HUNTER ISLAND TRIP
JANUARY 1983.

My interest in the area was further fuelled by discussions with Andrew whilst we were paddling together, in February last year, among the islands of the Furneaux Group at the other end of Bass Strait. When I subsequently heard that a trip to this area was to be organised by members of the Tasmanian Canoe Club for January 1983 it did not take too long for me to decide that I should go. And so once again I found myself flying down to good old Tassie (I am beginning to lose count now of the number of times I have made this seemingly annual pilgrimage) to take part in yet another canoeing trip.

Members of the party grouped at Bruce Davie's home in Somerset and the early arrivals got the trip off to a good start with a bit of a binge at the local. It was good to see old faces again as well as meet others who now participate in the growing (?) sport of sea kayaking.

Next morning (Sunday 16 January) it was off to the Montague Camping Park at Stony Point (near Smithton) which was to be our departure point. It took several hours to pack the variety of boats but we were in no hurry as the tide was not going to be in our favour (i.e. flowing westwards) until after midday. Finally we left the camping ground and paddled out into Robbins Passage, directly into a strong westerly. If we had not waited for the tide to be in our favour I doubt if we would have made much progress as even with the tide progress was extremely slow. Shortly after starting we had to weather a sudden rain squall which made things even damper than they had already been. After this the group pulled in for a rest on the SW corner of Robbins lsland, minus Jason and Angie who too late had discovered that the rather elaborate hatch system on their double kayak was rather ineffective at keeping out the wet stuff. As a consequence they were forced to paddle somewhat desperately back to shore with Laurie assisting.

Hardly had a chance to warm up properly when we were off again, this time toward an insignificant little island not even marked on our maps. Simply had to clamber out of my boat again (a borrowed North Sea Tourer - thanks Andrew) to relieve the agony caused to my bum by the crippling seat design, fitted, apparently as standard, to this type of boat. Circulation restored, we set off over extremely shallow water toward Kangaroo Island. I began to have doubts about the trip when we were called upon to drag our boats over an extensive sandbar to the next channel. Finally we reached Kangaroo Island about 5pm, feeling cold and somewhat tired - it was, after all, the first day! Boats were soon pulled over the extensive sand flats to a position where they would be safe from the night's high-tide, tents were erected and meals prepared.

Monday morning was hardly rushed as we weren't to start paddling until 3pm, when the tide was due to be coming in. Sat around reading, and eating for much of the morning until the need for exercise got the better of us. So we all went on different walks, myself over the sand flats to the north of the island where we had views of Three Hummock Island to the north, Hunter and Trefoil Islands to the SW. Stack Island, our next destination, was also to the SW but could not be detected because of the greater bulk of Hunter Island behind it. Funny to think that in a matter of hours we would be paddling over the very point upon which we were standing.

At about 2.30pm Jason, Angie, Alan and Cecily paddled off to go home, the first two because to continue might be to sink and the latter two because of work commitments. Laurie accompanied them because he wanted to see if Liz (who was to have joined us on our trip as soon as she had completed a walk on the South Coast track) had arrived at Stony Point. Personally I wouldn't have paddled all that distance back for anyone.

The eight of us remaining left Kangaroo Island about 3pm when the tide was in. A bit of boat dragging was necessary over the northern part of Kangaroo Island before we could reach deep water. Eventually however we were on the open sea and heading for Stack Island.

It seemed to take an eternity to reach Stack Island and all the way across we were hammered by a strong westerly, with a bit of a squall at about the halfway mark for good measure. Luckily the westward moving tide counteracted the westerly winds and kept us fairly much on target. Finally we reached the island and set about establishing camp. Putting up my tent was no easy matter due to the eddying effect of the wind but eventually success was mine. While everyone else was still sorting out their gear I snuck down to my boat and relieved the load of two cans of the amber fluid. The weather was still unsettled and that night caused the camp fire to be abandoned three times because of the threat that the light drizzle was developing into a heavy downpour. The fourth time I rushed to my tent I decided to stay and settled back to read my book. About l0.30pm Laurie (without Liz) duly arrived at the camp having paddled across in the dark. Ignored him and went to sleep.

Following day (Tuesday) declared a rest day by unanimous consent. That is, it was a rest day for all but Laurie who late that afternoon again set off to rendezvous with Liz (perhaps he is really in training for another Bass Strait crossing). Spent the day in a worthwhile manner - sleeping, relaxing, swimming and eating. Only real activity was a walk to the top of Stack Island from where a good view was had of the many small islands to the south and south-west of Hunter as well as a good view of Three Hummock to the north-east. The wind blew strongly for most of the day and it was obvious that a paddle out to the more exposed islands would be tough going. Shortly after tea the bad weather cleared enough to make sleeping in the open a possibility. Dropped off like a log.

