The 50 Kilometre Project

Immediately I finished the 50 kilometre in a day project, I thought I should have done 57 and made the kilometres completed self-powered in one day the same as my age. That is the thing with goals, there is always another on the horizon. Here is how the day unfolded.

Average size of coffee/tea

The night before I made sure all my gear was ready to go. Running gear, then kayaking gear, and finally biking gear. I did not need any fancy gels or other food stuffs. That sort of manufactured junk food labelled "sports nutrition" is just nonsense. I would be coming back to my house every couple of hours and would do what I normally do which is eat left-over real food.

14 Kilometre Run

I did, however, start the day with two big mugs of coffee. While it is true I only have one coffee a day, that one coffee is a big one! Then off to run the Dam Loop. This is a distance of 14 km from my house and about 400 metres of elevation gain. I do all my running at nose breathing pace as I do not want to one of the many people who train at too hard a pace and end up with aerobic deficiency syndrome.

Everlasting daisies along the Dam Loop

The Dam Loop is a great mountain bike track that loops around Deep Creek Dam near where I live. It's a beginner mountain bike loop and a really nice track to run. Running in your aerobic zone means you can run a long time without getting tired. It feels really slow when you start, but, done correctly and assiduously it is amazing how much faster you get and how the hills get easier and easier to run.

I called Doug when I was about 20 minutes from home to warn him I was coming as he was going to join me for the next leg of the day, a paddle on the ocean.

21.5 Kilometre Paddle

The days are short and I did not want to find myself on a mountain bike in the dark, so change over at home was pretty quick. Put on paddling clothes, eat a meat patty and a few grapes and trolley the kayak down to our local beach.

The forecast was for light westerlies turning to light southerlies so we were heading south. I needed to do about 20 kilometres in the kayak for the numbers to add to 50 which meant heading south to around Rosedale. It was low tide and very calm, so we paddled close in negotiating the kayaks through the series of rock reefs that run down the coast.

Low tide only beach

At Pretty Point headland we were able to land on a tiny little low tide beach that is usually washed with waves. We still had a few more kilometres to go before turning around so we continued down to Jimmies Island and paddled around it. In the extraordinarily calm conditions we found another little secret beach and also a gauntlet we had not paddled before.

Passing Jimmies Island

Back at our home beach we loaded the boats on the trolleys and walked home. Doug washed the kayaks and gear while I got ready for my final leg.

18 Kilometre Mountain Bike

A home made fishcake, another handful of grapes, and a decaf coffee and off I went on the bike. I was heading back up to the Dam mountain bike tracks but this time I would ride Jackhammer, Little Canada, Ho Chi Min, a new, as yet unnamed track, and finish on the Dam Loop. Eighteen kilometres of riding from our house and 490 metres of gain. Jackhammer rolls wonderfully down to 20 metres ASL on the Tomago River while riding out on Ho Chi Min and the new track back up to 140 metres ASL always feels like a bit of a grunt.

At the top of Jackhammer

It was a beautiful ride and I was faster than I thought I would be. A couple of the steeper hills defeated me and I had to push the bike for a few metres at a time, but, overall, I felt surprisingly good. The tracks are very pretty, bright green now we have had rain with the sun filtering through the forest.

The final stretch along the last bit of the Dam Loop felt steeper than I remembered it and I had to work to get up even the smaller hills. It was not until I was speeding down the forest road towards home that I realised I had the bike in a higher gear than normal.

The start of the uphill section

To fully develop your aerobic system, you should do most of your training at a low heart rate (I use nose breathing pace) but, you do need to hit the top end sometimes as well. I do my top end training on my mountain bike as there is no way you can ride up a steep mountain bike trail at nose breathing pace and riding trails makes for fairly natural interval training.

Final Tally

My final tally for the day was 53.5 km and 890 metres of elevation gain. So close to 57 kilometres I wish I had thought of that before. But, there is always next week....

The Sunrise Project

Life was seriously disrupted in 2019 and 2020. First by horrific bushfires and then by the Covid crisis. Throughout the months of bushfires and lockdown, I never forgot how lucky we were to live in a wealthy country with all the essentials of life. But, there was a little pizzazz that life usually held missing, so one week in late autumn I decided to get up and be outside somewhere - self-powered - to see the sunrise every day for one week. This is the story of that week.

Day 1 Currowan Ridge:

Doug is sceptical about my ability to get up when it is still dark, but I wake up before the 5 am alarm, make coffee, fill a thermos and am out the door by 5.15 am and on the road to Currowan forest.

