In The Rear View Mirror: The Best of 2023

Given that we’ve entered a world where we cannot distinguish men from women or fuzzies from humans, using the correct epitaph for the season is guaranteed impossible. Is it Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Seasons Greetings, Happy Holidays, or - taking inspiration from the Babylon Bee - “Greetings Humanoids/Spirit People/Fuzzies of indecipherable and fluid gender, may the next few days be filled with the consumption of mass produced and toxic junk food, your house be filled with plastic junk produced in sweat shops in communist countries under dictators, used once and discarded, and your social life revolve around arguments with relatives best forgotten.” Who knows? No-one, like gender, if you pick your own commemoration and excoriate everyone who picks a different option you’ll be on the right side of history.

Winter Sunrise from home

But, this post is not a post-truth polemic, it is, in fact, the annual (sort of annual?) best of the year.

Best Single Day Kayak Trip:

No question on this one: Paddling the Kangarutha Coast.

Amazing conditions on the Kangarutha Coast

PC: DB

Best Multi Day Kayak Trip:

Bangalee to Clairview and High Peak Island.

Sunset Over Corio Bay

Best Single Day Walk:

Currockbilly Mountain.

Maurice Spur from Currockbilly Mountain

Best Multi Day Walk:

Mount Namadgi.

The top of Mount Namadgi

In the runner up category are the two Nadgee trips I did this year (trip one, trip two). The Nadgee paddle is the best paddle on the southeast coast and should be done by every sea kayaker at least once. The character, however, is changing with more development and more people so if the only reason you haven’t done the Nadgee is because you are afraid of surf landings, get over it, and go.

Gabo Island Lighthouse

PC: DB

Most Demoralizing Trip:

Also no competition, our piss-weak attempt on Mother Woila. Maybe, if conditions change, I’ll go back.

Mother Woila: might as well be the moon

Best of the season to you, whatever your age, gender, species, religiousity – or lack thereof.

The End Of Easy

I think it was Quick Nick B who spoiled the notion of an easy and fun downwind run on summer days. Soon after we bought our house on the NSW South Coast we noticed that the summer northeasterly winds blew directly onto the beach trolley distance from our house. On summer afternoons, this made for a perfect downwind run. When we started these easy adventures, we would leave the house around 10 am and arrive at North Head beach within a comfortable hours paddling. On a typical summer day, the northeasterly wind has just begun to tickle the water at 10 am and crossing the big bay is easy. We would land on the beach, have a mug of tea, perhaps stroll up to the look-out and launch as the wind built to at most 15 knots.

With a sail up, the run home across the bay was delightful and effortless. Most days we would simply skim our paddles across the water from time to time if needed for a brace or throw in the odd paddle stroke to catch some runners. We would arrive back home after a few hours feeling invigorated and lucky to live in a location so convenient to downwind runs.

PC:DB

But then Quick Nick burst onto the south coast scene bringing with him strange customs acquired in regions further to the north. These customs involved waiting until the summer northeasterly had reached its acme, preferably over 20 knots, at which time we would launch from the beach and paddle into this stiff headwind for a hard hour or two before we would finally arrive into the shelter of North Head. There was no rest on the beach, no stroll to the lookout, certainly no cups of tea, and most definitely NO sails.

PC:DB

With barely a moment to catch our breath, we would leave the shelter of North Head and paddle back out into a powerful wind and breaking sea and, if we could paddle fast enough, we could catch runners all the way back to the beach. In the early days of these adventures, I would trolley to the beach like a (wo)man condemned. At once keen to learn this new skill of catching runners in a strong wind but also half-terrified lest I capsize, miss a roll, bail-out, lose my boat …. On very windy days, my anxiety would be such that eating lunch was difficult and by the time we crossed the bay and reached the lee of North Head, I’d be shaking with a mix of hunger and nausea.

According to Quick Nick the wind was never above 15 knots although many days I had to hold my boat down on the beach lest it blow away before I launched. I would check the weather data when we got home and find the wind had, in fact been blowing 20 knots with much higher gusts. I came to believe we could be standing in front on approaching Category 4 Cyclone and Nick would think the wind about 15 knots.

Apart from paddling bloody fast to get on the waves, it helps if you can speed up at the right time. Watching Nick, and later Doug, I would marvel how these two could throw in a few quick powerful paddle strokes, get onto a wave and then pause and ride the wave for a few seconds or even longer; not only speeding ahead but also getting little mini-rests. As a smaller paddler who is neither quick nor powerful this technique continues to elude me and, most of the time, although I can ease off a bit when I get on a wave, a full rest with no paddling is rare indeed. Mostly, I paddle like I’m being pursued by a Great White Shark the entire way arriving at the beach with barely enough energy left to land the kayak.

