Five Days On The Great Ocean Walk

Day 1: Princetown to 12 Apostles and Marengo to Elliot Ridge camp.

In Princetown, the GOW follows the Old Coach Road across the Gellibrand River to a wetland reserve and then track resumes for the walk to the 12 Apostles. It is not very far along this track to the first views of some of the Apostles, and, after about five kilometres, the track meets the Great Ocean Road at Gibsons Steps. These steps go down to a small beach accessible only at low tide, but they are currently closed. Past Gibsons Steps, the track crosses under the Great Ocean Road and is paved for the remaining distance to the enormous 12 Apostles car park and cafe. Helicopter flights, which are continuous during daylight hours, leave from the back of the car park. We arrived in plenty of time to get the V Line bus east to the start of the walk, so we wandered around the tourist loop and admired the 12 Apostles. Although walking the site involves battling a forest of selfie-sticks carried by out of shape tourists, the rock formations and the coastal cliffs are beautiful. 

 Short scramble section

We started the walk at Marengo instead of the official start at Apollo Bay as the first three kilometres between the two towns is alongside the busy Great Ocean Road. Marengo is much quieter than Apollo Bay and the coastline has fantastic rock platforms at low tide. You can walk all the way to Elliot Creek and the track that climbs up to the first walkers campsite at Elliot Ridge on the rock platforms. Elliot Ridge campground is about 100 metres above the ocean and is set in a manna gum forest popular with koalas. As soon as we started hiking up hill to the camp we heard the distinctive grunting and growling of male koalas. If you have never heard this noise, a sort of cross between a chain saw and a dirt bike, you'll be very surprised that such a small animal can make such a large noise. The campsite turned out to be great for koala spotting as around a half dozen were scattered about in the manna gums around camp. 

 Doug on the rock platforms west of Marengo

We arrived at camp fairly early in the afternoon and wandered off to the Geary River along the track thinking that we could have a nice freshwater wash but water levels were really low and the river was all but inaccessible due to dense bush. I spent an hour in the evening puttering around the rock shelf to the southwest and, I could have taken a dunk in the ocean as the tiny bay where the Elliot River runs out is fairly calm, but, it was by then rather chilly.

 Parker Inlet

Day 2: Elliot Ridge camp to Cape Otway camp. 
 

We deliberated for a long time about trying to follow the coast to Blanket Bay as the track travels a long circuitous route first west then south on old forestry roads (closed to vehicles) and the distance via the coast is about half of that along the roads. In the end, as we could not tell from the map or peering along the coastline whether or not the coast was passable all the way to Blanket Bay so we took the inland route. If I were walking only to the next camp at Blanket Bay (12 km along the track, about 6 km along the coast), I would try the coastal route as time would not be problem. We, however, were walking on to Cape Otway and wanted to catch low tide for the section from Blanket Bay to Crayfish Bay so felt a bit time and distance pressured. 

Beach near Castle Cove

The inland route is not bad as the road bed is old and mossy and the forest quite pretty and we soon arrived at Blanket Bay. This is a lovely little sheltered bay with vehicle accessible camping and the walkers camp situated a short distance away. We had a break on the rocks by the beach trying to find the windiest spot where the flies might not be too bad and then set off to walk to Cape Otway.

It is 11 km from Blanket Bay to Cape Otway on the track but we followed rock platforms and small beaches as far as Crayfish Bay which I suspect is a bit shorter. There is a small sheltered beach at Parker Inlet and at Crayfish Bay a set of steps leads up to the main track. It is not possible to go any further along the coast than Crayfish Bay as the rock platforms disappear and the coast line is lined with tall cliffs. 

 Cape Otway from the west

We had a quick swim at Crayfish Bay to wash the days sweat off even though it was showery, windy and cool, and then ambled the final three kilometres or so to the walkers camp which is about 500 metres past the tourist parking lot at Cape Otway. There are essentially no views and you can only go out to the lighthouse if you take the $20 per person tour. About 300 metres beyond the campsite is the old cemetery which is worth a browse if only to realise how easy life is in modern times.

Forest walking

Day 3: Cape Otway to Johanna Beach.

We skipped Aire River camp which is close to the vehicle accessible camping and went on to Johanna Beach camp. From Cape Otway the track is along the coast with occasional good views to near the southeast end of Station Beach. I took the track down to the beach and followed the beach and rocks all the way to Aire River while Doug took the slightly longer inland track. Both require about the same amount of time as I arrived at the Aire River day use area only minutes behind Doug. Station Beach is soft sand so it is a bit hard going. I managed to stay on the beach all the way to the Aire River but this required a bit of gymnastic scrambling among big boulders below Escarpment Lookout before I reached Glenaire Beach and the last section would not be possible at high tide. 

 The view from Johanna Beach walkers camp

It is all very pleasant walking on to Johanna Beach. Lots of views and lookouts with conveniently placed benches and a nice track that winds through forest and coastal scrub. At Castle Cove, the track briefly meets the Great Ocean Road and the amount of discarded toilet paper increases. Just past Castle Cove there is a lovely view point with a bench good for an afternoon break and the vehicle tourists do not make it this far so it is very secluded.

