The Graveyard

Day 85, Feb 20 2010
It was a beautiful morning, clear and bright with an offshore breeze blowing although this did not stop me finding my tent to be literally saturated with the effects of condensation. I hung the tent out to dry in the breeze on the branch of a large tree that had been washed up onto the beach as driftwood.
With the tent dry and stored away I appraised the surf. I felt confident, enough so to leave the camera on the deck. I was away at 8:40am but had to make an almost immediate return to the beach after the camera and mount were both washed off the foredeck. I frantically hauled both in and whilst holding the camera’s strap in my teeth turned the kayak side-on and waited for the first wave. It carried me safely back onto the beach where I’d pushed off just moments before.

Yes, I was stupid. Enough said.

I placed the camera and mount safely inside the day compartment where I would be able to access them once I got out beyond the surf.
For the second time in minutes I climbed into the cockpit whilst waves washed over the deck and into the cockpit before I could secure the spray-skirt. I have read that even the most experienced kayaker’s struggle to avoid this although it does little to avoid the frustration that I feel every time it occurs.
I made my way out for a second time. I had almost made it out the back beyond the surf and had to negotiate a final set wave and its wall of foam, which in a sense I did, only to teeter upon doing so. I felt the kayak unbalance and for a moment felt both I and the kayak hover between success and failure. Unfortunately failure won out and I capsized for the second time in two days.
Whether it was the additional water in the cockpit contributing to the instability of the kayak, or fatigue on my part having had to repeat this exercise twice in a matter of moments, a combination of both, or something else I’m not sure. Certainly the exercise of attempting to power the fully-laden craft out through the surf is extremely taxing in both an aerobic and anaerobic sense. It demands both power and endurance at the same time and leaves little in the tank upon completion.
Again however luck was on my side because I had not been far from success and I was able to straddle the flooded kayak and paddle it beyond where the waves were breaking whilst the electric bilge pump did its best to remove the sixty plus litres of unwanted seawater from my cockpit. It took some while even with the manual hand pump working in tandem.
While I’d been attending to this the breeze, a north-west headwind, had freshened and the conditions which I faced once I got going were quite choppy. I told myself just 28km and that even if I had to battle away the reward of making it to Wanganui would make it worthwhile. I was mentally prepared for a slog and kept telling myself this, reminding myself of winds I’d battled into on previous occasions. The winds might even back off I reminded myself when thinking of some of those times. It had eased off yesterday afternoon too I thought to myself
The wind grew steadily stronger and the chop got worse. I persevered for an hour before checking my GPS. The effort required to make what seemed like minimal headway felt disproportionate. The indication was 4.5 km/h. I estimated another 4 hours at this rate to reach Wanganui. I cold do it I told myself. It was not quite yet 11:00am.
Almost immediately however my resolve was broken when the wind picked up yet another notch. It was now approaching 20-25 knots and the chop was typical of a very fresh sea-breeze. The kayak’s bow seemed to spend more time pointing up and then crashing down than it did on progressing forward. At 11:20am I called it quits.
I pointed in towards the shore and again surfed into shore without a capsize. When the kayak broached I was ready for it and felt confident enough to lean towards the wave bracing with the paddle‘s blade on that side.
It was somewhat ironic I thought, that on the two occasions of late when I had capsized, I’d been attempting to head out to sea. Not something I’d previously had a problem with, whilst on surfing into the shore, where previously all my problems had arisen, I was now achieving success.

My kayak, safe from the foaming seas.

The beach was amazing. There was even more driftwood on this part of the coast than on any other I’d seen. I looked at it in wonderment as the wind blew tendrils of fine sand along the beach’s surface. It made me think of an old black and white horror movie depicting a graveyard with the bleached driftwood mimicking exposed bones, and the streaming sands looked like the ground-hugging mist created by the guys in special effects.

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A graveyard.

I climbed the dunes and was happy to find a deep depression that was protected from the worst of the winds. Because it was so early I decided to make use of all that wood and began to build a windbreak, which over the next three hours got bigger and bigger whilst also providing me with a seriously good workout. It meant too that I was able to put the tent up with relative ease. This is not to say that I did not have a struggle, just that I think it would have been impossible without.

I spent three hours collecting wood and building my windbreak.

As the afternoon wore on and the sand that had been dampened by previous days of rain, dried out it no longer satisfied itself by blowing along the ground. It was now getting stinging my torso and getting into my eyes. I sought shelter in the tent resigning myself to the fact that the sand was in there with me in handfuls.

My tent in the lee of my 6' high windbreak.

The wind eased off sufficiently around 8:00pm for me to boil some of the little remaining water I had in the lee of my windbreak for some noodles without having to crunch the black iron sand between my teeth with every mouthful. I fell asleep soon after with sand in my ears, eyes and nostrils.
I’d covered less than 13km that day. After the 65km I’d achieved a few days earlier, I’d gone to the other end of the scale. It all balances out. I was still 18km short of Wanganui.