometre from the breakwater. A headland protects the river mouth to the south and a breakwater to the north. The channel runs swiftly with the deepest water along side the breakwater. There are always breaking waves to the south of the channel and on big days the entire entrance to the river closes out. We had an outgoing tide which helped with paddling out but conversely tends to make the waves stand up. People crash and burn, with sometimes disastrous results in these river bars all the time. 

Doug in the surf at Moruya River mouth

I admit to feeling some trepidation as we approached the river mouth but maybe that is reasonable given the three metre swell and how close to the breaking waves we were. However, paddling out turned out to be quite straight forward and we were soon heading north towards Burrewarra Point. The first time Doug and I paddled around Burrewarra Point we were so traumatised by the experience that we opted to take the bus back to retrieve our car rather than return around the Point by kayak.

Burrewarra Point on a previous trip

A few years on and I am used to paddling around the bumpy water off Burrewarra Point so was not so white-knuckled this time. We paddled into Guerilla Bay for a lunch break tucking into the most protected beach behind the rock reef that is an island at high tide.

Paddling past Bengello Beach

After lunch we headed north in no particular hurry to get to camp but not dallying either. The swell had really picked up in both size and power with the bigger sets coming in close to five metres and a 10 to 12 second period. Passing Mosquito Bay there were masses of breaking waves and I was not sure we were not going to have to detour out to near the Tollgate Islands to avoid reefs and bomboras but we found a way through.

Views near camp

We found a fabulous camp site with nice grassy level sites and tremendous views but landing required some caution as the swell was picking up and the beach steep. The soft grassy site was particularly appreciated by Doug and I as I had forgotten to pack our sleeping mats.

Finding unburnt forest

The swell dropped briefly by half a metre the next day before picking up again and still the long period with some very energetic waves powering in. We had a nice paddle north to Depot Beach and a sheltered landing for lunch. Rae and Doug paddled to the west of Grasshopper Island while Mike and I went around the east side. Both options had their moments. For Doug and Rae, a wave closed out the passage behind them, while Mike and I paddled through an entertaining tidal race off the north side of Grasshopper Island. There is always a bit of an epic near Grasshopper Island as you can read about here.

Doug following Rae through the west side of Grasshopper Island

PC, DB. 

Continuing north, Doug and Rae had another narrow escape at Clear Point paddling a gap in the long reef. I was about to follow them through when a big set powered across and I turned tail and followed Mike who had sensibly paddled around the most easterly reef.

Point Upright

About four kilometres from Kioloa, the only place we knew we could land with certainty in these conditions, Rae began to vomit. Vomiting is unpleasant at the best of times but is doubly troubling in a small sea kayak adrift in a big swell with bumpy seas. Rae, however, is a strong and determined paddler so we continued paddling, sticking close together to keep an eye on her. Last time I was out with a vomiting paddler, the whole trip turned from gloriously fun to dangerously epic very quickly.

Sick paddler under tow

Unfortunately, the four kilometres to Kioloa was slow paddling in rough conditions and there was a huge break off O'Hara Head that we had to give wide berth to. Rae was still vomiting as we paddled into more sheltered waters.

Near Kioloa on a calmer day

Rae pulled out at Kioloa, leaving three of us to continue on. In search of a more remote campsite, we paddled four kilometres north looking for a sheltered landing and finding only crashing waves and frightening conditions. The swell was so big that the waves were breaking all over the place and even seeing the beach without getting creamed by a big set was difficult. It was late in the day and we were all getting fatigued, too weary to deal with desperate landings or even more desperate rescues so we returned to a safe landing site and found a pretty good campsite tucked into a banksia grove.

Camping along the Murramurang Coast

During the night I heard Mike screaming himself awake from some unknown nightmare and I wondered if he was dreaming of trying to land on a south facing beach in a five metre southerly swell. Over night the drizzle turned to light rain and it was a gloomy morning putting on wet paddling clothes and stowing away all our now wet and grimy gear.

