I thoughtI would offer a trip report on a 5 week trip I did in March this around around the coast of Tasmania, Australia. I have broken it into two parts as it's a bit long (4800 words). A copy is going into our Club Magazine in December and Chesapeake Paddler put it in theirs. After some positive feedback I thought I would offer it to paddlewise. The trip didn't going according to plan coming down with Tendonitis and a severe bout of food poisoning but then that's always part of an expedition. All the same it was a great trip and I would love to do it again and being a keen photographer have some wonderful slides. David Whyte Australia Around Tasmania part 1 The wind was howling, the sea a mass of white caps, gusts were hurling me across the water and every second stroke seemed to be a support stroke as waves broke over the back of my kayak. I didn't need a sail, my unfeathered paddle was enough. At other times I found myself thrust forward with great speed as I went sliding down the face of the following sea. The gale was well upon us now, blowing us ever closer to the famous Wineglass Bay. This was the worst weather we had paddled in during a trip that had begun several weeks before. We were all experienced kayakers with a lot of surf experience, and although the seas were intimidating there was the pleasure and satisfaction that comes when the boat and you are working efficiently together. Dirk, looking ahead through the wind driven water, saw a beach tucked well inside a bay and signalled us to make for shore. Eager to get to Wineglass Bay and unaware how quickly the gale had pushed us along, I was sure we could not be there yet. However, the wind had moved us at nearly twice our normal paddling speed, confusing me slightly. With the wind behind it wasn't long before we reached our destination and were sitting on the beach looking back at the galloping white caps. Wineglass Bay was about halfway through the 650 kilometre trip that started three weeks previously when Mike Snoad, Dirk Stuber and myself set off to paddle from Devonport to Hobart by the North, then East, coast of Tasmania. The idea for this trip came after I'd read an account of an old sea kayaking journey by the Reverend Fred Fairey. In 1879 he said goodbye to his wife and child on the banks of the Forth River and set off in his wooden "Rob Roy" canoe to paddle to Hobart, visiting his parishioners along the way. It seemed to be a trip worth following and after several months of planning the three of us set off from Canberra, picking up the ferry at Melbourne. A leisurely cruise across Bass Strait saw us at Devonport the next morning, near Reverend Fairey's starting point. Somehow we fit the mountain of equipment into our kayaks before hauling them into sea and turning east. The wind was strong at 25 knots on the first day with a one metre swell, but thankfully it was behind us. My expedition-laden kayak felt slow and sluggish as we set off, loaded as it was with several weeks' worth of food, extra water and all my photographic equipment. We stopped for lunch on a small rocky outcrop called Wright Island, as this was where the Reverend spent his first night. The two of us with fibreglass boats heard that awful scratching sound of grating keels as we tried to maneuver our heavy boats onto the rocky shore. Pushing on in the following seas with my well-laden kayak I began to notice some discomfort in my forearm. By the time we landed at our first campsite I had all the painful symptoms of crepitus tendonitis. Aware of the implications of this type of injury and knowing I would have to continue doing the very thing that caused it, instilled in me a disappointment that I may be forced out of the trip on the first day. We were carrying a comprehensive first aid kit, so I swallowed some anti-inflammatories and decided I would re-assess the situation in Bridport; which was three days' paddling away. The second day the wind had died down and we followed a mostly deserted shoreline of undulating hills, rolling sand dunes and clear blue water. In the gentle sea conditions with no swell we enjoyed the paddling, ducking into little bays or landing on sandy beaches. The shallowness of the water was new to us, and even up to a kilometre offshore we could still see the bottom. Several cottages, probably holiday shacks, were interspersed along the coastline but there seemed to be no-one around. Large standing waves at the mouth of the Tamar River, fishermen trawling too close and a long slog through a southeast headwind brought Bridport into view on the fourth day. After setting up our tents on a grassy beachside camping ground, our thoughts went to food. Four days of camp cooking sent us searching for the pub for a decent meal. 'Ask a local' is a good adage to paddle by. "The pub? You can't miss it, it's on the main road in," said our local in a somewhat authoritative voice. "There is only one way into Bridport and one way out. " "We came by kayak." "Umm! Then there's TWO ways into Bridport." The pub was quiet and friendly and because it was somewhat off the beaten track we were quite a novelty. Dougie, the local cray-fisherman, had many yarns to spin, providing a wealth of information about the area. Fisherman are a great source of local knowledge and although they think you are slightly mad going to sea in such small craft, they are always helpful in giving advice about weather, tides and possible campsites. As I had suspected, four days of paddling had not helped my tendonitis. The local doctor had little sympathy and gave me a stronger dose of anti-inflammatories. But I knew more substantial action was needed to alleviate the pressure on my arm if I didn't want to jeopardise my part in the trip. I felt my only option was to put a rudder on my kayak to limit the number of support strokes needed. Not having owned a kayak with a rudder fitted and aware of the constant debate they cause, I was interested to see what difference it would make. Fitting a rudder after starting an expedition would not be easy but here luck was on my side. Jeff Jennings, one of Tasmania's formidable sea kayakers, lived in Bridport and he very kindly offered to help. Our visit was rather fortuitous for me as Jeff was driving out to Little Musselroe, one of our planned stops, in a few days to pick up some Victorian paddlers who were crossing Bass Strait. As Little Musselroe is only two days paddling away I stayed back to help fit the rudder, planning on meeting Mike and Dirk there. Dirk and Mike headed off at four in the morning to miss the expected strong sea breeze as they had a long open crossing from Bridport to Croppies Point. As it turned out the breeze never came but the heat did so the early start proved useful. Jeff and I drove into Little Mussleroe a few days later just as Mike and Dirk were pulling their kayaks ashore. An