When I was first learning timing, Quick Nick would paddle beside me and yell “Speed up now!” or “Paddle hard now!” “What,” I would think to myself “does Nick actually think I am doing? I am paddling as hard and fast as I bloody well can. Any harder and I’ll pop an aneurysm.” Occasionally, we would make really good time on the downwind leg and, checking his watch back on the beach Nick would say “That’s not bad, but you can probably go quite a bit faster if you just try harder.” I began to research Personal Defibrillators. Is there a model that can handle exposure to salt water?

PC:DB

We don’t see Nick as much anymore for afternoon downwind runs but we’ve never gone back to the cushy days of leaving before the wind gets too strong and employing a sail. Somehow, those eminently sensible practices feel like cheating. It was the end of easy.

Lost At Sea

“Do you know where we are?” asked Doug. I was tempted to reply “F88ked if I know,” but instead replied “Somewhere south of Broulee Island” (which isn’t an island). Within an hour of leaving our usual launch site we had been plunged into thick sea fog which obscured everything. It was strangely disorienting, sea and sky were merged into a grey blanket, we could hear the surf crashing onto the shore line to our west, but nothing was visible and the larger waves took on the appearance of land on the horizon.

PC: DB

At Pretty Point, we had a brief glimpse of the rotten cliffs of the peninsula but then the fog thickened and it was only when I heard waves both ahead and to the west that I had realised we were on a collison course with Jimmies Island. We abruptly turned east and passed within 100 metres of the the island unable to see anything at all. I steered a more southeasterly course for a couple of kilometres knowing that we also had to pass to the east of Burrewarra Point. After a while, there was no more feeling of large waves and we settled into paddling due south. Fixing my compass on my deck after the Erowal Bay affair was already paying off.

PC: DB

We had, however, neglected to bring a map, and on this day, I had also left our radio behind. Why do we (I’m sure I’m not alone) continue to make the same mistakes? We continued following our compasses south, but, of course, if you look at the map, it’s obvious that to paddle to Moruya Heads - our destination for the day – a southwesterly course is required. At about 18 kilometres, I pulled out my mobile phone and checked Memory Map and saw that we were about 8 kilometres off Bengello Beach. We probably should have headed due west as, in a north south direction, we were only 1.5 kilometres from the breakwall at the entrance to the Moruya River, but it was hard to see the map on the phone through the waterproof case so the bearing was a bit of a guess.

PC: DB

At 23 kilometres, I checked the map on the phone again and we were now south of the entrance to Moruya Heads. Neither Doug nor I had eaten before leaving home. Six in the morning on the water is too early for anything but coffee which is a necessity. We were planning breakfast at Shelley Beach inside Moruya Heads but quickly decided that finding our way in through the bar in such thick fog would be difficult so we would head north to Shark Bay for our break. We had a quick bite to eat in our boats and then headed northwest thinking at some point we would see Bengello Beach and, hopefully, the entrance to Shark Bay.

PC: DB

Of a sudden, as these things do, the fog lifted as drier air blew in from the south. We noted that Shark Bay was due north should the fog descend again, but the rest of the day was clear. We both effected an entrance to Shark Bay which has a large shelving reef which breaks, and stopped for tea and breakfast. The one good thing about missing Moruya Heads was that we were past half way for the day. Passing half-way is always a big mental hurdle for me on these long days out and a real morale boost to know we had only about 20 kilometres remaining.

PC: DB

We had the effects of the East Australian Current (EAC) which runs north to south as, we passed Burrewarra Point at over eight kilometres an hour going south but under six going north. There was lots of clapotis and current effects and we bounced around all the way north with the jostling most pronounced on the points – Burrewarra, Jimmies and Pretty Point. At Lilli Pilli conditions always ease and this day was no different. When we came around the last reef, of a sudden the water was smooth and we had a light tailwind. I was astonished how much easier the last four or five kilometres felt, which was good, because I was getting tired and cramped. At 1:30 pm, we landed back on the beach, 48 kilometres down in 7.5 hours including our short break. Another long day complete.

Death By Intensity and Does Data Matter

We are a society obsessed with data: smart watches and Oura rings, blood tests and continuous glucose monitoring devices, even full body MRI scans in apparently healthy individuals. But, does all this information actually change our behaviour or is this supererogatory of data simply sustaining anxiety and neurosis in already anxious and neurotic people?

