I was in no hurry to get out of bed this morning. I had not slept well. I had chosen not to utilise my 1cm thick, 1.2m long mattress, believing that the sand beneath the tent would offer me comfort. It did not. The fineness of the grain meant that it packed well… and hard. I could tell also from the buffeting of my tent that the wind had not run out of puff. I arose at 7:00am.
My first task was to dismantle the windbreak I’d built. I was concerned that my tent had been put up in the middle of a beach access path for fishermen’s vehicles. I rolled up my sleeping bag and reorganised my equipment for a possible departure.
I then decided that the river, with an incoming tide would be a good place to launch from. It was closer to my current location, was somewhat protected from the wind, and also meant getting into the kayak in smooth water, away from the wash and surf that was the beach. Furthermore it enabled me to wash out, off, and away, the sand that was all through her. It may seem peculiar but I spend a lot of time washing and cleaning my kayak when the opportunity presents itself, only to see the work undone as soon as I put her back into the water.
I washed my tent here and then loaded the kayak. It was perfect.
I took my time in the hope that the wind would blow itself out with time. I had noticed that the fly of the tent (the exterior covering), had a layer of the fine sand sticking to it. Despite my best endeavours to brush it away with a towel it continued to return. I have no idea why this occurred although I suspect that a deposit of salt from the sea air may have been the glue that caused it to adhere so. I had discovered that the tent dries quickly when holed up at the Waikawau Palace, so I dunked it in the river. After holding it up in the stiff breeze it was both clean and dry in a matter of minutes, and ready to be rolled up and packed away. I had also turned the tent proper inside out and held it aloft to rid it of the sand that had shared the interior with me.
At 11:15am I climbed into the cockpit and enjoyed my entry to the sea via the small river. When I paddled on past the place I’d planned to stop yesterday, I thought I might try to make up for the time I’d lost with the wind now firmly behind me. I began bearing north-east and then in a definite northerly direction as I approached the coastline of the East Cape. Thankfully the wind was nowhere near as strong as the previous day’s blow.
A short enjoyable paddle to the ocean.
The coastline changed suddenly, and offered a far more dramatic relief to take in. I was also able to witness on two occasions, gannets numbering in their hundreds, plummeting into the water for a feed on schools of fish they’d obviously spied. I was unable to get as close as on my previous encounter but their greater numbers ensured that the spectacle was magnificent nonetheless.
The idea to make up for lost time was laid to rest when the wind turned abruptly into my face. Before it had a chance to strengthen too much, I broke from the point-to-point approach I’d been adopting, for one that hugged the shore. I noted nothing inviting in the way of a possible camp site on a long, rocky beach covered with more driftwood. To beat my way into the breeze I counted fifty more powerful strokes than usual, and then repeated this process about ½ a dozen more times. In this way I made ground surprisingly quickly up the beach and decided that a look around the headland might offer me something more inviting.
I came across a small cove with lots of uncovered rocks on the low tide that were easily navigated and even offered some protection. I spied also a small patch of grass that would allow me to pitch a tent. A good campsite at the end of a day’s paddle has much to do in determining how I view a day. A hard paddle rewarded by a good campsite delivers a great deal of satisfaction. A leisurely paddle completed with a horrible conditions and campsite, will generally determine a less than satisfactory outlook on the entire day’s proceedings now matter how good a time I‘d had on the water.
So with a grassy patch located only some 30 metres from the water’s edge, no rain, and no force 9 gale to disturb me, and some shade, I was very content, happy even, despite again only having paddled for a portion of the day’s available daylight hours. It was 3:10pm and with the late start I’d paddled 28km. I’d actually begun to hit a rhythm\and would have liked to carry on for the further 13km required to make my destination, but after seeing what yesterday’s winds had whipped up, I was not going to risk arriving late. Better safe, than sorry! By 4:00pm the tent was pitched. It was easy!
I was extremely happy with this site.
I explored the cove at low tide and found a couple of very small oysters on the exposed rocks but I still had a couple of hours of daylight left so I decided to rig the handline I’d bought a couple of weeks back, with the accompanying lure. The kayak was empty and laid out close to the water, and it looked a likely spot. I’d been told that the local fish, a kahawai, hung close around the shores and rocks and that by running a lure past these, I might get lucky.
The cove.
It was interesting to note how the unloaded kayak handled. I noticed the ease with which it got moving and its friskiness on any small chop. I don’t however believe that its speed was much greater once moving. After ten minutes I was on my third and final sweep of the cove. I was keeping up a decent rating, not being sure how quickly I needed to move to ensure the lure travelled properly, and to make sure that it did not sink and catch itself on a rocky outcrop.