hour later the Victorian paddlers arrived, tired but elated after the rigors of a Bass Strait crossing. For those unfamiliar with this area, Bass Strait is the main stretch of water separating Tasmania from mainland Australia and has a reputation for dishing up some of the worst seas in Australia. Last year in the Sydney to Hobart yacht race it claimed six lives. It is also a Mecca for experienced kayakers looking for a challenging trip. For although on a map it looks like it is too large a crossing to attempt, there are some very well placed islands, allowing one to island hop all the way With my arm feeling better, I was ready to get back on the water and looking forward to visiting Swan island. However, it wasn't to be and a severe bout of food poisoning left me incapacitated for several days. Thinking the illness had passed, I joined the others for a paddle out to Swan Island, only to be hit again just after we landed. We set up camp in a small cove on the southern shore and while I recovered in the tent, the others explored the island. One of the interesting aspects of Swan Island, apart from its lighthouse, is its numerous venomous Tiger snakes. We found this out after wandering around the island in our usual footwear of either sandals or bare feet. This wasn't mentioned in the Reverend Fairey's log but he did mention the hospitality. "On our arrival at the house I was shown into the parlour, and then introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Baudinet, their niece and family. It was some little time before the family recovered from their astonishment, but my comfort was not forgotten. When we sat down to tea I was enabled to feel quite at home. In the evening we gathered a congregation of eight persons, and Mrs. Baudinet [her grave is still on the island] played for us on the piano." I was now faced with a dilemma, for it had been three days since I had eaten and I felt weak and dispirited. I was forced to accept that I was not yet fit enough to manage the long paddling days ahead. Therefore, for the second time I decided to pull out and try to catch up with the others in a few days down the coast. After two days of travelling through the Tasmanian countryside on the back of several delivery trucks I caught up with them at Binalong Bay near Saint Helens, about fifty kilometres down the coast. To get off Swan Island I hitched a ride with Dougie, who was out to set his cray pots, one of which he attached to my kayak to act as an anchor, while we steamed around in a choppy sea setting the rest. Jeff meet me at Musselroe and gave me a lift back to Bridport. My spirits were sinking, here it was the tenth day and I was, in paddling terms, only four days from the start. I could see my part in the trip disappearing like a piece of flotsam on the ebb tide. As I began to feel better I felt more positive and determined not to miss out on the rest of the trip. I arranged for a truck to take me to Launceston and another from there to St Helens, where I finally met up with my companions. We read in the Reverend's log. "I had been told that if I attempted to land at Falmouth I should suffer shipwreck, as it is one of the worst places for landing on the East Coast". Jeff also had warned us about this section of coast. Its steep beaches produce nasty shore dumpers making it difficult to land. This was the only place that the Reverend came out of his boat and we followed the coast looking for a suitable place to come ashore. Although we were all very experienced in coming through surf, landing a heavy expedition boat in a large shore dumper has the potential for breakage's. Arriving at Beaumaris, several kilometres north of Falmouth, we sat outside the surf line studying it for a while and decided it wasn't too bad. I stowed my hat and sunglasses, picked a reasonable sized wave, and headed for the beach. As the wave broke and I started to broach I threw my whole body into the face of the wave, going underwater for the first few seconds, though it seemed like minutes, and with a solid high brace managed to execute a beautiful beach landing. This was to be a short stop as we needed water and Dirk and I wanted to ring home as we both had teenagers who were celebrating their birthdays. Both chores completed we set of back through the surf but this time the force of one wave breaking over my kayak was so strong that it ripped the spare paddles off. We landed again and managed to retrieve one half, but extensive searching didn't reveal the missing section, so we set up our tents in the sun dunes, hoping the tide would bring it back. The loss of our only spare paddle caused some tension within the group with an air of disharmony creeping in. It didn't last long and we took advantage of the local pub, which coincidentally was just over the road. During the night the wind and rain came, turning a tricky surf exit into a completely unsafe one. It was the following morning before we were able to leave and we still needed to get through several sets of breakers. Dirk went first, getting past the shore dumpers, then catching his breath while he waited for a lull in the next set of breakers. Mike and I watched as Dirk powered through wave after wave gaining only a small distance each time. Seven times he was hit by a wall of white water before he was able to push past the last wave out into the open water and recover. Dirk was the strongest paddler in our group and Mike and I looked at each apprehensively. With my arm still strapped, Mike offered to go last and gave me a shove off. As soon as I started I dug my paddle in for all it was worth, hitting the first wave as the top started to break then the kayak made a thunderous crash as the front came down the other side. With the adrenaline pumping I kept going as fast as I could and to my amazement found I was past the surf zone before the next wave broke. "You had an easy run" was Dirk's comment. We turned to watch Mike and several times he disappeared behind a wall of water. After one thumping wave had passed we saw Mike's kayak upside down. He no sooner rolled back up than another wave was on top of him. An exhausted wet Mike eventually pulled up along side, telling how he had to roll under three waves to get out. Once past the surf the sea was smooth and calm with a large slow rolling swell. It was going to be a long day as we needed to make up for lost time and it was 55 kilometres to our next planned stop at Bicheno. To be continued *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
Pray tell what evil designer built this boat that hast made thou forsake thy god of the rudderless? ...just kidding, but I am curious. Sorry you had trouble. Nice trip report. -- Mike McNally mmcnally3_at_prodigy.net *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
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