Andrew Peacock and Cameron Webb

“This bloody wallaby doesn’t want us to leave” shouted Cam. Standing at the water’s edge I was peering into the darkness to get a sense for the size of the waves breaking on shore but at the sound of Cameron’s voice I turned and walked back to where our sea-kayaks lay in the sand, their bows pointed toward the booming surf. The narrow beam of light from my head torch illuminated an odd scene. Cam was in a jousting mismatch with our friendly camp wallaby. It had followed us down to the beach for our departure and was trying to make off with one of our dry bags. We carefully fended it off with our paddles as we finished loading the boats.

 It was five o’clock on a calm morning in the middle of Bass Strait – the notoriously rough stretch of ocean that separates mainland Australia from Tasmania - and we’d spent the better part of the last two days relaxing in camp amongst the Casuarina trees of pristine Winter Cove on Deal Island. I was anxious, Cameron Webb and I were about to paddle a 62km stretch of open water to reach the northern tip of Flinders Island and he had tendonitis of his left wrist as well as blistering of both hands. We were not quite at the halfway mark of our attempt to paddle 325 kilometres from Wilson’s Promontory in Victoria across the eastern waters of Bass Strait to Tasmania.

 Despite a reasonable weather forecast we had opted for an extra day of rest on Deal Island to allow Cam’s wrist to settle down but still fluid crackled in the tendon sheath when he moved it. Although I knew he was in pain it didn’t show and his resolve to complete the journey hadn’t wavered. I was impressed with Cam’s attitude; perhaps in the same way that former world marathon kayaking champion John Jacoby was pleased with his partner’s intestinal fortitude on an arduous crossing of Bass Strait’s western waters in 2004. After Jared Kohler’s breakfast resurfaced unexpectedly amidst the ocean swells on their first day, John later wrote that he liked ‘a man who can be violently sea-sick, eat more food and resume paddling as if nothing happened’.

 For our trip John kindly loaned me the ‘Mirage 19’ sea kayak that he paddled in 2004. It had been across the strait a few times and honestly, I thought it had seen better days, but John assured me it was “bombproof and virtually knows the way”. Ideally if you are embarking on one of Australia’s most significant sea-kayaking challenges it’s best to paddle a familiar kayak in which you’ve done many long trips. Unfortunately, although paddling has been a major activity for me since the tender age of twelve, I don’t own a sea-kayak and have never faced the challenges involved in paddling one on a long ocean trip. I survived some big rapids on an eighteen day journey down the Colorado River a few years ago but that was in a small white-water kayak with raft support. That confronting but magnificent trip had whetted my appetite for another paddling challenge and although Bass Strait crossing was an obvious thought, I’d done nothing about turning it into reality. Cam had done a bit more than just think about it though and after I spied a marine chart of the Strait sitting on his kitchen table one humid Brisbane day, a plan was hatched. It was the end of January and our departure date was seven weeks away.

 Cam is a seasoned sea-kayaker with long trips and work as a guide under his belt and is familiar with all the tools of the trade used by the small water-craft adventurer. A personal flotation device (PFD), paddle-float, paddle leash, spray-deck, hand pump, and waterproof ‘cag’ (or jacket), were just some of the specific items he included on our equipment list. Then there was the safety equipment we needed - tide charts, compass, GPS unit, emergency position beacons (EPIRB’s), a shortwave radio for weather forecasts, a spare ‘split’ paddle, whistles, tow-rope, flares and preferably a satellite phone (we couldn’t rely on the mobile phone network for communication in Bass Strait).

 In comparison with Cameron I had done the majority of my paddling within a few kilometres of shore on a sleek, fast surf-ski wearing nothing but sunscreen, a cap and a pair of Speedos and with only a paddle, surf skills and my fitness to suggest a semblance of control over the exposed watery environment. Paddling fast and riding the ocean swells is what I’ve done for years - for fun. Clearly Bass Strait was going to test new boundaries; ‘bushwalking on water’ wasn’t what I was familiar with. I’d never navigated at sea before and the thought of paddling toward the horizon on the couple of days where there was no land to aim for initially was daunting.

 I was quietly confident however that sound planning combined with Cam’s knowledge and our combined paddling skills would make for a successful crossing even if the prevailing wisdom might suggest otherwise. I read many internet postings about paddling Bass Strait and they invariably told of months if not years of planning and training before embarking on the adventure. An article in the New South Wales Sea Kayaking Club magazine put it bluntly, ‘the absolute starting point for even considering a Bass Strait crossing should be for all those involved to plan and successfully complete a week long, deep water paddle in an unfamiliar area’.

 Our physical preparation was straightforward enough, Cam was already paddling long distances on the Brisbane River and I increased the distances of my normal training sessions by using the strong southerly trade winds to fly downwind along the beaches of the Sunshine Coast. We managed only one paddle together though. I rented a ‘Penguin’ sea kayak and on a calm, hot day we paddled the 53 kilometres of sandy coastline from Caloundra to Noosa. Our kayaks were light and it was an easy enough day of paddling. I quite appreciated the slower pace, stopping to eat and drink and take in my surroundings was a novel experience in the ocean for me. I caught a glimpse that day of the lure of ‘journeying’ by kayak, an attraction that would only be enhanced by my experience in Bass Strait later on.

 Before we knew it we found ourselves standing on Tidal River beach in Wilson’s Promontory National Park on a sunny mid-March afternoon. Two weeks worth of food (much of it dehydrated), two days reserve of water, our camping gear and all the items on Cam’s list were either strapped to the decks or wedged and prodded into the hopefully watertight compartments of our kayaks. The tide had receded significantly in the time it took to get the boats packed and it was with some difficulty that the two of us carried each heavily laden kayak to the shallows for launching.