Doug playing beach master on a previous trip

Some tourists came down to watch us launch, which we luckily all managed with aplomb. It's always embarrassing to crash on the beach with an audience. Over the course of the day the swell lost some of its fury and size. We managed to paddle to the west of Brush Island, an impossibility the day before, and found much calmer seas on the north side. Landing at Crampton Island for lunch required a bit of careful navigating to avoid a breaking reef but was well worth the leg stretch.

Landing at Crampton Island on a previous trip

The final 14 kilometres to Ulladulla Harbour felt surprisingly easy given we were up around 100 kilometres of paddling in three days and it was not even too rough around Warden Head. Neil and Rae obliged with the final leg of the car shuttle by picking us up and taking Mike, Doug and I south to Moruya.

Near Warden Head on a previous trip

Most of these photos are from previous trips as I ended up with a serious dearth of decent photos from this trip.  

Sunday Runday Every Day Is Runday

I've been exploring the neighbourhood. The Currowan mega fire burnt 90% of our forests and national parks, and even before everything burnt, the forests were closed to prevent new fires. Now there is nothing left to burn, the forests are closed because everything burnt. I get cranky and depressed if I can't get out into nature so I've been exploring from my house, running through little reserves, along creeks, through remnant bits of forest, along cliff tops and beaches, joining up all the little bits of nature into long morning runs.

Little wooden bridges in the woods

This is best done on foot. Whizzing by in a car, or even on a bicycle, is not conducive to ducking into patches of woods, following little footpads used by people and animals, or scrambling over rocks. Each time I go out, I find something new. A little bridge over a side stream, a waterhole freshly filled with rain water, starkly burnt trees against the skyline, or hidden trails flowing through patches of forest.

Gum trees against a stormy sky

Five great things about today:

• Finding little bridges across streams just where you need them.
• Surprise trails in the forest.
• Trees against a dark sky.
• Rain.
• Meeting Sunday runners on the trails.

High tide and a big swell

Reprieve and Rain

The Currowan fire is under control; 2.5 months after spawning several other fires, becoming a mega fire, and burning 90% of the forests and National Parks in Eurobodalla, the Rural Fire Service has declared the Currowan fire under control. And, rain is forecast, although to date, there has not been near as much as any of us hoped for, under 30 mm at our place, but more may be coming.

High tide, empty beach, rain at sea

The respite from water bombers, smoke and sirens is welcome, but more welcome is the idea that with rain the forest can begin to heal. This year, however, the fires have been so extensive, burning almost all the forest along the eastern coast of southern Australia, that much native flora and fauna will not recover. Populations of animals are too scattered, there is too little food, too little habitat remaining and too many introduced predators. This may see the extinction of many native species from Australia.

Rivulets 

But, there are bright spots today: water running where it has not run for a long time, tiny little wrens in the undergrowth in unburnt forest, morning runs when the beach is deserted, little forest paths over streams through neighbourhoods, and yellow tailed black cockatoos in the trees.

Tenacity

This guy showed up a couple of weeks ago and we are slowly becoming friends. I put seed in a small container for him/her (I have no idea how to determine the gender of sulfur crested cockatoos) and put it out on the grass when he comes around in the evening.

I call him "Tenacity" and every evening when I see him my spirits lift. It's clear he has not had an easy life, but he shows up everyday and gets on with things. There is a powerful lesson there for all us.

Rain, Flowers and Bye Bye Bridget

Last night there was a steady trickling sound, no, not the sound of a broken pipe, but rain, gently running off the roof into the rain tank. Only 4 mm, so not nearly enough to break this terrible drought, but, it is perhaps a start. I was early enough to the beach to watch a fruit bat fly off into denser forest, the sunrise was beautiful, and unusually not smoky, and I found a big patch of bright yellow flowers alongside my grassy route home.

Today's gratitude:

• Rain is forecast for later in the week.  Lots of wonderful, life giving rain.
• Sunrise on a quiet beach.
• Surprise yellow flowers.
• Bats in trees. 
• Goodbye Bridget