Mother Nature Will Always Find The Weak Spot

Saturday 3rd March and we’re back out there, the swell has dropped considerably to ~2m as it was forecast to do, so we continue north on calm seas and not a breath of wind to High Rocky Point and into Hartwell Cove for lunch.

As we pulled into the beach Guy mentioned how much of a slog it had seemed from Mainwaring Inlet, which is exactly how I felt too. Perhaps there had been a northerly current against us for both of us to feel the same way.

We had the usual, for this trip anyway, leisurely lunch in the sun and a quick look around the Cove, checking out the campsites and the flotsam and jetsam along the high tide mark before launching and paddling over to Christmas Cove and the mouth of the Wanderer River. We discussed whether to explore up the river but given the time and a further 20km to Point Hibbs and Sanctuary Cove we decided not to and turned to head back out to sea.

I was thinking about the wind, it had picked up while we were having lunch, blowing straight into Hartwell Cove from the NW. After the slog this morning from Mainwaring Inlet I wasn’t particularly looking forward to what could be a 20km headwind plod to Point Hibbs. With the wind on my mind I was straining to look well ahead out to sea to try and determine the wind direction when suddenly we realised we were well and truly in the wrong place, at perfectly the wrong time.

I don’t remember seeing anything break over that particular reef as we made our way out of Christmas Cove from the Wanderer River mouth. If I had it would of course have jolted my mind away from the wind and back to more immediate concerns. 

"Paddle!!!" I shouted and pushed the right rudder pedal hard - we turned just in time to crest the first breaker as the top edge turned white and started to curl towards us, we see-sawed over the crest and hit the back of the wave with a bellyflop like crash that felt strong enough to break the boat into little pieces. Ahead there was another wave, just starting to break.

They were so close together, there weren’t many paddle strokes as, still sprinting, we smoothly dropped into the trough then rose to the second building crest of white water, and seesawed over that one too. 

Only to see the next one, the third. It had already broken and was crashing towards us fast. 

“We are going to get totally smashed” flitted through my mind and I saw Lynne lean forward onto the front deck and it was on us with a force you would not believe. 

I remember feeling us surfing backwards, then upside down, then tumbling and bouncing, then I was conscious of all my fingers gripping the cockpit coaming holding myself to the deck, the bouncing stopped and I bailed out. 

I emerged, surprisingly my hat was floating right beside me, I grabbed it. My special kayaking hat, handmade by Lynne for me for Christmas. I looked around, the boat, upside down bobbed next to me, Lynne was on the opposite side. I could see two sponges bobbing in the foam and Lynne’s paddle in two pieces, broken neatly in the middle.

I righted the boat and clambered back into my cockpit as Lynne said “Something’s happened to my legs and I can’t move them”. Right, that’s changed what otherwise would have been an embarrassing close shave to a much more serious event. 

Lynne had pulled herself partially out of the water onto the back deck, so I paddled the double, still full of water, slowly away from the danger zone.. The wave that hit us had washed us pretty clear anyway but we weren’t hanging around to find out whether we were still in the surf zone. 

Guy and Ebi pulled alongside and rafted up to the left of our boat. Ebi held the boat steady while Lynne pulled herself onto the deck and back in her cockpit and we emptied the water out. 

The beach in Christmas Cove was only about 200m away but it was steep with surging surf, an awkward landing at the best of times. So with Guy and Ebi towing and me paddling our boat we returned to the flat sheltered beach in Hartwell Cove. On the way we chatted to a fishing boat at anchor in the Cove to see whether we could use their sat phone to call for help.

The three of us lifted Lynne out of her cockpit, carried her up the beach and made her comfortable on a patch of grass. Ebi dug out some Endone to alleviate the pain and then with Guy paddled back out to the fishing boat to ring for rescue.



The wave hit us about 2pm, we were in the Emergency Dept at the Royal at 8pm.

What to learn?

We simply shouldn’t have been where we were. 

