Scribe: Laurie Ford
January and February in 1998 has seen some very unexpected weather conditions that made sea kayaking a bit of a challenge in Bass Strait. I went on two trips - one mid January, planned to get to NE River on Flinders Island; and one mid February, planned to get to Albatross Island.

Neither achieved their objective.

One started off in a gale - we arrived on Swan Island the first day to be told the wind was 35 knots - gusting to 42.

The other had strong wind warning after strong wind warning, so we came home a few days early, after which the forecast was upgraded to a gale warning.

This is the Flinders Island report.

The Maatsuyker Canoe Club has an extended trip every year about January/February, for anything from 9 days to 3 weeks - in fact I guess a few of us just paddle a bit during the year to keep a bit of fitness, and possibly try out new gear - in preparation for the “Xmas Trip”.

This year it was planned to go to NE River on the very NE extremity of Flinders Island - a large inlet that is very popular with the locals for fishing and camping. Due to a whole lot of circumstances it looked as though it would just be Jeff and myself going, till I received an Email from John Hyndman in Victoria. He and Rex Brown travelled across on the ‘Devil Cat’ to join up with us at Jeff’s place in Bridport the night before we set off - and we sat up fairly late talking photos and computers.

I had enquired earlier by Email whether either of them had any medical conditions I should be aware of, ie. asthma, diabetes, alcoholic, sex maniac etc.. Rex had replied that he didn’t have asthma or diabetes, never touched alcohol, and was too flat out modifying his Greenlander kayak for this trip to have any time for the other. It was interesting to note that John and Rex both had two sails fitted to their kayaks - something I’ve been using for 15 years or so, but almost no other Tasmanians that I’m aware of. Rex had also put a lot of time into fitting a new seat in the kayak, but hadn’t yet sat in it to paddle - which turned out to cause a minor problem in the first couple of days - like when he stepped out of his boat each day his hips were so sore he could barely stand up and walk.

Sunday, 18th January, and we were at Little Musselroe Bay in Tasmania’s NE ready for an 8.00am start. The wind was howling, almost westerly, and had I been by myself I may have considered a really fast sail across to Preservation Island - but John and Rex were a bit of an unknown at this stage so we just went across to Swan Island (basically straight downwind) and wait for improved conditions. This was sheer fun. I had both sails up and scorched along, tacking upwind and then downwind so as to try not to get too far ahead. The other three had put sails up briefly, but then decided maybe they would paddle the short distance across to Swan, and put their sails away. There was quite a decent swell curling around Cape Portland and running down the coast, making for good surfing conditions. We found out after the end of the trip that one of the Victorians thought maybe the name of the club should be “Maat-psycos”, not Maatsuyker. Halfway across I took one sail down to wait for the others, and while in this process the other sail nearly flapped itself to pieces. Both these sails were made in about 1983, 15 years ago, and the material was fairly rotten. - in fact Cecily had suggested before the trip that I really needed two new ones. My front sail ended up with a long rip of over half a metre long, so I had to put it away and transfer the back sail to the front - all a bit exciting in the 42 knot gusts. We neared Swan Island without any incidents and I started to put the front sail away to wait again for the others to catch up. I couldn’t pull the mast out with one hand due to the extreme pressure of the wind, and then tried two hands. I was still trying when another gust hit and over I went, grabbing my paddle for a support stroke just a fraction too late. How embarrassing. Once upside down it was still a bit of a job to pull the mast out of the deck, but it finally came out and I was able to roll up, grab the floating sail, and put it away.

Jeff had been videoing parts of the crossing (when he could), but then discovered that one of the clips on the waterproof housing had come undone - not surprising with the force of the water flowing over the decks at times. There was now a bit of water in the lens of the video camera and it refused to function anymore. It looked like the end of the next Maatsuyker epic video production.

