But Hunter, Three Hummock and the not so well known Robbins and Walker Islands have a charm that will ensure I return - not for the currents, as swift as they were, nor the tides which repeatedly emptied much of the area to an expansive desert wasteland. I would return to assure myself the beauty of the islands, the mutton birds, the pelicans and albatross along with the myriad of other wild life, were real and not just a figment of an overexposed imagination.

The islands were beautiful, small, but crammed with individual characteristics identifying each in its own very special way. Three Hummock has the Allistons, a semi retired couple, now used to the unexpected arrivals of sea-canoeists, happily tending to their extensive gardens of vegetables and fruit. It also has perhaps a hundred beaches, some magnificent with breakers and sand dunes, others as small as 20 metres, protected by ragged boulders and seething in life.

Hunter, unlike Three Hummock, is relatively skinny and runs in a north-south direction. Its eastern coastline is a combination of cliffs, rocky foreshores and protected bays. The west is unprotected and bears the windswept look, typical of much of Tasmania’s west coast.

Apart from Robbins, the other islands are quite small and could easily be paddled in a day. Included in this group are Walker - my favourite, Stack, Penguin, the Petrels, Perkins and the highlight to Tony, Albatross. Robbins I think has been underrated. Its eastern and northern coasts offer a variety of sights and wildlife. There are hills, cliffs, rolling paddocks, a lagoon, sand dunes, and surf beaches and a six square km inlet that dries entirely twice a day with every low tide.

Many more islands in this group were left unexplored. Some tempted us but weather conditions and common sense prevailed. Each had its own unique features and although we could only guess as to what each offered, being a number of km away we thought they would have to be visited on our return journey. In particular I am thinking of the Doughboys, Trefoil, and Steep Is.

To the more orthodox readers eager to hear of actual weather conditions, stretches paddled, currents and tidal flows, camping sites, and, not forgetting starting and finishing times etc I shall now attempt to satisfy your needs.

This desire to chronologically and geographically report canoeing trips step by step, day by day, moment by moment leaves me somewhat amused. Perhaps it is the hallmark of a truly literate expeditioner. The style, as common as it is, is tedious and totally unnecessary. I'm sure very few trips are duplicated. Weather conditions for one thing would ensure that.

With this in mind I shall now dutifully replay the more noteworthy aspects of our adventure. The drive from Hobart to Smithton took six hours, allowing one hour to ingest a disgustingly huge steak at the Elimatta Hotel in Devonport. One exercise worth reporting for those readers who feel a little guilty leaving behind their spouse without the use of the family car, try renting a car. Tony and I did just that and found it quite inexpensive. Shared between two we were looking at $37 each on top of normal petrol costs. No wear and tear to consider, no storage problems in Smithton and no real fear of breakdown. We were very happy with the arrangement.

Arriving in Smithton we sought out Mr Alan Hanson, the manager of Tas. Seafood, to request permission to use his radio schedules if we were unable to get through to Hobart Radio. A rather useless exercise this turned out to be as the batteries, which tested okay in Hobart, tested poorly once upon our journey. There is a message here I guess - new batteries for each trip. We found Alan very helpful with advice on tidal flows and areas which could prove difficult. A couple of retired fishermen (one in a wheelchair) also took interest in our departure. Advice, although full of warnings was well received and we both appreciated their extensive local knowledge.

By the time we left the wharf at Tas. Seafood it was 5.30pm. The tide was on the ebb and a 30 knot easterly howled across the bay. Not to be deterred we headed out towards the channel between Perkins Island and Eagle Point on the mainland. In the distance was our destination, Cape Elie on Robbins Island.

I thought us rather crazy inflicting this upon ourselves on the very first day but as it turned out it was probably the best campsite available considering the tides and the fact that we had agreed to avoid any area threatening to leave us high and dry.

Scrambling to beat the ebbing tide the following morning we set off for Walker Island along the beautiful eastern coastline of Robbins. The wind had moderated to an acceptable 15 knots which allowed us to keep quite close to the shore. The scenery was a mixture of rocky outcrops and long sandy stretches. The only real difficulty was manoeuvring through the passage between the two islands. The surf was most unpredictable running at about 1 - 2 metre. It was certainly large enough to separate me from my newly acquired woollen beanie and threaten us both with capsize.

We made camp on a delightful corner of Walker just a ¹/₂ km walk to Robbins. At low tide that is. We enjoyed this little island very much even though the weather was erratic and caused us to take a days break from paddling. I would recommend to anybody to take the walk up to the northern end of the island. It's views are varied and quite spectacular, especially looking back across to Mosquito Inlet which empties completely at low tide.

