From The Sea Canoeist, September 1997

Note from the Editor:- This is a short extract from Lyn's booklet. It isn't a story about sea canoeing, but a story of a couple who ventured across to Flinders Island in a tiny catamaran. We met up with them on one of our trips. It is extremely descriptive and well written, and I'm sure sea kayakers will relate to it . In actual fact they did it in 1990, and then again in 1992. The full reports are available from Lyn.
 
 

BASS STRAIT ADVENTURES.

Scribe: Lyn Grey
On a delightful clear day in January 1989, 1 looked over from Petal Point, NE Tasmania and saw the peaks of Mt. Strzelecki, Flinders Island, and said to Stan (my friend), "That's where I'd like to go; climb those peaks”, and he replied "All right, we'll go". From then on it was bandied around in discussion as to how and when: fly; hire a boat; sail; get a tow over etc? Finally it was decided that we would sail 'Whiskas', the 13ft Hawk Catamaran. A knowledgeable friend, acquainted with boating and the area, suggested putting a motor on the "cat" which Stan did. He was able to purchase a 5hp. Suzuki to fit on nicely and perform well with testing and a full load. Much thought and preparation was needed, with safety and requirements. How many waterproof drums will fit on with the tent, sleeping gear, food, clothes (both good and rough for camping), snorkelling gear, wet weather, and gear for climbing etc.? We decided to leave Hobart late Christmas day 1989 for an early departure on Boxing morning, weather permitting. This plan was quickly abandoned due to very heavy rain and high winds, so that night we decided to sleep in the Landrover. It was quite warm in spite of the wind and rain, so I left the window open for ventilation, only to find I was sleeping in a pool of water. No sense complaining, just put my feet out to dry off before putting them back under for warmth. After only 4 hours sleep we moved off to Petal Point at Cape Portland, selected a spot and set up camp. The weather was still very rough with 40 knot winds occasionally gusting to 50 knots, so rather than sit around trying to hide our disappointment we drove to Gladstone for some reading matter. Later in the afternoon we did some four-wheel driving around the Derby, Branxholm area, before having a picnic in the Mt. William National Park. When we arrived back at our camp, the gale force winds had blown our tent down, so again I elected to sleep in the Landrover. Wednesday morning the weather had improved generally with a bright blue sky, but the sea was still a mass of white caps, so we raced each other up the hill to the trig. point on Cape Portland for lunch. For a fleeting moment I felt as free as a playful child in the wind, as I had an urge to roll in the long grass. We then went on to investigate the ruins of the old homestead out on the point. This filled in much of our time as we rummaged around, and our imagination drifted back to what must have been. An early night made up for lack of sleep the previous 2 nights. Thursday 28th we were anxious to be on our way, as the sea had settled down considerably, and at 1 o'clock we felt very tempted to head off, but decided it was too late in the day with all the preparation needed. Rather than waste our energy on frustration, we wandered along Boobyalla Beach looking for the unusual. Two members of the Landrover Club investigating the area paid us a brief visit, and became interested in our venture. After hearing the forecast of much calmer seas and warmer days ahead, the decision was made to move over to Little Musselroe Bay, for a brief overnight stay and early departure. We were excited, Friday 29th had finally arrived, and we were up at 4.30am after very little sleep. A good breakfast of porridge and toast under our belts, we began the busy ordeal of packing up the tent and loading the waterproof drums to he tied on securely. Check everything had been included, maps, marine radio, compass, camera etc. Check and recheck, but oh oh, Stan, don't look up. I felt apprehensive. It was only 6am and the breeze had sprung up, and those streaky pink clouds I didn't like the look of at that hour of day. 'Get on with it and don't think'- but then again, IT IS Banks Strait and a notorious stretch of water, and we DID have a big load of approximately 500lbs on the trampoline. I took the Landrover out onto the point, to leave with the owner of the land and caravan parked on site, as previously arranged. Goodness me, 6.30 am and already white caps out there. I sat for about 10 minutes debating, ‘Will I go back and relay my fears or not?’ Stan was surprised to see the 'Rover back, and more so when I conveyed my thoughts to him, but he was anxious to get on with the job and was fairly confident. The owner of the caravan came around and advised us not to go, and I quite readily agreed. Nevertheless after some strong persuasion from Stan, we set off on a 'trial run' of half an hour, clad in wetsuits, life jackets and coats over the top. I was hoping we would have been nearly over to Clarke Island by then, but that was only wishful thinking. Oh golly, how silly can silly be, I thought; and a lot of other things as well. The pontoons at the stem were under water all the time, so I tried not to look, but it's more difficult trying not to THINK. He would have screwed the drainage bungs in tight, surely, wouldn't he? I sat facing backwards, squeezed in between the drums and all the gear on a 2 metre square trampoline, which made it too difficult to turn around to see where we were going, so I often asked if we were half way there, only to be told the truth "No, probably only a quarter or a third ...............