Early morning Currowan forest

I have a secondary purpose, which is to look at some large granite boulders, so I walk up a fire road to ridge top in the dark. The sky slowly brightens. A lovely sunrise over the forest to the east. I am high enough above the valley to watch as the sun tips up over the horizon. The spotted gum forest has been burnt by bushfires but the gums are coming back. Now, however, their trunks are pale white and in the low light of a winter sun they glow luminescently in the dark.

Sunrise over Currowan forest

There are good boulders and I spend a few hours happily wandering through the forest. A big granite dome provides an excellent breakfast spot.

Breakfast rock

Day 2: Sea Kayaking and Surfing

It is a short trolley to our local beach which is quiet year round and deserted before dawn. Orange and pink tingeing the sky as I launch and slide out on the inky water. It is a cool morning and I paddle across the bay watching the sky to catch the moment the sun slides above the forested ridge. Cool air is draining off the land to the warmer sea and there is a haze of sea mist along the shore.

Before dawn, Sunshine Cove

It feels late, almost 7 am, when the sun finally breaks right above the trees and lights up the bay. With the sun behind me, I paddle around to Cullendulla where, when the swell is large and the period is long, there is good kayak surfing. I catch a couple of waves into the beach. I am stiff from the cool air and almost capsize a couple of times but a sunny spot on the beach, a warm jacket and some hot coffee from my thermos and I am refreshed and more importantly warmed up.

Morning sun over Murramarang

Day 3: Observation Point

Sleep in this morning as I don't have far to go. Onto my bike in the early dawn and up to a local lookout. Dawn over the bay and islands with hot coffee from my thermos.

Snapper Island from Observation Head

Day 4: Sunshine Bay

This mornings sunrise was one of the best this week. Cold air from the land draining over the warm sea made a band of sea fog that was drifting slowly across the ocean. Snapper Island and the Tollgate Islands floated eerily through this mist. It was gentle dawn as I walked around the little headland track from bay to bay.

Sea mist floats towards the Tollgate Islands

Day 5: Wimbie Hill

It is a warm morning as I leave the house in the dark and walk an hour to the top of Wimbie Hill. The view is sheltered by big spotted gums that luckily survived the New Years Eve bushfires as this is a beautiful bit of remnant forest among residential housing. To get an unobstructed view I scramble down and up the rotten ridge that juts into the ocean. This is a tenuous route as it is steep and very, very loose.

Sunrise from Wimbie Hill

Coffee as the sun rises and the sky trends deep red, crimson, pink until finally just a bright beam of light shines down on the Tollgate Islands.

Beam of light on Tollgate Islands

Day 6: Mouth of the Clyde River

I am getting into the groove of rising in the dark, filling the thermos and heading outside for shoes, bike or kayak, whatever is the self-propelled transport of the day. This morning it was bicycle. I planned to see the sunrise over Snapper Island by cycling down to the breakwater at the mouth of the Clyde River. Although I have paddled past many times, I have never been by bike or foot and it was a little difficult finding my way in the dark.

Sunrise across the Bay

The big story of the morning was the moon which was huge and bright. The sun kind of slunk up the horizon, slowly without much fanfare, definitely overshadowed by the super moon.

Super moon from the mouth of the Clyde River

Day 7: Round Mountain Lookout

Watching the sunrise on day seven from Round Mountain lookout was strangely satisfying. The seven day sunrise project was not a big audacious goal. It required only minimal change to my normal daily routine. Getting up an hour or so earlier, and leaving home in the dark, instead of at first light, and yet, there was something about the project that made me appreciate each day a little more. 

Early morning light on single track

I have always thought that the secret to happiness in life lies in finding the joy in small things, and this week every morning I found joy in something that happens with metronomic regularity every single day - the sunrise. Finding some natural place in our increasingly unnatural world and watching the night fade and the day begin makes even the most ordinary day an extraordinary gift.  Go do it now.  

Sunrise from Round Mountain

Buckenbowra The Birthday Paddle

The tradition for birthdays, Christmas, and, in truth, virtually any other event celebrated by normal people, in our household is to spend the day adventuring. While most other people go out for dinner, have parties and eat birthday cake, our usual celebration is a good thrashing in the outdoors.

On the occasion of my 57th birthday, despite the Covid lockdown, we could continue the tradition as going out to exercise is still acceptable in Australia and we are lucky enough to live with the ocean and bush on our front and back doorsteps. There is not much I like more than an adventure from my own front door.

For no reason other than we had not done it before, I decided we should paddle up the Buckenbowra River. Without any real planning, I had hoped to get to the spot on the river, about 11 kilometres upstream from the confluence with the Clyde River marked "tidal limit" on the topographic map. If we paddled the shortest route from our home beach to this location the distance would be 46 km return. However, in keeping with the spirit of adventure, I did not measure this out or make any other plans except for packing lunch and noting the tide times.