We landed in Little Jetty Bay, changed into dry clothes, and wandered over to the Lighthouse and Lightkeepers quarters. These quarters are now used as a guest accommodation, which are available for self catered parties, or you can go the whole hog and be fed by Super Chefs Ken and Susan Stoneman. These two charming people used to cater for up to 400 people at a time in Victoria, but now 8 or 10 is probably a full house. The Maatsuyker Club had met them when we were here in March last year, but we had heard a rumour that they had moved on. It was very pleasing to find the rumour was wrong, and we were invited in for morning tea, and chatted about past happenings. Jeff used their phone to get his son to drive out to school and borrow the spare video camera and put it on the ferry to Flinders Island so it would be at Lady Barron when we arrived in a couple of days time.

The tide was right to leave at 12 noon to cross to Clarke Island, but the wind was still gale force and we decided to wait till 6.00pm, for the next slack water. This was not nearly as good as the midday tide for the crossing, but the only alternative to waiting a day. We sat on the rocks near the kayaks, watching the family holidaying on Swan Island fish and snorkel, and I used the spare time to sew up the rip in my sail (the first of many times on this trip). And we were delighted to see the wind and seas abate during the afternoon to a flat calm. The sun came out as the sky cleared - an unbelievable change from a few short hours ago.

Ken and Susan planned to send us off in style with a huge pizza for tea - the pizza being made with seemingly effortless ease, but big? It was too much for us, so John called for a ‘doggy bag’ and Ken wrapped the large slices in foil for ‘later on’.

Banks Strait was benign to say the least as we set off - any novice could have handled it - it was as pleasant as I’ve ever seen it. But before we were halfway across we happened to look back over our right shoulders and were startled to see a huge wall of dark cloud scudding up from the SE. A short time later we were in rain and fresh winds, and building seas. I put a sail up again and but not the others, or not for long anyway, and we made fairly slow progress as we neared Moriarty Point against the last of the ebb-tide. There were now quite big seas starting to break over the kayaks up to our armpits, and the land just didn’t seem to be getting any closer. About 8.00pm the sun appeared very briefly as it came out of the cloud low on the horizon, and promptly disappeared into the sea, in an eerie reddish glow. We were now close enough to see a beach up ahead as it got darker and darker, and the seas got bigger and bigger - but progress was still painfully slow. My mind was working overtime while I deliberated on all the possible scenarios - the main problem being that if we didn’t arrive with enough light to see the beach and any possible rocks clearly then I wouldn’t be landing in what would probably be big surf. This would then mean a long night paddle, running before the wind and seas past Rebecca Bay just round the corner, and possibly to Spike Bay where we could expect calm conditions for landing in the dark - about midnight. The tide was also about to change direction and speed us in that direction as well, so it wasn’t an impossible alternative - just an unwelcome one.

I’d been waiting every few minutes, with my sail flapping, for Jeff, John and Rex to catch up with me, as they wallowed in the now alarming following seas - and as the sense of urgency came to the fore they started to spread out a bit, everybody putting on a bit of speed to try to overcome the current and get ashore. It was now getting quite dark, and I made my decision - I’d leave them to fend for themselves. They were going to get separated in the dark anyway, even with lights, which some of them had. In these seas it was going to be very difficult to stick really close together, and if anyone came out of their kayak then the wind and waves were onshore, so they would get ashore with their kayak anyway - eventually. I felt that it was better for me to sail on ahead and get ashore in the very last of the light and find a good safe landing spot, where they could come in in the dark without any problems. I could only just see the beach in the gloom, and managed to avoid the small patch of rocks in the middle of the beach - the actual surf on the beach was much smaller than I anticipated. I grabbed my torch and walked along the beach away from the rocks and shone the torch out to sea and waited - and waited - and waited - it seemed endless. All sorts of thoughts were running through my head, every worst possibility was popping up - and I was very relieved to see a dark shape appear in the white break in front of me. Jeff broached into the beach - one out of three! Then a minute or two later another dark shape broached in - two out of three! And finally Rex followed in as well - it was quite a relief to all be safely together ashore after our short separation in the dark.

