The cray-fishermen were already returning when I launched and they shouted to me on passing that “it was very lumpy!” It was only just after 8:00am and they would normally stay out for most of the morning at least. A strong south-wester had hit about 7:00pm on the previous evening exactly as forecast. I’d seen this on the campground manager’s television when he invited me to review the weather channel. It had also predicted the same 30knot winds to last all of this day along with a 3m southerly swell added to very rough seas! My own hope was that having some westerly in it I could again seek refuge in the lee of the land.
I could see the warning bumps on the horizon but the bay was calm and without wind. I turned and followed a narrow and shallow channel for about a kilometre as it created an island of land that may once have been part of the larger mass on my right. The conditions evoked thoughts of The Blue Lagoon although I still noted the darker, more foreboding telltale signs on the horizon as I lined up the next point to round.
The change was immediate and drastic as I once again turned south. The water was no longer shallow and aqua blue but deep and dark. A strong wind that had been unable to breach the channels protected waters was letting its vengeance be felt here. It was less the wind however, but rather the fury of the seas that concerned me as I paddled into these starkly different waters.
The well protected channel. The point which I was to round before hitting the bad weather can be seen in the distance.
The chop was ‘very rough’ as predicted and was riding the back of a large swell. I persevered for about 400 metres but was firmly of the belief that riding a mechanical bull would have offered a smoother ride. Still near the mouth of this new and wide open bay that I now found myself, I estimated that it would require a 10km paddle just to reach the opposite point. Further to my right I observed large waves pounding the beach even though it was more than a kilometre to the impact zone.
It had taken me the best part of 20 minutes to cover less than ½ a kilometre and I knew not what lay around the next point even if I could get that far. There was no way a beach landing could offer me respite should it be needed with the waves I could see being at least five times bigger than anything I’d had to previously negotiate, and I was fully aware of my shortcomings when attempting to surf broken waves onto a beach. Waves that in truth hardly deserved to be called a ripple when compared to the brutal examples I was now witnessing.
There was no alternative. I turned back and knew for the first time that this was a retreat. I would not go on but would investigate the suitability of one of two options I‘d spied on the outward bound leg short of returning to the campground which was an option I did not want to have to choose. Even a few kilometres would mean something. If I could find a spot in the channel I thought it might even be nice. Good fishing potential for kahawai, I envisioned!
Before returning to the channel I landed on a very small patch of sand, on a very small island, that accompanied the headland and point that had marked the changed conditions. I was now in no rush and had the whole day ahead of me and wished to confirm that my impressions gathered from the water were the correct ones. I climbed a line of bare dirt to its peak. I could only imagine that this ‘pathway’ had been formed by the runoff from rain. The only inhabitants of this outcrop were a number of seagulls who announced themselves by launching into the breeze and beginning their incessant chant. I carried on in spite of their nagging complaints. From my vantage point I viewed the heaving ocean that had turned be back and viewed also the calmer waters from where I’d come. My initial impression was thus confirmed.
From the peak of the small island my impression was confirmed.
The channel was becoming lower and rocks were appearing with the outgoing tide so I hastened back to my kayak resting below. I keep my eyes open for potential sites when there is a chance that conditions will necessitate a halt and I’d spied a possibility in the cliffs less than two kilometres down the channel. I arrived at it and landed on the beach that would be submerged when the high tide returned. Above this mark however was a break in the cliffs that offered hope.
Walking the few short metres up the slope I first noted a patch of dry sand that appeared unaffected by any recent water levels, and behind it a pool of water. The sound of dripping water alerted me to a smaller pool feeding this larger one, and it was itself being fed by water running down a small shaley face of about 10 metres high. Not enough to be called a waterfall, but more than a trickle. I guessed that a small creek must be feeding it from above. Then, and most exciting of all, I noted a raised area of grass in this cutting that had been eroded from the otherwise long and steep cliffs, just behind the pools, and just large enough to take my tent.
Once I’d removed a few thistles I was left with a lush, grassy, dandelion infused location for me to pitch my tent. I was extremely happy and any sense of disappointment in not having made any significant progress was simply deleted from my emotions.
I began unloading the kayak and with only a short walk to my chosen site, the tent was soon sitting proudly in this wonderful new location. Lord of my domain, I observed that it was free of sand and furthermore, that any sand that I collected from the lower domain i.e. the beach, could be rinsed off in the pond en-route! Simply brilliant because I most definitely don’t like sand in my tent. In fact with the ponds I had not only a delightful water-feature (complete with sound effects), but also a moat, a dishwasher, a washing machine, an infinity swimming pool (at high tide anyway), a spa (although the water was hardly cascading as previously acknowledged), fresh water plumbing, and a bird bath too.
