Just prior to launching I had a good chat with Frank Campbell, a retired commercial fisherman who was about to go out and check his cray pots. No matter what we spoke about, Frank was always able to draw a parallel with the fairer sex. I had raised my concern about the surfing ability of the kayak to which he advised, “You’ll never find the perfect boat, just like you’ll never find the perfect woman.” His comment was possibly valid too… the bit about my kayak, and I took a good deal of solace from it.
The good-natured chat saw my start delayed so it was not until 8:20am that I began what should have been an excellent day. I was only minutes in to the paddle, wishing to photograph the spectacular backdrop to White Rock with the clarity that comes with the dawning of a new day when I noticed the condensation inside the camera’s housing.
Knowing the importance of the day’s landmarks I determined to put over at the fist opportunity in an attempt to rectify the problem. I spied a landing less than an hour later and paddled onto the finely pebbled beach. After pulling the kayak up the steep slope out of reach of the heaving water I removed my gloves and dried my hands as best I could and wiped the inside of the housing out before resealing it.
I was moving again without much delay but just as I came across some more seals playing in a rocky alcove I realised that my endeavours had been in vain. The lens had fogged up once more meaning I had to beach again.
This time I inserted a small towel in the hope that it would absorb the moisture that was coating the inside of the housing. Unfortunately the cool water and breeze that was now ruffling up from the south meant that I’d only worsened the problem as the towel’s moisture was extracted from it and relocated on the housing.
It was gut-wrenching knowing that I was going to be severely curtailed when it came to capturing images of such a critical point on the journey. Scenes of the seals doing handstands right in front of my eyes, ones that should have brought joy, only reinforced the disappointment I was feeling. I had covered 9km in two hours whilst yesterday I’d have covered this distance in less than half the time.
I pushed on and soon rounded Cape Palliser noting the 250+ steps leading steeply up to the cast-iron lighthouse that was built in 1897. I groaned at the beauty of this rugged outpost as I looked forlornly through the camera lens.
Approaching Cape Palliser. If you look carefully you may be able to see the steep track leading up to the lighthouse. More than 250 stairs!
I soon smelt rather than saw the North Island’s largest permanent colony of seals. They came into my sight shortly thereafter. There must have been at least a hundred of them and after their initial disquiet regarding my presence at the base of the rocks that were their home, they soon began to enter the water swimming all around me.
The seals would steal looks at me as they jumped out of the water.
They would poke their heads up out of the water and stare at me along their whiskered pup-like noses. Some would amusingly stick their flippered feet up in their air and this was all I would see of them for minutes. Others would dart beneath me twisting and turning as they passed. I sat there for ten minutes or so using the camera in the hope that I would be able to retrieve something.
Despite my frustration with the condensation on the housing’s interior, I watched with amusement as seals would invert themselves for prolonged periods leaving only their webbed feet and backsides showing.
If anything it was the bracing nature of the southerly wind that got me going again. It had the feel of the Antarctic where I imagined it had originated. That, or the pain that came with knowing the potentially wonderful images would be blurred at best.
My heading was now a westerly one as I passed Black Rock, the southern-most point of the North Island. Here I gave myself and a seal a good fright when I rounded a rock with inches to spare. The rock was on my right and I glided past it with only two feet of water between myself and it. As I slid past the outcrop I heard a grunt and turning to face the rock was all of a sudden looking eye-to eye with a seal whose size if compared to a dog was Great Dane in its proportions.
It was effectively cornered and for a moment I feared that it had nowhere to escape. The mind can process a lot in a small amount of time when pushed, and in that instant I imagined that this stinking hulking mass of blubber would launch itself directly at me in an attempt to gain the safety of the open sea that I was barricading it from.
It was with a great deal of relief then that it showed itself to being extremely agile despite me less than flattering description of it, because it moved with deceptive speed and launched itself away and in front of me, diving into the water with inches to spare before I regathered myself and made sure that I steered a wider berth around the upcoming rocks.
I was now at the entrance to Palliser Bay and at its far end was Lake Ferry, my goal for the day. I stopped once more inside the bay at Te Humanga Point just as the southerly breeze freshened further. Noting on the GPS that I still had a further 15.2km to go I was thankful of its direction if not its icy nature. I determined to make the most of it and timed the final leg with a view to pushing myself over its duration.
I should have felt exalted. A favourable wind for the final leg, a wonderful previous day’s paddle, a great camp the previous night, and more recently a significant landmark passed at Cape Palliser. Despite all this I was feeling dark. It was the camera and I was simply wishing for the day to conclude. This was my motivation and I averaged 9.5km/h over the last 15km.
At 2:50pm I had reached the mouth of Lake Onoke. It was a narrow opening, about fifty metres in width with an obviously strong flow running through it. At the time I imagined it as a river mouth. I noted some fishermen trying their luck in the strong currents whilst I assessed the entrance and decided on my strategy.
I approached wide…
I approached wide, away from the fishermen, paddling along the shoreline with a view to avoiding any flow running perpendicular to the beach. At the last moment I swung directly into the mouth giving it everything. The kayak raced over the churning waters but I did not give up having discovered on my attempt at the Wairoa River that things can change quickly. I was also aware of the fishermen watching me so I kept paddling until I felt I was well clear of the current’s grip.
I gave it everything.
Feeling satisfied that I was safe of its clutches I swung the kayak around to review my path and absorb the looks of the no-doubt hugely impressed fishermen. I was sitting there letting the heart rate drop back to something like normal whilst giving myself a pat on the back and handing out self-congratulations when I noted the shore sliding past but not in the way I would have expected it. It was then that I realised that the current was flowing in on the tide meaning that I could have just sat there and been carried in without any effort at all! I moved on quickly wishing now to avoid those same fishermen and their appraising looks.
Looking back I soon realised that the current had in fact carried me in! The fishermen can be seen on the left whilst my route brought me in on the right.
I did not have far to go spotting the campground just a few hundred metres inside the lake. After pulling the kayak onto the rocky shore I was disappointed to note a sign on the office window directing me back towards the hotel I’d noticed not far inside the lake’s entrance. There was nought to do but get back in the kayak and paddle back towards it. I was not happy.
The Lake Ferry Hotel.
Again I climbed out of the kayak and again I pulled it up onto the rocks. I was reluctant to have to return to the campground after just having paddled there and back again so I asked whether there were any rooms in the hotel. I was shown a comfortable room and quoted a price that was no more than I’d been paying for a powered tent site. “I’ll take it!” I exclaimed without hesitation.
I carried my belongings and then kayak up across the road to the hotel and then had a satisfying hot shower. The hotel was oblivious to the cold southerly winds I’d been feeling and I soaked up the warmth of the sun deciding that this would be a good spot to stay whilst keeping an eye on the weather and deciding on my next moves.