Contrarians in the medical community have begun to push back against the use of prophylactic testing which has not been shown to reduce morbidity or mortality, but often leads downward into the dreaded interventional cascade. This is challenging stuff not merely to the medical orthodoxy (increasingly motivated to follow conflicted guidelines primarily designed to CYA) but also to a public that has mistakenly come to believe that more, rather than less is necessarily better without comprehending that every action has – to quote Isaac Newton – an equal and opposite reaction. There is no type of monitoring or data collection that does not have an unintended consequence as a corollary.

My own rule of thumb when thinking about these things is simply to ask: “Will the resulting information change my behaviour? Or the treatment offered?” If no-one, least of all myself, can elucidate a clear and concise answer to this question a priori, there is simply no point collecting that data. Much of the data we are driven to collect is actually pretty piss poor. Using Oura rings to assess sleep, HRV to judge recovery, blood tests that simply capture one snapshot in time. Rather than wasting our time with data, we should optimise what we can: eat plenty of protein, do as much walking as possible, pick up increasingly heavy objects and put them down, foster supportive social relationships.

To some extent, we’ve all been wooed by data, big data. Data on sleep, and recovery, heart rate variability, blood tests, and scans. All we can see is data, data, data and surely with more data we’ll make better decisions. The only success I’ve seen from big data is how well big companies have been able to use big data (mostly collected from our internet searches and social media brag pieces) to convince us all to spend big on something we don’t really need, want, won’t change our behaviour and has no measurable improvement upon our lives. Don’t fall for it.

Saturday and Tuesday were intensity days. No smart watch data needed. On Saturday, I cycled down for the Park Run and what a sweaty affair that was, hot already at 8 am and 700% humidity. Tuesday was fast paddle day, a 10% increase on the last fast paddle day. The Park Run is only five kilometres which pretty much anyone who is not near death can survive, while 13 kilometres fast left me feeling noodle like and fatigued. I had data, but it made not a wit of difference.

An Anthropological Study of Homo Kayakus in its Natural Habitat: Quarantine Bay to Mallacoota

Little is known about the evasive and elusive male sea kayaker. This sub-species of the more commonly encountered Homo Sapiens frequents long surf battered beaches and off-shore islands and tends to travel in small cohorts that are almost exclusively male. Found on all Australian coastlines from temperate Tasmania to tropical Thursday Island there remains much mystery about what drives these small bands of adult males to paddle far from shore in small boats seemingly ill suited to this purpose.

In early December 2023, I had the opportunity to join one of these tribes on a pilgrimage from Quarantine Bay south of Eden to Mallacoota in Victoria. This stretch of coast is the last remaining unroaded coast in southeast Australia and as such is popular with the itinerant and often nomadic Homo Kayakus. In order to blend into the tribe I self-identified as a male for the five days of this trip, and, as many members of Homo Kayakus donned eye glasses when onshore, I believe my subterfuge to have been successful. Certainly, I was accepted into the clan and was able to observe at close quarters previously undocumented behaviour characteristic of Homo Kayakus.

Day 1: Quarantine Bay to Mowarry

Quarantine Bay is situated deep within Twofold Bay as such is often sheltered from northerly and southerly winds. Immediately upon leaving Quarantine Bay and paddling east, a northerly wind became detectable. Within about 200 metres of leaving the small beach, the cohort of six paddlers split into two groups, with one group heading due east to Lookout Point, whilst the other group paddled more or less directly southeast towards Boyd Tower which is prominent on Red Point. As an observer, I followed the larger cohort along the northern shoreline and noted that there was no previous or on water discussion of splitting the group. This simply happened organically.

At Lookout Point, a 12 to 15 knot northerly wind was blowing and sea conditions were bouncy. With a tail wind now guaranteed, Homo Kayakus proceeded to unfurl sails which are fitted to the fronts of kayaks and the group proceeded to make good time across the mouth of Twofold Bay towards Red Point and Boyds Tower. Just south of Boyds Tower, the remaining two members of the tribe were spotted also paddling south. One particularly tall member of the species, although possessing a sail, was rarely seen to use this implement and instead paddled along side the cohort, seemingly having no difficulty keeping pace with the tribe.  The clan soon approached a northerly facing beach and proceeded to land the kayaks and with surprisingly alacrity a temporary camp was established.

Day 2: Mowarry to Merrica River

By the second day out it became apparent that Homo Kayakus is well adapted to the coastal environment and to a great degree their daily habits follow a diurnal rhythm retiring to their hastily erected but nonetheless sturdy shelters when darkness falls and emerging at first light whereupon the shelters are hastily disassembled and stowed, along with a plethora of other equipment into the small craft that the sub-species favours.