Dramatic light over the ocean

This was our longest day walking and our third day out which I often find is the most tiring day and the 2.5 kilometres along the soft sand of Johanna Beach into a strong head wind felt like a bit of a struggle at the end of the day. You can avoid the short road section by staying on the beach and climbing directly up to the best campsite of the trip just before Slippery Point where the campsites overlook Johanna Beach. At this campsite we met a bevy of other walkers and discovered that we were the only people actually carrying a full pack along the walk. Everyone else was using the pack shuttle service.

Rock pool on Milanesia Beach

Day 4: Johanna Beach to Ryans Den.

For a change, we did not combine two days into one but had an easy day along to Ryans Den campsite. The day starts out well hiking up farm land with lovely views to the east but another section of road walking is ahead. The track becomes old road, the old road becomes gravel road and soon there is another big detour away from the coast and around private land. It's not all bad, however, as the locals are friendly.

Friendly locals

Past the last house, the road deteriorates again and quickly leads down to Milanesia Beach which is wonderfully remote feeling and enclosed between cliffs at east and west. As we had lots of time, I wandered right along the beach to the eastern end before following the beach back to the west and taking a rock platform around to another small beach and an overgrown set of steps that climbs up and meets the main track.

Isolated Milanesia Beach

Pleasant walking through coastal heath and melaluca forest leads to Ryans Den campsite where there is a wonderful lookout with benches and seats above the campsite. I followed an old track down to Ryans Den, a rocky little cove, but had trouble getting right to the water as the track became overgrown with stinging thistle. We hung out at the lookout until evening and were very surprised that most of the other walkers did not manage to stagger up from camp despite the fact that the lookout was only about 10 metres higher than camp! 

 Lookout at Ryans Den walkers camp

Day 5: Ryans Den to Princetown.

It is all good track from Ryans Den to Princetown starting out with a fair bit of climbing and descending into and out of drainages. Nothing too hard, but enough to get you sweaty on a humid day. The forest is quite lovely in the creeks and the coastal heath gives way to scenic views along the way. There is a short side trip to Gables Lookout - close to the road, toilet paper alert - and then a series of steps leads down to Wreck Beach where the remains of two ship wrecks, mostly just large anchors, lie on the rock platforms. The beach passes under a big scooped out cliff and, as you climb up to regain the track at the far western end of Wreck Beach, you can see the Devils Kitchen campsite above the scooped out cliff. 

 Rock platform strolling

The final half dozen kilometres is much flatter as you follow the heath covered dunes down to the Gellibrand River and, we were back at our caravan, which we left at Princetown, in time for a shower and a late lunch. 

 Morning sun above Ryans Den

Great Ocean Walk or Southwest Walk?

I have no idea what makes one long distance walk very popular while another falls into obscurity, particularly when they seem strikingly similar. Perhaps some "'grammer/influencer" is posting dozens of bikini clad selfies along the former, while the latter features only the more traditional, and arguably more real, smelly walkers in dirty shorts. Or, maybe, as in the case of the Great Ocean Walk versus the Southwest Walk it is simply a matter of easy one way transport, a pack shuttling service, a shorter distance overall, and proximity to a large population centre.

Now that I have done both the Great Ocean Walk and the Southwest Walk (in the interests of truth in advertising I should note that the section of the Southwest Walk that follows the Glenelg River we did in a kayak, while we walked the 115 km coastal section from Nelson to Portland, and skipped entirely the less interesting section from Portland to the Glenelg River), I can say that the Southwest Walk is better for beach walking, remoteness, and coastal scenery, while the Great Ocean Walk has far better campsites, is logistically easier and features altogether too much toilet paper strewn along its length. 

 The sign says it all

Right at the start of this report I may as well address the differences between each walk. The Great Ocean Walk (herein after referred to as the GOW to save typing) is one of Victoria's new "icon" walks. I'm not really sure what an icon walk is but it does seem to allow you to charge more for a campsite than you can in other instances. Campsites (maximum of three people per site) are $30 per night on the GOW, which is more than we frequently pay for a caravan site with power, water, and amenities. However, I am a big proponent of walking and the track is well maintained, the campsites are thoughtfully laid out, and the shelters, benches, and toilets at each campsite make camping a much more comfortable (and cleaner) experience so I believe it to be money well spent. 

 A few less than 12 Apostles

The GOW is one of the few longer walks you can do on mainland Australia where you are not treated as a second class citizen and have a good campsite provided. Each site has individual camping bays so you get some space and privacy. There are two rain water tanks (it would be good if the backpackers didn't use them for showering!), some scattered benches, and a shelter with seats and tables in case of rain at each campsite. All of the sites are walk in only, and even the two or three that are close to vehicle accessible camping are somewhat removed from the drive in campground. There really is nothing worse than walking all day to arrive at a campground filled with bogans crushing beer cans on their heads, burning tires and blasting those old songs from the '80's. Certainly, the campsites are far better than the marginal, cramped and sloping sites found along the Southwest Walk (which frequently require you to walk a fair distance out of your way to camp right by the vehicle accessible camping). 