I basically wasn’t on the ball, not concentrating, I’ve a feeling I was thinking the reefs were further out than they actually were.

Maybe I was relaxed after lunch and perhaps a bit too complacent after the big swells of the day before, only a couple of hours or so before we had been cruising through the 250m gap between Montgomery Rocks and High Rocky Point. 

Perhaps at the moment I realised we were going to get completely smashed we should have capsized, but maybe not. The breakers were very close together, if there had been a fourth wave, we would have just bailed out and surfaced in time to be hurtled shorewards in a massive washing machine with 100kg+ of kayak, paddles and leashes. 

Self reliance, if we had not been able to use the sat phone on the fishing boat we would of course have set off one of our PLBs. Being able to call the police directly meant that our PLB contacts would not be unduly worried, they would have known we were in trouble but have no idea of quite how much trouble. It would have meant a few hours of wondering worst case scenarios before finding out that although Lynne was injured, she was on pain killers and we were safe and stable onshore. Perhaps to be truly self sufficient we should have had our sat phone with us, it’s a $100 or so for a month long pre paid SIM. With that we would have been able to make that direct contact for help without the happenstance of a fishing boat nearby.

Perhaps too it’s just an increasing odds on making a stuff up. The more we are out there the more likelihood of making a mistake, of being in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. 

She'll be back. I'll be back. We’ll be back.

The Dream Run

We pull our heavy boats away from the slipway at Huonville, seven years and a couple of weeks from the start of our paddle around Tasmania in 2010. 

The heavy boats laden with three weeks food and everything else we need to get to Strahan feel slow and cumbersome but are a solid physical reminder that this is the start a long kayak trip. It feels just fantastic. 

This time we are not alone, pulling along side are Guy and Ebi, also in a Dean 21, built from the same mould as ours.

It is an easy downhill start as the flow of the Huon takes some of the load off our shoulders; quite how much becomes apparent as we enter the broad section of the river at Port Huon and suddenly the boats seem to gain weight and the glassy water become more viscous.

As we make our way down the lower Huon past the fish farms and their very fat resident seals and into the Channel the remnants of the great Southern Ocean swells that have curled around SE Cape and made their way almost to the mouth of the Huon become apparent.  The kelp slowly lifts and drops in a gentle slow rhythm. 

As we head south, the swells increase in size until we round Whale Head and are fully exposed. They are small today at around 2 to 3m but well and truly big enough to raise huge sprays of surging white water up the slabs of SE Cape. 

They cause a little trepidation too about the surf landing at South Cape Rivulet, but then only a short time later, there's a whoop of relief as we’re in through the surf at just the right time and with a surprising amount of control. Apprehension resurfaces later at the thought of getting back out in the morning, but we needn’t have worried.  The swell dropped considerably overnight making departure so easy we didn’t even get wet.  

We cruise past South Cape as close to the rocks as we've ever been and continue on for a long lazy lunch at Rocky Boat Inlet.

While Lynne, Ebi and I sit back in the sun fighting off swarms of march flies Guy dons his snorkelling gear and disappears into the water, returning remarkably quickly with two crayfish and a large abalone which provide the bulk of dinner for us all that evening.

Such a perfect day, not a cloud in the sky and a silky sea with a slow rolling swell. Rocky Boat to Little Deadmans, arguably the best 10km of paddling in Tasmania - if not the world. 

We blissfully cruise towards Little Deadmans a few kilometres off Prion Beach, a gentle SE breeze behind us and the most amazing panorama slowly unfolds. NNW Federation Peak stands out on the horizon then Precipitous Bluff, Pindars Peak, Hen and Chicken Is, The Mewstone, Ille de Golfe, De Witt, Flat Top, Round Top, Maatsuyker, and the Ironbound Range.  I push on the left rudder pedal and we do a gentle anti clockwise circle soaking in the stunning panorama. 

