Day 53, Jan 19 2010
It was tough. Even though I’d carried a number of items the previous evening from the motor lodge, where I’d been staying the past six nights, to the surf club, about a kilometre away, I still had at least two trips, fully loaded, to get all my belongings to the kayak. … and I still did not know if my GPS had arrived.
The plan was to get to the surf club about 7:00am. Chris would open the roller door for me giving me access. I arrived on time fully laden. I carried as many bags as my hands could grasp, hung the binoculars, radio, phone and sunglasses around my neck, put the cap on the head, the rolled up mattress under my arm, and the new cushion between my teeth. About a kilometre to go up the suburban streets before most people were up and about. The door was opened and Chris helped me carry the kayak down the pebbly beach to the water’s edge, but above the surging breakers.
I made my way back for the remaining items, gave my room a once-over check, locked the door, returned the keys, and made my way back along the streets to the beach with another full load. I’d payed my bill the previous day in preparation.
It’s the items that you clasp between the torso and arms that tend to go first. Unfortunately, picking them up off the street or path generally means letting go of everything because you need your hands to pick up the item that has slipped from your grasp. So a complete reorganisation takes place as you discover new ways to hold, hang, clasp, clutch, press, grip, squeeze, and drape pieces of luggage and equipment. I stuck two muesli bars into the top of my board shorts.
I began packing everything in its rightful place. I’d become quite efficient at it by now. In the early days, the times I had to unload everything upon finding an item that had to go in earlier, were frustratingly frequent and always drew groans of exasperation. So it was that I realised immediately, rather than later, that my map case was missing. The fact that I picked this up sooner rathe than later did not lessen the exasperation.
I was not enjoying the morning. The break from the routine had seen my motivation diminished. It was nearing 8:00am and I’d planned to be in the water at this time paddling the short distance up to the marina so that I could run into the chandler’s and collect the GPS which I hoped had arrived.
I jogged back to the motor lodge, rang the bell, got the key, and returned to my just-vacated room. It was not there. I looked ion the cupboards, in the bathroom, under the bed and under the table. Not anywhere.
I returned the key and began the jog back to the surf club running over in my mind my movements and actions of the past week. I could recall going over the map inside the club with a couple of members but apart from that, nothing.
Upon returning I discovered that everything had been locked up. Chris had gone to swimming training and the lifeguards were not due to commence their patrol until 10:00am and once they did, I had no idea if the map case was upstairs where I’d first bunked anyway. It was just that I didn‘t know where else it could be.
The maps, large, highly detailed, marine charts, mostly on a scale of 1:200 000, were important to me because I’d been making notes on them as I travelled. Rolling them out on tables, sharing them with locals and visitors I’d met on the way, circling around to review the upcoming coastline and garnering information on the conditions was always enjoyable. It was this very information that I would transfer onto my GPS, letting me know what lay ahead and how far I had to travel. I had also been mapping my route on them, so they would be important keepsakes when the time came to conclude this folly.
There was nought to do but wait. It was now after 8:00am so I made a call to Richard at the chandler. It had arrived. My planned goal was to paddle to Waimarama (my estimate was 50km), where friends of my parents’ friends had offered to accommodate me. I considered delaying my departure until tomorrow, making a fresh start minus the lunacy I was putting myself through. I was looking at my watch questioning whether enough of the day was remaining. It was not even 9:00am. Enough time, no doubt, but would I find my maps? If not, maybe it was time to simply call it quits, here and now?
The lifeguard, Ryan, arrived at 9:00am. Early! I had the key and very quickly located the missing case neatly stacked up against the wall where I’d obviously placed it some days earlier.
The surf, which had been bigger over the previous days, was still (always) a concern but provided no mishap. It was 9:30am. I had a few kilometres to get to the inlet that housed the marina and nearby was my GPS. The day was fair but my mood was not.
I parked the kayak next to a pontoon and made my way across the street, paid the balance owing,m and returned to my berth where I spent ten minutes trying to tell the thing that I was not in Taiwan, but Napier, New Zealand. Was it broken? No, I had to slowly turn, twice, in 360°circles before it gained its bearings. I’d had to do it with my previous one too. It was in the instructions.
10:35am, two-and-a-half hours later than planned, and I was finally away. Paddling out past some recreational fishermen on the boardwalk, one yelled “Off to Australia?!!!”