Not being absolutely sure which particular beach we were on we had a quick scout around for somewhere to camp but there just wasn’t anywhere - just big sand-dunes stretching miles back behind the beach - so the kayaks were put close together and provided a minor bit of shelter for John and Rex who had come equipped with Bivvy bags for the trip. Jeff put his tent up there as well, while I found a bit of a hollow in the sand-dunes for my bivvy bag. It must be the worst conditions I’ve ever camped in, with the wind blowing sand everywhere, but we were so glad to be ashore we just didn’t care. As I went off to my campsite for the night, I could see John happily munching a very large wedge of pizza. I attempted to photograph this only to find my waterproof camera was no longer working. This has been pretty reliable on many past trips, and there was no sign of water in it - maybe just flat batteries, but I wasn’t carrying any spares.

The wind dropped away to a very light easterly overnight, and we used this to sail along the coast of Clarke Island early in the morning, heading for Kent Bay initially, and then later on in the day - Sea Lion Narrows. I had made tentative arrangements to meet up with another group of sea kayakers in a couple of days time at the wreck of the Farsund, but we were now a bit behind our schedule due to not paddling at midday from Swan Island. It’s not terribly interesting along the eastern side of Clarke Island, just low scrubby bush, and we only stopped once briefly at Black Point - where we should have been camped.

We crossed the channel to Cape Barren Island with a dying wind, and landed in the head of Kent Bay for a few hours to wait for the tide to turn through the narrows. John and Jeff wandered round the bay to the site of the old whaling station (reportedly the first in Tasmanian waters) while Rex and I just lazed on the white beach out of the wind.

Three hours later we launched again and followed the shoreline round to Sea Lion Narrows, where the tide was starting to pick up, flowing to the east. The east wind had also picked up a bit and across the eastern entrance of the narrows we encountered much rougher conditions, that bounced us around from crest to crest. However we were only going across the small bay to camp in Petticoat Bay, and found a really top campsite in here, a very pleasant resting place after last nights camping on the beach, and the dull overcast day today.

By now Rex was having real trouble standing up every time he got out of his kayak, and was struggling to help carry the very heavily loaded kayaks up the beach each time we landed. He had put a new seat in the Greenlander and although it had felt allright sitting in it for a few minutes at home in the shed, long periods in it on this trip were showing that it was a bit of a squeeze. Tomorrow we were due to meet up with Grant Gaffney and his group at the Farsund, and then probably camp along towards Neds Point somewhere with them - but it now seemed obvious that our best plan was to spend a day in the township of Lady Barron and borrow an angle grinder and modify Rex’s seat (or if this was too painful we could modify the seat in his Greenlander).

So we had another early start (0630), still attempting to get to the Farsund before midday, and perhaps find the others still hanging about. A light easterly again today, causing slightly choppy seas as we used the tide to help us across to Cape Barren, passing Christmas Beach and then Jamiesons Bay. Once round here we were in smoother seas and sailed slowly along the picturesque coast, with its white beaches and imposing granite headlands.

We landed just inside Harley Point for a short break, and walked along the beach to look at the fairly large, dry, Thirsty Lagoon. It was a lovely warm sunny day, and the remoteness of the area made you feel you could spend all day here just savouring the clean white sand and the clear water, and the red and orange lichen covered granite rocks.

