Mount Nadgee The Wet Way

The Nadgee Nature Reserve is the only declared coastal wilderness in NSW and, together with the contiguous Cape Howe Wilderness Zone in Croajingolong National Park provides the best coastal wild country on the southeast coast: a 50 kilometre stretch of wild storm swept coastline from the big sand dunes of Cape Howe to the tranquil upper reaches of the Merrica River catchment. It is my absolute favourite place on the NSW coast both because of its relatively intact eco-system and because access is essentially self-powered only.

When I feel depressed about the state of the world I realise that some progress towards both preserving the natural world and recognising our imperative need to expand and explore our own physical and mental boundaries in self-powered pursuits has been preserved in the Nadgee Wilderness Area. More could be done, but at least something has been done.

We had only been home for just over a week from our long sojourn in South Australia when an invitation to a kayak trip into the Nadgee Wilderness arrived via email. Doug and I deliberated for about 60 seconds. True, we had many things to catch up on around the home, but wilderness and adventure will always be more important to us than just about anything else in life, so, of course, we said "yes." My goal, as I age, is to continue saying yes to self-propelled adventure for as long as possible.

Four of us would do what we called the "half-full Nadgee," it being widely agreed upon that the full Nadgee requires paddling between Eden and Mallacoota. Doug, Harry, Mark and I would paddle from Mallacoota to Wonboyn, tossing in a crossing of Wonboyn bar to make the trip slightly different from usual. Consistency is a winner in life, but consistency combined with variability is where the real magic happens. John and Mike would start and return to Greenglade paddling south over two days to meet us at the beach at Nadgee River mouth on the southern side of the beautiful Impressa Moor.

While John and Mike launched from Greenglade and paddled the short distance south to land and camp at Merrica River, Mark, Doug, Harry and I embarked on a car shuttle between Wonboyn and Mallacoota. We camped that night in the forest outside Mallacoota and I went off walking along an old fire road as sun set and an impressive moon rose over Mallacoota Lake.

Day 1: Bastion Point to Nadgee River Camp via Gabo Island

We were all up early the next morning, some earlier than others (Pearson), and drove down to Bastion Point for breakfast (eggs and bacon, of course) and to launch the kayaks. Most boat ramps are not built for kayakers who need a small shoulder of sand to pack and launch from. This is because most Australians, sad but true, are as addicted to motors as they are to junk food and grog. There is an evolutionary explanation for this, but, we do have a big brain and the ability to make better decisions.

There was quite a swell rolling in and, launching first, I thought I had got the timing all wrong and was going to be hit by a breaking wave but somehow managed to avoid it. The sprint speed needed to launch quickly gets harder to generate from a cold start as I get older. On the water, we headed for Tullaberga Island along the big curve of Mallacoota Bay. Regrouping at Tullaberga Island, we turned toward Gabo Harbour on the northwest side of Gabo Island where there is a small beach, jetty and sheltered landing site.

I have never walked up to the Gabo Island lighthouse before so we landed and set off along the mown track passing the memorial to Monument City, the ship that was lost in 1853 to the light house on the southern end of the island. Built in 1862, the lighthouse is the second highest in Australia and surely one of the most beautiful. Made of thick red granite slabs it curves upward with elegant simplicity. Off the south end of Gabo Island is a small rocky islet home to seals and sea birds.

Back at Gabo Harbour, Mark discovered that, in a seniors moment, he had lost his camera somewhere so while the rest of us shovelled in a quick lunch, he walked back up the track, returning later empty handed. If you find a camera on Gabo Island - I think it is on the rock slabs south of the lighthouse - it belongs to Mark.

Leaving Gabo Island we had a few exciting moments passing through the narrow gap between the north end of Gabo Island and Telegraph Point. I was impressed that Mark went through with his sail up as there were many waves breaking. In bigger seas this would close out solidly. We had to detour a long way out to sea around Iron Prince and Cape Howe, both of which have extensive off-shore reefs. North of Cape Howe, conditions were calmer and we moved closer inshore paddling past Cape Howe beach and Nadgee Lake beach and the low rocky cliffs of the Nadgee coast.