So I was travelling at a decent rate when, with the hand reel held between my knees, I felt a significant jerk. I was reasonably confident that I’d avoided a snag but could not be sure. When I dropped the tethered paddle and picked up the line I knew at once that I’d caught a fish. My immediate reaction was that it might be too big to reel in under the circumstances. It was pulling strongly and it was somewhat awkward sitting in the kayak as it went first one way and then the next. It was all I could do not to become entangled in the line.
I was at least confident that the line would not break. I had not gone with some lightweight line just to give the fish a sporting chance. In all my years I have caught so few worthwhile fish, that it was time the odds were stacked a little in my favour! I kept the strain on the line at all times, even at those stages when I ceased winding because I felt the fish put in some added fight. My concerns were that it would find a rock to swim under and lodge itself there, or that it had not hooked itself well enough allowing it to shake free of the lure. I was playing out my own modern version Hemingway's, Old Man and The Sea.
I need not have worried because I soon had what I would call a ‘monster’ aboard, flapping between my legs. Not ideal ,but there is not a lot of choice aboard my craft. I just hoped that it did not have any spikes that would puncture me in that particularly sensitive region. I was confident that it was the kahawai. It was big and silver, and looked like a fish. Not some spiky, ugly, coloured, thing with multiple eyes, that puffed up when you caught it. It was not, in my mind, something John West would reject.
Twelve tennis balls long?
I was told that this was one of those fish you had to bleed as soon as you caught it. To do this you placed your fingers inside the gills and ripped. If not done quickly it would affect the flavour. I ripped and let the blood run freely. I tried to do this by holding onto the tail and hanging it over the side but was so worried that the still wriggling catch would drop from my grip or that worse still, I would invite something larger to dine on me, that I allowed it to bleed inside my cockpit. I always cleaned the kayak anyway.
Feeling puffed up with my instant success, I made my way to shore and fumbled around for my stove. No wood fires for me today. I had no foil or oils, so I decided to simply ‘boil’ the thing. I believe poached is the term? My penknife again came in handy as I less-than-expertly filleted my dinner. I even tried some flesh sashimi style. It was only average. My large fish looked decidedly smaller after I’d cut away those bits that did not look edible, but it was something, and hey it had cost me nothing. Today I’d helped myself to oysters and now I was to eat fish. I ate most of it and it actually tasted just like… well, like fish. Some dill, lemon, salt and pepper, with a side salad would not have gone astray but I had to make do with what I had.
I climbed into my sleeping bag at 7:00pm feeling that my chances of survival in the wild had increased enormously today. I stayed awake for another two hours waiting to see if my mother and father would call me on the satellite phone.
My first task was to dismantle the windbreak I’d built. I was concerned that my tent had been put up in the middle of a beach access path for fishermen’s vehicles. I rolled up my sleeping bag and reorganised my equipment for a possible departure.
I then decided that the river, with an incoming tide would be a good place to launch from. It was closer to my current location, was somewhat protected from the wind, and also meant getting into the kayak in smooth water, away from the wash and surf that was the beach. Furthermore it enabled me to wash out, off, and away, the sand that was all through her. It may seem peculiar but I spend a lot of time washing and cleaning my kayak when the opportunity presents itself, only to see the work undone as soon as I put her back into the water.
I washed my tent here and then loaded the kayak. It was perfect.
I took my time in the hope that the wind would blow itself out with time. I had noticed that the fly of the tent (the exterior covering), had a layer of the fine sand sticking to it. Despite my best endeavours to brush it away with a towel it continued to return. I have no idea why this occurred although I suspect that a deposit of salt from the sea air may have been the glue that caused it to adhere so. I had discovered that the tent dries quickly when holed up at the Waikawau Palace, so I dunked it in the river. After holding it up in the stiff breeze it was both clean and dry in a matter of minutes, and ready to be rolled up and packed away. I had also turned the tent proper inside out and held it aloft to rid it of the sand that had shared the interior with me.
At 11:15am I climbed into the cockpit and enjoyed my entry to the sea via the small river. When I paddled on past the place I’d planned to stop yesterday, I thought I might try to make up for the time I’d lost with the wind now firmly behind me. I began bearing north-east and then in a definite northerly direction as I approached the coastline of the East Cape. Thankfully the wind was nowhere near as strong as the previous day’s blow.
A short enjoyable paddle to the ocean.
The coastline changed suddenly, and offered a far more dramatic relief to take in. I was also able to witness on two occasions, gannets numbering in their hundreds, plummeting into the water for a feed on schools of fish they’d obviously spied. I was unable to get as close as on my previous encounter but their greater numbers ensured that the spectacle was magnificent nonetheless.