We have lunch the next day at Anchorage Cove, Louisa Bay where a few years ago Ebi's group had buried some treasure, in the form of a bottle of wine.  They left instructions, in German, hanging in a bottle to be found by a group following the next day. Unfortunately for the second group they didn't stop at Anchorage Cove so now years later we land and hurry up the beach to search for the buried treasure. The bottle was still in place marking the spot but no message. Ebi started digging directly below, he only seemed to move a few handfuls of sand, there was a whoop and the treasure was held up triumphantly. 

The settled weather continues as we round SW Cape on a glassy smooth sea and continue on to land at McKays Gulch for a break and bite to eat. Just a couple of kilometres north of the Cape on the western side, the Gulch provides a lovely little sheltered refuge. Suddenly with surprise one of us points out to sea; we are not the only paddlers at the tip of SW Cape today! A solo kayaker can be seen about a kilometre away, heading straight for us. The paddler Stuart Trueman left Stony Point near Smithton, three weeks ago. We hear his tales of West Coast landings, wild weather days off the water and various other adventures before continuing on our separate journeys. 

We arrive at Spain Bay, Port Davey and there is Jenny’s kayak on the beach. Without communication she has correctly guessed our progress and camped there awaiting our arrival. So more kayaking chatter that evening over dinner, our respective days on the water and plans for the next few days. Hugs and best wishes mark our departure the next morning, Jenny to explore the outer rocks of Hilliard Head and as much of the rest of Port Davey and Bathurst Harbour she can fit in over the next few weeks.

We continue around North Head and on through the magical clear channels of the Trumpeter Islets, studded with hundreds of basking, diving, curious seals, then to Mulcahy Gulch to camp that night.

The next day was Friday, our seventh day on the water and the first with any substantial change in the weather. The cloud cover was quite a relief after many days of burning sun and the wind was up too, from the south, a lovely 10kn sailing breeze. The swell too had become noticeably larger than any we’d had on the trip so far.

Cowrie Beach for lunch and by this time there was a wildness to the day.

The wind had strengthened and the reefs breaking up to a kilometre offshore along the southern shoreline of Low Rocky Point forced us out to sea to clear them and then eventually the Point itself.

It took us an hour to get around but from then on it was sails up again for an exhilarating run up the coast. The swell had really built by now, up to 5.5m according the Cape Sorell Wave Rider Buoy, so there was a little nervousness about landing. Our first option, The Shank, was rejected as we could see it was closed out from kilometres away and it doesn’t offer much shelter at the best of times, but we still had the Mainwaring Inlet and Hartwell Cove as viable options. 

The coast was just one long strip of crashing white water and plumes of spray, offshore too was just as interesting, with massive breakers showing the location of reefs that forced us further and further offshore. We had Hartwell Cove in mind as a landing spot as it was one of the most sheltered options for us but that was a further 15km on from Acacia Rocks off Mainwaring Inlet. There seemed to be a continuous line of huge breakers stretching 3.5km out from the shore to Acacia Rocks. We were just outside the rocks when a fishing boat closed in on us and asked where we were headed. Hartwell Cove was too far according to the fisherman but we’d get into the Mainwaring easily, “Ol' Snotty’s in there, red boat, you’ll see it, head in, you’ll be right,” he shouted. Then having talked to ‘Snotty’ on the radio he shouted across, “it’s dead calm in there, they’re just bobbing at anchor, follow us!”

As we rounded Acacia Rocks, sure enough 'Snottie’s’ boat came in sight and now in the lee of the reefs and breakers the swell dropped off to a really messy confused sea which built a little at the mouth of the Mainwaring River but then suddenly within 100m we went from being madly thrown around to smooth waters with three fishing boats gently bobbing at anchor. Yeiw, what a day!

Despite the warnings from the fisherman that we’d need industrial quantities of Aeroguard at camp that night, it was one of the most beautiful and insect free. The light of the new moon sparkled on the calm water of Mainwaring Inlet, the breakers roared out of sight as we sat around the campfire cooking dinner and relaxing.