Next morning it was off to Hunter Island shortly after breakfast. The current and breeze were both in our favour and so we just coasted along and in only an hour and a half arrived at Cave Bay. Went for a walk to the homestead which is situated about half-way across Hunter Island between Cave Bay and the west coast. Filled our containers with water and shared the fruit of a plum tree with the resident blue tongue lizard before walking for about a further 10 minutes to a rise from where we could view the western coastline of Hunter Island. It was quite calm on the west coast and I was a little disappointed that we had not decided to go around that side of the island as it appeared from where we were standing to be the more scenic and rugged.

I was glad to get back to the beach at Cave Bay as, even though Hunter Island is probably not 4 miles wide at its widest point, it was significantly hotter and drier in the middle of the island than down by the coastline. After a swim we set off to inspect a cave said to have been used by some long-lost tribe of aborigines. Although large it was just a fairly ordinary cave as far as I was concerned. Whilst walking through the burnt out hillocks (no regrowth so the fire had obviously been quite recent) on our way to the cave Sean had spotted a school of salmon moving down the coast toward Cave Bay. The fishermen in the party were therefore keen to get back so as to catch some for dinner. John was easily the most successful with a catch of eight.

After the salmon school was suitably decimated we set off for Shepherd's Bay along an interesting and rocky coastline. Three Hummock Island to the NE. was now quite close. It was really quite pleasant cruising along with the sail up (I must make one of these) and yet still keeping pace with those who had to paddle.

We reached Shepherd's Bay at about 5pm and pulled in at the smaller of the two sandy beaches. A more beautiful place would be hard to imagine - nice beach, good fishing and diving, sheltered campsite and more. Dinner was seafood (again) consisting of abalone for entree's and a more than adequate quantity of salmon for the main course supplemented by a heavy damper courtesy of Sean. Another good night's sleep under the stars.

Thursday dawned clear and sunny and everyone just took it for granted that it was to be another rest day. The weather was perfect with a very light wind from the NE and hardly a cloud in the sky. Most spent the day in the usual manner - sunbathing, swimming & fishing (the diet of salmon by now getting to be a bit monotonous I thought). After lunch we felt the need for some more vigorous exercise and so, leaving John behind to set his cray traps, we set off for a walk to the other side of the island. Sean seemed to be having a spot of bother with a gammy knee which had been worsening throughout the course of the trip. However it didn't take long for us to reach the beautiful beach at the northern end of Cuvier Bay. The sea on the west side of Hunter was flat again with a small breaking surf along the beach line. Went for a walk to the ridge at the end of the beach hoping that from that vantage point we might see the northern end of Hunter Island but we were to be disappointed as just beyond the first ridge was another of the same height and so on and so on. However an excellent view was had of Albatross Island and also a somewhat hazy view of a mysterious pyramid-shaped island on the far horizon. Bruce and Graham continued on because they wanted to look at a mutton-bird rookery which was supposed to be in the area. Steve and I turned back because if you've seen one mutton-bird burrow you've seen them all. We had a refreshing swim in the small surf and headed back to Shepherd's Bay.

Next morning (Friday) we drifted across to Three Hummock Island in a light south-westerly breeze. Nearly one and a half hours later (we certainly were in no hurry) we pulled into Chimney Corner and visited the Alliston's who lease the island from the Government. They have lived there for some 33 years and I couldn't help but think that such a lifestyle would be rather idyllic whilst at the same time a bit lonely and limited. Mrs. Alliston has written a book on her island experiences entitled 'Escape to an Island' (soon to be republished in its eighth edition) which I would like to read having now seen the island at first hand.

After a long chat with the Alliston's and a somewhat lengthy tour of their vegetable patch we debated our next movements. I was keen to join the Franklin River blockade, Steve Whelan had to be back at work by the following Tuesday and Sean was anxious to receive medical treatment for his knee and so it was decided that we would start heading back that day whilst those remaining would paddle around the northern coast of Three Hummock Island to East Telegraph Bay where, according to the Alliston's, Laurie and Liz were waiting. It was a bit sad to be splitting up the group, it always being nice to start and finish together, and I was also a bit annoyed that I would be missing out on the scenic northern coast of Three Hummock Island which, as I later heard, is quite spectacular. Nevertheless the three of us at about midday said our goodbyes and set off for Walker Island, accompanied initially by Steve Jacobs who was paddling to East Telegraph via the shorter southern coast because of a bad case of tendonitis. It took us ages to pull clear of the tide race around Three Hummock Island and it was quite frustrating to see South Hummock hill still looming over us every time we looked back to gauge our progress. The actual trip across to Walker Island took only about 2 hours but it seemed longer than that as the sea had by this time become quite choppy due to the freshening westerly wind. The last part of the trip across was maddening as we had to tackle yet another strong tide race. We seemed to make no progress at all (measured in relation to Petrel Rock). Then quite suddenly we were clear of the tide race and were able to land on the small island off the northern end of Walker Island

We rested for about an hour and a half behind some rocks in a feeble attempt to shelter from the incessant wind until, totally fed up, we packed up the boats again and set off for Walker Island. The east coast of Walker Island was, by contrast, sheltered from the wind and it was quite pleasant to paddle along the sandy beaches and rocky promontories and numerous off-shore rock formations.

