All the Way Round (27 page)

I rather liked the idea of trying to guess the direction of flow given the state of the tides. Trying to work it out and not just looking at an arrow on the chart gave me a better understanding of what was going on. When I got it wrong, there were always consequences; sometimes I’d have to wait on a beach until the flow turned or at least slowed down, but mostly it meant I had to work much harder to make ground. Because of the penalty of getting it wrong, there was great satisfaction in getting it right. I became quite good at guessing which way the water would go, but in this particular area, as water flowed around the islands, there were many occasions where I got it wrong. It was also easy to know when I stuffed it up; there was no middle ground, no getting it ‘almost’ right. When the current was against you, it was a FAIL.

A few days out of Nhulunbuy is the community of Elcho Island, where I could get water and some supplies. To get there I had to paddle through Cadell Strait. I didn’t like these narrow waterways; they made me feel restricted in my options should crocodiles decide to give me some attention. Being so close to both shorelines also didn’t sit well with me as I was on display to crocs on both sides. If I was approached with the shore close on two sides, my best option would be to paddle with the current for a quick exit—tough luck if that was the direction the lizard was coming from.

Anyway, sitting around theorising about it doesn’t get it done, so after camping at the beginning of the strait at Point Napier I got a start at low tide, hoping I’d get a push out as the tide rose. This was one of those times my calculations failed me. It was soon obvious I was pushing into the current, but I was making progress so I continued, staying in the middle of the strait where the current was strongest but meaning I could keep away from the croccy edges.

I made painfully slow progress, feeling like a dish of sushi in one of those conveyor-belt restaurants where people just pick what they fancy as it drifts past. I felt many eyes watching me struggle down Cadell Strait but I hadn’t yet had any interest from the local wildlife, or indeed the local police, who shot by in a boat.

About halfway through, the strait narrowed, squeezing and strengthening the currents. I couldn’t compete, so I had to drift over to the mangroves to look for a weakness in the flow. I was getting tired, but if it’s motivation you need then paddling past a mangrove swamp in northern Australia will give it to you. After about 4 kilometres of the mangroves I pulled into a clearing and had a rest and a bite to eat. An hour later, when I got back onto the water to resume the struggle, I was astonished to find the current had swung around and was now going my way. I gave up trying to figure the ins and outs that had caused the change and just made the most of it.

There were a few local kids playing football as I pulled onto the town beach of Elcho Island. I quickly got my bearings, worked out where the supermarket was and replenished my water. I didn’t need much at the supermarket, just a few luxuries and something other than lentils for the evening meal. I also needed to announce my arrival. Someone from the surf club at Nhulunbuy had let a friend at Elcho Island know that I was due so I wanted to tell them I’d made it okay and to avoid any confusion as to my progress. I stopped by the police station, explained the situation and made sure they knew I was well and on my way. I half-expected to get an official lecture on the dangers of what I was doing, but luckily for me one of the coppers previously stationed on the island had paddled from here to Darwin, and so had set the stage for me.

However, the police did mention that the beach I’d landed on was off limits and I’d have to move on. They explained that a couple of weeks earlier a local man was taken by a croc there while he was fishing. He had not been found and his family were still coming to terms with his disappearance. To help with the healing process they had requested that the beach be out of bounds during the mourning period, so I was piled into a ute with my kayak on the roof and ferried around to the next beach for the night. Apparently an average of three people a year are taken by crocs in the Top End, but it doesn’t get reported much outside of the local press.

After leaving Elcho Island I spent the night on the aptly named Crocodile Islands. The next day as I was passing Cape Stewart I thought it would be cool to have a photo of myself; I could label it ‘Stuart at Cape Stewart’. I was looking for a good angle when I noticed a large log in the water. Because I’d been having trouble trying to work out the currents, I kept my eye on it to see which way it was drifting. Then I noticed it was drifting towards me at speed. Then I noticed it was the type of log that had teeth—a ‘logodile’!