Marine life along the rock platforms

The track is well maintained and easy to follow, but, almost all the beach walking sections are heavily discouraged due, one can only presume by the signage, to fears of litigation should someone get their toes wet in a rock pool. Most of the time it is easy to work out where you can beach walk (tide dependent) and where you can't, but, we were able to beach walk quite a few sections that are not advertised on the official map or the signage along the track that other walkers may miss. In contrast, the Southwest Walk is almost all beach walking and, where there is an inland option, it is not encouraged over the coastal option.

Logistically, it is very easy to walk one way along the GOW as V Line has a thrice weekly bus service to the western end and a daily bus service to the eastern end (both very cheap). Conversely, if you only walk the coastal section of the Southwest Walk you'll have to find some other method (we rented a car) of retrieving your vehicle at the end of the walk. Most people, we discovered later, actually get their overnight gear carried along the GOW (at least some sections of it) by a local operator who transports overnight gear from one road access point to another allowing walkers to carry only a day pack. 

 Gellibrand River wetland

There are three problems with the GOW, however, one is that a couple of sections take long inland detours on old or current roads where there is no track along the coast. Apparently, these sections are gradually being re-routed and, in the future, one might be able to walk these sections on coastal track. The second is the amount of garbage, in particular toilet paper, that festoons the walk. While this is worse at areas close to the road, leading me to hypothesise that too much sitting in a car causes incontinence, not all the detritus can be blamed on vehicle based tourists as some tent sites have toilet paper around the margins, which really is inexplicable given it is, at most, a 50 metre walk to the outhouse. The third and final problem is that many of the walkers are not really walkers, just people doing this one walk, one time. That shouldn't be a problem except they really do not seem to know how to behave in the outdoors. They leave food behind in the shelters, they light fires (not allowed at all) right in the middle of the tent platforms so the next walker along has to put their tent into a pile of dirty ash, they shower with the drinking water when there is, literally, an ocean of water nearby, they stuff their garbage into little crevices (you carried a full package in you can carry a full package out) and they contribute to the toilet paper problem. 

 Track views between Princetown and 12 Apostles

Somehow I have managed to write almost 1,000 words without even coming close to reporting the start, let alone the finish of this walk, so, in the interests of not boring my few regular readers too long at any one stretch, move on to part two for the walk report.

Beeripmo Walk

This was one of those walks that you don't have really high hopes for but which turns out to be really quite wonderful. The walk is a 20 km long loop (if you include the side trip to Mount Buangor) that starts and ends in Mount Cole State Forest but also meanders through adjoining Mount Buangor State Park and is well marked, well built, well maintained and just generally well conceived. That is a whole lot of wells, but, really this is a good walk. Half way along there is a secluded little campsite in a lovely gum forest with outhouses, tables, and water tanks. We did the walk as a day trip, but there are certainly worse places to spend a night than under the fragrant gum trees among kangaroos and echidnas listening to the panoply of bird song characteristic of the Australian bush. 

 View from Cave Hill

We were camped nearby at Smiths Bridge (a nice free campsite on a quiet road in Mount Cole State Forest) and had found a good track that runs west on the south side of Cave Hill Creek that allowed us to walk to the start of the walk at Richards Campground (another nice small free campsite) which added a further four kilometres to the walk. 

 Fragrant and beautiful eucalpyt forest

From Richards Campground, the track climbs up beside Cave Hill Creek to the diminutive Raglan Falls, a thin stream of water pouring over tall granite boulders. There is a very sturdy metal railing at the top of Raglan Falls and a bit of a view over the rest of the state forest. A bit more gradual climbing and the track gains a large plateau which stretches about 10 kilometres in a roughly north south direction before dropping down steeply on all sides to the surrounding plains. There are quite a few ups and downs, but generally, the track stays on this plateau for most of the remainder of the walk.

 These tiny flowers were everywhere

The forest is gorgeous open eucalpyt with an under-storey of ferns and, in spring, myriad wildflowers. Traversing over Cave Hill, there are good views from a big rock platform just off the track to the north which the track later contours below allowing more expansive views to nearby Mount Langi Ghiran and beyond to the Grampians. The track then follows the plateau north to Sugarloaf, another good viewpoint, then ambles along for a couple of kilometres to a track junction where you can take a side trip to another view point, probably the best, the lookout on Mount Buangor. 

 Doug among the tall trees

We detoured to Mugwamp Campground for lunch, and then I strolled up to the lookout on Mount Buangor (sadly my camera battery died before I could take any photos), while Doug continued along the track. This added an extra 40 minutes walking and is well worthwhile.  The final six kilometres is all downhill on a good track following an unnamed creek back to Richards Campground through stands of gums, ferns, and tree ferns.