At the mouth of the Nadgee River, we could see kayaks, tents and two people at the north end (the more exposed landing site) of the small beach. Despite a metre-plus high dumping wave, we all landed successfully, carried our boats up the beach and settled in for two nights camping. The moon rise that night was very spectacular: a huge round red disc that climbed slowly above the south end of the bay.

Day 2: Nadgee Mountain

I have had Nadgee Mountain on my radar since 2016 when we walked into Harry's Hut along Table Ridge and down the Daylight Ridge fire trail. In 2020 I had toyed with the idea of walking up from Merrica River during a five day kayak trip but I had ended up paddling on our spare day instead. Now, I had a full day and only 25 kilometres (round trip) to walk to reach the top of Nadgee Mountain. Easily doable and well within the personal standard of fitness I aspire to maintain.

Some people have magical beliefs that, in the words of Paul Coelho, "when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it." I think this is nonsense; achieving meaningful goals mostly requires hard work, smart thinking, and that increasingly rare commodity, grit. Nevertheless, freakishly often I find these goals that percolate away at the back of my mind, sometimes for years, are frequently achieved. However, that could just be selective memory and I am forgetting all the other goals that simmered below the surface and eventually faded away. Such are the foibles of human cognition.

The first challenge is to cross the Nadgee River from south to north. When we walked the Nadgee Wilderness Walk all those years ago (2013), we strolled across a shallow pool with no concern for tides. The bar now is wide open and the Nadgee River floods deeply with the rising tide. Luckily, I had a handy kayak, so I paddled across stored my kayak above high tide level - a bit difficult with all the rocks - and then heading upstream quickly found a small campsite and trail leading uphill to the recently cleared Impressa Trail. I returned to the Nadgee River twice. Once to paddle back across to retrieve my compass which I had forgotten and the second time to shout out to Doug that I had found a good trail.

It is just over three kilometres to the Nadgee River at Harry's Hut, across the open Impressa Moor with sunlight beams shining on the water, and then through pleasant eucalpytus forest and downhill to the rainforest (and mosquitoes) along the Nadgee River. Then a steady but easy climb on a fire trail (recently cleared) up Daylight Ridge to Table Ridge. At the head of Table Creek, the fire trail turns northeast and runs up to the ranger station at Merrica River. I left the track here and struck out cross-country.

On a rough enough is good enough bearing, I headed west crossing mostly moor land and occasionally pushing through spindly trunks of burnt banksia. The native grasses on the moor grow hip high and provide unsteady footing, not a big deal until you start thinking about snakes and then you hope they are all sleepy or hibernating. I did not see any, but Doug coming along a half hour after me almost stepped on a brown snake.

Within a couple of hundred metres of leaving the trail I could see Mount Nadgee and tucked the compass away and simply followed a reasonable route through vegetation to the top. There is a trig and, at least at the time of writing this, a camera to record wildlife. From just below the summit, I could see Nadgee Lake and Cape Howe. So, five years after first conceiving of the idea, I stood on top of Mount Nadgee. I crossed paths with Doug coming back down so he also stood on Mount Nadgee.

I had a serious craving for a hot cup of tea after all that walking so my return to the Nadgee River was as expeditious as I could make it. Jogging the downhill sections, walking briskly on the few short uphill sections. I detoured to Harrys Hut on the way back but stayed an insignificant period of time as the mosquitoes were horrible.

Back at camp in time for 3.30 pm afternoon mug of tea, and Doug arrived a half hour later. Another stunning moon rise and then after dark, the ocean came alive with the electric blue glow of Noctiluca. It was so cool standing down by the ocean watching the breaking waves run bright blue with this dino-flagellate that I laughed out loud. Nature is such a wonder I only wonder why more people don't get out and experience it.

