Day 82, Feb 17 2010
Paul, the much-time Otaki Surf Lifesaving Club Captain, full-time forensic psychologist, arrived as promised to provide me with access to the kayak whilst helping carry it down to the beach on a damp grey morning with not a hint of breeze. Perfect conditions for paddling. I was aiming for Foxton, a distance of 30km and less than half that of the previous day.
After the previous day’s effort I felt that I could take my time so it was 9:25am before I began. It took me another hour to find my rhythm and a level of ’power’ in my stroke. At 11:00am the sky and water turned silver, the first indication of the gentle north-east breeze that would follow half-an-hour later. The drizzly rain persisted.
The sky and water turned silver.
The scenery offered nothing more than a long grey-sanded beach stretching for as far as the eye could see. It was backed by grassed dunes and plantation pines behind them. The water here was silted from the multiple streams, creeks and rivers feeding into the ocean. Only small waves washed up onto the shore posing no threat to me.
At midday I checked the GPS and it informed me that I only had 12km to go when I was expecting it to tell me 16km. This was a bonus of course.
I arrived at the large river mouth, again relying on the GPS to tell me that Foxton lay not far within despite the fact that the rain and mist meant meant that I could not immediately see it.
I, nor the camera, could see much at all.
I gained some assistance from the breaking surf marking the entrance before heading for the far shore to avoid the worst of the outgoing current.
I gained some assistance from the waves surfing inside the river mouth.
I could now see homes but the campground advertised as being “adjacent to the river mouth” was not discernable. I stopped and made my way across the tidal flats and onto a rise spotting it in the distance. I thought that it might be possible to gain access to it by a waterway that could be reached by paddling a bit further upstream.
I soon realised however that it was too shallow for me to make it all the way through the reeds and had to abandon this tact and leave what was in effect a marsh, to the various wading birds that made it their home.
With the campground out of reach - it was simply too far away to consider carrying the kayak and all my gear - I began to grow frustrated as the rain continued unabated. It was not long after as I backed out of the marsh that I spotted a sign reading Foxton Beach Motel about one-hundred metres away along the river’s shore.
I parked the kayak on some rocks and walked along the foreshore path seeking guidance before deciding to accept a room. I watched in amazement as much of the river that I’d paddled upon turned to mud flats on the outgoing tide. Once Sonja, one half of the husband-and-wife team that ran the show, understood the reason for my bizarre appearance she quickly pointed out that I would not be able to depart from the same spot if the tide was out. The water continued to recede in front of my eyes leaving the kayak high, if not entirely dry.
Sonja offered me the motel’s garage to store the kayak and a special drying line for my wet clothes that could be hoisted into the same room’s loft. I paid for two night’s stay planning to rest my shoulder’s that were ‘tired’ from the accumulated efforts of the previous few days and use the time to catch up on the blog.
I’d paddled a distance of 31.39km and spent just over five hours on the water.