A Mix Of Arapiles Climbs

If you follow this blog, you've probably worked out we are back camping at Natimuk Lake and climbing at Mount Arapiles. Last year, I somehow managed to have time to walk an hour in the morning, an hour at night, and keep up a blog (of sorts) about our climbing experiences. This year, I am barely managing an hour at night walking and virtually no blogging. Something, apart from me being a year older, has obviously changed. 

I do have other priorities. When I got back into the gym in Tasmania, I discovered two things, one good, one not so good. While I had lost less strength than I might have imagined, I had also lost more mobility than I anticipated. So right now, my big focus, outside of staying alive while trad climbing, is mobility and this consumes more than an hour a day. On the plus side, my mobility is improving, on the negative side, I have noticed my strength is waning. 

Such is life on the road. You can't train strength when you are trying to perform, yet, especially when trad climbing, you tend to climb at a lower grade than you would when sport climbing so you get less training effect even if you put in the same number of hours on the rock. Trad climbing is more about fiddling in gear and assessing your relative safety than it is about pushing the limits of your climbing. 

The weather has, overall, been pretty good. We've had a few hot days and it is noticeably drier around the area than last year (Natimuk Lake is dry and overgrown with vegetation). Most days, with a little thought, starting early, climbing in the shade, it is possible to climb pretty comfortably, but, the flies are numerous, viscous and make being outdoors thoroughly unpleasant.

Today, however, is one of those days when you just don't climb - it's 35 Celsius, the Antipodean sun is beating down, and the hot north wind offers little relief. In other words, it's a rest day and a good day to catch up with the blog.

A chronicle of all the routes we have climbed would be tedious, and this blog post is likely tedious enough, so I am simply going to record some thoughts about some of the new routes (new to us) we have done this year. 

 Oops, cross loaded biner

First off, climbs I really did not like as much as I thought I would. Syrinx is a seven pitch route up Tiger Wall and, while it gets three stars, I liked it less than Siren. While, the first three pitches offer some good climbing, and the cruxy moves right off the ground on pitch one will wake you up, the last four pitches are not nearly as good. Pitch four rambles up juggy terrain, which I liked but Doug did not, and the remaining three pitches are kind of average. Pitch six traverses a huge terrace before climbing two metres up a steep little crack, and the final pitch is another traverse - although there is a certain novelty factor in this pitch as it is quite airy. Overall, Siren (a grade easier) offers better climbing in my opinion. 

Dunes is one of those unsatisfying climbs that combine easy terrain with a few brutish moves out of character with the rest of the route. The steep little crack on pitch one is really hard at the grade (I pulled on a cam) so five metres of hard, pumpy climbing follows 30 metres of rambling. Pitch two is a bit similar with some slick steep moves to start then much easier climbing above. Pitch three follows a similar format except in reverse. After pulling onto a wall, there is some easy rambling followed by a short steep crack. Pitch four seems more consistent at the grade but it is ledgey at the crux so you don't want to blow those moves and fall onto a ledge. 

Now onto more enjoyable routes. Keyboard and Conifer Crack at the Organ Pipes are all great fun and well protected. If you want to do Keyboard without continuing up pitch two of Conifer Crack you can walk over and rappel off the Horn Piece anchors. Pedro is pretty challenging at the grade and requires some technique and some strength, definitely daunting for a leader at the grade. Gecko and Chameleon Connection are on the smooth slabby wall to the right of Arachnus (must be Mount Arapiles most climbed route) and are balancey, technical and run-out in equal measures.

Kestrel is a full body experience up a giant crack/chimney which requires no chimneying but a lot of gymnastics. The climbing is never really hard but you have to work it out. It's a real corker. There is a rappel anchor, a rare treat at Arapiles which saves lugging up shoes for the walk off. 

The chimney on Harlequin Cracks defeated us again. Doug went up and tried for ages to climb it but found it slick, hard, and impossible to protect safely (that is not hitting ledges if you fall) so he climbed a - challenging for a few moves - variation out on the right wall then regained the chimney higher. The remainder of the pitches are fun, easy, well protected. If I did it again, I would just climb BA Mosquito to start. In the same area, Harlequin Cracks has a great first pitch up a corner crack with easier climbing above. 

Agamemnon is a fantastic chimney, which does require a bit of chimneying, has dizzying exposure and is just great fun with great positions. Doug led this and did manage to get adequate gear, although it isn't what you would call plentiful. In the same area, Tantalus is surprisingly steep, particularly the start of pitch two, and Clytemneastra Buttress is also very steep at the start of pitch two and a bit confronting at first. 

Eagle Cleft and The Eighth are just enjoyable climbs at the grade and it is fun to climb Trapeze - the traverse is exciting and exposed - on Castle Crag and we top-roped swinging which, at grade 17 is way easier than the crux moves of Dunes. Go figure. At Charity Buttress, all the climbs are good, difficulty wise, it is hard to see the difference between Loyalty/Faith and Charity/Hope. The buttress is certainly a nice place to spend a morning climbing all the routes on the buttress.

