I awoke early sometime before 6:00am feeling energetic and ready for the day, although a strong westerly posed some concern. By 7:30am the kayak was sitting on the beach, packed and ready to go. My energy that morning had seen me sprint up the sand each time I made the trip to my tent site to pick up the items that needed to be packed inside the hull. I was simply enjoying the sensation of feeling fit again! With the benefit of hindsight I might have put that energy to better use later in the day, but I was not to know then that my reserves would be hitting empty and that both my body and mind would be sorely tested as a result, and that any chance to reflect on this was still 11 hours away.
The campground’s office was not open until 8:30am - I had to return my power cord and recover the deposit - so I used the hour to have a couple of coffees and a lemon tart (with whipped cream), as well as a read of the paper. The tart would be burnt off within the first ½ hour, I justified to myself. I also learnt that Tiger Woods was giving up golf … what have I been missing, I thought to myself!
At 8:45am, as dark clouds approached with threatening rain, I assessed the surf. At 8:55am, I was sitting beyond the breaking waves, having once again successfully negotiated this crucial component of my kayaking adventure. I felt excellent. Little did I know the portent that those clouds delivered. For now I was just happy that my shoulder felt fine. I felt ready for a big day and planned to do it justice after my rest of the previous day. My plan was to aim for a town called Matata . My calculations suggested that it would require a paddle of 57km, further than any previous legs, but with favourable winds, a NE swell of a metre, and the previous day’s rest, I felt it might be achievable. If not, I had a stop pencilled in some 16km short of this target.
A note regarding the shoulder… I decided that without a doubt the worst part occurred two nights earlier when removing the strapping I’d left on for those 3-4 days. It felt like I was removing the skin with the hair. I was actually seeing stars for some time after completing the painful process. Even the thought of that episode sends a shiver though me just thinking about it… AARGH!!!
As it was this was now behind me. Out on the water in the first hour I experienced both an intense sun, with its early morning, low angle glare off the water, and a heavy downpour. Fortunately the breeze that had worried me earlier had died off before a more favourable one picked up at about 11:00am. Four hours into the paddle and I had covered over 33km and was ready for a break.
The factors that demand a break are a sore backside and aching hands. The arms and shoulders appreciate the respite but do not demand it. I had added a 4mm foam pad to the rigid seat but this does little to relieve the pain that slowly intensifies in the buttocks over time, and the only way to offer it relief is to get out of the kayak. Numerous, albeit only slight adjustments whilst paddling, offer only minimal relief whilst risking a capsize in choppy conditions. The hands also suffer, with the right hand more so because its grip is fixed on the paddle shaft. I am conscious of not gripping the paddle too tightly but am forced after time to seek respite by dipping my hands in the cool ocean water. Whilst conducting this exercise I always keep a watch out for predators just in case they mistake my fingers for a meal of worms which for Gonzo was always a source of mirth! The best course of action however is to quite simply take a break that involves making land. At 12:55pm I made my decision.
I felt I had no choice but to make a surf landing because the beach went on for kilometres and quite frankly I felt buoyed by my handling of the waves earlier in the day. The idea was to paddle in behind a wave and hope to make the beach before anything bigger came up behind me. Unfortunately an unexpected wave appeared and broke well behind me. When it caught up, it promptly pushed the kayak sideways (known as broaching) and we rolled. I would like to think that it was my surf skills that saw us immediately resurface but I know better. I was still looking to find the spray skirt’s release when I suddenly found myself upright and sliding sideways towards the beach. Whilst any observer on the beach may have been fooled, I suspect that the weight of my belongings inside the kayak’s hull, acting as ballast, was a key.
My first clue to the disaster that had just taken place was offered by the sight of the rear compartment having been lifted from its resting place. This alerted me to the fact that one half of my split paddle was missing. This is a paddle that splits into two. It is my backup in case I break or lose my first paddle i.e. a spare, and it is strapped on the top of the rear deck. It was a quick job to retrieve the paddle from amongst the waves but on returning it to its rightful place I realised that something was missing… Gonzo!!!
The spare paddle in two pieces as iot is stored on the rear deck.
