Scribe Sean Dixon
This trip was originally planned as  a two week paddle down the South Coast of New South Wales from Sydney to Bateman’s Bay, but had to be shortened to less than a week because of bad weather and work commitments. It did, however, turn out to be quite an adventure for Tony Hubbard and me, as we encountered a whale at close range, a large sun-fish, and the Australian Navy during bombing practice.

Sunday February 4th arrived with a southerly storm and ended any ideas we had of setting off on time. Our spirits faded even more the next day as the wind blew fiercer, whipping the sea with rolling breakers and building the swell even higher. I used the extra time to re-check my gear before Tony arrived with the gloomy report that the sea was “terrible”. We decided reluctantly to cut out the first leg of the trip, from Sydney to the Shoalhaven river, and drive south, hoping the weather would improve before too much time was lost.

We arrived at the mouth of the Shoalhaven late Monday afternoon to find that the wind had almost died but we could still hear the heavy swell crashing on the delta-like bar at the entrance. The spray thrown up by the surf clouded the pounding waves but we knew it was breaking more than a mile out; it would be impossible to get through the bar in the morning.

The other entrance to the Shoalhaven river cuts into the sea three miles south of the bar and is protected by a low headland, making it possible for deep-sea trawlers to get out through a narrow passage at the mouth. On Tuesday morning we packed our Nordkapps and
launched into the five mile paddle to the sea. It was a warm and sunny day and a light sou-east breeze met us as we paddled past the mangroves and mud flats lining the estuary. An hour and a half later we landed on a rocky beach inside the headland that overlooks the river entrance. We watched the narrow channel for twenty minutes to see if it was closing out but luckily the breakers left us a 40 metre gap to escape through.

Once outside the sea was calm except for the big, rolling swell. We could see the white tops of the little settlement at Currarong across the Crookhaven Bight and knew we had about a two and a half hour paddle ahead of us. As it turned out we cut ten minutes off this time, arriving at a sheltered little beach just outside the township where we camped the night.

I awoke before first light, hoping the wind had not changed direction to make today’s paddle any harder than I expected it to be. The Beecroft Peninsula protects the northern shore of Jervis Bay, a very large deep-water port used by the Australian Navy. The seaward side of the peninsula is a continuous line of sheer cliff rising to over 300 feet in places. There were no landing spots anywhere along this stretch of coast and we realised as we paddled out that morning it was going to be difficult. The swell was still very big, rebounding from the huge cliffs at an angle that hit us side on as we struggled along. The sea was confused, tossing our kayaks from every direction and making progress slow.

We had paddled about four miles when a Navy helicopter appeared, hovering above the cliffs about a mile away. The pilot guided the big copter along the rock face then headed for a small boat fishing close to the rocky shore. The helicopter hung above the boat for about thirty seconds before the boat owner turned and headed north, directly away from us. The Beecroft Peninsula has been under Navy control for many years and has one of the few live target ranges that is still used regularly. Both Navy warships and jets use the range for target practice and it turned out that we had just paddled into the middle of one of their exercises.

The helicopter continued to patrol the area and came very close to us but it appeared the pilot didn’t spot us. He headed towards a tanker passing further out to sea and we kept paddling, striking rougher water as we came closer to the cliff face guarding the entrance to Jervis Bay. The water here is quite deep, around 30 fathoms, and swept at this time of the year by warm currents that bring schools of fish and many big sharks, some classed as ‘man-eaters’.

It was just after we struck rougher water that Tony let out a warning cry. A tall fin had appeared near him. We both started paddling faster until we realised that it wasn’t a shark fin but the dorsal of a large sunfish. Its body appeared very large in the clear water - about five or six feet in diameter. These big creatures, shaped like a dinner plate with fins, drift in the currents and are found in most oceans of the world. Dubbed Mola Mola by science, the sunfish grows to 10 feet and over three tons in weight. It is harmless.