Day Four: Nadgee River to Merrica River

We were on the move again in the kayaks next day, paddling out of Nadgee River onto the ocean and heading north to Merrica River. By all accounts I had the most impressive launch with my spectacularly bad timing taking two big waves on the chest and over the head, but, on the bright side, I needed a face wash.

Paddling north was really lovely as the swell had fallen over the last couple of days and there was no wind. We paddled close in to the coast along cliffs and long sandy beaches. The cliffs are not high along this section of coast but they are beautiful with caves and grottos and we even found a section of rock with three arches clear through to the other side. After recent rains we also found a small waterfall tumbling over cliffs into the sea. Just before Merrica River we inspected a deep cave that runs 30 metres into the rock and ends in a small but stormy beach. The opening is barely a paddle blade wide. Along the way, we passed dozens of dolphins and seals and at least half a dozen sea eagles.

At Merrica River, Doug paddled up the gorge to get some fresh water and I scrambled and rambled along the rocky shelves on the south side of the river.

Day 5: Merrica River to Wonboyn

I can't speak for the rest of the crew, but I had a much drier launch from Merrica River out to sea as the swell was smaller again. Before leaving the Nadgee we ducked south and some of us paddled into the deep cave. Doug and I followed the "back in" technique while Harry and John paddled in bow first. Very fun, very dark, very "boomy" as the waves washed in.

Mike and John headed off to Greenglade while Harry, Mark and I paddled north in glassy conditions to Bay Cliff where Wonboyn Lake and River run out to sea. The bar is pretty narrow and has a few rocks studded in it, but with a half metre swell paddling in was not only easy, it was fun. I caught a lovely little wave and cruised in with barely a paddle stroke. Once in Wonboyn Lake we had an easy paddle west to the little boat ramp.

The end of another fabulous Nadgee trip and a resounding endorsement to saying "yes" to adventure.

Make May Meaningful

 

Morning Light over Impressa Moor, Nadgee Wilderness

Imagine what  you could achieve in May if you spent the entire month focused on second and third order effects.  

The Passion Of Suffering

In our modern world where everyone wants to be authentic and follow their passion, it is useful to reflect on the etymology of the word "passion," which comes from the Latin passionem: suffering, enduring. I doubt, however, that most people talking about "following their passion" have any concept that such a path would be intimately connected to enduring and suffering.

And yet, if you are truly passionate about something, you will be willing to suffer and endure for that ideal, purpose or goal. I do not pretend to be an expert on suffering, but I do understand - indeed have several - enduring passions and also understand that realising those passions requires patience, practice, endurance, and yes, sometimes suffering.

Paddling With Dolphins: A Circumnavigation Of Uncertain (Thistle) Island

We are surrounded by dolphins. They swim under our kayaks and pop up in the wave at our bows before diving again. The water flashes bright white under our boats as they tumble under our keels before emerging again on the opposite side of our kayaks. The pod must number around 30 and they have been keeping pace with us for 15 minutes as we paddle northeast across the empty Southern Ocean. It is early morning and the sun slants sharply into our eyes. South Australia, it seems is almost always sunny and clear.

Doug and I look at one another and laugh with pure joy. Momentarily, we consider fussing about with cameras to get that perfect shot, but then we laugh again and let that thought slide away. This trip has been all about enjoying the moment, so many moments of stunning wonder and beauty. Trying to capture this grand landscape in which we have been fully immersed for the last five days within a single photograph is futile. It really is a case of "if you weren't there you wouldn't understand."

Five days before we left Taylors Landing as the tide was flooding up Spencer Gulf with the aim of circumnavigating Uncertain Island; the most interesting island in the scattered group of islands that sprinkle the Southern Ocean near the southern entrance to Spencer Gulf. We had an easy crossing to Taylor Island, this far up the Gulf no real swell penetrates and even against the tide the paddling was easy. Just north of Taylor Island lies tiny, low lying Owen Island, home to Cape Barren Geese and Pacific Gulls and we had a short break before heading across Thorny Passage to Observatory Point. A southwesterly wind blew up and quickly created a sharp beam on chop.