The fourth day of our trip started at 5.30am as we were feeling a little guilty about not paddling on the previous day and we did have a tide to catch. Breakfast was quick and we slipped out with only the barest clearance under our boats. Readers who have done this trip will appreciate the need to accommodate the wishes of local tides.

A good 15 - 20 knot south-westerly wind pushed us quickly to the Petrels where we rested and tried to make radio contact for the last time without success. Just as we were about to pack up and move north towards Three Hummock a fishing boat appeared on the horizon. It was heading for the channel between Walker and the Petrel group. Tony, being quick off the mark, grabbed some matches, ignited a few tussocks and started a mini bushfire. This was to no avail. The boat was unmoved and chugged on oblivious to our distress. Not to be beaten by such a minor setback Tony leapt into his canoe, paddled like the blazes (no pun intended), and headed off after the unsuspecting fisherman. Meanwhile I rather embarrassingly started to belt out what was now an out of hand fire. My paddle has never recovered and bears on each blade, one black side and one white.

However, with the knowledge that Hobart Radio was to be contacted we felt much relieved. Police Search and Rescue had been dutifully promised that contact would be regular. With one last look at Walker we turned and headed slightly west of north to the most conspicuous but distant landmark of South Hummock.

As stated, Three Hummock is a coastal wonderland. Its beaches are white and crystal clear. Its vegetation is rapidly returning to natural heaths under the new management program of the National Parks and Wildlife Service.

Arriving at East Telegraph Beach we startled the very friendly crew of the Janelle Hardy, a sturdy fibre-glass shark boat. Its not every day they are aroused by two canoeists knocking on the side of their boat miles from nowhere. Michael Hardy, its owner, promptly invited us aboard, plied us with tea and coffee and set about that curious Tasmanian phenomenon of establishing mutual acquaintances. And of course there were several - at least on Tony's side. I failed somewhat, knowing only one person - a Jill Maguire of Hunter Island fame, who we could both talk about.

Two and a half hours later, gossip exhausted, we made to move on. With more warnings about local tides and winds we slipped over the side armed with a new set of batteries for our radio. Unfortunately these failed on first try, much to our disappointment and we felt destined to complete this trip unaided by radio.

Our thanks must go to Michael and/or the other fishing boat as we heard on our return that our position had been reported off Three Hummock. And in all fairness to Michael I must report that a full reimbursement for the dud batteries was offered and gratefully accepted when we met again two days later.

Mr and Mrs Alliston received us at around 7.30pm. It had been a day full of surprises. The weather had been sunny and hot for the morning and free of wind. The afternoon, however had been a bit of a nightmare with headwinds of 30 knots. We literally crawled the 14km from Cape Rochon to Burgess Point.

So the litres of coffee poured by the Allistons were truly appreciated. We spent a very pleasant evening discussing all sorts of problems, from the Japanese occupation of Indonesia to the trials and tribulations of growing grapes in Tasmania’s fickle climate to the relative merits of television.

Around 10.30pm we parted and traced our way back to camp with the aid of a beautiful full moon. The evening had indeed been our privilege.

We rose the next morning to a blue sky. The wind had vanished and the seas were smooth. These were just the conditions for which Tony had been praying. They were absolutely necessary to persuade me that Albatross Is. was going to be a reality.

Within an hour we had sped across to the northern tip of Hunter. A quick inspection of the waters to Albatross and we were off. It was 11km of feared territory, even to the seasoned fisherman.

To my surprise the paddle wasn't so bad. The only difficulty was the long, rolling, south-westerly swell. It was consistent at about 3 to 4 metres and brought on a dizziness that was aggravated by the hot sun. But we made it and safely clambered ashore only 1³/₄ hours after rounding Cape Keraudren.

Albatross has many delights but none came near the feeling of awe and inspiration of walking amongst the thousands of nesting birds. The Albatross is a large bird with a wing span well over two metres. It is strong, confident and totally in control of its environment. A beautiful species.

We explored the island and found two of the four caves. It seems that the entrances of the other two are concealed by tunnels and easily missed. However the two that we explored were huge, extending perhaps 60 metres with ceilings of 15 metres, large enough to accommodate a million penguins - well that’s what it seemed like trying to sleep amongst them.

The following day promised fair weather and so after a leisurely photography session we packed and moved out towards Cuvier Bay on Hunter's western shore. A protected campsite was found right on the end of Cuvier Point. It also turned out to be an excellent diving spot.