A bolt of shock ran through me. The harness was still tethered to the deck but the other end lay there loosely. A frayed end suggesting some force had unhinged the knot that had held him fast. I quickly scanned the shore and foaming waters but found nothing. Each time I saws something in the shore’s wash I would run up the beach in the hope that it was him, hoping to reach him before the clutches of the oceans drew him back into the cold embrace. Each time I came across a rock or piece of driftwood my heart sank further. The retrieval of the paddle moments earlier had suggested both some sideways and outgoing sweep, left me with little doubt that Gonzo had been lost, but it did not stop me looking.
No Gonzo in his rightful place.
I wondered later if in some last act of desperation he who had sacrificed himself, and with an almighty heave, had himself righted the stricken craft. There will be some of you who will recall his memorable performance from The Muppet Movie singing “I’m Going to Go Back There Some Day”, and I suspect that he is now, on his back to his distant home planet in the far flung reaches of outer space.
The kayak sitting on the beach just after Gonzo's disappearance. Note the foamed water.
I was understandably gutted and could not help but feel responsible in that it was my knot that had not held fast. I heated some rice on my small stove and found a spot between two fences that protected me from the cool breeze that was strengthening all the time. I still felt cold. It was so early in my trip and I had lost my First Mate, my Little Buddy. I did not feel like doing anything but nor did I want to stay on this beach that had just been the cause of my grief. It mattered not that I was now feeling worn out from the morning’s endeavours (I’d already covered more than 30km), or that the wind was picking up, or that the seas were becoming agitated, or that the swell was on the rise.
I was going to push on and at 2:40pm I crashed through the now 3’ surf. The NE breeze was now brisk and the chop accompanying it was nothing less than moderate. I had to concentrate. On numerous occasions a combination of chop and swell would actually break and roll over my kayak’s deck. The only thing in my favour was that these conditions were prevailing from my rear starboard quarter and not from anywhere in front. The kayak, as would any craft, exhibits a desire to turn side-on to the wind, chop, and swell requiring constant adjustments of the foot controlled rudder to keep it on track but this was preferable to tackling the same conditions head on. That would quite simply not have been possible for me at that moment.
I passed Pikowai, marking 41km on the day’s journey and in the rough conditions I was now testing new grounds. I wanted nothing more than for the day to end but I was determined to make it to Matata. It was getting late, about 4:00pm but I was keeping up my 8km/h speed and figured that I could last another two hours. The fact that the ends of my paddle were now doing little more than slapping the water was being offset by the wind and runners that I was surfing.
The hands and buttocks were crying out for a break whilst the lower back had joined the queue. The motor that is the shoulders and had been running on reserve for some time already. These components don’t get sore, they just shut down it takes a concerted effort to extract the power that is required to propel and guide the kayak in the choppy conditions. Chop and swell would regularly rear above my head. I was riding a bucking pony today and the physical demands were beginning to tax me mentally and these conditions required an alertness that might otherwise be rested.
The last two hours stretched on for an eternity and when I finally rounded a point to see a long beach backed by dunes that hid the promised community and campground from might sight I was simply over the whole experience. I had learnt that by simply beaching did not mean the end of a day’s hardships. The campground might well be a kilometres down the beach. With surf breaking, my muscles and bones weary, and my mind crying out for a stop, it was not over.
I reached behind me to grab my binoculars. Reaching behind in the choppy conditions required a balancing act and strong concentration. I had little left of either. My hurting hand cried in pain as I prised open the rubber lid and then again as I closed it to keep out the water that was washing over my decks. The effort was in vain because it is next to impossible to maintain one’s balance in a heaving ocean when trying to focus on a fixed point through the lenses of a pair of binoculars. I did my best to make out features with the unfocused glimpses that I snatched before having to refocus on the kayak’s stability.
I was still 200m from shore. Ay closer would have risked a breaking surf. I tried to see something that suggested a camping ground but there were no clues. I was simply sitting there wondering what to do next when some chop, or it may have been a gust of wind, in any case nothing extraordinary, when combined with \a lapse in concentration, I simply tumbled over.
