A resident camper had agreed yesterday to assist me in transporting the kayak and gear across to the beach. This sort of assistance means the world to me and can save me hours in time and large amounts of energy when it comes to beginning the day. I was able to pack the kayak there on the grass as it lay beside my tent and then simply lift it onto the back of the vehicles tray and drop it off on the beach. It gains these supportive persons an automatic and rightful inclusion on Gonzo’s Roll of Honour. It means the world to me and I again voice my sincere thanks.
With the wife there to wish me luck and point me in the right direction, the hope was that we might cover a good distance today. I had been warned of very strong currents of up to 5 knots along the northern edge of the East Cape, but my advice suggested that on an incoming tide it would actually work for me. I had 4 or 5 hours by my calculations before the tide turned. With some rugged coastline promised I certainly did not want to be caught fighting against water moving at such a rate.
I needed to cover a good distance with such limited options for putting ashore. A potential stop nearly 30km on was my first, although I wanted to push on past this and aim for the next option, Hicks Bay which was almost 20km further on. 30km was not enough, but 50km would or could be a test depending on what the day threw at me. My send-off party appeared more confident than I.
I was farewelled at 8:00am. There was little breeze although the seas displayed a hangover from an earlier interaction with some weather. After rounding my first headland I came across one of the fishing boats I’d been told would be working the waters. I spoke to the skipper of Lightning for a while about what I was doing, whilst in turn asking him whether he was seeing any action. After being told that it was a bit quiet the bedraggled Sean Penn look-alike then yelled out something along the lines of me being a fornicating legend, and wished a good trip.
It does give me reason to pause when such hardy fishermen view me as being outrageous, but I remind myself that what I am doing is not much different from going for a surf on Manly Beach. In this case the main difference is that I am simply landing on a different beach e.g. Bondi. Importantly, I do not go out each and every day. The camping of course is a different matter, but here I am referring only to the ocean component. Simplistic maybe, but in my mind getting towards the essence of what I’m doing.
Soon after my encounter with the Lightning I was rounding Cape Runaway, marking the northern most point of my trip around the East Coast. It was 9:15am and my speed was 7.6km/h. This remote and desolate location (no road access) is also near where history recognises the landing place for one of the first migrations to New Zealand from Hawaiki, the mythical land to which some Polynesian cultures trace their origins.
Rounding Cape Runaway my bearing changed from a north-easterly to easterly one.
The ocean, coastline, and even light took on a noticeably different ambience as I rounded this point. The day grew brighter, the sea took on a deeper resonance, there was an added vitality to the sea breeze, and the coastline had a rugged beauty typified by steep mountainous slopes, plunging sharply into the sea. Even the clouds here appeared more fulsome, and their whiteness bolder. This energy invigorated me and the feeling would remain for most of the day.
Whilst later consulting my marine maps I noted that the ocean here was at times over 100m deep. Far deeper than any others I’d paddled.
I now had for the first time, a real sea-breeze directly behind me. It would slowly strengthen over the course of the next 4 hours up to about 20knots. The forecast rough seas eventuated. They were both exciting and helpful, and I would spend much of the time surfing down large swells and chop.
These hills were extremely steep and up to 491m high!
Just before 11:00am I received a good fright when surfing down one such swell. I literally ran over a sunfish! Being the world’s largest bony fish with an average length of 1.8m and an average weight of 1,000 kg I am not sure how I did not see it until my bow was on top of it. I do know that my initial thought was not of a sunfish, although by the time it was beneath my cockpit (a split second later), I had already completely dispelled the more frightening thought that had crossed my mind. Well, almost completely.
I did get a very good look at it. I was essentially sitting on it as the kayak rode along its back and I recognised it from pictures I’d probably seen back in my school days. And my teachers all said I never paid any attention!
I brought the kayak around into the wind and chop and was surprised to note the large fish still on the surface lifting one of its large pectoral fins up out of the water. It was probably stunned and asking itself what the hell had just run over its head all the way out here! For my part and I dismissed once more the impression that it might be the dorsal fin of a certain fish type that did not live on a diet of jellyfish. I was able to capture its blurry image on my video camera just before it made for deeper and more kayak-free waters, at least confirming that the encounter had taken place.