The idea to make up for lost time was laid to rest when the wind turned abruptly into my face. Before it had a chance to strengthen too much, I broke from the point-to-point approach I’d been adopting, for one that hugged the shore. I noted nothing inviting in the way of a possible camp site on a long, rocky beach covered with more driftwood. To beat my way into the breeze I counted fifty more powerful strokes than usual, and then repeated this process about ½ a dozen more times. In this way I made ground surprisingly quickly up the beach and decided that a look around the headland might offer me something more inviting.
I came across a small cove with lots of uncovered rocks on the low tide that were easily navigated and even offered some protection. I spied also a small patch of grass that would allow me to pitch a tent. A good campsite at the end of a day’s paddle has much to do in determining how I view a day. A hard paddle rewarded by a good campsite delivers a great deal of satisfaction. A leisurely paddle completed with a horrible conditions and campsite, will generally determine a less than satisfactory outlook on the entire day’s proceedings now matter how good a time I‘d had on the water.
So with a grassy patch located only some 30 metres from the water’s edge, no rain, and no force 9 gale to disturb me, and some shade, I was very content, happy even, despite again only having paddled for a portion of the day’s available daylight hours. It was 3:10pm and with the late start I’d paddled 28km. I’d actually begun to hit a rhythm\and would have liked to carry on for the further 13km required to make my destination, but after seeing what yesterday’s winds had whipped up, I was not going to risk arriving late. Better safe, than sorry! By 4:00pm the tent was pitched. It was easy!
I was extremely happy with this site.
I explored the cove at low tide and found a couple of very small oysters on the exposed rocks but I still had a couple of hours of daylight left so I decided to rig the handline I’d bought a couple of weeks back, with the accompanying lure. The kayak was empty and laid out close to the water, and it looked a likely spot. I’d been told that the local fish, a kahawai, hung close around the shores and rocks and that by running a lure past these, I might get lucky.
The cove.
It was interesting to note how the unloaded kayak handled. I noticed the ease with which it got moving and its friskiness on any small chop. I don’t however believe that its speed was much greater once moving. After ten minutes I was on my third and final sweep of the cove. I was keeping up a decent rating, not being sure how quickly I needed to move to ensure the lure travelled properly, and to make sure that it did not sink and catch itself on a rocky outcrop.
So I was travelling at a decent rate when, with the hand reel held between my knees, I felt a significant jerk. I was reasonably confident that I’d avoided a snag but could not be sure. When I dropped the tethered paddle and picked up the line I knew at once that I’d caught a fish. My immediate reaction was that it might be too big to reel in under the circumstances. It was pulling strongly and it was somewhat awkward sitting in the kayak as it went first one way and then the next. It was all I could do not to become entangled in the line.
I was at least confident that the line would not break. I had not gone with some lightweight line just to give the fish a sporting chance. In all my years I have caught so few worthwhile fish, that it was time the odds were stacked a little in my favour! I kept the strain on the line at all times, even at those stages when I ceased winding because I felt the fish put in some added fight. My concerns were that it would find a rock to swim under and lodge itself there, or that it had not hooked itself well enough allowing it to shake free of the lure. I was playing out my own modern version Hemingway's, Old Man and The Sea.
I need not have worried because I soon had what I would call a ‘monster’ aboard, flapping between my legs. Not ideal ,but there is not a lot of choice aboard my craft. I just hoped that it did not have any spikes that would puncture me in that particularly sensitive region. I was confident that it was the kahawai. It was big and silver, and looked like a fish. Not some spiky, ugly, coloured, thing with multiple eyes, that puffed up when you caught it. It was not, in my mind, something John West would reject.
Twelve tennis balls long?
I was told that this was one of those fish you had to bleed as soon as you caught it. To do this you placed your fingers inside the gills and ripped. If not done quickly it would affect the flavour. I ripped and let the blood run freely. I tried to do this by holding onto the tail and hanging it over the side but was so worried that the still wriggling catch would drop from my grip or that worse still, I would invite something larger to dine on me, that I allowed it to bleed inside my cockpit. I always cleaned the kayak anyway.
Feeling puffed up with my instant success, I made my way to shore and fumbled around for my stove. No wood fires for me today. I had no foil or oils, so I decided to simply ‘boil’ the thing. I believe poached is the term? My penknife again came in handy as I less-than-expertly filleted my dinner. I even tried some flesh sashimi style. It was only average. My large fish looked decidedly smaller after I’d cut away those bits that did not look edible, but it was something, and hey it had cost me nothing. Today I’d helped myself to oysters and now I was to eat fish. I ate most of it and it actually tasted just like… well, like fish. Some dill, lemon, salt and pepper, with a side salad would not have gone astray but I had to make do with what I had.
I climbed into my sleeping bag at 7:00pm feeling that my chances of survival in the wild had increased enormously today. I stayed awake for another two hours waiting to see if my mother and father would call me on the satellite phone.