There was a 2.5 metre swell with a decently long period running from the south and these conditions can frequently give good surfing in the Bay. Accordingly, we decided we would try and catch a few waves before paddling west up the Clyde River to the Buckenbowra River.

The first place we checked had decent waves and I caught a good one in, but Doug was not that keen thinking that the bigger waves were going to result in a decent trashing. So, we backtracked a bit and checked out another favourite area. As suspected, the tide was wrong and the waves were too small. The third area we paddled to had surprisingly good waves that were small but easy to ride and gave rides up to 250 metres long. We caught a half dozen or so waves racking up an extra 3 or 4 kilometres of distance before turning our attention to the main event of the day, the exploration of Buckenbowra River.

We had a decent tidal flow up to the mouth of the Buckenbowra River and easy paddling up the Clyde River. Turning west, then south, we paddled up the calm river past some small farms and rural properties before stopping for lunch on a sandy bank near the Runnyford Bridge. It was pleasant in the sun, a perfect autumn day. Checking our distance, I noted that we had already paddled 23 kilometres and from previous trips I knew the distance back to our local beach from the Buckenbowra-Clyde confluence was 12 or 13 km, so already we were looking at a mid 30 kilometre day.

However, I still hoped to reach the "tidal limit" and the current was still flowing upstream so we continued on the river getting narrower and quieter for another two kilometres. While Doug fussed around digging out his paddling gloves, I noted that we had at least another 8 kilometres return to reach the now elusive "tidal limit" and, no matter how I might ignore it, my butt was sore and I was getting tired.

So, about four kilometres from the tidal limit we turned around. Unfortunately this far up the river the tide had not yet turned so we had to paddle against the current down to the confluence with the Clyde River. We had an extra thermos of hot water and one more tea bag so we had a second tea break on another sand bank while watching the tide continue to run the wrong way.

On the Clyde River the usual headwind was blowing. On every long day I have had up this river there is a head wind blowing, so it was expected. Finally, we reached the bridge, then the long slog out past the breakwater and across two bays before we finally paddled around the last headland with the sun low in the sky to our own local bay. About 41 kilometres for the day, cramped hamstrings and a sore butt, but otherwise another fine self-propelled trip from our own front door.

Downton Creek: Ridges, Lakes and Mountains

Preamble:

You would think with the Covid shutdown I would have plenty of time to get my blog up to date, but I don't. I seem to have as many things as ever to do, however, I am slowly plugging through my photos from our "return to Canada trip" in 2019. The latest photos are from a three day trip in the mountainous area around the head of Downton Creek.

Our good friend, fellow mountain traveller and chief engineer of the incomparable Bivouac.com site, Robin T, recommended the area as a few years prior with a group of friends, they had a done a traverse through the area linking one alpine access trail to another and camping in the high alpine among a series of beautiful alpine lakes and tarns.

The kicker for us was that we had a two wheel drive minivan to ease up and down BC's notoriously rough logging roads. If we were able to get about 8 kilometres up Downton Creek FSR we would minimise our road walking and could do a similar trip to Robin's three day adventure.

Saddlebag Lakes and Peak:

We drove up from Vancouver the afternoon before. It is a longish drive, past Squamish and Whistler and up the Duffy Lake Road - scene of much winter ski touring - to a somewhat rickety bridge over Cayoosh Creek which in Australia would be a full blown river but in Canada is a mere rivulet. After a bush camp along the Duffy Lake Road, we started up Downton Creek in the early morning, slowly grinding the minivan up the rough road.

Happily we made it to kilometre nine, which was just a few hundred metres of the track to Saddlebag Lakes. Track is a bit of a stretch for this rough foot pad as, unlike the Holly Lake trail, further up Downton Creek which gets a fair bit of foot traffic, Saddlebag Lakes trail is infrequently travelled and in much poorer condition.

It is important to note that this is not actually a built trail, just a roughly flagged route from which all the flags have long since disappeared. However, by BC standards it is a pretty reasonable access as it does not suffer from kilometre long mud bogs, overly steep and eroded terrain, thick and impenetrable Devils Club or any of the other dozen or more challenges common to other BC access routes.

Basically, the route runs up the south side of a creek that drains Saddlebag Lake starting at 4,500 feet and reaching Saddlebag Lakes at around 7,200 feet. It is not overly steep, but there is a fair bit of crawling over and under fallen trees, a couple of areas of steep scree beside the rushing creek where it is good not to lose balance, and some clambering around avalanche debris. In a number of places we had to remove our packs to crawl under trees so overall, it was pretty slow going.