A reminder that I hope to be in a position to load video footage onto the blogsite once I reach Gisborne and have the required software loaded onto my laptop. Please stay tuned!
At 11:30am I passed Lottin Point and my first potential stop since departing earlier that morning. I was making excellent time and did not even bother to land and stretch the legs. It would have meant detouring from my line deeper into a bay using up valuable time. I was actually concerned that the stiff breeze would stop and was conscious too of the fact that the tide would turn in a couple of hours time. My average speed had lifted to 8:0km/h and I had covered a distance of 27.17km.
I rounded another significant point. The seas had if anything got larger but were running near enough to parallel with the coastline, continuing to push me along at a good rate. I did notice that my helmet that was stored on the rear deck towards the stern had washed into a position that saw it catching water and acting as a drag. Short of climbing out in the rough seas to replace it, there was nothing I could do unless I cam across somewhere to put the kayak ashore. I would not find such a place for nearly an hour-and-a-half and was frustrated that I could do nothing.
At 12:50pm nearing my destination of Hicks Bay I chanced upon a small protected cove surrounded by exposed rocks. The water was smooth and it was a fortunate find on this otherwise unapproachable shoreline. 15 minutes later I was moving again tempted by the proximity of Hicks Bay and by 1:30pm I had turned into its protected waters. I noted that my average speed had increased to 8.2km/h despite the helmet and its slowing effect.
I made my way along the perimeter of the bay to avoid the squalling effect of the breeze funnelling inside the bay. I had been informed that the camping ground was “two paddocks back” from the beach but that there was a creek in the far corner that might offer me some assistance in reaching it. The creek’s entrance meant that I had to drag the kayak before I was in a section barely deep enough or wide enough to accommodate me. I rounded a fallen tree, just, ducked under a coupe of wire fences, scarcely, and herded a family of noisy but impressively marked ducks before realising that I could go no further. I was dismayed to note when I climbed the banks that I could still not see the camping ground.
These guys were extremely handsome.
I had a decision to make. The clouds had closed in and it was beginning to rain, the wind had dropped which was possibly a good thing at this stage, and it had still not reached 3:00pm. I would head out the bay and round the headland. I’d been told of another camping ground there, closer to the beach, but with a steeply rising shore. I had thought that reaching it, a place called Te Araroa, was overly optimistic when I planned my targets. I was concerned that y wonderful day’s paddle would be blighted by a less than satisfactory solution.
I dragged my kayak back to the ocean and paddled out through the surf. I rounded the headland and made my way inside the next bay. In the near corner I sighted a couple on the beach and got as close as I could without being caught in the breaking swell that was bouncing off the natural rock wall near where they were fossicking. I actually had to paddle outwards to avoid a larger set wave but then decided to make for the beach so that I could ask the couple if they had any knowledge of the campground. Rather unceremoniously I rolled as I came in on a wave and had to exit the cockpit whilst hanging upside down. No coming back upright here to fool these onlookers into thinking I was a highly skilled waterman.
The couple proved to be a most fortunate chance happening. They were camping at the site I was looking for. He helped me carry and push and drag the fully laden kayak the couple of hundred metres up a small creek close to where I needed to get. They too had just arrived and were waiting to check in too. I would spend some time with these magnificent people the following day, but for the time being was extremely thankful for the selfless help they had extended towards me.
I would take one look at a comfortable looking room with a large king size bed, bathroom, and television, and ditch the idea of pitching my tent justifying that tomorrow would be Christmas Day and if I stayed an extra day thereafter, I might even be able to watch the start of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race and the first day’s play of the traditional Boxing Day test match (cricket).
With the help of the campground staff we drove to collect the kayak from its resting place in the creek bed and putting it on a trailer dropped it outside my motel room. The day ended well, and I was smiling outwardly as I let myself into the relatively opulent conditions that the room offered.