What more could I want!
I even built a small fire for later use if required. It was still before midday and I wished to test my impression of the waters here and see if I could catch my dinner with my now proven fishing line. A fish to cook would be just perfect!
It was unfortunate, but the low tide and increasing winds in the previously sedate channel meant that the conditions were no longer immune to the weather. I had to return to shore quickly for fear of being swamped. Waves were breaking over the now exposed reefs and swirling gusts were playing havoc with my paddle stroke. I was amazed at just how quickly the lagoon had shed its earlier disguise because foam now dominated the channel. I carried my kayak all the way up to the pond and lay it there, alongside. A marina too!
A room with a view! Note the kayak safe and sound beside the pool of water.
I decided to climb the slopes behind my site following tracks worn by goats I’d spied earlier. It was steep but was lower here than anywhere else along this portion of coastline. I was stunned when upon reaching the crest I found myself viewing a large almost perfectly flat, fenced paddock with a quad bike parked right there in my corner!
Had someone been spying on me? Would I be asked to move on? I called out, “Hello!” I repeated the call but received no response. I looked around but saw no one. I touched the muffler trying to gauge if it had been there long. It felt cold. Had it broken down and been left there until a later time when it could be fixed? I noted sunglasses hanging from the handlebar and clothing in its carry basket suggesting otherwise. surely you would not leave these out here. Somewhat alarmed, I even wondered if some poor farmer had had a heart attack and was lying somewhere nearby in the grass.
Then, when two locals’ heads appeared coming up the same slope I’d just myself climbed, I felt some anxiety. One was bearded and the other had long dreadlocks. They were tough looking Maoris wearing big diving knives dressed in heavy wetsuits. Was I intruding on their land?
I greeted them and asked if my camping there was OK? I explained what I was doing with the kayak and mentioned the unfavourable weather. The response actually suggested that they fully approved and that what I was doing, the camping, should be allowed anywhere. One was more friendly and the other less so, but they explained they’d seen me when I went out to fish and that as they passed my tent just moments earlier, they thought I must be inside.
I asked if it was OK to explore a bit and investigate the views - the cliffs overlooking the channel rose steeply around me and were over 100m high in places offering spectacular views - to which they said of course before driving away along a faint track between some hills.
Spectacular views!
I have to be honest, I was worried that I’d left some expensive equipment lying around down by my tent and hoped that it was still safe. I could only hope that it was my own untrusting nature because it was too late now to do anything about it. The views were everything they promised to be but I had a nagging fear in the back of my mind now so I backtracked down the slope back to my campsite.
The items I’d been concerned about, the VHF radio for example, that was lying there protruding obtrusively from my floatation jacket beside my tent, was still there and I relaxed somewhat. I ran through a few items and noted that I could not see my fishing line.
Where had I left it? Hadn’t I thrown it onto the beach when I returned from my attempt to fish? In my mind’s eye I could picture it lying on the beach with something else. What was it? Wasn’t it my bailing pump that was now sitting in the cockpit of my kayak sitting alongside the pool?
Thinking about it now, I could not recall having returned to the beach to collect them after struggling up the beach with the kayak in the strong wind. This part I could recall. But the pump was in the cockpit? Had these guys seen these items on the beach and decided that the fishing line was useful and placed the pump in the cockpit? I took a quick look on the beach but the now incoming tide ensured that I could be sure of nothing.
It nagged me now that I had left the hand reel on the beach and I could not recall returning to collect it… but the pump was in the cockpit. There had been two items lying there because I’d placed them there together. Maybe the fishing line would turn up tomorrow? Maybe I had picked them up? Was it lying up there in the grass beside my tent and beneath some of my other belongings? I’d probably find it when I packed everything up tomorrow… perhaps?
I took a rest in my tent, thankful that I’d not had to pitch it in the blustery wind that now buffeted it. The wind was threatening to flatten it and the poles warped as it did so. I pegged the guy ropes that don’t normally need securing and hoped the seams would not tear. I even placed large rocks on the pegs themselves as insurance. The seams held and I slept for a couple of hours, waking a few more before sunset. Time enough to ignite my stove and cook some rice, noodles and mash. I ate well and read a little before darkness and sleep took over.