After passing Devil’s Gorge and Crocodile Head we rounded the towering rock face at Point Perpendicular and paddled into calmer water on the northern side of Jervis Bay. It was a relief to reach the bay as I began to feel the first symptoms of sea sickness. As we looked for a landing spot we paddled through a large cluster of blue-bottles carried into the bay by the tide. Tony’s paddle blade picked up one of the stinging tentacles and flicked it across his bare back. He was only saved from a bad sting by the thick carpet of hair covering his shoulders.

A small cove tucked away in the rocky shoreline provided an ideal site for lunch. It was here that Tony came
across a very unusual sea creature. Like a sea-monster in miniature, the tiny Glaucus drifts the warm waters of the subtropics clinging upside down to the surface of the sea. Only 40mm long, the Glaucus has many fin-like lobes radiating from its iridescent silver and blue body. It feeds on drifting coelenterates, laying its eggs on the skeleton of the pray it kills.

Later, we paddled further into the bay and came across a beautiful camp-site at Honeymoon Bay, a popular holiday area but deserted at this time of the year. A kangaroo and her joey hopped by our tent at dusk and proceeded to ignore us by feeding at our feet. Although wild, these roos have been educated to accept left-overs from campers. After we went to bed a big mob thundered up to the tent but lost interest when nothing was offered to them. I thought the roos had returned when a loud drumming woke me early next morning. But this was a mechanical sound and when I stuck my head out to investigate there was a big Navy helicopter hovering above the tent.

The crewman was holding a sign that I couldn’t make out straight away. On the chopper’s third circuit I could spell out the words RANGE ACTIVE in big letters. Thinking it a warning that the nearby range was to be used that day I waved a couple of times before the chopper flew off. Shortly afterwards, in the middle of breakfast, a utility pounded down the dirt road near us and two Navy men got out with commands to move pronto before we were blown up. They seemed a little bewildered when I asked which way we could paddle to keep out of the danger zone. It was alright, they said, we could head straight across the bay. We left Honeymoon Bay as the first chorus of high explosive shells erupted on the range. A navy man later told us the bombs can skip for more than a mile before they explode.

That night we camped on the southern shore of Jervis Bay at another beautiful camping area called Green Patch. The local ranger, however, discovered we had pitched our fly too close to the beach and asked us to leave next morning. It only took twenty minutes to reach open sea after cutting between Bowen Island and Governor Head; then we began to feel the strength of the current running at us from the south. The effect of the current and swell opposing each other churned the top of the sea, making paddling particularly difficult. The further we went the worse it got.

We eventually found our next landing site at Steamer’s Beach and landed safely after weaving through heavy surf. It was about lunchtime and getting very hot. There was no shade at this isolated beach so we decided to push on. The tide was dropping and the surf where we landed started to close out. Tony made it out cleanly but I took four big waves and came through soaking wet. Wreck Bay was just a few miles away. We didn’t know what to expect there as reports heard on Tony’s radio said the local aboriginals had blocked off access to the area. They had protested to local authorities, demanding rights to sacred sites, and some had brandished spears at a settlement meeting.

It was just as we rounded the peninsula at Wreck Bay that Tony saw the whale behind us. It was moving fast, jumping only sixty yards astern of the kayaks. I caught sight of a huge fin then a great splash of white foam. That was enough. It looked too much like a killer whale to warrant closer investigation. We almost touched the rocks until sure the whale had lost interest.

Paddling past the Aboriginal settlement at Summercloud Bay all seemed quiet and it appeared the trouble had ended. We landed at Caves Beach a little further on and set up camp for the last time. It was a beautiful sunset that evening and as we ate, several brightly coloured parrots flew down from the trees for scraps. Tony held up his arm and a green and red bird flew down to take a piece of biscuit from his hand. Next appeared a big  kangaroo and his family, experienced cadgers judging by the way they posed for photographs before stepping forward for a reward.

Next morning Tony managed to hitch a ride with the same ranger who asked us to move on from Green Patch. When he heard where we had paddled from he became quite friendly and wanted to know more about the trip. Tony was back in a few hours after getting several lifts that took him almost to our starting point. A long golden beach stretched south into the shimmering blue of the coast, into an area that we would return to someday, though for now, our adventure was over.