Days 105-106, Mar 12-13 2010
I’d slept as well as I could remember with my first waking moment not until 4:00am. Some sort of record. It had been the cold. The sky was clear and I’d made my preparations the previous evening so everything was go. The forecast was for 30 knot south-westerlies (again), very rough seas, and a 3-4 metres swell, but with such a morning and winds that would be behind me, I felt that it was not a day to sit idle.
Only moments after announcing my decision Ken was at my front porch ready with the tractor and trailer. We placed the kayak on the river’s edge making the task of loading a relatively simple one although Ken may dispute this. He very nearly had to throw himself into the river when a tidal surge threatened to steal the boat away. Thanks Ken!
I climbed in and looked at my watch. It had taken well under an hour with minimal effort required on my part. If only every day had a start like this. Offering my thanks and bidding my kind hosts farewell, I was able to paddle the hundred metres or so out to the sea with the high tide. A small surf posed no problems and I was able to turn around and give a final wave to those on the beach who’d walked down to see me off.
Where the river meets the sea.
The sky above was blue and what breeze there was from the north-east was too slight to have an impact on my progress. I felt buoyant (no pun intended), strong, and relaxed although I noted a bank of clouds behind me though they appeared not to have that leading edge that signifies severe turbulence.
The clouds had caught up with me and obscured the sun too.
Shortly after 10:00am those same clouds had caught up with me and had begun to obscure the morning sun though this did not stop me plotting a straight line course that left the cliffs a kilometre off to my right. It did not stop me hearing and when I chose to look, seeing the impact they had of the seemingly gentle swell that ran beneath me. My thoughts jumped forward to the beach landing I was planning about 45 kilometres ahead at Seaview Holiday Park nestled between the Mokau and Awakino Rivers. There was certainly some trepidation despite my upbeat mood.
The cloud above me did not herald the 30 knots I’d heard mentioned by the forecast and I was again thinking to myself how inaccurate and how difficult it must be to predict the weather for such a relatively small land mass in the midst of a huge ocean. There were slight changes in the wind direction from the north-east to the north-west but it never rose above 5 knots.
For a short time I was concerned that the coastline was passing me by too slowly and I was wondering if I’d paddled into one of those unfavourable currents that I’d been warned about but had thus far discarded as being from people who wanted to sound dramatic and big-note themselves but really had very little first-hand knowledge.
I took a reading on the GPS and another an hour later at midday and it told me I’d covered somewhere between seven and eight kilometres. Not slow at all! I put it down to the fact that I was now a couple of kilometres from shore and that this in itself made the shore appear to pass slowly. The GPS also told me that I had 23km to go. Not much more than three more hours which meant within striking distance. Did I paddle for more than three hours on my first day when I departed Auckland?
It was about this time that it began to rain and for a while visibility was reduced to a level which meant that it was difficult to make out the coastline. I made sure that I looked at my compass in case it disappeared altogether remembering my discussion with the kayak manufacturer when he asked if I wanted the compass. I thought it was a bit of a gimmick and said as much until he pointed out that in heavy rain or fog it can come in handy. The sense of solitude and peace that I felt out there in the rain was one I enjoyed thoroughly. It would not last however.
At 1:00pm I had 17kms to go. For a while the breeze died completely and with it the rain ceased to fall. I again began to question the veracity of the weather forecast. I was only a couple of hours from my destination and there was no sign of a south-westerly wind, let alone 30 knots. I even began to consider ways in my head to evaluate the accuracy of the forecasts believing that such an appraisal would be very useful for and may even have been doing so when it hit.
It was 1:55pm. There was little warning except for possibly a brightening of the sky. It did not build gradually. One moment it was still and the next I had 30 knots over my left shoulder. The sea was in tandem with the wind. One moment it was smooth and glassy, and the next it was throwing up big intimidating walls of swell.
The wind hit without warning.
The smooth seas disappeared in an instant.
There’s something disconcerting about sitting in a kayak when the seas get big. I believe it’s something to do with the fact that you’re locked into the cockpit by the skirt with just your upper body protruding a couple of feet above the water whilst these big angry walls march towards you with their peaks threatening to tumble on top of you, as you’re witnessing them do all around.
Everything looks bigger when you're sitting down.
When I’m on a surfboard and a frightening wave approaches, I simply bail out, which means I throw the surfboard away and hope for the best and usually the wave washes over you meaning that you can repeat the exercise when the next even bigger wave approaches.
I'd feel better simply swimming in such seas compared to being locked into the kayak.
With the kayak however I’m literally strapped in. It’s a part of me and everything I own and rely on in New Zealand is with it. I can’t let it just wash up on the beach like a surfboard might, and then simply go and retrieve it. It holds my tent, sleeping bag, camera, first-aid kit, computer, clothing, maps, diary… and despite the stronger than most Kevlar construction, the forces that it would encounter would leave only one possible outcome, and it is not one I can afford.
