All the Way Round (5 page)

Exmouth is only 20 kilometres from North West Cape. When I landed on the beach on 9 May, my first issue was to find a phone, as I had set off to Broome without one. Sandy Robson is probably the most experienced female sea kayaker in Australia. We hadn’t met, but exchanged emails as she gave me tips on paddling in Western Australia and put me in contact with friends who would help when I needed a place to stay.

I found an elderly couple on the beach with a mobile phone and innocently asked if I could make a quick call to arrange a pick-up. Well, you’d think I had just asked them for a kidney from their firstborn child. I spent ten minutes convincing them I wasn’t calling overseas and even offered to give them ten dollars for the call. This may seem steep for a quick local phone call, but considering it would shut them up as well, I thought it was a good deal.

During the phone call I realised two things: one, the value of mobile phones when I got to town, and two, that Janet Norriss, Sandy’s friend, had absolutely no idea who I was. Sandy had generously offered me a place to stay, but forgot to tell Janet. Nevertheless Janet quickly turned up with her young family to ferry me the couple of kilometres into Exmouth.

I soon found myself being made welcome at her house. Janet was running her fashion store most of the day, then looking after her young kids. Despite this she didn’t hesitate to put up someone she had never met, who looked and smelt like he’d just paddled a long way, with the only reference being that Sandy Robson had given me her phone number. I hope I would be that generous if the time comes. Leaving a stranger alone in my house with my kids represents a trust that should be more common than it really is.

2

Exmouth to Perth

O
n 11 May I started down the coast. North West Cape is where the coast turns south, bringing changes in the weather and conditions. Gone are the warm, light easterly winds, replaced by colder southerly winds which would get stronger as I progressed down the coast. The sea had a different character as well. It was no longer shallow, sheltered, calm and warm, as now the open waters were being influenced by the swells crossing the Indian Ocean. The temperature was changing, too; I had to dig out my sleeping bag at night as it got a little cooler.

The rounding of a cape is an event to an ocean traveller. For me, North West Cape not only brought dramatic changes in the weather, ocean and currents, it meant a change in direction on the compass, signalling that progress was being made.

Just past North West Cape is Ningaloo Reef. This reef runs parallel to the mainland, only about 2 kilometres from the shore, and provides shelter from the Indian Ocean for about 250 kilometres south. It’s ideal paddling with flat, clear waters allowing me a view into the world below of reefs and fish.

From March to June the reef is visited by whale sharks, which are the world’s largest fish. They are completely harmless to humans, feeding only on plankton. Reaching to more than 12 metres in size, these huge animals are a major drawcard for tourists, who are put in boats for a quick ride beyond the reef to the open ocean. Then, with the aid of a spotter plane, the willing are dropped off a perfectly good boat to snorkel into the path of a cruising whale shark.

The whale sharks don’t venture inside the reef where I was paddling and I didn’t get to see one. Even if I had paddled outside the reef I would have been lucky to spot one, as it’s hard to see anything under the water from a kayak, even the largest fish in the world. It’s a magical place, but I decided not to hang around and play the tourist. Sure, swimming with a whale shark would be cool, but for me it wouldn’t be the same without my kids. To see their excitement and be part of their experience would be more rewarding than anything I could get on my own. So I resolved to come back with the family to share the experience.

One of the disadvantages of solo kayaking is you don’t get to share the best with others, but then one of the advantages is you don’t have to endure the worst with them. Solo kayaking has other advantages; the fewer people involved, the less complicated things are. There are no compromises about when to launch, how far to go, where to land or whose turn it is to cook. And while travelling in groups usually means safety in numbers, this advantage can be quickly lost as the difference in individual paddling speeds can create huge gaps between people in the group.

I liked the idea of being in control and only responsible for myself. Being solely responsible for all the planning and decision-making meant I could give myself full credit for all that went well, and would have nowhere to hide when things fell in a heap.

About 75 kilometres south of North West Cape is the ancient Yardie Creek gorge, which has deep blue water, red limestone cliff faces and a wonderful array of birds and wildlife, including the rare black-footed rock wallaby. After a slight hiccup with the camera—for a while I thought I’d left the memory card in a café computer in Exmouth, but found it, in the camera—I treated myself to a little exploration of this beautiful area. I paddled about 4 kilometres down through the gorge, taking photos of the black-footed rock wallabies living on the broken cliffs towering on either side. It’s the only gorge with permanent water in the area, but it’s all salt water. So I learnt another valuable lesson: just because something is called a ‘creek’ doesn’t mean you can drink from it.

