Hello from Tassie!
Tired but happy - arriving Bridport on Friday
I landed at Bridport on Friday after an 8 day Bass Strait crossing. It certainly feels good to be here. Welcoming me to Bridport was a crowd of surfers, the Channel 9 cameras and, the previous day in Ringarooma bay, a pod of dolphins. More about that later.
I'm a big bag of aches and pains, but a soft bed last night, a series of solid meals and two days without paddling has me feeling better by the minute. Now for the highlights of the Bass Strait crossing......
Leaving Welshpool: Tuesday 13th March '07
Emi and I left the Mornington Peninsula later in the day than I'd hoped, but with some essential additional preparations conducted. There were lots of media interviews along the way, and by the time we arrived Port Welshpool it was already 2pm, with all the packing left to do. By the time I'd packed 8 days of food and 4 days of water into the kayak, it was already 4:30, and I had little hope of making the 40k to Refuge Cove, especially against an incoming tide. On the other hand, the weather pattern looked perfect for the following day, and i was desperate to use make the most of taht weather for the first big crossing to Hogan Island. The tide was running fiercely against me, and within minutes of leaving the wind turned too, making it even harder to get out of Wilson's Prom, but I knew that it would be even worse the next morning if I didnt get out. I made it out by about 7:30, and camped on a desolate beach just South of the entrance, and over 20 kilometres short of Refuge Cove, the departure point for Hogan Island.
It was an interesting night. Things like this bring one very close to life and I had a very different quality of sleep knowing that the next day i would embark on such a long, and possibly dangerous journey. Heightened awareness and appreciation. I also knew that in the morning I would have to chose between an easy 20k paddle to Refuge Cove, or "cutting the corner" to Hogan in a mammoth 66k leg.
to Hogan
Up at 4:30 and packed in the dark. The wind was still coming from the South, not ideal for a South Easterly crossing, and I was still undecided whether to go to Refuge or for Hogan . At moments like that what do you do? You ask for a sign of course. Within minutes a huge meteorite blazed across the sky in the exact direction of Hogan - all the instruction I needed.
Indeed it was a glorious day, almost windless, and the ocean calm as I paddled past Seal Island, Cliffy Island, then into the blue emptiness. There's nothing quite like the feeling of paddling towards an empty horizon, its an amazing feeling of isolation. it is also, for some reason, incredibly comforting. I can't quite desccribe why. Perhaps it is the complete need for self-reliance and self assurance. Perhaps it is simply because alone in nature I feel "home"
Eventually Hogan appeared in the distance, and I was there by by 5, about 12 hours of paddling. I climbed to the becaon on top of the hill to take in the spectacular view, and camped in a sheltered cove. Expectations for a well-earned sleep were shattered by the mutton birds. Hogan boasts a huge population. Half of them sound like crying babies, the other half like alarm clocks, and with my alarm set for 5am again, and some deep seated (but presently under-utilised) parental instinct, I didn't get the sleep I was hoping for. It was almost a relief when the real alarm sounded
To Deal
A hard day. Woke up at 5, off by sunrise, and battled all day into a blazing sun, a 15-20 knot headwind, and cross-currents. It was a slog to get to Deal Island, and when I got there, thoroughly numbed by battling the headwind all day, I found that instead of the Island's lee providing shelter from the wind, its unique topography creates something called "wind-bullets" Wind accelerates as it flows over the rounded granite forms of the Kent group, and approaching it from the West I was being hit by 30-40 knot gusts coming from directly above. No fun at all, and the last 5k into the Murray Passage were very difficult.
My mood changed very quickly once in sheltered waters, and even more so when a little yellow 4-Wheeler came rattling down the hill from the caretaker's house and I was handed an ice-cold beer by Damien and Kate, care-taking at Deal for 3 months, and the first Tasmanians to greet me on this adventure. They took fantastic care of me.
Now officially in Tasmanian waters, I don't have to tell people about the pulp mill, they know about it. One of the yachties told me that he couldn't stand what he called the "dit dit greenies" At the same time he is strongly opposed to the mill, and thinks there must be a better future for Tasmania.
On Deal.