The area near the wreck of the Farsund was fairly choppy as the increasing easterly wind threw up a swell over the really shallow sand banks surrounding the entrance to Franklin Sound. I had both sails up and attempted to surf in over the breakers, which turned out to be a bit ambitious. I was broached by the first wave, and was casually surfing in sideways without any drama at first. I was bracing into it, with the kayak right over on its edge - thinking this is great. Then the wave broke - right over both of my sails, which were nearly flat on the water anyway. This pushed them both under water - of course - and there I was, capsized again. I couldn’t lean back to attempt any sort of decent support stroke as the mast behind my back kept me completely upright. I got out of the kayak and trod water while taking the back sail down and putting it away. Then I got astride the rear deck and re-entered the cockpit (at the second attempt), adjusted the front sail to get me moving again, and switched the pump on. Later on I found that some of the paddlers hadn’t even seen me go in. It was too rough to be able to get aboard the wreck as we have done in the past, and there was no sign of Grant Gaffney’s group, so after a photo or two we set off across the very fast incoming tide to the southern shores of Flinders Island. We sailed across in relatively smooth water, with large breakers out to sea on our right, where a yacht was cruising around trying to find the right channel to come in through.

The wind increased all during the day, and the final sail in to Lady Barron was a good fast one, and we landed on the boat ramp at the wharf and carried the kayaks onto a small lawn in front of the harbour authorities - where a lady came out and told us to use their toilet, and where we could get showers. We enquired about an angle grinder, as there is a huge shed right on the wharf with a good looking workshop in it, but was locked. She told us the man would be back later in the day, so we changed into dry clothes to wait. The ferry agent came over when he recognised Jeff and told him that the spare video camera had arrived by air, which didn’t immediately cause any bells to ring. It was only when we enquired whether any other sea kayaks had come over on the ferry that we discovered the ferry had never made it. On the previous trip it had run aground just off Little Dog Island (quite close to Lady Barron) in the middle of the night, and been badly holed. We heard all the drama of the salvage, and that it had been towed back to Tasmania (Launceston) for repairs ($300,000 we later heard - they cut the bottom out of it and put a whole new one on).

The very old Lady Gillian had been recalled to carry on as a temporary replacement, and was tied up at the wharf here and cars were being loaded on with a crane, to take tourists back to Tasmania. The damaged ferry was a drive-on drive-off ferry, which replaced the Lady Gillian a few years ago. The Lady Gillian is an old two masted trading vessel, still being used on irregular trade across Bass Strait to Port Welshpool - and she’s a grand sight to see racing along under full sail.

Of course we felt very sorry about Grant not making it, but there were a few grinning comments made about the fact that he should have used a more reliable form of transport to get to Flinders Island - like sea kayaks.

Jeff checked out the replacement video camera, only to be very disappointed to find that it too was not working correctly. Both video cameras were sadly packed up to be returned to Bridport.

The man arrived back at his workshop, hearing on the grapevine that his presence was required by some kayakers, and we soon had a power lead run out, and had the use of an angle grinder and face mask. I volunteered to do the modifications, and had much delight in slicing into the Greenlander seat, grinding off slight bumps, and then widening the seat by about a cm or so. Out came the fibreglass repair kit, and some bits of CSM gently glassed over the holes, and left to go off before a more permanent covering could be put on. It didn’t take long with the amount of hardener I put on, and the holes were then permanently covered so as to be watertight - the seat is actually the rear bulkhead of this kayak.

Jeff, John, and Rex then decided to find the supermarket, and later on went for a counter meal at the nearby tavern. With the weight of their kayaks I would have thought it made more sense to start eating their own food, but they didn’t think so. As a matter of fact, as the trip went on, I’m convinced their kayaks got heavier and heavier. They were forever nipping in to the nearest bakery or supermarket or shop whenever we got anywhere near one - to buy pies, doughnuts, cheeseburgers, etc etc. Not only that, but they always came back with large bags full of more food to put in their kayaks.

While they were away eating I camped in the small park next to the tennis courts, and lit a fire in the big brick barbecue - where they found me on their return. They camped next to their kayaks on the lawn.