Bygone, despite the guidebook write up, does not seem particularly hard at the grade, and the protection is adequate and, in the same area, Debut is shady for much of the day so a good choice on a hot day, although, I had to break the first pitch into two as, even with only two pieces of gear in the first 20 metres and long runners on both pieces, I simply could not drag the rope up the crux moves. The second pitch has some loose blocks but is fun and easy to protect. Rope drag gets pretty burly at the end of that pitch as well. 

Those are the highlights. We'll probably be here for another week as a southerly change is forecast for this evening - I cannot wait - and the temperatures through the next week look good. We did manage, by luck not diligence, to be in town for the Natimuk Frinj Festival. The locals, all 500 of them, do go to a lot of trouble for the bi-yearly event and we saw a couple of funny films and I went to a yoga class. The next one won't be until 2017, so you have two years to prepare for the event.

No Feeling Like It: Traditional Climbing

Slowly, steadily, I'm moving up a deep crack on the Organ Pipes at Mount Arapiles, the rack, weighed down with useless "big gear" that I can't place because the crack is too deep, keeps catching on my thighs, the rope, tiny horns of rock and I have to keep slinging the big cams out of the way before each move. Behind me, on a neighbouring route, a novice climber is whimpering with fear, even though she is seconding the route and so, effectively, on top rope. The sounds of fright and terror make it hard to concentrate on the climbing; the fear is contagious and I plug in yet another cam despite being only two metres above my last piece. 

Technique and training authors often espouse the "naturalness" of rock climbing, claiming that all we need to be excellent climbers is to return to an earlier, childlike state where we clambered up 30 metres cliffs hanging by our toe nails fearlessly. After more than a quarter century of climbing, I consider this idealistic fantasy just that, a fantasy. Humans did not thrive to become the most populous and dominant species on the planet by partaking with abandon in activities that are frankly dangerous and even deadly. We simply did not evolve to be as skilled and strong climbers as other primates. 

Looking down the Organ Pipes

Instead of long ape indexes, opposable toes, and prehensile tails we have big brains. Brains that can remember the past and conceive of the future. Brains that allow us to create ingenious solutions to novel problems and to pass accumulated knowledge through following generations. We also have brains that can imagine and, all too frequently, my brain imagines falling. Hands slipping off holds, feet sliding down slabs, balance points missed. Below me there always seems to be an endless series of ledges, bulges, and roofs. My gear is always too far away, or off to the side, slightly manky. If I fall, will I stay off the ground or bounce on a ledge? Will I break my back or merely a limb or two? 

Traditional rock climbing (i.e. placing wires and cams for protection) for me, is all about quietening my chattering brain that endlessly loops through a series of events and consequences which, left unchecked, will play out to the end where I sit drooling and incontinent in a wheelchair the victim of some cataclysmic brain injury after my foot slipped, my hand gave way, the gear pulled, and I plummeted earthward. 

 Doug looking over the edge of Tiger Wall

But, the moves are there, in my imagination - the same one that has me slip and fall - I can see myself moving up, jamming a hand deep into the crack, bridging my feet on either side, reaching a stance, plugging in some gear, moving up and doing it all again. And so I do. One foot out to the left, the right bridged across and glued to the wall with opposition. I have a killer right hand jam, and a solid left crimp. A metre or two up is a parallel crack that will take a solid red cam. I grin happily as I plug it in, tug on the rope, clip in a long draw. I'm safe now for a while, I can move up, beating down that evolutionary voice that drones on in a monotone - "get off this wall, get off this wall." 

Doug getting three dimensional on Kestrel

Below me, my belayer is chatting with the frightened novice climber, now on the ground, feeling safe, nattering happily. I'm near the end of the route. My rack is considerably lighter, the small gear all used up, the big gear still weighing me down. I stop at a stance, I have one runner left. I fiddle in one last wire, clip it to the rope with that final runner, eye up the moves ahead, and smoothly pull the final sequence over the lip and up onto the belay ledge. 

All the fear, the dark imaginings, the jittery feel of adrenaline is all gone. "That's a fun route," I call down. The dark images gone replaced with that wonderful feeling of accomplishment that floods through all climbers everywhere when, despite being fearful, they pushed ahead anyway. There is no feeling like it in the world.

Hillwood Climbing Area

We were driving past Hillwood on our way to take the ferry back to the mainland and decided to call in at Hillwood climbing area on the Tamar River north of Launceston. I did not really have high hopes of much good climbing as there is nothing about this area but farm land and, truthfully, Australia is still behind the rest of the world when it comes to well developed climbing areas. However, with the rather terse Crag guide downloaded we easily found the stile over the fence on the Craigburn Road just south of the Batman Bridge. 

 The Chessboard, looks fun, is fun

A good pad leads off up a short hill and we walked up to find an amazing and high quality climbing area. The rock, I think, is basalt, and the familiar columns are turned 90 degrees so that a hexagon or checkerplate pattern results. If you've ever climbed at Tieton in Washington, the place will look very familiar. The first area we found was a huge amphitheatre with climbs on either side which look fantastic but harder than we wanted. A side track branches off to the right just before the amphitheatre and up this track we found the Chessboard crag with perhaps as many as twenty climbs under grade 20. The climbs are all clean, well bolted and equipped. 

