Day 45, Jan 11 2010
I’d woken to the faint patter of raindrops on my tent. In truth I was relieved to still have a tent after the battering it had taken during the night. My impression was that Napier was only a short paddle away of three or four hours so I chose to lie there for a while hoping the faint rain would cease altogether and allow me to pack up without the damp. The forecast I’d noted, was supportive.
I was somewhat annoyed that my face was displaying the symptoms of an allergic reaction. My forehead and sensitive skin parts such as the neck, eyelids and ear lobes were puffy and covered in fine subtle blisters with a slight prickly itch. I’d noticed the signs a couple of days earlier. My own diagnosis suggested either the goji berry mix or the sunscreen with a leaning toward the latter. My use of both coincided with the first signs of the allergy but the sunscreen seemed the more likely. Not washing it off at the end of the day had to inflame the situation. I would return to the zinc to see whether the reaction calmed.
The sky lightened and a slight drying breeze drew me out to take advantage of the conditions. I have learnt that the tent’s nylon dries quickly with a slight breeze and although the forecast looked to be accurate, I packed with haste.
The clouds lifted and the sky lightened.
Turning my phone on I was excited to find that I had a faint reception and used this to contact a Napier campground with a proximity to the water. Could I paddle up the inlet or land on the beach I asked. The response was less than enthusiastic whilst I was also informed that the town was a distant four kilometres away. This was in response to my own suggestion that I might be in town for a few days. I had paddled for forty-four days and twice four-hundred kilometres, and this woman thought a forty minute walk would intimidate me? She went on to inform me that the campground was 400 metres from the beach. I’ll carry the kayak there I replied.
A final look at the maps and I established that the Westshore Surf Club was a perfect place to arrive. There should be lifeguards on duty and it was as close a spot to any to the campground. I also thought that it might offer me a place to store my kayak whilst I was in Napier.
I determined to remain positive and told myself that I was only moments away from sitting down at a cosy, warm and dry café for a cappuccino and read of the New Zealand Herald. It was 9:30am when I left my cove and I was hopeful that Napier was three hours away at the most. No more than a sprint in the context of what I’d been enduring of late. I was genuinely buoyed by the thought of such a short dash.
The remnants of last night’s blustery conditions were present in the way of some chop but only a gentle south-east breeze. Not knowing exactly where Napier lay in terms of a bearing, I followed the line of the bays, beginning at least to recognise some of the landmarks as they passed.
Just under an hour into my paddle I observed an inflatable dinghy approaching with a family aboard so I waved at them and asked them where on the coastline that lay ahead was Napier. It took a short while to understand what they were saying partly because the answer was so unexpected. Napier was the landmass way off in the distance that looked like an island.
“Napier?!!” I questioned, just to be sure. The scent of coffee that had been drawing me on disappeared on the breeze whilst the text of the Herald became blurred and then illegible. I’d begun to appreciate distances and judged Napier to be nearly thirty kilometres distant when I was probably hoping less than twenty. It was a blow.
The skipper of the dinghy warned me about cutting across the bay. I think he mentioned something about a reef and forecast winds but I was trying to recover the aroma of coffee beans. I pushed on dejectedly for another three-quarters of an hou , tracing the coastline as advised. I reached what I knew to be Tangoio Bluff. The final landmark that preceded a very large, beach-lined bay that led all the way to Napier itself in the distance.
Tangoio Bluff where I pulled over to change tops.
I pulled into the cove beside the steep headland that was the bluff and removed a top that was rubbing at my neck and swapped it for my rash suit. I determined then that I was going to cut straight across the bay and save myself the distance and resultant time. Should conditions change for the worse, the bay’s relatively gentle curvature meant that I would not be far from the safety of land. I knew too that the threatening winds would blow me landwards so any risk was minimal.
Sure enough, the wind’s strength began to increase just as I commenced the final leg across the open bay. I aimed higher to allow for drift and to help ensure that I did not arrive downwind of my planned landing point. The wind and chop annoyed me, doing its best to make the final leg a frustrating one. It simply got stronger and stronger over the course of the next couple of hours whilst I had no idea of exactly where to head so I continued to point high, gaining no favours.
I could soon make out the commercial port and once it began to offer me some protection I searched the shoreline for a hint of the surf club. I began to look at roofs, attempting to determine if any were in keeping with surf club architecture, but it was the bright orange inflatable rescue boat on the beach that first caught my attention. A quick glance through the binoculars confirmed my initial hope and I began a line that saw me bear away from the wind for the remaining half hour.
Not Bondi.
I beached at 1:38pm meaning that the paddle had taken me almost exactly four hours which was in fact what I’d offered my friend at the campground over the phone. I spoke with the lifeguards and delivered\my request. They soon returned with club member Chris Swain. Chris was the DHL National Surf Coach of the Year in 2009 and a very successful competitor at a national level in his own right. He very kindly suggested that I stay at the club which I gratefully accepted.
A home amongst friends.
Not long after, Brian Quirk, a club stalwart and Life Member of the SLSNZ shared with me some of the club’s history and successes. When I mentioned that I‘d done a season of patrols with the Freshwater SLSC in Sydney I was surprised to learn that Westshore had purchased their first ever surfboat from Freshwater back in 1966, and that she had been named Kooloora II, the same name as the street I lived in for nearly three years until recent times. A small world indeed!
Some club memorabilia and my bedroom for two nights.
Ps I ordered a replacement GPS from Sydney… due to arrive Wednesday!