South of Observatory Point we rested to wait for the tide to change, walked the beach, watched sea lions playing in the clear shallow water and rested under the round bright orb of a full moon. Next morning, as the tide was ebbing we paddled along the sheltered eastern shore of the island. Granite slabs gave way to colourful eroded limestone cliffs with shallow low tide beaches below. South of Horny Point, small sandy bays between granite slabs topped with eroding limestone caps continue south to the granite slabs and short cliffs near Waterhouse Point.

When the tide turned, we found a small beach with some shade under stunted salt tolerant scrub to wait for the next low tide. A long but easy walk following the foot pads of black footed rock wallabies led to the most southern part of the island overlooking Albatross Island and two remote southern bays. Long tidal races were visible streaming out into the Southern Ocean, but, overall, conditions at slack ebb when we intended to paddle the southern tip should be manageable. Overnight we lay on the flat sand as the huge round moon rose red in the setting sun and lit the sand beach like day. A black footed rock wallaby and bilby sniffed around our gear, largely unconcerned by our presence.

Timing slack tide is an inexact science and when we arrived at Waterhouse Bay next morning suspecting we were a little early and would be fighting the current, we waited 15 or 20 minutes until somehow, the time seemed right.

Paddling around Waterhouse Point was a lesson in contrasts: from the sheltered east coast waters to the southern tip where tidal races stream out for hundreds of metres and the Southern Ocean swells roll in and crash onto the cliffs. For the next several hours these rolling ocean swells would be our companions, booming onto the cliffs with a deafening roar. Paddling past the very southern prominence of Uncertain Island was both exhilarating and humbling. I tried to photograph Doug as his kayak danced among the waves and sea spray of incessantly surging swells but no single image could capture the gestalt of paddling such a small boat in such a large place.

Heading northeast to Fossil Point we passed granite slabs and cliffs gouged into deep notches and gauntlets by the Southern Ocean. Tucked around Fossil Point, we had some shelter from the rising and falling swells, and rested for a while before continuing northeast.

A long curving bay leads northeast to Carrington Point east of Hopkins Island. Bright orange 100 metre high limestone cliffs drop precipitously into the ocean along the entire length of the bay. The cliffs are carved by wind and sea into deep caverns and caves, and in many places, chunks of the cliffs have dropped into the ocean and become isolated twisted islets.

A kilometre before Carrington Point the cliffs abruptly drop away and a swell swept sandy bay picks up the last remnants of the great Southern Ocean swells. This entire bay is shallow and studded with rocks and reefs and requires paddling out around breaking swells to navigate safely. After negotiating a final line of swell off Carrington Point we paddled into a deep sheltered bay lined by limestone caves and bluffs.

This is our last rest spot on Uncertain Island and after eating a late lunch and storing our gear in the minimal shade of the eroded limestone crags, we walk south up onto the tops of the limestone cliffs of Carrington Point. At 40 metres high and covered only in low vegetation and limestone slabs, the walking is easy yet the views astound. We stroll south until we have a view of the looming orange cliffs of O'Loughlin Bay and southwest to Cape Catastrophe and Williams Island. Rock wallabies shelter from the sun under broken limestone cliffs while sea birds shriek and moan.

At the tail end of the next ebb tide we push off the beach, leave our sheltered bay and paddle southwest passing Hopkins Island and crossing over to the southern tip of Smith Island. In the passage between Hopkins and Smith Islands we encounter the first boat we have seen since leaving Taylors Landing and sheltered waters. It is a large tourist boat enroute to Neptune Island for Great White Shark viewing.

Gobsmacked to see kayaks bobbing around in this exposed ocean, the boat drives over and circles around and around us. The tourists flock onto the deck and stare at us open mouthed. A crew member shouts down to ask whither we go and come; and, as is usual for those who travel exclusively with motors he is both impressed with our journey and unable to comprehend it asking "Have you done all that today?"