Rising the next day we were not so fortunate with the weather. In fact this was the first of four pretty ghastly days. Picking the currents we started off down the western side of Hunter. The scenery is wild but beautiful. It is not steep but a mixture of bays and naturally windswept hills. The land supports a very healthy population of cattle. We decided that this western side had much to offer and only the poor conditions kept us from exploring the remaining islands.

On rounding the southern most part of Hunter we were literally blown across to Stack Island. A rudder rope required replacing so we took time for a quick inspection of the hill and its impressive views of Bird, Trefoil, The Doughboys, and Woolnorth Pt.

Taking advantage of the following wind and three knot current we scooted up to Cave Bay ending a short two hour paddle for the day. We covered 13km.

The overcast squally conditions dampened the enthusiasm we would normally have had on entering such a beautiful bay. But it was late in the afternoon, we were cold and much of the ground was wet. Camp sites around the jetty end were virtually non-existent. A quick reconnoitre found a beautiful spot covered in grass about midway along the bay. It was elevated, protected by trees and offered reasonable firewood.

We stayed at Cave Bay for two nights - the weather was nothing but lousy. Fierce squalls hit regularly at 30 min intervals and if it had not been for the thick protection of the vegetation we would have been very wet indeed.

During this day of rain and wind we walked the route taken by the Easter 1980 party and came across the Maguires homestead.

The house is used, but perhaps less than half a dozen times a year. It is under grass and sadly in need of a woman’s touch.

During this walk we came across two Temco employees, Dave Hassle and Wally Davis, sent to the island to assess the commercial viability of silica deposits. We were much amused by the extravagant preparations undertaken to ensure their total satisfaction for one week of hardship. I believe Tony and I could have lived for 3 months on their supplies. Still, their beer was graciously accepted and we passed a few convivial hours discussing matters geological.

With just two days to get back to Smithton we paddled off early. Our destination was flexible but it turned out to be Cape Elie, the spot chosen for our first nights camp. It was over 40km and by far the longest paddle of the trip. The first stage to Penguin Is. was the most difficult. We had to contend with a 20 knot south-westerly wind but had a slightly favourable tide. Penguin Is. I presume, is named because it hosts multitudes of penguins. We encountered none but were excited by a rookery of pelicans nesting on the southern end. New chicks kept close to their parents and Tony captured as much as he could on camera.

The next leg to the northern end of Walker Is looked more forbidding than it really was. The wind, now following, shot us across the 9km in under 1¹/₂ hours. Tony's Greenlander revelled in the surf. The North Sea Tourer was less excited tending to broach a little in the stronger waves. It was upon this leg that I really did recognise the value of a rudder. I felt that without its assistance I could be paddling yet.

Two and a half hours was the necessary lunch break. The flooding tide was racing around Walker at a speed that prohibited any progress. The break was welcomed - out of the wind, with the sun on our bodies it was a different day. Following lunch we leisurely paddled down the picturesque coasts of Walker and Robbins Islands to Cape Elie. The return to our original camp brought forth a strange nostalgia - I assume it must have some-thing to do with the isolation of the area, a feeling of owner-ship.

Friday 13th November, and we were in mixed feelings about this our last day. There was an eagerness to get home and report on the tales and adventures. But there was also the let down experienced at the end of a final exam. We didn't really dwell on the matter - more important considerations were at hand - such as accounting for the wind which was against us again. And we needed a slack or flood tide to take us up into the bay at Smithton. An ebb tide would have been hopeless.

Leaving at 11.00am the trip proved relatively easy - the wind hit us immediately on departure and then again when we entered Duck Bay. Our spirits were high and by 1.30 we pulled into the wharf alongside Tas Seafood to the interested acknowledgment of half a dozen locals. The old sailor in the wheelchair pushed himself over and, although not saying much, seemed rather excited by our achievements which I pointed out on one of our maps.

The process of unpacking, collecting the rental car, deregistering the trip, visiting the local milkbar and passing on our thanks to Alan Hanson took some time. Tony looked up an old Telecom acquaintance who incidentally but not surprisingly, is now married to my acquaintance Jill Maguire.

We left Smithton at 3.30pm with good intentions of reaching Hobart around dark. But this was not to be - passing through Burnie a very fit looking cyclist waved us down. We stopped and discovered Bruce Davies keen to hear of our exploits in detail. An hour later we hit the road again stopping only at Devonport to fill our stomachs on two extravagant steaks at the Elimatta.

It was after 11.00pm when we finally got home, the final piece of excitement being a frantic search for a self service petrol station.

My thanks to Tony who led the trip. The only disaster was our inability to store another bottle of port.

Paddlers - Tony Gaiswinkler, Andrew Rust.

ANDREW RUST.