Deal Island is as stunning as it is remote, and I spent a day lying in the grass among the wallabies, climbing up to the lighthouse, eating stupid amounts of freeze dried food and waiting for the 5pm weather report to decide whether I should try the 60k crossing to Flinders the next day (Sunday). The report came in and it was for 15-20 knot E-NE, more or less a headwind for the crossing to Flinders. The weather in the Strait is extremely unpredictable, and over the past few weeks I'd discovered that the Bureau finds it extremely hard to predict wind velocity from an Easterly direction. The weather report for the next day looked a lot better, with 5-15 knot Northely winds predicted, and I was in desperate need of another rest day. All the indications were to wait the extra day, but I just had a feeling that I should go. I paddled over to Winter Cove on the Westerly side of Deal Island in the late afternoon, ready to depart for Flinders the next morning.
To Flinders
That night I had another "heightened awareness" sleep. The nightmare scenario was that I would start at 5 in the morning, get 3/4 the way to Flinders, and then in the early afternoon the sea breeze would start to blow as predicted. Plugging on with 20k remaining, I' d make slow progress into a building headwind, but also become more and more tired as the afternoon went on. If the wind stayed below 25 knots I could keep making progress and eventually get to Flinders, but if the wind got up above 30 knots from the Nor East it would push me away from both Flinders and Deal, and right into the middle of the Bass Strait. Then it would be wind-driven swell breaking ice-cold water over the deck till dark, gradually being pushed further and further from safe harbour and into exhaustion. I figured I had enough fitness to fight for a good 5 or 6 hours, long enough to more or less hold position till the wind subsided in the evening as it usually does. Then it would be a matter of limping in to shore at night. However, there have been occassions over the last few weeks where the Easterly has howled through the night and straight into the next day. If that happened, I'd most likely have to press the button on the EPIRB and get rescued. The danger for me is a major character flaw which would make me do just about anything rather than get rescued, and I might have decided to go with the wind all the way to the Tassie Mainland and just get it over with. Then anything could have happened
Fortunately, all that remains conjecture, for the day turned out to be much milder than forecast, and I completed the 60k crossing to Flinders in extremely balmy weather.
Tired and sore, I was taken in by Liz and Mick Grimshaw, farmers on Flinders Island, and given a hot shower and a bed for the night.
To Chalky Island.
Sunday morning, and Liz and I had a long chat about the mill, a conversation which really brought home the reality of the proposal. Flinders residents are seafaring people, and know the Bass Strait and its currents intimately. They know that any effluent pumped put by the mill will, with the predominant currents, wash up on their shores.
Twice I was told the story of a fishing boat which sank, the crew abandoning ship to a liferaft. The "experts" were called in to determine a search area, and a search commenced. During this time, local fisherman told authorities that they were looking in the wrong place, that the currents would take the liferaft North, and that their seach area should be altered. The "experts" were believed, the locals were ignored, and the fishermen perished. 3 weeks later the liferaft washed up exactly where the locals said it would be heading. It appeared that the fishermen had survived a week on the raft, and if the search area had been correctly defined, would have been rescued.
In other words, if the locals on Flinders Island say that pulp mill effluent would end up on their shores, they ought to be believed. Dioxins will deprive many of them of their livelihoods, all of them of their lifestyles.
If Gunns had consulted with stakeholders as it was supposed to, they would have realised that this isn't just about the environment, its about common human decency. It is simply indecent to pursue profit with so little concern for the impact it will have on others.
Leaving Killicrankie at the reaonable hour of 9am (for a change) I'd only paddled an hour when the big blow hit. From almost nothing, it was blowing 20 - 25 knots within minutes.
All of a sudden, the "nightmare" scenario which I'd contemplated on Deal Island showed itself to be a reality. If I'd waited the extra day as the weather forecast suggested, that weather would have caught me smack in the middle of the crossing between Deal and Flinders.
Fortunately, with that crossing behind me, I tucked safely into the protection of Flinders West Coast and had a vigorous, but completely safe paddle over to Settlement Point, where the Grimshaws had told me to drop in on their friends the Macqueens. What a hoot that turned out to be. Malcolm and Lesley were throwing a party for friend, and despite not having RSVP'd(mainly becuase I wasn't invited) they squeezed me in around a crowded table. I have to say it was the best meal I've had since leaving Sydney, with lamb steaks BBQ'd to perfection, and salad with a "secret" dressing which I suspect one couldn't prise from Lesley with an abalone chisel.