Early on day two, the group was once again at sea and heading south in bouncy conditions down this cliff-lined coastline. The lack of easy landing spots did not deter clan members some of whom paddled very close into rocky features, a demonstration of either great prowess with their small craft or an obliviousness to danger. Some tribal members utilised crude sails but again the tallest member of the clan opted to paddle without use of ancillary aids perhaps in a display of dominance.

At Bittangabee Bay, the tribe turned to west and paddled about a kilometre up a sheltered bay to an easy landing spot where some nourishment was taken. Much banter accompanied this short break, possibly a method to promote tribal cohesion. After a short period on land, the tribe grew restless and were soon back in their craft and heading south towards Green Cape. One by one, the tribe paddled and, in some instances, sailed around Green Cape and pulled into the lee of more steep sandstone cliffs where they grouped up. This interesting behaviour is rarely witnessed and possibly only occurs under certain extreme circumstances. Typically, the male Homo Kayakus is a solitary paddler.

A strong northerly wind was blowing with gusty conditions and a rapidly building and steep sea. Homo Sapiens might have found these conditions rather confronting but Homo Kayakus seemed to revel in them going so far as to unfurl sails again which resulted in the kayaks reaching extreme speeds across Disaster Bay. So boisterous were the winds that even Homo Kayakus were forced to lay paddles out to the sides of their crafts as a preventative to capsize. In an attempt to blend in and be accepted as one of the tribe, I too unfurled my sail but found the experience more terrifying than thrilling and, after one near capsize, I was forced to pull the sail down for a short time. My observations of the clan were difficult as we hurtled across Disaster Bay as, once again, the tribe became heavily fractured with some members far north, others to the south, and some lagging the main group altogether.

As the tribe proceeded deeper into Disaster Bay, the wind eased and I was able to swiftly raise my sail. I could only hope that no other members of the tribe had seen this break with clan customs. At a deep cleft between surrounding hills, a small beach was visible and, approaching this beach, the tribe found a large and swiftly running brown river emanating from the hills to the west. This allowed easy egress to a long and scenic river gorge. As is clan custom, despite some tribal members arriving at the river before others, no members disembarked until the clan had gathered together again and decided on a location to erect another temporary encampment. Again, this temporary camp was swiftly erected in a very pleasant location under large native trees beside the river with access to fresh running water.

Day 3: Merrica River

Strong southerly winds the following day prevented even Homo Kayakus from paddling any further south. Instead, tribal members engaged in their traditional hunting and gathering activities. Mussels were acquired and fishing lines employed throughout the course of the day with some clan members trolling a line behind their craft up and down Merrica River. I was absent a good part of the day so my observations of Homo Kayakus at rest are necessarily incomplete. The strain of blending into a group where a preponderance of the members had bushy facial hair was trying and so I walked along forest tracks to Newtons Beach relishing the opportunity to revert to my more usual habitus.

Day 4: Merrica River to Cape Howe

On day 4 the normal diurnal rhythm of Homo Kayakus life had resumed with the tribe on the water in the early morning. With no wind and only a one metre swell, the tribe paddled closely along the cliffs and beaches of this remote coastline revelling in conditions which allowed close inspection of the many temporary waterfalls cascading off cliffs, seals resting near rocky reefs, sea caves and arches, and even sightings of sharks. At Little River, a surf landing was made on an exposed east facing beach where a channel into the lagoon behind the beach had opened up. The ease of this landing prompted the clan to push beyond the usual landing site at Nadgee Beach which gets some slight protection from southerly swells at the far south end of the beach, to a small bay immediately north of Cape Howe.

At Cape Howe, Homo Kayakus hurled themselves into the surf guarding the beach with little regard for larger sets of waves. As an observer, I waited out back until the beach had cleared then paddled in during a lull in larger sets and the other tribe members generously assisted me and pulled my kayak up the beach. It seems I had been fully assimilated into the clan.

Cape Howe is a unique place to pause when paddling along this coast. Huge sand dunes to the immediate south mark the border with Victoria where the Gunundaal ship wreck is found along the inter tidal shoreline. After heavy rains in Victoria, fresh water pools ideal for swimming were located among the sand dunes. To the north of Cape Howe Beach, a large rock platform extends northward for a kilometre while behind the north end of Cape Howe Beach, Bunyip Hole, normally only a small tarn was now a large lake.

Another temporary encampment was hastily erected. This time, the clan dispersed along the length of the beach with some tribe members camping in tea trees behind the beach while others made shelter on the sand beach. Overnight, a northerly wind blew up and one tribesman moved his shelter from the beach to the tea trees. This demonstrates the ability of Homo Kayakus to react rapidly to changes in atmospheric conditions.