 Doug heading up for the first clip

We went back for our gear and met one of the local climbers taking measurements for a new stile, then walked back to the Chessboard and had a fantastic afternoon climbing. This area must bee really popular as it is one of the best crags we have been to in Australia. Good access, safe well equipped routes, clean solid rock, and a beautiful setting in the trees above the river.

Turning Back: Norfolk Bay By Kayak

"Some times you turn back when you should keep going, and some times you keep going when you should turn back. The challenge is to know the difference."

Day One: Eaglehawk Neck to Lagoon Beach:

We pulled the kayaks up onto Lagoon Beach shortly after 4.30 pm and climbed up onto the low dunes behind the beach looking for a flat and sheltered campsite. Although the sun was shining, the wind always seems cold in Tasmania and in early October, the wind seemed to cut through our paddling clothes making us shiver. A small depression in the dunes offered a sheltered kitchen site, and, with a bit of shovelling we could level a reasonable tent site nearby. We hauled loads of gear up the beach and while I brewed tea and set up the tent, Doug wandered up onto a higher dune to retrieve the next days marine forecast.

After a scant six paddle days in the previous five months, we had decided to set off on a circumnavigation of the Tasman Peninsula, a distance of 150 kilometres over five days. Pointless to plan any extra days on this trip as there are scant landing sites. In fact, on four of the five days we would have two possible landing sites only, the one we left from in the morning and the one we landed on at the end of the day. The entire trip felt very committing as this coastline has some of the highest sea cliffs in Australia and is pounded by the relentless swells of the cold Tasman Sea.

Sunset at Lagoon Beach, PC, Doug B.

Despite a somewhat mixed forecast, we had decided to come and "take a look" although how we were to take a look at the ocean off Cape Raoul without committing to paddle the entire distance was not really clear. In our desire to paddle this coastline and make the most of our few remaining days in Tasmania, we had somehow overlooked how heavy and sluggish our loaded boats felt, how out of shape we were for long days in cramped cockpits, even the fact that we still had no effective bilge pumps for our kayaks. We had, as Doug said later, "no real plan B."

We launched the kayaks on a falling tide from Eaglehawk Neck, the narrow spit of land that connects the slightly less rugged Forestier Peninsula from the wild Tasman Peninsula and paddled west into a light headwind. The south side of Eaglehawk Bay has many homes, but the north side has a few oyster leases, some timber operations, and just a few scattered farms or holiday cottages. We passed Dart Island about a kilometre to the north, and I thought that the grassy looking west side might make a nice campsite. Near the Mackeral Islets we got out of the boats onto a narrow rocky spit of land for a brief leg stretch; it had taken us two hours to travel eight kilometres.

More uses for spare paddles

Bypassing Flinders Bay and Sommers Bay where there are a few homes, we paddled across to Chronicle Point and then across Norfolk Bay to Whitehouse Point with a moderate wind from the northeast. This afternoon sea breeze came up each day we were out, some time between noon and 2.00 pm and it moved across the water in a defined line. Conditions changed from glassy to choppy in a matter of minutes always presaged by smooth rolling waves and the sound of breaking waves.

Paddling past Whitehouse Point on a very calm day

From Whitehouse Point, the paddling was more interesting as we had the multi-hued sandstone cliffs to look at and the waving beds of many different sea weeds easily visible in the clear water below our keels. At Green Head we turned south and had a tailwind for the final two kilometres down to Lagoon Beach. After almost seven hours in the boats, we were certainly ready to land and make camp.

Decisions:

"I need you to listen," said Doug as he came back from the higher dunes with the latest marine forecast. The always a bit iffy forecast had deteriorated to another series of strong or gale force wind warnings and we needed to give some thought to whether or not we would continue with our planned route. But, at 5.00 pm, after a long day in the cockpit, I knew I was not going any where, and, as the sun dipped and the wind blew, getting back into damp clothes and a wet boat was very unappealing.

After dinner, hot drinks, a walk on the beach, we crawled into our tent and considered our options. Continuing on meant getting up in the dark the next morning, packing, setting off at first light and paddling south for 30 km where we hoped, but were not completely sure, we could land on the north end of Wedge Island to make camp. A 20 knot wind was forecast to arrive by around noon. If we were lucky, we would only have to push into it for the final two, or perhaps three, hours. The following day, we needed to paddle 33 km in a two to three metre swell, a one metre sea, and, with luck, light and variable winds. That distance of 33 km was contingent on a surf landing on the southerly facing beach at Crescent Bay, which, really seemed unlikely given our limited (virtually none) experience in surf landings. Paddling into Safety Cove to land on a sheltered beach would add four more kilometres.