In truth the cool water (my guess about 16° C), was in a manner refreshing. I was thankful then for the bilge pump in the turbulent conditions, and I switched it on thankfully whilst complementing it with the manual hand pump. Once enough water had been removed and the resultant stability returned, I clambered aboard and in refixing the spray skirt, determined that I was simply going to paddle straight into the beach and decide my next more from there. I had nothing else to give. That which, according to my GPS, may have been a river mouth a couple of kilometres further up the beach was simply to far. In passing this feature two days later my decision not to paddle there would be vindicated as it was nothing more than a swampy marsh.
I summonsed the last remnants of strength in my body. Knowing that this would be the end of it helped in this regard. I need having nothing left after this final spurt. I approached the beach on the back of a set and was successful in removing my weary body from the cockpit before reaching a dumping wave on the beach’s sand. It was whilst congratulating myself on this feat that another wave simply snatched the heavy kayak from my grip and dropped it upside down on the sand. I was amazed to see that the visibility flag, the third I’d bought, remained in tact. When the next wave rolled the kayak over three times and further up the beach it did not survive. As it was I could not have cared less. I had no energy left to care. I did notice that the kayak seemed to still be in one piece. I was simply relieved to be at the end of my paddle. It was 6:12pm.
It was to my delight then when on climbing the dune I spied a campervan on a patch of mown lawn immediately below my feet. Could it be? I yelled out to attending couple, “Is this the campground?“, and on hearing their Danish accented reply to the affirmative a large uncontrollable grin grew to envelope my face. All the kilometres of beach to choose from and I had fluked it and I needed it so badly!
I emptied the kayak and carried it and all my belongings over the dune. The site was minimal. It had running cold water from a spring that was drinkable. It had no electricity. I paid for two nights at $9 a night to the nice mannered elderly lady who resided in the large bus at the camp’s entrance. I had no plans to kayak anywhere tomorrow.
By dropping 50cents into a coin slot I had a 6 minute hot shower that felt as good as any $500 spa treatment. I was then ready to put up my tent and cook one of my dehydrated meals reserved for special occasions. I had the first that came out of my bag. Sweet & Sour Chicken, in this instance.
I was asleep by 9:00pm. I had paddled 61.19km at a moving average of 8.3km/h and reached a top speed of 19.6km/h at some point… I may well have been upside down when achieving this.
The campground’s office was not open until 8:30am - I had to return my power cord and recover the deposit - so I used the hour to have a couple of coffees and a lemon tart (with whipped cream), as well as a read of the paper. The tart would be burnt off within the first ½ hour, I justified to myself. I also learnt that Tiger Woods was giving up golf … what have I been missing, I thought to myself!
At 8:45am, as dark clouds approached with threatening rain, I assessed the surf. At 8:55am, I was sitting beyond the breaking waves, having once again successfully negotiated this crucial component of my kayaking adventure. I felt excellent. Little did I know the portent that those clouds delivered. For now I was just happy that my shoulder felt fine. I felt ready for a big day and planned to do it justice after my rest of the previous day. My plan was to aim for a town called Matata . My calculations suggested that it would require a paddle of 57km, further than any previous legs, but with favourable winds, a NE swell of a metre, and the previous day’s rest, I felt it might be achievable. If not, I had a stop pencilled in some 16km short of this target.
A note regarding the shoulder… I decided that without a doubt the worst part occurred two nights earlier when removing the strapping I’d left on for those 3-4 days. It felt like I was removing the skin with the hair. I was actually seeing stars for some time after completing the painful process. Even the thought of that episode sends a shiver though me just thinking about it… AARGH!!!
As it was this was now behind me. Out on the water in the first hour I experienced both an intense sun, with its early morning, low angle glare off the water, and a heavy downpour. Fortunately the breeze that had worried me earlier had died off before a more favourable one picked up at about 11:00am. Four hours into the paddle and I had covered over 33km and was ready for a break.