Once again, opposition to the pulp mill is strong, though there is clearly a fear that Gunns is so powerful, and the government so in their pocket, that the decisions will be made irrespective of the best interests, and the wishes, of the people.
With over 700km of the trip still to go, I wasn't able to join the increasingly raucous crowd's appreciation of Tassie's fine wine, but I did leave Settlement point a very happy (and full) man.
From Settlement Point, I went over to Chalky Island, where i was one human inhabitant amogst 2 sea-eaghles, 10 cormorants, 100 seagulls and thousands of penguins. That may sound cute, but oh my goodness do penguins make a racket. Not quite as disturbing as the mutton birds, but much louder. I have to say that when I went for a little walk at night and saw the little blighters wondering around all over the place, it was worth it.
To Trousers Point
Monday and theWhitemark store on Flinders was open. Stopped in at Whitemark, guzzled yoghurt and biscuits and a wonderful lunch at the Flinders pub with the Wayne, the ranger at Flinders, themn went on to Trousers Point on an afternoon that kept on getting more and more glorious. Arriving Trousers Point around 4pm, and with no-one around, no computer and no phone reception, I had the afternoon all to myself - what a great reward
Cape Barren and Clarke.
Left Flinders nice and early on Tuesday, and arrived Cape barren at lunch. Cape Barren is a small indigenous settlement of about 70 people, and Mel, one of the residents and managers of the island, had got in touch with me to invite me to stay. The residents of the Island have already petitioned the government about the mill. They live almost entirely off the ocean, and can't afford to have it poisoned.
I would have loved to have stayed longer but needed to make tracks for Clarke Island which I did into a building headwind. Plugging away for 3 or 4 hours got me there eventually, and when I landed there were a couple of real rough looking blokes on the beach. "Heard you was coming" they said "Uh-huh" I said "Lit a fire for you" they said, pointing to a little shack just up from the beach with smoke rising from the chimney, welcome repite from the wind now turning chill in the evening - the bush telgraph obviously works just fine out there.
To Tomahawk
Between Clarke and Tassi lies the Bank's Strait, which for those in the know, is as notorious than the Basss Strait itself, shallower, as exposed, and with tidal flows often running at 4 knots. The wind was forecast from the South East, a crosswind on my SW heading, but I managed to time the tides just right. Leaving Clarke at 6am on the last of the ebbing tide I was swept around the island and into the Banks Strait. Wind was flowing against tide so the water was a mess of confused swell, but after coming so far, it didn't really bother me. An hour later it was low awater and things calmed for a while before the incoming tide gathered force and began to sweep me westward. It was like being in on one of those powered walkways in the airport. I was paddling due South at about 6k an hour, but simultaneously being swept West by the current at almost the same speed, meaning I was making about 10k an hour towards the mainland and Tomahoawk, my destination. My GPS batteried had run out so I didn't know exactly where I was aiming, so I decided to stay well upwind as I entered Ringarooma Bay.
I ended up about 3k East of Tomahawk Island, and just as I turned downwind to start surfing the last few k's in, I spotted a fin in the water. "That better be a dolphin" I thought and so it was. More than that, a pod of three or four dolphins joined me in surfing the final leg to the mainland - jumping out in front of the bow, turning upside down as they passed beneath me and I could see the pure white of their belly flash by. What a welcome!. It was an incredible welcome to the mainland, and one which made the exhaustion completely drop away.
To Bridport
My last day, and an easy paddle to Bridport to make my 11am appointment with the media and the (human) welcoming committee. I'd really like to thank the media for all the interest they have shown, and all the people who have welcomed me at every port.
And now that I've made it....
I'd love readers to keep making donations via this webiste, and to urge their friends to do the same. Already over $20,000 has been donated towards the Round Table. I think perhaps some people have been holding back in case they sponsored the kkilometer where I disappeared in the Bass Strait, but now that I've made it: don't hold back any longer. The Round Table needs your support, and Tassie needs the Round Table!
Click here to make a donation.
Sim
Channel 9 Interview
Greeted by my partner Emi