 Once afloat I took some forceful strokes with my paddle to get through the small waves. The sluggish response from the kayak was disconcerting but once we were on our way bumping against a slight chop in the water surface I settled in to a relaxed rhythm. A few adjustments in my technique to adapt to the vagaries of the new situation and I soon felt right at home.

 On our earlier paddle together it became apparent that Cam and I moved along at different speeds. We knew how important it was to stay within earshot of each other in the Strait and we’d discussed that I would need to slow down and wait on occasion. But as we passed Australia’s most southerly point and followed the dramatic cliff line on the 25 kilometre paddle to our first night’s camp at Waterloo Bay I found myself drawing far too easily ahead. Luckily a solution to this inequity was at hand.

Cam approaching the lighthouse at the tip of Wilsons Prom

near camp at the southern end of Waterloo Bay on Wilsons Prom

 Sea kayaks can be fitted with a removable mast and small V-shaped sail at the bow to make downwind travel easier and quicker. John had suggested that I experiment with his but I decided I wanted to paddle to Tasmania, not sail there. At the last minute Cam didn’t bring his sail either but when a strong westerly forced an early interruption to our float plan the next day, I occupied myself watching whitecaps streak across the bay while he hiked back through the Park to our car at Tidal River (from where it was being picked up later on) and retrieved his sail.

 The following day we paddled on a due east compass bearing for eight tiring hours to small, windswept Hogan Island which was unnervingly over the horizon for the first few hours. Cam hoisted his sail in the moderate southwest breeze and we battled the side chop together at a similar pace. To the sound of a raucous party of fairy penguins outside the tent that night I wrote in my diary… ‘I’m tired but elated and it’s fantastic to be underway’.

Andrew on Hogans Island

 From Hogan the next day we set off for the 40 kilometres distant but just visible Kent Group of islands (a National Park in Tasmanian waters). The seas were bumpy, whipped up by gusty east to north-easterly winds and it was difficult to stay close to one another. As we approached the islands, concentrated blasts of wind - ‘wind bullets’ - bore down upon us from the granite tops of Dover Island and we paddled with the remnants of what strength we had left to reach the relative calm of Murray Pass, a channel between the islands, before enjoying a restful night in a well maintained hut on Erith Island.

A view across Murray Passage from Erith Island to Deal Island, two of the islands of the Kent Group National Park.

Cam paddling at sunrise on the short hop around to Deal from Erith Island

Cam under sail approaching Winter Cove on Deal

 It was only an hour’s jaunt during a spectacular sunrise the next morning to Winter Cove. Our decision to have a break there provided an opportunity to explore and photograph the stunning orange-tinged granite shoreline. The creek was barely flowing at the cove so we hiked to the other side of the island to respectfully ask for water from the tanks at the caretaker’s house. Volunteers Dave and Mary delighted us by sharing jam and cream scones for a memorable Easter Sunday lunch.

Winter Cove, Deal Island

 When we finally made our pre-dawn launch from Deal Island, the wallaby was left behind as I punched my kayak through a couple of decent sized waves as an eerie green light from the glow stick on my deck lit the foaming surf. The moon was obscured by high cloud and we headed off in darkness, the silence broken only by the rhythmic sound of our blades catching the inky black water beside us. A couple of hours out, the sky now shot through with pink, I realised I needn’t have worried about Cam, he was paddling well and positively enjoying himself judging by the grin on his face as we rafted up to have a break and share some high energy snacks.

 The marine chart indicated a tidal current at right angles to our path - from east to west when flooding, and west to east when ebbing. We planned our launch departure with the tide cycle to allow an equal amount of paddling time for first the ebb, and then the flood tide, to influence our true course. Following a compass bearing of 120 degrees and with strengthening winds behind us, our destination, the fishing village of Killiecrankie, appeared directly ahead after seven plus hours of paddling.

Allports Beach western side of Flinders Island

Cam passing Mt Chappell Island on a gorgeous day in calm seas western side of Flinders Island

  We were excited; the longest, most exposed stretches of ocean were now behind us. All that remained was to paddle the fairly protected western waters of Flinders Island for two uneventful days to ultimately reach the ominously named Thunder and Lightning Bay on Cape Barren Island. Camped there atop the vegetated sand dunes we looked down upon seaweed piled high on the beach and across Banks Strait to Tasmania only 40 kilometres away. Respectful of this unpredictable and strongly tidal stretch of water we were held up for three days by fast moving cold fronts that we dared not challenge.

Thunder & Lightning Bay, Cape Barren Island.

Thunder & Lightning Bay, Cape Barren Island.

 There is often a positive flipside to the interruption of forward momentum in any adventure and in this case we were fortunate to spend some time with a few of the indomitable inhabitants of the island which is fully under Aboriginal ownership. Eventually though, with another almighty low pressure system bearing down upon southern Australia, we slipped its grip by taking off into the still churning ocean in the brief spell of better weather that materialized ahead of it. Five hours later, after paddling through some nasty little rain squalls, we arrived in flat conditions to a drizzly midday at lovely Little Musselroe Bay, a tiny settlement on the northeast tip of Tasmania. Our fourteen day voyage was at an end.

 With the help of Cameron’s guidance and companionship I felt very humbled to experience the joy of completing my first real journey in the protective embrace of a sea-kayak. Along the way I learned much about paddling one of the most seaworthy craft in the world, a boat with origins dating back at least 4000 years when it was first used as an essential and reliable hunting tool by the Inuit people of the Arctic.
Andrew Peacock.