 
 
















..................... As we went around Cape Sir John we had our worst experience. It went on and on. Over our heads in this horrific 'confused sea' of 4 metre swell, and 40 knot head wind. Each headland we passed we were hopeful of finding a sheltered bay just for a breather, but we felt disheartened as we were confronted with another after another of rocky foreshore. How time dragged on. Stan kept pulling his hat down to stop getting an ear full; constantly wiping his eyes of salt water and spitting it out of his mouth, but he continued to hold on to the throttle and steer, first on one knee then the other, and at the same time grabbing for a strap to hold. We were both very silent! Jokes were out of order at this point in time. My main job was to stay relaxed, and conserve energy in case it was needed for other purposes. I thought that if either of us had to go over it would be me, as I'd hoped maybe I'd make it to a rock if one didn't find me first. Stan could manage the Cat OK. It must have been at this stage I reached out and held his hand, and as our eyes met, it was quite easy to know what the other was thinking. We both knew we had our backs to the wall. Not only did we have the horrendous sea to contend with, but also the contradiction of the wind and tide against each other The mountainous waves smashed high up the rocks and rebounded to us. We rolled and were tossed every which way, and weren't sure if there were any hidden rocks just below the surface. To land on one, would certainly have meant disaster. Although I sat facing backwards most of the way, and the waves and spray were constantly over my head, I wasn't overly concerned about hanging on, as balance didn't seem to be a problem. I did throw an arm out occasionally and tuck one toe under a strap from time to time, when we were suddenly thrown sideways. My ribs felt as though they were over my hip bones each time we dropped off the top into the dip, and with the sea coming and going in all directions, we had the jolting in the troughs as well. My main thoughts were; I talked to God a lot and thanked Him for unspoken things, and of my three children, content with the knowledge I had done my best, and loved them dearly. I wished I could have shared just a moment of this experience with them, but could not, and they would never know. I thought of other people who had helped me on life's way. A big incentive to persevere was a hot shower waiting at the end of the journey, and voiced this on several occasions, which bought a smile to us both. That dear little engine didn't falter once, it just kept pushing on sometimes completely out of the water, which was a little un-nerving to hear it roar in mid-air, but we adjusted to the sound after a while. The sail was tied to the mast, but I was ever so thankful it wasn't required. Two hours later we pulled up on a little beach on Cape Barren Island, and I was quite surprised to see a motorbike racing down to the jetty for a closer inspection. We didn't stop to take our life jackets off; just stumbled up the bank to A SHOP. A few of the locals came to greet us, astounded that we had continued on in such conditions. After reading the ‘Shop open’ sign we timidly opened the door, and as the owner came to the counter he took one look at us, laughed and said, “You look so terribly cold and wet, can I take your photo?” We both obliged. After a hot cup of coffee, a hamburger, lots of sound advice, and lots more 'once over' by the locals, we were assured of an easier run to Lady Barron, Flinders Island. I asked Glyn, who had been a schoolmaster and appeared to have his feet on the ground, just how to describe to another person, the ordeal we had experienced. He thought for a while and said," Get him (son) to stand under a cold shower, with muscles taut, hanging on to a chain and being hit with a fire hose for two hours, while hanging off a cliff edge by his fingertips". We wondered about that description, but agreed it had some relevance. At 3.30pm Claude, a gentle aboriginal, helped us push off and wished us luck. It WAS an easier run after the conditions we had experienced, navigating and wending our way past large and small islands through Franklin Sound. Those last two hours were very long ones nevertheless. Could I convince you that in spite of the conditions I actually nodded off briefly? To see the buildings of our destination was such a relief, but at that stage I wasn't a bit proud of the trip; just thankful to God that we had arrived safely. Stan's confidence in that little craft: the work and detail he had put into the preparation proved worth while. I was grateful for his Christmas present; a water-proof coat with a hood attached. At 5.30pm. we pulled up at the wharf, cold, wet, and exhausted, alongside a fishing boat owned by Bruce, who offered to take some of our load until we settled in at the Tavern. 1 guess I wanted to smile but am not sure if I could manage one. Oh, one step closer to that hot shower, and I could actually walk to it. We dragged ‘Whiskas’ high up on the beach just below the Tavern, and carried some of our gear up before checking in. Then you can guess what I did for the next hour...........


 

The full reports are available from:-
Lyn Grey
41 View Rd
Burnie
Tasmania. 7320.
Ph. 03 6431 5192
 
 


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