Should I Go or Should I Stay Now

Day 61, Jan 27 2010

It was damp and miserable outside and I was not in the least way enthusiastic about stepping outside so I simply lay there. The tent seemed to appreciate its foundation of stiff dune grasses. They essentially meant the tent was sitting off the ground, thereby providing good drainage and a dry interior for me. I’d never spent a day inside the tent and thought that maybe this would be it. The weather report told me that the next southerly change was not due for another four days although I also noted that today’s forecast was for a stiff 35 knot nor’easter. I had a day up my sleeve according to my schedule but I decided to wait another hour before making my final decision.
Just before 9:00am (it was 8:40am), I sensed a break in the rain and climbed outside the tent. I needed twenty minutes with the breeze that was already blowing to dry the tent and then I could pack it away I told myself. In the hope that this would occur I began breaking camp whilst vigorously shaking the tent’s fly and then wiping it down to speed up the drying process as I kept an eye on the approaching weather for signs of the next downpour. I observed rain squalls sliding by ominously close to my campsite, but by the time everything else was packed away the tent was almost perfectly dry. I began to collapse it in a hurry worried that the rain would return and spoil the satisfaction I felt from delaying my start.
Despite the delayed start - I was in the water at 10:10am - I knew that I would have time enough to make up for it and if the winds kicked in as forecast I would do it quickly. For now the breeze was hovering around 15 knots. A good start but certainly not the excitement of 35 knots that I could expect later. One thing I did note was that despite the prediction for strong winds the swell would be less a metre… a good portent for my landing later on. My amended plan was for a place called Tora. This was short of White Rock, an optimistic target I estimated to be 60km further south, but one I’d have hoped for if I’d got away early.
It was just after 11:30am when I greeted the Amy-Ann, and it crew of three cray fishermen. We chatted for a while but after declining the offer of a couple of crayfish* I moved on wishing to make the most of the following conditions.

"Ahoy the Amy-Ann!"

* Note to self: Must customize kayak design to include holding\tank for crayfish.

By midday the winds stiffened and were approaching the 35 knots predicted making for exciting surfing when the wind swell and chop lined up in an accommodating manner. The GPS indicated exciting speeds in excess of 20km/h when it did. With the grey sky now replaced by a blue one with white puffs of cloud I was congratulating myself on the decision to get going.

Strong Winds!

At 2:00pm, making excellent progress and averaging over 10/km/h I made the decision to push on for White Rock. It would be wrong not to take advantage of the conditions I told myself. I also knew that the satisfaction I garnered from being back on schedule would be a suitable reward.
I noticed a couple of large rocky outcrops up next to the shoreline that offered the potential for some respite from the wind and chop, and if they delivered I would stop, stretch the legs, mop the cockpit (water seeps in as a result of wash from surfing) and take on some food and drink before tackling my new goal. The first of the two outcrops melded with the shore so I paddled to the next one.
On its lee, a small inlet exposed itself between the rocks and boulders that marked the shore. It was only a few metres wide and twenty metres deep, but ample for my narrow, shallow drawing craft. Smooth water lead right up to a gravely landing. It was perfect and I got a sense of how the ancient mariners must have felt upon finding protected harbours when running from storms.
I was observing the exposed seaweed as the rocks they enveloped glided by before I drew my attention to the landing in front of me. I’d begun slowing the kayak down in readiness when I looked more closely at what I initially thought was a large piece of kelp directly where my bow was pointed. It wasn’t moving but had begun to take on the appearance of some sort of animal, but what, I could still not discern. I’d just lifted my salt-encrusted glasses in an attempt to better see it when a small grunt to my right made me turn my head and I noticed for the first time, one, then two, then three seals lazing on the rocks enjoying the sun that was now dominating the day. A lazy head here and there looked up as I sat there whilst I convinced myself that they would not attack me and that they were in fact seals and not the more aggressive sea-lions I‘d seen on a television documentary once. They were so well camouflaged that I’d not noticed them on my way in but now as I looked around I began to pick them out one by one.
The lump in front of my bow now took on greater definition as I noticed his head, tail and fins. He or she had still not moved however, so I edged even closer talking softly in the hope that I could get its attention without causing alarm. I was still unsure as to whether these guys might go into attack mode (their heads are not dissimilar to a dogs) and was thinking solely of myself being only a few feet away. I should not have been afraid because it lifted its head in a manner that suggested it would rather not, yawned deeply, and then dragged itself up before hopping to one side and sliding into the water beside me and swimming back out past me. Wow! I occupied the now vacated landing, noticing for the first time the odour. It was rich and thick, almost sweet, but certainly sickly and I had no doubt from where it came.

Hello Mate!

I began filming but realised with frustration that the view was impeded by condensation on the housing’s interior. I’d noticed earlier that the water had become distinctly cooler and knew that this was the trigger. There was nought I could do however because I could not open the housing under such conditions.
I took half-an-hour to observe these amusing creatures, refresh myself and ready the kayak for the next leg by mopping out the water in the cockpit, adjusting the seat, and checking that the compartment covers were secure. I was only just past the half way mark but with the speed that I was doing estimated that I should make it before 6:00pm.
I returned to the water and after a quick distraction whilst I watched a couple of seals doing handstands in the water before they became aware of me at which point they displayed speed and agility, leaping out of the water repeatedly in the manner of a porpoise.
At 4:00pm the wind began to ease off but I was so close now that it mattered not. I rounded the point that marked the entrance to the bay in which White Rock was located and was immediately impressed by the steep ridges behind the beach. I guessed 400m but later discovered they were 600m high. I did have the sun in my eyes and it was reflecting brightly off the water as I covered the final 4km.

The sun was in my eyes despite the 600 metres high ridge in front of me.

The feature that gave this spot its name was easy to identify in the middle of the beach and I had the simplest of landings. I spoke with a gentleman, seeking assurances that I would not upset anyone if I pitched a tent, and he suggested that there was a sigh hereabouts advising that it was acceptable as long as I showed respect.

White Rock

The wind had died, the sky above me was clear, the moon had already risen above clouds on the horizon that were reflecting the setting sun’s last rays. I celebrated by cooking adding water to the labelled pack announcing minted roast lamb, vegetables and mash. I looked at my watch. It was 9:00pm but the day WAS only just turning to night. It had been a good one.

A fitting end to the day.