“No, from there.” I responded. Probably a little too acerbically but it had not been one of my better mornings. The truth was that I was feeling like I’d had too many such mornings. Lost flags, forgetting to secure compartments, Gonzo disappearing on me, a paddle…. waves, wind… and sand. I’d lost my momentum and was barren of enthusiasm.
I made my way past the ports breakwater noting that the swell of the previous days had not disappeared completely as it surged in and out of the massive concrete blocks designed to absorb and dissolve the relentless energy of the sea.
It was tough. Even though I’d carried a number of items the previous evening from the motor lodge, where I’d been staying the past six nights, to the surf club, about a kilometre away, I still had at least two trips, fully loaded, to get all my belongings to the kayak. … and I still did not know if my GPS had arrived.
The plan was to get to the surf club about 7:00am. Chris would open the roller door for me giving me access. I arrived on time fully laden. I carried as many bags as my hands could grasp, hung the binoculars, radio, phone and sunglasses around my neck, put the cap on the head, the rolled up mattress under my arm, and the new cushion between my teeth. About a kilometre to go up the suburban streets before most people were up and about. The door was opened and Chris helped me carry the kayak down the pebbly beach to the water’s edge, but above the surging breakers.
I made my way back for the remaining items, gave my room a once-over check, locked the door, returned the keys, and made my way back along the streets to the beach with another full load. I’d payed my bill the previous day in preparation.
It’s the items that you clasp between the torso and arms that tend to go first. Unfortunately, picking them up off the street or path generally means letting go of everything because you need your hands to pick up the item that has slipped from your grasp. So a complete reorganisation takes place as you discover new ways to hold, hang, clasp, clutch, press, grip, squeeze, and drape pieces of luggage and equipment. I stuck two muesli bars into the top of my board shorts.
I began packing everything in its rightful place. I’d become quite efficient at it by now. In the early days, the times I had to unload everything upon finding an item that had to go in earlier, were frustratingly frequent and always drew groans of exasperation. So it was that I realised immediately, rather than later, that my map case was missing. The fact that I picked this up sooner rathe than later did not lessen the exasperation.
I was not enjoying the morning. The break from the routine had seen my motivation diminished. It was nearing 8:00am and I’d planned to be in the water at this time paddling the short distance up to the marina so that I could run into the chandler’s and collect the GPS which I hoped had arrived.
I jogged back to the motor lodge, rang the bell, got the key, and returned to my just-vacated room. It was not there. I looked ion the cupboards, in the bathroom, under the bed and under the table. Not anywhere.
I returned the key and began the jog back to the surf club running over in my mind my movements and actions of the past week. I could recall going over the map inside the club with a couple of members but apart from that, nothing.
Upon returning I discovered that everything had been locked up. Chris had gone to swimming training and the lifeguards were not due to commence their patrol until 10:00am and once they did, I had no idea if the map case was upstairs where I’d first bunked anyway. It was just that I didn‘t know where else it could be.
The maps, large, highly detailed, marine charts, mostly on a scale of 1:200 000, were important to me because I’d been making notes on them as I travelled. Rolling them out on tables, sharing them with locals and visitors I’d met on the way, circling around to review the upcoming coastline and garnering information on the conditions was always enjoyable. It was this very information that I would transfer onto my GPS, letting me know what lay ahead and how far I had to travel. I had also been mapping my route on them, so they would be important keepsakes when the time came to conclude this folly.
There was nought to do but wait. It was now after 8:00am so I made a call to Richard at the chandler. It had arrived. My planned goal was to paddle to Waimarama (my estimate was 50km), where friends of my parents’ friends had offered to accommodate me. I considered delaying my departure until tomorrow, making a fresh start minus the lunacy I was putting myself through. I was looking at my watch questioning whether enough of the day was remaining. It was not even 9:00am. Enough time, no doubt, but would I find my maps? If not, maybe it was time to simply call it quits, here and now?
The lifeguard, Ryan, arrived at 9:00am. Early! I had the key and very quickly located the missing case neatly stacked up against the wall where I’d obviously placed it some days earlier.
The surf, which had been bigger over the previous days, was still (always) a concern but provided no mishap. It was 9:30am. I had a few kilometres to get to the inlet that housed the marina and nearby was my GPS. The day was fair but my mood was not.