After my pleasant stopover at Yardie Creek the seas for the next 100 kilometres to Coral Bay were whipped up by 30-knot headwinds that made progress a struggle. This was a taste of the southerly winds that the West Australian coast from Cape Leeuwin to North West Cape is known for.

I spent days on beaches, unable to continue south. I passed the time by gathering strength and resolve, and trying to work out a calculation which would make the decision of whether to paddle into a headwind or not a bit easier. I started with a formula of (headwind strength + effort needed – frustration of sitting on beach) / (lack of food and water) = progress needed. I got nowhere with that, as expected, but for ten minutes it did make a change from staring out to sea.

Sometimes, after a day of waiting, I’d lose patience and decide to battle the headwinds, telling myself that any progress was better than sitting on the beach. Then one morning the wind unexpectedly died down and I managed to paddle in a few hours the distance it had taken me a full day to do against the headwinds. It was a bittersweet realisation of how much easier my day could be compared with how hard it had been.

Because of the winds, reaching Coral Bay took longer than I expected but I got there on 16 May after a few days on half rations. Coral Bay is a resort town all geared up for tourists. It had many caravan parks, some right on the beach, but they were all full. I bought a pie and chips for a change in diet, and promised myself that the next morning I would get a good breakfast into me and do a bit of shopping before heading off.

Next day I paddled to a popular fishing camp just south of Coral Bay for the night. The effort over the past few days meant I had no problem falling asleep, but just as I was dozing off there was a thud on the tent wall. Kids from a camp behind the dunes had invented a new game that involved throwing things at my tent then running off. I let the first one go, but after the second volley I was ready. I waited in the shadows for their return and took them by surprise with a short burst of verbal abuse. This did the trick and they were soon falling over themselves to get back to the safety of their tents. I had no more problems that night.

Next morning I tried to get off the beach but a dumping surf break kept throwing me back. There was only one set of waves to beat but because of the steepness of the beach the wave formed itself and curled up to about a metre before tripping over itself with a crash. Because this was happening about a kayak length off the beach, I had no chance to ready myself in the kayak or get up any speed to break through. It was then I realised how spent I was; I had to catch my breath for a few minutes before trying again.

I was gearing up for a second go, with little hope of success, when a couple of fishermen wandered up, coffees in hand. It was early and there was no one else about. They started asking the usual questions and I tried to steer the conversation around to the fact that my tangle with the surf would be much easier if I had some help from someone. All in vain. They knew what I was getting at but it never occurred to them to strip off and get wet.

For some, fishing is not the main reason to visit this area but the only reason. I’m not much of a fisherman, there are more than enough people keen on it already. So when the main topic of conversation turns to fishing and what was caught, what they didn’t catch and what they’re going after tomorrow, my body language gives me away.

Then a woman arrived for a chat and I quickly realised it was her kids who had invented the ‘Let’s throw rocks at Stu’s tent’ game. I was braced for a spray on the do’s and don’ts in my treatment of her little darlings, but instead she showed genuine interest in my trip. It turned out that the mum was a former pupil of Sandy Robson, when Sandy worked as a schoolteacher, and she had followed Sandy’s kayak trips on the internet. During my carefully crafted conversation she realised I had just been spat back after a failed exit. I hoped she might shame the two men into giving me a hand. Instead she ran back to her tent, changed, jumped into the surf and helped me to successfully beat the waves while the two fishermen, still holding their coffees, watched on.

I reached Gnarraloo Bay which is just about the southern limit of the Ningaloo Reef, 250 kilometres from North West Cape, on 18 May 2010. This is one of the few places along this stretch of coast where fishermen are able to drive right up to the water and launch their boats. It’s a gentle beach that offers shelter from the southerly winds and waves. Soon after I landed conditions deteriorated as the wind picked up.

This signalled a recall of the various boats scattered around the nearby coast. My entertainment for the afternoon was watching the fishermen get their boats back on the trailers without getting their cars bogged in the soft sand. Their priorities were clear—they avoided putting a single scratch on their boats but would drive their cars into the sea up to the doors. These fishermen were hardcore and well versed in the exercise. Nevertheless, their vehicles got bogged and they struggled to stop their boats being blown away as they wrestled waist-deep in the water and coaxed their craft onto the submerged trailers. Those who made it successfully ashore joined a growing group of spectators with a beer in hand, helping those continuing to struggle by providing moral support in the form of laughter and light-hearted abuse.