The factors that demand a break are a sore backside and aching hands. The arms and shoulders appreciate the respite but do not demand it. I had added a 4mm foam pad to the rigid seat but this does little to relieve the pain that slowly intensifies in the buttocks over time, and the only way to offer it relief is to get out of the kayak. Numerous, albeit only slight adjustments whilst paddling, offer only minimal relief whilst risking a capsize in choppy conditions. The hands also suffer, with the right hand more so because its grip is fixed on the paddle shaft. I am conscious of not gripping the paddle too tightly but am forced after time to seek respite by dipping my hands in the cool ocean water. Whilst conducting this exercise I always keep a watch out for predators just in case they mistake my fingers for a meal of worms which for Gonzo was always a source of mirth! The best course of action however is to quite simply take a break that involves making land. At 12:55pm I made my decision.
I felt I had no choice but to make a surf landing because the beach went on for kilometres and quite frankly I felt buoyed by my handling of the waves earlier in the day. The idea was to paddle in behind a wave and hope to make the beach before anything bigger came up behind me. Unfortunately an unexpected wave appeared and broke well behind me. When it caught up, it promptly pushed the kayak sideways (known as broaching) and we rolled. I would like to think that it was my surf skills that saw us immediately resurface but I know better. I was still looking to find the spray skirt’s release when I suddenly found myself upright and sliding sideways towards the beach. Whilst any observer on the beach may have been fooled, I suspect that the weight of my belongings inside the kayak’s hull, acting as ballast, was a key.
My first clue to the disaster that had just taken place was offered by the sight of the rear compartment having been lifted from its resting place. This alerted me to the fact that one half of my split paddle was missing. This is a paddle that splits into two. It is my backup in case I break or lose my first paddle i.e. a spare, and it is strapped on the top of the rear deck. It was a quick job to retrieve the paddle from amongst the waves but on returning it to its rightful place I realised that something was missing… Gonzo!!!
The spare paddle in two pieces as iot is stored on the rear deck.
A bolt of shock ran through me. The harness was still tethered to the deck but the other end lay there loosely. A frayed end suggesting some force had unhinged the knot that had held him fast. I quickly scanned the shore and foaming waters but found nothing. Each time I saws something in the shore’s wash I would run up the beach in the hope that it was him, hoping to reach him before the clutches of the oceans drew him back into the cold embrace. Each time I came across a rock or piece of driftwood my heart sank further. The retrieval of the paddle moments earlier had suggested both some sideways and outgoing sweep, left me with little doubt that Gonzo had been lost, but it did not stop me looking.
No Gonzo in his rightful place.
I wondered later if in some last act of desperation he who had sacrificed himself, and with an almighty heave, had himself righted the stricken craft. There will be some of you who will recall his memorable performance from The Muppet Movie singing “I’m Going to Go Back There Some Day”, and I suspect that he is now, on his back to his distant home planet in the far flung reaches of outer space.
The kayak sitting on the beach just after Gonzo's disappearance. Note the foamed water.
I was understandably gutted and could not help but feel responsible in that it was my knot that had not held fast. I heated some rice on my small stove and found a spot between two fences that protected me from the cool breeze that was strengthening all the time. I still felt cold. It was so early in my trip and I had lost my First Mate, my Little Buddy. I did not feel like doing anything but nor did I want to stay on this beach that had just been the cause of my grief. It mattered not that I was now feeling worn out from the morning’s endeavours (I’d already covered more than 30km), or that the wind was picking up, or that the seas were becoming agitated, or that the swell was on the rise.
I was going to push on and at 2:40pm I crashed through the now 3’ surf. The NE breeze was now brisk and the chop accompanying it was nothing less than moderate. I had to concentrate. On numerous occasions a combination of chop and swell would actually break and roll over my kayak’s deck. The only thing in my favour was that these conditions were prevailing from my rear starboard quarter and not from anywhere in front. The kayak, as would any craft, exhibits a desire to turn side-on to the wind, chop, and swell requiring constant adjustments of the foot controlled rudder to keep it on track but this was preferable to tackling the same conditions head on. That would quite simply not have been possible for me at that moment.
I passed Pikowai, marking 41km on the day’s journey and in the rough conditions I was now testing new grounds. I wanted nothing more than for the day to end but I was determined to make it to Matata. It was getting late, about 4:00pm but I was keeping up my 8km/h speed and figured that I could last another two hours. The fact that the ends of my paddle were now doing little more than slapping the water was being offset by the wind and runners that I was surfing.