I parked the kayak next to a pontoon and made my way across the street, paid the balance owing,m and returned to my berth where I spent ten minutes trying to tell the thing that I was not in Taiwan, but Napier, New Zealand. Was it broken? No, I had to slowly turn, twice, in 360°circles before it gained its bearings. I’d had to do it with my previous one too. It was in the instructions.
10:35am, two-and-a-half hours later than planned, and I was finally away. Paddling out past some recreational fishermen on the boardwalk, one yelled “Off to Australia?!!!”
“No, from there.” I responded. Probably a little too acerbically but it had not been one of my better mornings. The truth was that I was feeling like I’d had too many such mornings. Lost flags, forgetting to secure compartments, Gonzo disappearing on me, a paddle…. waves, wind… and sand. I’d lost my momentum and was barren of enthusiasm.
I made my way past the ports breakwater noting that the swell of the previous days had not disappeared completely as it surged in and out of the massive concrete blocks designed to absorb and dissolve the relentless energy of the sea.
Giant cement blocks.
Leaving the port and Napier behind, I made a straight line for Cape Kidnapppers. It meant moving away from the coast that would eventually join up with me again at Kidnappers but shortened the distance considerably.
Tge huge roc off Kidnapper's.
Captain Cook named it Cape Kidnappers after one of his crew members was abducted by a local Maori tribe. I have also been informed that they later made a meal of their captive …and I thought I was having a bad day. I was unaware that cannibalism had existed within the Maori tribes?
Cape Kidnappers is also known for having the largest colonies of gannets - three colonies in total with up to 15,000 birds in all during their nesting season which occurs towards the middle of the year - however I noted only two colonies from the water with far less than this number.
A four hour paddle in benign conditions saw me arriving just after 2:30pm. I noted a distinctive cone shaped wedge of rock directly off the point that was dividing the swell like a knife before it heaved and met again in a confused swirling state on the near side. A shallow reef exposed itself as the larger waves and wash drew water over the impact zone. My first impression was that it was too shallow and too dangerous to risk the shorter route between it and the mainland, but after watching for a moment and weighing it up I made a dash for it.
The kayak surged and lifted on a small swell and raced towards the impact zone in the middle. I’d waited for a lull and anything that helped me get out of there in the least amount of time was a bonus. The momentum carried me across the line that marked the reef connecting the rock to the mainland and after a mad sixty second dash I was safe on the opposite side.
The excitment gave me a much needed lkift.
The excitement added to the scenery invigorated me and I knew that I had brushed out the cobwebs that had threatened to overwhelm me earlier in the morning. I was more than halfway to my destination which was now visible in the distance and the sun was out.
I knew too that I had now reached a significant milestone*. My one thousandth kilometre! Who would have thought that someone without any experience or training would end up paddling the equivalent distance of Sydney to Brisbane, or London to , or even New York to .
* The metric equivalent of ‘milestone’ gets tangled on the tongue doesn’t it?
I was closer to the coast now and was enjoying being out on the water again. With only a couple of hours to go I turned on the Ipod and sang aloud before spotting Waimarama Beach just before 6:00pm. I noted the surf club which had been mentioned and who had been alerted to my possible arrival. I also saw the creek’s outflow which had also been mentioned. I aimed nearer this but noting that there was a reasonable swell running and I first packed away my camera, mount, GPS, and sunglasses.
Picking my moment I began the paddle in and had actually surfed a kind gentler unbroken wave in half way before slipping off the back of it. Despite my best efforts this signalled a broken wave to draw up behind me and we went through the now all too common ritual of ending up sideways before the customary roll upside down.
It mattered not, although Rock who‘d been keeping an eye out for me and displaying much appreciated concern, bounded down the beach and into the breakers showing no regard for the chinos. Once again I’d got lucky and landed directly in front of the house. With his cousin Hamish, and friend Geoff, the four of us carried the kayak up the beach and lay it down on the grass.
We lay it down in the grass in front of the house.
It was just before 6:00pm and I could not have been happier. Not even the dunking at the end could dampen my spirits. The cobwebs had received a thorough hosing.
The view to the beach.
I was offered a hot shower, which I accepted , provided with a clean towel, and then enjoyed the wonderful company of Rock and Prue in their superb holiday house, eating freshly caught fish cooked on the barbecue, before turning in. It was the best possible way to finish the day.
I’d paddled 49.5km and it had taken 7 ¼ hours at a moving average of 7.4km/h.