I was watching the show comfortably seated in a small tinnie left on the beach, until its owner swam ashore and said that he needed my seat to ferry his catch to the beach. After he sorted out his catch, I found myself explaining my situation to him and his friends, one of whom was a professional fisherman who had fished the Zuytdorp Cliffs. It was unusual to find someone who knew the cliffs, but what really made this guy stand out was that he was positive about my plans to kayak the cliffs. They were the first words of encouragement I had been given for the cliffs and they made the dozens of discouraging comments from others, most of whom hadn’t even been there, fade away. That single short conversation about Zuytdorp Cliffs would be the only positive noises I heard about them but it helped enormously in my attitude towards the fast-approaching challenge.

Up to this point if I was feeling worn out I would only have to take a day off then I’d be ready to go again. But the headwinds were starting to take their toll. Carnarvon sits in Shark Bay and was my next large town, about 400 kilometres from Exmouth. I got there on 21 May and only felt the urge to move on after three days. I treated myself to a few nights at a motel next to the marina—it was great to get myself and my kit cleaned up, sleep in a bed and be able to drink as much water as I liked. They are simple things but if you want to appreciate what is normally taken for granted, do without them until it hurts.

Shark Bay is a World Heritage Area at the westernmost part of Australia. It has diverse landscapes, from red and white sands and tidal flats, to limestone outcrops and sand dunes. The bay is protected by Dirk Hartog, Bernier and Dorre islands. The warm, sheltered waters cover 10,000 square kilometres and average 10 metres in depth. These are ideal conditions for the many varieties of seagrass that grow there. The seagrass in turn supports the 10,000 resident dugongs, which represent over 12 per cent of the world’s total population. On the seaward side of Shark Bay are deeper, wilder waters, where surf crashes against rocky reefs and cliffs.

I was caught out one afternoon while I was paddling the shallow waters. Daydreaming as I watched the stingrays among the seagrass under my kayak, I hadn’t noticed the tide was running out. When paddling a kayak in water that’s less than a paddle-length deep, a drag is created. It can soon feel as though you are paddling through treacle. The extra effort quickly woke me up to the fact that the water was dropping and I would soon be sitting on the seagrass. I tried desperately to head back out into the bay to find deeper water, but was soon scraping the seagrass and coral with my paddle as I looked for a way through. I’d left it too late and I had no choice but to tie a rope onto the kayak and walk it back to the shore. My legs had lost some strength after sitting for days in the kayak and were not accustomed to working themselves through the water, giving me a few aches in protest. I found a place for the tent and thankfully the next morning there was enough water for me to paddle away.

Cape Peron reaches out into the middle of Shark Bay and offers dramatically red, sandy hills, a kaleidoscope of colour compared to the shoreline of mangroves which dominated the pale beaches streaked with washed-up seagrass bleached by the sun. The other reason I was impressed was a bit hard to pin down at first—it took a while for me to realise what was different. As I sat on the sand in the evening, I suddenly noticed the wind had stopped. There were no grains of sand being blown in my food, up my nose or in my eyes; I didn’t have to keep half an eye on the tent in case a gust took it for a test flight; I could put clothes out to dry and they would still be there in the morning. Yep, I had a good time paddling from Francois Peron National Park to Denham.

Zuytdorp Cliffs

Denham is the last town before the start of the Zuytdorp Cliffs. It’s in the middle of Francois Peron Peninsula, a good place to hole up while watching the weather.

If you’re planning a day of activities outside, you might have a glance at the paper or grab the last few moments of the TV news and take in some of the details that are sparingly given in the weather report. If you are planning a day’s fishing, you’ll probably look at the internet and quickly note the wind direction and strength before deciding where to go. But if you’re going to commit to a 200-kilometre paddle in a kayak with only one place to pull out and a very good chance that you’ll have to deal with headwinds, the weather is extremely important and you suck up all the information available, two or three times a day. I’d been doing this for days on my approach to the area and for years before the trip.

After a trip I’d done previously across Bass Strait, a kayaker dismissed my achievement with, ‘Well, you were lucky with the weather.’ This didn’t seem fair to me. I’d planned long-term and short-term to get acceptable weather; luck wasn’t a part of it. I do agree you can be unlucky with the weather and get unseasonal or unusually severe conditions, but preparation limits that.

Preparation for the Zuytdorp Cliffs started three years before I got to Broome. I worked out where and when I wanted to start in order to get the best weather where it counted most. I spent many hours poring over weather facts on the net and in books to make sure I got it right. It was so important to me that I didn’t ask anybody for advice; I educated myself to a level where I could decide for myself. Where and when to start the trip was the cornerstone of its success and I wanted to be solely responsible. The whole reason for starting in Broome was to get to Denham at this time of year when the chance of finding a gap in the southerlies was at its highest.