This is the tale of two solitudes that marks the lives of those who live on the fringe of normality, who dive constantly into the wilderness, seeking challenge that must inevitably be marked by struggle. The life has great rewards but is also so far outside the ken of normal that again, "if you were not there you would not understand."

As the boat powers off, we slip back into our own normal world where time is dictated by sun, moon and tide, and we make progress by dint of our own efforts. We seem to have timed the tides exactly right as our passage to Williams Island is smooth and fast, and within another hour, we are paddling around sloping granite slabs past lounging Australian Sea Lions, overseen by circling gannets and ospreys into the most perfect white sand bay imaginable.

We breakfast on big granite boulders and then scramble up broken rocks to the top of the island and walk over to the light station. West Cape is only two kilometres to the north and far in the distance we can see the low ridges of Point Whidbey on Coffin Bay Peninsula. Walking due west we scramble down low limestone bluffs onto extensive granite sea platforms on the west side of Williams Island. We ramble and scramble over these platforms for the next coupe of hours, watching the waves crash into narrow gauntlets, peering into deep rock pools, and scrambling up, over and around obstacles. It is tremendous fun and we walk all the way back to camp grinning to each other pausing only to watch sea lions cavorting in the shallows.

Having lunch on granite slabs in the shade of boulders near camp, four sea lion pups out exploring walk right up onto the slabs until they are only a metre from where I stand and we stare at each other in wonder. The sea lions break the spell first, tossing their heads and flipping back into the water before swimming north to clamber up among resting cormorants.

Our last night and another stunning moon rise, another early morning making coffee in the dark of pre-dawn. Packing our kayaks, noting the rising tide, leaving Williams Island and paddling out towards Thorny Passage and as the sun slants across our decks, paddling with dolphins.

Criticism Is Just Another Word

Everyone has heard of the Pulitzer Prize, but did you also know that there is a Pulitzer Prize specifically for criticism? Which is kind of interesting given how negatively criticism is viewed in the new millennium when all the people who have been raised to think they are extra special suddenly discover they are bog standard average - or worse. Apparently, the committee who awards the Pulitzer Prize thinks criticism is so valuable that the best in class are awarded a separate prize.

There are two ways to look at criticism. One is the knee jerk, "how dare you, of course I am right," millennial way, and the other is as a new piece of information that has the potential to improve your life.

Like everything in life, there are two sides and you get to choose. Choose wisely.

Worth Doing, Worth Training For

 A twist, but only a minor one, on the old saw, "if a thing is worth doing it is worth doing well." We just finished a trip to South Australia where we paddled almost 500 kilometres. Of course, amongst all the preparation of researching currents and tidal flows, choosing camp locations, sorting access, egress, bike and bus shuttles, prevailing winds, maps and charts, we trained. I say, "of course" but training for trips actually seems to be the exception rather than the norm.

I learnt this lesson about three decades ago after suffering through a ski trip on which I was much less fit than my companions. Over the ensuing 30 years, I went on too many trips to count with people who had not learnt the lesson and thus slowed everyone up and failed in their goal to "get fit on the trip." Getting fit on the trip is seldom a successful endeavour. Hard trips run you down. You need a good reserve of fitness to not only get the most out of your trip but to come out the other side ready to train for your next endeavour.

This is grit at its most basic level. The ability to keep a goal, often far in the distant future in sight, and to continue training to reach it through all the whims of life and the weather. In many ways, the Covid pandemic (however you think about it, and I would argue the diabesity pandemic is far worse), has separated gritty athletes from those with less perseverance. The gritty athletes kept training regardless of whether or not their race, competition, event or trip was on or off. Imagine if, as a first time runner, you got an extra year of training graced to you, aerobic deficiency could be cured, and you could roll out of that event ready to train for the next.

It is send season in Australia, time to train.

Build Back Better

 

Time to build back the muscle I lost during our recent endurance oriented trip to South Australia - more on that as I get the time.  

Warmup today was turkish get ups with a cup of water - try it, it is likely harder than you think.  I first heard of this variation from Dan John.