Our solitude was eventually shattered by a Fisheries Patrol boat which passed by us quite unexpectedly. A short while later a fisherman (Phillip) in a rubber motor boat, followed by his companions in a shark cat, overtook us and invited us to stay the night at his camp in Mosquito Inlet. About an hour later as we were approaching his camp Phillip scared the living daylights out of us by buzzing in his Cessna upside down. The aerobatic display which followed loop the loops, barrel rolls and the like - was entertaining to say the least. After pulling in we were offered a welcome cuppa and a meal of hamburgers and sweep (fish) and, best of all, a much appreciated hot shower. Civilised people these fishermen. Sat around the fire for many hours listening to Phillip (the three of us were too tired and could make only a token effort at conversation) before turning in beneath the stars after being assured by Phillip that, despite the howling westerly, there was no likelihood of rain (he was right!).

Next morning we were rudely awoken by our fisherman friend zooming overhead in his plane (the right way around this time) on his way to Smithton for supplies. No sooner had we gone back to sleep when he zoomed back again, Smithton probably being only about 5 minutes flying time away. It was obviously time to get up.

It was 9am by the time we had breakfasted, packed up and said our goodbyes. The wind had swung during the night to become an easterly and was literally howling in but we nonetheless decided to paddle back to the Montague Camping Park (which, optimists that we are, we expected to reach that day) via the east coast of Robbins Island. The fishermen warned us that it would be rough going but we assured them that sea kayaks are the most sea-worthy vessels around and that they could handle anything. However upon reaching the entrance to Mosquito Inlet we decided they were right - the shore break was certainly negotiable, but to paddle all the way to Cape Elie with a strong easterly and breaking waves hitting us all the way definitely looked too much like hard work. So we rafted up, put up my sail, and sailed back into the inlet which by this time was rapidly emptying of water. Paddled unseen to the western entrance of Mosquito Inlet where we were confronted by an expanse of sand which could have rivalled the Sahara. There was nothing for it but to sit tight and wait for the tide to come back in. According to the tide tables the tide was expected to come in at about 4pm which meant we had to hang about in this awful place for most of the day. Our day long vigil was only relieved by the thought that the rest of the party back at East Telegraph Bay would, since the bay faced toward the east, be feeling the full fury of the easterlies and would hopefully also be having a rotten time.

It seemed to take an eternity for the tide to come in and when 4pm came around and we were still sitting high and dry I began to despair that the tide tables must have been incorrect. Pulled my hat down over my eyes only to find some 10 minutes later that the water was nearly lapping at my feet - incredible. We jumped in to our boats and were swept out to sea by the westward flowing tide. With both the wind and tide behind us we were flying down the west coast of Robbins which was just as well as this coastline was scrubby, low-lying and uninteresting. There were numerous burn-off operations taking place on the island as well and the strong wind was blowing the thick smoke into our faces which was making things quite unpleasant. Ah!, we thought, but tonight we would be in the Smithton pub so it didn't really matter. By now we were certainly looking forward to getting the trip over and done with.

We soon reached the small islands off the SW corner of Robbins Island and tried to paddle between them but got stuck on the sand. Swearing and cursing profusely we carried the boats over about 150 metres of sand and then resumed paddling, eagerly looking forward to finishing the final leg and getting to the pub. However it was not to be - we rounded the corner and found ourselves pitted against both a strong wind and tide. What a rotten day - all the waiting for tides, getting sunburnt, no food, and now no pub.

It was an hilarious start to the last day of our trip - for me, if not for Steve and Sean. Steve and Sean had been too knackered the night before to put up a tent whilst I, with some difficulty, got my own tent up without help in the wind and dark. Wherefore it was with satisfaction that I heard the heavy pitter-patter of rain drops on my tent in the early hours of the morning. The swearing, stumbling and crashing of Steve and Sean trying to find and then put up their fly-tent on a moonless night without the aid of a torch was, I thought, quite hilarious. I nearly choked with the effort of trying to contain my laughter when, less than an hour later, their tent which had been set to withstand the strong easterly abruptly blew away when the wind, after a brief lull, shifted to the west. Certainly a sleepless night for Sean and Steve. But what crazy weather they get down here, with this overnight shift in the wind being an exact repeat of the weather pattern the night before. Without much more ado we packed and set off early, this time with the wind and tide in our favour. The three of us finally pulled in not long after dawn at Montague Camping Park, feeling tired and relieved. But overall, apart from the last two days, it had been a great trip.

PETER NEWMAN

Trip Participants:
Cecily Butorac & Allan Stanton (TK2), Tas.
Peter Carter, SA.
Bruce Davies, Tas.
Graham Davis, SA.
Jason Dicker & Angie (TK2), Tas.
Sean Dickson, NSW.
Laurie Ford, Tas.
Steve Jacobs, NSW.
Peter Newman, Victoria.
Steve Whelan, Tas.
John Wilde, Tas.
Liz Caldwell, Tas.