I was in an interesting situation. A part of me wanted to capture the seas on camera which meant hanging around trying to get the lens to see what I was seeing. Another part was worried that the seas could or should only get larger the longer they were exposed to the wind, whilst another part did not even want to think about what I was going to encounter when I got to shore where the swell would presumably be crashing onto the long exposed beach I had to aim for. A part of me even wondering if this was going to be the ending that the pylons of Patea threatened but could not deliver.
I checked and had 11km to go. There was no chance that the time it would take to cover this was going to drag. I kept an eye on the swells that every so often stood up larger than most with their crests threatening to spill down on me. It’s simply a lottery whether they do so and I watched this game of chance going off all around me but thankfully my numbers didn’t drop on this day.
By the time I’d spied my target I’d already made my preparations. In fact I’d done so as soon as the front hit. For the first time on the trip I grabbed my drogue and placed it with me in the cockpit. It is a sea anchor similar in shape to a parachute that is tied to a rope (15m in my case), which is in turn affixed to the stern \of the kayak and allowed to drag behind the kayak. It has the effect of placing a drag on the stern and is thereby reputed to help keep the kayak pointing straight. I say reputed because I’d not previously tested the theory. The 3 metre swell and resulting surf conditions that I was expecting would no doubt present the perfect opportunity!
I put away my cap and sunglasses, fully expecting to end up in the drink at some point and in another first, I strapped on my helmet. In writing this account I am going to quote the New Zealand Herald (Mar 15, 2010), which today reported on the successful crossing by Shaun Quincey in a row boat from Australia to New Zealand -
“She anxiously watched pounding waves at lunchtime when her son, who swam the last 300m because it was too dangerous to row to shore…”
An amazing effort, no doubt. By the sounds of it Shaun did well even to hit New Zealand because at one point it looked like he might miss it altogether. It does for me put things into perspective when a guy and his craft who have just crossed the Tasman Sea no less, tell us that landing is too dangerous and bails out of his craft!
I could clearly now make out the campground fronting the beach and in truth wasted little time in turning towards the shore after first deploying the drogue. My assessment from where I sat was that the surf appeared not to have anywhere near the size that I’d expected based on the swells that were passing under me. A 3 metre swell in my language translates to waves with a face of more than 10 feet. A frightening concept in any language.
I noted masses of turbulent foam but not the large backs of crashing surf that for example I’d noted when covering a leg into Gisborne when I could clearly see huge swells standing up as they approached the shore and pitching forward as huge waves onto the coastline.
So, with no point in hanging around out the back I simply pointed towards shore and began paddling, feeling the effects of the drogue dragging on the stern. I’m not sure that I was entirely happy with the fact that it was holding me back and cast multiple glances over my shoulder in expectation of sighting a climbing wall about to crash over me.
When a wave did build under me I simply paddled looking for a hasty end to the situation that I was unwillingly facing. Better to get it over and done with I thought. The kayak lifted and pushed forward and rode down the face before violently slewing to the left. Here goes I thought, but the bow bounced off the top of the wave and the whole kayak swung through an arc of 180° to the right so that I was now facing the opposite way.
Again I expected to capsize as the force of the wave played with me, driving me brutally towards the shore. I had absolutely no control over what was occurring when all of a sudden the wave began to reform and I suddenly found myself slipping over the back of this force that had carried me half way to the beach.
I found myself well inside the impact zone of the larger waves that were breaking out the back, and amazingly in an upright position. It was too good to be true. I possibly made a mistake here, but so excited was I with this unexpected turn of events that I began to undo the skirt that made the kayak and I, one. At this point I was not willing to chance my luck for a second time. I wanted to be able to make a quick exit.
Looking back out.
When the following wave hit, the cockpit immediately filled with water which simply ensured that we rolled over caused as much by the instability of the water-filled cockpit as anything else. In hindsight it may have been better to try to ride it out, but I was out and willing now to be simply be washed to shore whilst holding onto the half submerged kayak.
An enormous sense of relief.
We took turns. The kayak pulled me when a wave hit and I pulled it, or attempted to, between waves. I was soon able to touch the ground with my feet with both the kayak and I seemingly in one piece. I was smiling and felt enormous relief as I turned round to survey the mess that I‘d come through.
Still in one piece.
The campground was just a short walk up the beach and I had survived another day. I knew however that the seas would require a significant change to enable me to execute a launch from this long and exposed part of the coastline.
It's a wild and desolate coastline.
It had taken me just over 6 hours to survive the 43.83km paddle.