I had long ago decided my strategy in this situation would be to head out to sea, my theory being that my kayak was seen as another croc and so was a threat to his territory. By heading out to sea I was effectively admitting defeat, acknowledging his dominance and clearing off. This took considerable discipline, because your first instinct is to head for the safety of the beach. You feel incredibly vulnerable in a kayak with a croc heading quickly and purposefully towards you. I had no defence other than my untested theory that running away would defuse the situation.

I knew when crocs do this for real they grab onto each other’s tails and fight until one gives up, which can result in horrific injuries. It was not just a bit of posturing, with dancing around, displays of bright colours or loud noises, as in much of nature. There was intent to harm. Other kayakers had been attacked in this way; they either didn’t see the croc approaching or they headed for the sanctuary of the beach. It’s not the quick bang of a shark that lets go after realising it has made a mistake; it is a calculated, aggressive approach made to defend his territory.

I headed out to sea and the croc followed, staying 20 metres behind me. I have heard it said that ‘We paddled as fast as we could and the croc didn’t catch us!’ As much as we like to promote the human race as the masters, the idea that we can out-manoeuvre, in a kayak, an animal that has evolved into the ultimate aquatic killer is in my view rather optimistic.

My rationale was that my kayak represented a 5-metre croc, and any croc smaller than that would be smart not to go beyond the bluffing and bravado stage of establishing his territory. If he did, there was a good chance he wouldn’t be doing any more evolving. I also believe that despite the dogged attempts of the media, crocs, sharks and snakes don’t wake up each day with the sole intention of attacking humans.

Anyway, this was the test. After what seemed like twenty minutes, but was probably only five, the reptile dropped back and the next time I looked round I couldn’t see him.

During my trip I had to use my plan of paddling out to sea three times and each time the result was the same. However, I wasn’t sure how I’d go if I didn’t have the luxury of knowing which direction would be out of his territory. That was why I was extra nervous when heading up narrow channels where I would have fewer options for escape.

That same day as I was approaching the shore, I met another ‘logodile’. It appeared right in front of me; I’d seen it too late to avoid it and I was so close to the beach I decided to risk it. I paddled hard, hoping the shallow water would slow him down enough to allow me to get to the sand and jump clear of the kayak. Then my logodile rolled over to display some branches. It was a real log, but still an exciting encounter.

Don’t think for one minute that I thought my plan was foolproof. I was always on edge, but somehow managed to function both during and after these close encounters and then continue the next day. In fact, I found paddling with crocodiles easier than dealing with the stress of some aspects of everyday life. It’s a little difficult to justify that comment when I know that being eaten alive while being held underwater does not compare to the stress of balancing the household budget. The only explanation I can offer is to say that it seemed natural to me, in those situations, to have to deal with being in the food chain.

I was getting closer to Darwin now and my mindset was changing. The water situation had eased because I knew I could resupply just about every other day as I neared the city. I had also calculated I could finish the circumnavigation in the required timeframe of sixteen months and even had a few extra days to play with. Gone was the uncertainty I felt as I tackled the gulf; I now allowed myself to imagine finishing at Broome and the more I thought about it the more I wanted it. I’d been paddling for fourteen months and was looking forward to the reward of completion.

I planned to fill up with water at the police station on South Goulburn Island where I landed on 11 June, although I was a little unsure how I was going to be treated when two policemen met me on the beach as I landed and asked for my ID. It may be correct procedure but I hadn’t been asked to prove who I was for years and it seemed a little out of place. However, I needed the drinking water, so I overruled my rebellious thoughts and showed them my driver’s licence. They made some notes and everybody was happy with the proof that I wasn’t an arch-criminal, paddling around Australia under an alias. I was given some bread and water and, importantly, I got a look at a chart of the waters I’d have to cover before Darwin. I also got the impression it would be better if I moved on, so that’s what I did.

There is a pearl farm at the southern point of Croker Island which I thought would be a good place to visit. I arrived mid-morning and the place looked deserted. I was about to fill up with water and clear out when one of the doors of the converted shipping containers opened up and out stepped ‘Bear’. It turned out that Bear and Chris, the two guys in charge of the pearl farm, had been fishing late at night to catch the tides, so they’d been sleeping in. Bear knew what I was after and without further ado I was shown the showers and washing machine and soon had a coffee in hand.