Day 5: Cape Howe to Mallacoota via Gabo Island

The sound of the surf on the beach was so loud overnight that I donned ear plugs in order to get some sleep. Next morning, the two tribesmen camped on the beach had dissembled their camps and packed their boats even earlier than usual. Normally known for their tenacious paddling ability and indifference to the hazards of surf launches, one of the older (and hairier) members of the tribe pointed out that the surf was becoming more dangerous as the tide dropped.

Very soon, the tribe had packed boats and moved them towards the surf zone and, in one of their characteristic displays of practicality and utility, tribal members assisted other clan members to launch kayaks off the somewhat messy surf on the beach. I noted, yet again, that under benign conditions, tribal members do spread far but, when difficulties approach, the clan works together to keep all members safe.

Once the tribe was at sea, sails were unfurled, except for the last remaining member to launch who staunchly paddled without a sail. The tribe resumed the sea journey, turning now to the southwest and rapidly approaching Gabo Island. The tribe passed between the narrow gap between Telegraph Point on the mainland and the northern extension of Gabo Island and paused for a brief stop on the small sheltered beach in a north facing bay on Gabo Island.

The rest of the journey was completed under very calm conditions as the wind abated completely and the seas were glassy and flat. Fresh, brown coloured water from Mallacoota Lakes had pushed all the way to Gabo Island and at Bastion Point the boat ramp was closed due to damage caused by recent heavy rains and flooding.

At Bastion Point, the tribe was as efficient as ever. Quickly unpacking kayaks, loading gear and boats onto cars and, as the first drops of rain fell speeding off to replenish diminished energy reserves at a local cafe. This may be the first documented account, complete with photographic evidence, of the nomadic habits of Homo Kayakus. Counter to previously held suspicions, I found the tribe welcoming and inclusive. Although given to broad spread whilst paddling under benign conditions, the tribe nevertheless displayed unusual and touching concern for tribal members when conditions warranted.

All images courtesy of DB.

Make Hard Things Easy and Easy Things Hard

The end of another training week. After my dismal showing during the Erowal Bay affair, I did more paddling this week, not just more long aerobic distance but more intensity and more stuff, like surf landings, that I find challenging. With my goal of making hard things easy and easy things hard, I tried to build in some sytems that supported my goals.

There are lots of ways to make hard things easy and easy things hard. The oft-quoted standards are having work-out buddies or pre-determined events – even better if you have to pay money! Different things work for different people. I find even simple strategies such as doing the hard thing first thing in the morning useful. Or, not letting myself rethink the days plan. Make the plan and stick to it without umming and aahing and revisiting your plan. The latter strategy is the best strategy for making dietary change. If you decide not to eat cake don’t rethink eating cake every time someone offers you cake. Just say “No thanks.” Save your mental energy for things that really matter like arguing with strangers on the internet (joke, obviously) or implementing some other strategy that makes hard things easy.

This week I used all of the above, except for saying “No thanks” to cake because no-one offered me cake and we don’t keep junk food in our house. Not keeping junk food in the house is a very simple and effective way to make eating junk food, which is easy, hard.

This week, I upped both distance and intensity. My long day was 45 kilometres, and I did two zone 4/5 workouts. One was a 12 kilometre fast paddle and the second was my local Park Run. Going to my local Park Run involves multiple strategies for making hard things easy. The Park Run starts at 8 am, other people are running, and someone takes care of timing, course and distance. It’s a win, win, win, win! The Park Run people even send me my results! I also spent an afternoon at one of the local beaches practising surf landings and Doug and I paddled over to the bar and caught some waves one morning in between storm events.

Overall, it was a solid week: 80 kilometres paddling, 32 kilometres and 630 metres of elevation gain on foot, 10 kilometres cycling, two sessions on my climbing wall and three strength sessions.

The Story of Erowal Bay Part Two: Somethings Never Change

It has been over a decade but I still think the three reasons I posited in “Be Honest About Why You Fail” are pretty much on point. After pulling out of the paddle from Erowal Bay at Summer Cloud Cove I thought a lot about what I could have done differently that would have meant I finished the paddle as planned. There are one or two small things, such as having some easily digested food handy, keeping my compass on the deck, being a little bit more aware of the overall geography, but, overall, I think I pulled out because, as I wrote in 2011, I: (a) just didn’t try hard enough; (b) was pathetically out of shape; and (c) lacked the necessary skill to succeed.

I guess somethings never change.