Fragile start to life, Pied Oyster Catcher eggs

The third day and last day of the forecast period had a strong wind warning for southerly winds and we knew without deliberating that we would not set off to paddle around Cape Pillar and Tasman Island in that kind of weather and sea. The fact that this fourth day would be another long one - 34 km - with no landing sites was really irrelevant. Our fifth and final day on the water would be relatively short at 20 km and familiar as we had paddled the section of coast from Pirates Bay to Fortescue Bay before, and, while there were no landing sites, there were also no prominent headlands and currents were mild.

I was so tired I was asleep by 8.00 pm, but, before we both drifted off we made a tentative plan to continue toward Wedge Island. We could always paddle into the sheltered Wedge Bay where a series of small hamlets line the coast. With luck, we might even be able to take the once daily bus from Nubeena back to our car at Pirates Bay.

Early morning fog over Lagoon Beach

We had a cold and slightly damp night. Mesh tents like ours (MSR Hubba Hubba) are not really that practicable under certain Tasmanian conditions. When the dew is heavy and the night is cold, the moisture in the air condenses inside the tent on your sleeping bag or drips from the fly through the mesh onto your sleeping bag. Either way the night is damp and cool. At 5 am, when we should have got up, I was huddled in my bag having spent the last two hours curled into a ball to conserve heat. For perhaps the first time, I felt old, all my 52 years seemed to sag onto my body. Getting out of our wet tent, into damp clothes, packing up, and paddling hard for six or eight hours was just not going to happen. Doug was also awake and, after checking the marine forecast again, we decided, surprisingly quickly, that we were going to turn back.

Day Two: Lagoon Beach to Monk Bay

With the pressure to make steady progress into uncertain conditions relieved, I felt much better. This was a trip that I knew was too hard, both physically and technically for me at my current level of expertise, and, I did not feel that deepening disappointment with myself that I usually feel when I turn back out of fear not lack of ability. Turning back when prudent seems reasonable, but turning back because of cowardice carries the connotation of failure.

We stayed in the tent for a little while, but the sun was slow coming so I got up and put the kettle on. It was a beautiful morning, clear except for fog that was drizzling slowly over the sand dunes from the brackish lagoons behind the beach. The fog spread across the surface of the ocean and dribbled out towards Sloping Island. A Pied Oystercatcher was sitting on its nest of speckled eggs scratched into the sand just below us, while a second Pied Oystercatcher patrolled the beach. Apart from the gentle swell rolling onto the shore, the morning was silent.

Paddling past Green Head, PC, Doug B.

Now that we had no fixed plans for the trip everything changed. Kayaking became about the journey, not the destination. We had breakfast and hot coffee, packed the boats, paddled south around Lobster Point admiring the forests of kelp along the shore and landed on the north end of Sloping Main Beach.

Back in the boats we paddled back around Green Head and into Lime Bay. This is a lovely sheltered but shallow bay with vehicle accessible camping, and, infernal combustion access means bogans so after a look around, we continued on rounding Whitehouse Point into Monk Bay. We found a campsite on the small sand beach, with some sheltered rock slabs as a kitchen area and had the inevitable brew. A well flagged but rudimentary track runs all the way from Lime Bay down to Plunkett Point and I strolled along this before dinner. The very best campsite, that we found after unloading the boats and setting up camp is actually a minute or two south of the sandy beach on a grassy knoll above a pebbly beach.

Paddling into camp at Monk Bay

Day Three: Monk Bay to Dart Island

The next day we continued our leisurely explorations of Norfolk Bay. The night had been cloudy so it was considerably warmer and drier in the tent and we paddled down the coastline passing Ironstone Point and Plunkett Point. From Plunkett Point we skimmed Salem and Cemetery Points and then landed on a rock platform at Deer Point for breakfast. Apart from breakfasts in the high mountains, this must be one of the most scenic breakfast locations I've ever experienced. Sandstone caves arched behind a large flat sunny and warm rock platform all surrounded by crystal clear water and waving fronds of sea weed. It was a tough spot to leave.

Continuing east we grazed along Premaydena, Glenila, Eli and Parkinsons Points. The conditions were so calm and the water so clear that I could see crabs swimming by under the boat and white starfish spotting the sea floor. Amazing how ungainly crabs always seem, doomed to scuttle sideways, but, they prove surprisingly efficient swimmers. At Parkinsons Point the afternoon sea breeze blew up, moving across the water in a straight line and we paddled into Newmans Beach where the tide had exposed large areas of white sand and wandered about for a half hour before using the spare paddle to prepare lunch.

Breakfast at Deer Point, PC Doug B.

We were only 10 or 12 kilometres from Pirates Bay yet without speaking about it we knew we would stay out another night. It was just too wonderful to be out on the water again where life is a simple matter of packing the kayak in the morning, journeying through the day, and finding somewhere to camp at night. Continuing north along the Symphony Hills we found a couple of small pebbly bays where we could have made camp but decided to try and find a campsite on Dart Island. On the southwest end of Dart Island we found a tiny protected harbour and pulled the boats in. Up under the tea-trees there was a sheltered grassy campsite and out above the harbour some large rock slabs made a good kitchen. We were soon setting up camp and brewing some tea. Before dinner we walked around the island following the rocky shore. I found some old stone fences and a lot of very fine netting in lines up in cleared areas.