Once I was cleaned up and had relaxed a bit, I really didn’t want to get back in the kayak to head up Bowen Strait, which I knew was going to be a paddle against the current. Although I didn’t want to stretch the bounds of hospitality, I was really keen for the afternoon off. Luckily, Bear was okay with it and I was soon appointed my own door into the shipping container. As a bonus, Bear was quite a cook and, during the evening’s video-watching, made one of the most delicious pizzas I have ever had. I realise that after months of living on lentils most things could taste special but this really was memorable, as were the stories he told about some of the colourful characters and eventful happenings in the area. Bear also mentioned that every creek has a croc in it and it wasn’t too hard to find 5-metre monsters in this area.

I had been warned about the treacherous waters inside of Melville Island by Dave Winkworth. Dave has paddled from Karumba to Darwin and done various trips from Cairns along Cape York as far as Weipa. So when I made the claim earlier in the book that I was the first person after Paul Caffyn to have paddled around the Gulf of Carpentaria, I did so knowing the only stretch Dave hadn’t covered was the 550 kilometres from Weipa to Karumba. This doesn’t make my achievement seem quite as impressive as I first thought.

Anyway, I had gathered that vessels much larger than mine struggled in these waters so I knew I’d better be on my game. The first obstacle was Dundas Strait, which runs down the eastern coast of Melville Island. It’s through here that the Arafura Sea flows in and out of Van Diemen Gulf with the cycle of the tides. This creates rough waters that move as fast as I can paddle.

I had timed my approach to Darwin to occur during the strongest tides of the month, and knew that if I got it wrong then I could expect to have a very long day being dragged out to sea. I had found information on the tides and currents for this area at Nhulunbuy library and had also studied the marine chart at the police station at South Goulburn Island, so I was well prepared. I timed it almost perfectly, starting the 25-kilometre crossing just before low tide and getting past the strongest flow in the middle of the strait before it had gathered enough strength to pour back into Van Diemen Gulf. I was pleased with my foresight and preparation but I was quickly brought back down to earth as things got harder on the south coast of Melville Island.

I camped near Soldier Point as soon as I found something that looked like it would afford a landing and accommodate a tent. I was satisfied with the day and the crossing of Dundas Strait had gone well.

Next day I set off at high tide with a healthy 20-knot southwest wind blowing me towards the east. With the wind behind me I was approaching Cape Keith quite quickly and soon realised I was entering a very active bit of water. The water just off the cape looked very big and angry and the shore was a minefield of rocks and shallow reefs, which meant I couldn’t land. I had to stay offshore and make progress in the deeper water. The problem was that the tide was now gathering pace and it was going the opposite way to me and the helpful tailwind. When I had checked the notes to help sailors travel this area at Nhulunbuy library, they said I could expect a current of around 1 knot close to shore, so I hadn’t been too bothered.

But this wasn’t 1 knot of water I was up against. Off the shoals and reefs of Cape Keith I was struggling to make any progress at all against the current, even with 20 knots of wind behind me helping to push me along. When paddling still water with a good tailwind, I could normally expect to get a loaded kayak to cruise at the same pace as a runner. But at Cape Keith, unless I really tried hard, I was going backwards, which means the water was moving against me at the same pace as a fit jogger. There were standing waves 3–4 metres high, streaked with foam and looking hungry. When I paddled as hard as I could, I was just making headway. When I caught a wave and relaxed, thinking I’d be able to slide down it and gain 30 or 40 metres, I was quickly brought down to earth as I was tossed off the back of the wave to see my hard-fought ground disappear. I had to force myself down the wave by paddling hard. This was aggressive water and I was scared; to fall in now would be a disaster. I could hardly compete against it in a kayak, so if I went for a swim I stood no chance. There could be no slacking off, no chance for food or water, leaving no option but to slug it out.