The hands and buttocks were crying out for a break whilst the lower back had joined the queue. The motor that is the shoulders and had been running on reserve for some time already. These components don’t get sore, they just shut down it takes a concerted effort to extract the power that is required to propel and guide the kayak in the choppy conditions. Chop and swell would regularly rear above my head. I was riding a bucking pony today and the physical demands were beginning to tax me mentally and these conditions required an alertness that might otherwise be rested.
The last two hours stretched on for an eternity and when I finally rounded a point to see a long beach backed by dunes that hid the promised community and campground from might sight I was simply over the whole experience. I had learnt that by simply beaching did not mean the end of a day’s hardships. The campground might well be a kilometres down the beach. With surf breaking, my muscles and bones weary, and my mind crying out for a stop, it was not over.
I reached behind me to grab my binoculars. Reaching behind in the choppy conditions required a balancing act and strong concentration. I had little left of either. My hurting hand cried in pain as I prised open the rubber lid and then again as I closed it to keep out the water that was washing over my decks. The effort was in vain because it is next to impossible to maintain one’s balance in a heaving ocean when trying to focus on a fixed point through the lenses of a pair of binoculars. I did my best to make out features with the unfocused glimpses that I snatched before having to refocus on the kayak’s stability.
I was still 200m from shore. Ay closer would have risked a breaking surf. I tried to see something that suggested a camping ground but there were no clues. I was simply sitting there wondering what to do next when some chop, or it may have been a gust of wind, in any case nothing extraordinary, when combined with \a lapse in concentration, I simply tumbled over.
In truth the cool water (my guess about 16° C), was in a manner refreshing. I was thankful then for the bilge pump in the turbulent conditions, and I switched it on thankfully whilst complementing it with the manual hand pump. Once enough water had been removed and the resultant stability returned, I clambered aboard and in refixing the spray skirt, determined that I was simply going to paddle straight into the beach and decide my next more from there. I had nothing else to give. That which, according to my GPS, may have been a river mouth a couple of kilometres further up the beach was simply to far. In passing this feature two days later my decision not to paddle there would be vindicated as it was nothing more than a swampy marsh.
I summonsed the last remnants of strength in my body. Knowing that this would be the end of it helped in this regard. I need having nothing left after this final spurt. I approached the beach on the back of a set and was successful in removing my weary body from the cockpit before reaching a dumping wave on the beach’s sand. It was whilst congratulating myself on this feat that another wave simply snatched the heavy kayak from my grip and dropped it upside down on the sand. I was amazed to see that the visibility flag, the third I’d bought, remained in tact. When the next wave rolled the kayak over three times and further up the beach it did not survive. As it was I could not have cared less. I had no energy left to care. I did notice that the kayak seemed to still be in one piece. I was simply relieved to be at the end of my paddle. It was 6:12pm.
It was to my delight then when on climbing the dune I spied a campervan on a patch of mown lawn immediately below my feet. Could it be? I yelled out to attending couple, “Is this the campground?“, and on hearing their Danish accented reply to the affirmative a large uncontrollable grin grew to envelope my face. All the kilometres of beach to choose from and I had fluked it and I needed it so badly!
I emptied the kayak and carried it and all my belongings over the dune. The site was minimal. It had running cold water from a spring that was drinkable. It had no electricity. I paid for two nights at $9 a night to the nice mannered elderly lady who resided in the large bus at the camp’s entrance. I had no plans to kayak anywhere tomorrow.
By dropping 50cents into a coin slot I had a 6 minute hot shower that felt as good as any $500 spa treatment. I was then ready to put up my tent and cook one of my dehydrated meals reserved for special occasions. I had the first that came out of my bag. Sweet & Sour Chicken, in this instance.
I was asleep by 9:00pm. I had paddled 61.19km at a moving average of 8.3km/h and reached a top speed of 19.6km/h at some point… I may well have been upside down when achieving this.
Gonzo, as we remember him.