Over dinner we watched the sun set over Norfolk Bay and I thought about what a balm for the soul spending time in the wild is and how so many of our current problems are likely caused, at least in part, by a severing of the natural bonds between man and nature. Surely we would all be better off if, for at least some part of each day, week and year, we left behind motors and powered ourselves, whether by foot, by bicycle or by kayak or canoe and went out again into the natural world to watch the sun rise and set, to be awed by the wonder of the simplest things, like crabs swimming through clear teal water, sea anemones flowering in beach sand, sea birds sitting on delicate eggs on a sandy beach or the way the wind moves across the water in a long linear wave. We could journey with no real destination but a desire to look into the next bay or around the next headland, to land on a deserted beach, to take shelter from the wind behind tea-trees, to lie on rock slabs warming in the sun, and we could remember our place in the world and perhaps be motivated to live with more harmony and less aggression.

Sunset from Dart Island, PC Doug B.

Day Four: Dart Island to Pirates Bay

Our last morning on the water and our last breakfast on rock slabs. Gulls and terns wheeled and dived over the west end of Dart Island snatching fish out of the water after plummeting in a free fall into the ocean. We packed up and paddled across to Mason Point. The highway runs along the south shore of Pirates Bay and, as we paddled deeper into the bay, the sounds of civilization became more intrusive. Cars, buses, motor-bikes roared past disturbing the eerie calls of gulls. I'm always struck by how all of us in the developed world always have somewhere we need to go, right now, as fast as we can. Are all these journeys of such importance? I felt that the closer we got to our own vehicle the more a part of myself cleaved off and went winging back out to the deep green ocean.

Sometimes I think about setting off on a very long walk or kayak, something that would take not days or weeks but months. It's an enticing thought. A long journey that would reduce life to its simplest form. Eat, walk or paddle, sleep, do it all again the next day, and the next, and the next. Continue on until simply moving becomes the goal.

Paddling into Lime Bay

Final Thoughts:

When we first moved to Australia and got back into sea kayaking after a nearly decade long hiatus, I got nervous paddling in a small wind chop and a long crossing was about four kilometres. Since then I've paddled 18 km from the mainland to Pelorus Island, and on the Lizard Island trip, paddled north from Cape Bedford for two hours before even seeing the tiny sand cay that was our destination. I've kayak sailed, albeit not very well, with a 30 knot tail wind, and pluggedinto a 20 knot headwind. In Tasmania, I paddled around both the Freycinet Peninsula and Maria Island, but, I still have scant experience paddling in ocean swells or landing in any kind of surf bigger than about 60 centimetres. I cannot eskimo roll (except on rare occasions) and I am acutely aware that I have not practised rescues in real world situations and have no reliable bilge pump that does not require the use of both hands. In short, I am better than I was, but not as good as I need to be.

Unlike mountaineering, which always seemed to me to be about the destination - reaching the summit - I have always viewed kayaking as a process rather than an endpoint. The journey is what makes the trip, not reaching some arbitrary geographical point. So, although I embraced the "move fast" mantra when climbing, it has not been my motto while kayaking. But, I now realise that some trips I want to do will require me to not only paddle more skilfully, but also paddle faster. Perhaps the two are intertwined, I am too inexperienced to know.

Leaving Monk Bay, PC Doug B.

In hindsight, I wondered if I could have trained for this trip while we were house-sitting in Campania. I could have paddled on windy days - there were no shortage of those - gone out on days with big swells, practised paddling the kayak in the surf, done some real rescues in real cold water. But I realise, I did not want this trip enough to do the required work during a Tasmanian winter. The air and the water seemed too cold, the days too short, the effort involved (all that driving!) too much. Moving inside might make you soft, or age may simply cause the greater desires of youth to dim a little. Both may conspire to make being cold, uncomfortable and scared much harder than it used to be.

There are still big trips I want to do in the kayak. I would love to paddle from Mackay to Thursday Island. I have lately been wondering if it would be possible to paddle right around Fraser Island. Paddling around Wilsons Promontory is appealing, and, perhaps one day, if the fire does not dim too much, paddling right around both Bruny Island and the Tasman Peninsula. If I were really to dream big, it would be to paddle right around Tasmania.

Paddling towards Deer Point, PC Doug B.

And while I day dream about big trips, I loved this little trip in sheltered waters that was not hard, scary or committing. I loved the quiet campsites, the mirror like water in the mornings that echoed the hulls of our boats back up to us. I loved peering deep into the startlingly clear water and watching the gulls whirl overhead. The amount of life bustling away in a single square centimetre of tidal sand amazed me. I loved crawling into the tent tired from a day paddling as darkness fell and waking to the sunrise in the dewy cold of the morning. I loved every single moment of this wonderful trip that, had we not turned back, we would never have done.