After about 3 kilometres and a bit over 2,000 feet of gain the trail disappears in an alpine basin. From here you can head west to a small tarn under some peaks, or curve east and then north around a big headwall and scramble up beside Saddlebag Creek to emerge in a gorgeous alpine area near the two large Saddlebag Lakes. This took us about four hours and we spent a bit of time finding a really excellent campsite, although there are literally thousands to choose from.

Our plan was to climb Mount Seton, at just under 9,400 feet, the highest peak in this area and we had a rough route description from Robin which said to scramble up beside a waterfall. Casting about, we saw a waterfall coming down from a peak to our northeast and somehow decided this was Seton Peak. I am not exactly sure why this made sense to us as we had a map and compass, but our mountain navigation was certainly a bit rusty as the peak we picked out as Seton was actually Saddlebag, at just over 9,200 feet, about 150 feet lower than Seton.

These are all unofficial names and, such is the immense number of Canadian mountains, this whole large ridge system covering many square kilometres has no officially named peaks at all. On this northern side of Downton Creek, the peaks are almost entirely loose and rubbly. To the south of Downton Creek the peaks are of firmer granitic type rock and a few have been climbed via technical routes.

In any event, we made camp, brewed up some tea and then packed some emergency gear for our scramble up Saddlebag Peak. In truth, the route looked gruesome. Exceedingly steep and very, very loose. We crossed the egress of Saddlebag Lakes and made some reasonable progress for a couple of hundred feet up firmer talus but then found ourselves grovelling up extremely steep and loose, shattered rubble. After a fair bit of hard scrabble, we traversed into a snow gully and kicked steps up finally coming out on lower angled terrain but still some 700 or 800 feet from the summit.

The last part was merely a grind over shattered rock and after something over an hour we arrived at the summit. There were showers around and it was cold so we put on all our warm gear and rain gear. Looking at the view, we were somewhat perplexed that we were apparently lower than the peak some two kilometres along the ridge to the west although we thought we were on the highest peak.

However, rain and graupel were coming so we hurried down leaving this mystery to ponder later. At the tent it was drizzly and cold. I made dinner and we hunkered down for a night of wind and rain. Puzzling over the map more carefully in the tent we realised we had climbed Saddlebag not Seton.

Skimka Peak and Statimcets Meadow:

We felt really lucky to wake to clear skies and we packed up camp and began our traverse over towards Holly Lake. There are countless ways this could be achieved. Robin's group had traversed over the west side of the ridge system dropping down to tree line again, but we decided to stay higher.

Leaving Saddlebag Lakes we hiked up onto the east ridge of Trilateral Peak and by staying high traversed meadow down to a small tarn. We then walked up a snow gully to a col between Trilateral and Skimka to a narrow windblown ridge. The north ridge of Skimka looked steep and had a remnant cornice at the top but it was not too bad going up to the cornice and Doug kicked some good steps through the vertical snow and we merely had to stroll southeast to reach the summit of Skimka.

We found a somewhat sheltered spot for lunch and enjoyed the view while deciding on our route ahead. Our original plan had been to continue along the ridge but there were many rotten gendarmes along the way that looked nasty to pass so we decided instead to drop down lower angled terrain and turn a prominent easterly ridge around 7,000 feet and then stroll up meadow to find a campsite.

This was mostly straightforward apart from a couple of grovelly steep bits and we found ourselves in an easy and pleasant draw that provided delightful walking up to a series of small tarns under the southeast face of Statimcets.

We spent some time again finding the perfect campsite and then set up camp and made a brew. Doug spent the rest of the day reading in the sun. The views were absolutely stupendous and it would be hard to not enjoy any time spent in this glorious location. I went off wandering and made my way to a bigger tarn on the south side of Fawlty Tower and then looped back to camp under the face of Statimcets. It was a glorious evening, warm and calm, and we sat outside until the mosquitoes made life unpleasant.

Statimcets and Holly Lake Trail:

Statimcets was an easy scramble from the east and we spent a long time on the summit admiring the peaks and the view. The air was clear and we could see all the way to Joffre Peak, very distinguishable by the big scar from the recent major rockfall event. To descend, we walked down the south ridge and got onto a good snow gully which made for an easy and pleasant descent back to camp.

After eating and drinking at camp, we packed up and meandered south down alplands and talus to intersect the Holly Lake trail. A better route would have been to angle south from camp and pick up the top end of the trail as we did have to descend some steep boulders and talus. Holly Lake trail is popular and in good shape and we were soon striding along following a creek downhill to reach the upper end of Downton Creek FSR. We had about a five kilometre walk down the logging road back to our car which was hard on the feet and knees. Finding the minivan with four fully inflated tires was a bonus, and then the slow drive out.

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.