We’d had a few long days in our attempt to get to the Farsund on schedule, but now we could totally relax and travel at a much more leisurely pace. The tide wasn’t right till the middle of the day so we traipsed up to Vinegar Hill lookout, from where you can see right up the east coast of Flinders Island to Babel Island, and also south out across Vansittart Island, and the Farsund. There was a good fresh easterly blowing, and at midday (after another visit to the supermarket) we used the wind to race through Franklin Sound, heading for Trousers Point camp site. A sheltered little beach provided a very pleasant lunch stop, before getting back out in the strong wind to surf on towards Trousers Point. It was about here that the pin in Jeff’s rudder broke - not where it goes through the attachments on the back of the kayak as one would have expected, but in the middle of the rudder. This tore away a small section of the fibreglass rudder itself, and the rudder had to be left in the up position on the deck till it could be repaired later. He still managed to sail, by hanging out the stern of the kayak doing high braces to steer the thing. A yacht was overtaking us right out off shore, so I used both my sails to go out to meet it and race it for a while. It was pretty good fun surfing alongside it while I had a bit of a chat, but required a lot of paddling to keep with it, and I eventually let it go and headed back in towards Trousers Point. The others were now well back behind me so I arrived at Trousers Point and was well and truly in dry clothes and had a look around before they landed. Trousers Point is a council camp ground, with any amount of space in amongst She-Oaks, and has toilets and a water tank. The only other occupants were a couple of young ladies in a big 12 X 12 tent.

We carried Jeff’s kayak up the steps onto hard ground so he could take his rudder apart without losing any bits in the dry sand on the beach. It was reasonably sheltered in here from the wind and we had a pleasant afternoon just setting up camp, and Jeff repaired his rudder with his fibreglass repair kit, and used a tent peg to make a new pin - as good as new. Had a good campfire for the first time on the trip, and sat up till about 11.30pm.

Strzelecki Peak beckoned in the morning, so we went. It was a very hot day, and a slow climb to the top (750m) for Rex and I, but really beaut views from the top - this really is a compulsory part of the trip for anybody who visits Flinders Island, and we met several groups of tourists going up and coming down. We arrived back in camp 8 hours after we left it, where we promptly went for a bit of a swim, and a snorkel amongst the schools of fingerlings.

Late in the afternoon Dawn Zelman turned up to take some photographs of the area. Dawn is a local artist in Whitemark (the main town on Flinders Island) and produces some of the best water colour paintings I’ve ever seen. Her gallery is the only one in Whitemark and is well worth a visit, and she invited us to call in when we got there. Had another good camp fire, and were joined by the young ladies, Megan Carr (who was holidaying from Melbourne, but was born on Flinders and traces her history back to some of the original settlers), and her friend Eve. Some heavy rain terminated our camp fire chat.

With the aid of a light westerly and an early start we were able to breakfast at the bakery in Whitemark (they were good pies, I must confess). We checked out the private Bowen museum (room) with relics and photos of early life on the island, and visited Dawn’s gallery. My mate from the telephone Exchange was absent, so we left Whitemark, and sailed across to Long Point and then Settlement Point. The falling tide and shallow water precluded any attempt to follow the shore, and it was a long boring trip to Settlement Point. Jeff chatted briefly to a family on the beach, and Mrs Evans (Lyn) said her husband Bruce was down at Lady Barron going kayaking.

We hurried on as we wanted to get to the Emita Museum before it closed for the afternoon, and made it with an hour to spare, landing on Allports Beach. We walked the kilometre or so up to the museum and had an interesting hour wandering through it - all the history you could want.

Back at the campsite we were surprised to be visited by Bruce Evans, whose wife Lyn had got the impression we were short of water. Bruce had a big container of water with him, and his kayak on the roof of his 4WD. It was a plastic kayak, not terribly suited to sea kayaking in its present state, although could be improved considerably with a bit of work fitting bulkheads, rudder, pump etc. He entertained us with a bit of impromptu juggling with some very cunningly constructed juggling clubs made out of recycled material, about which we are sworn to secrecy till a patent is taken out. I invited him over to Tassie some time to give him some canoeing instruction.

Saturday was overcast, with a light easterly to start with, but freshened during the morning. We were on the water at 6.30am and were able to sail right along the shore of Marshall Bay into Tanners Bay in smooth water. Marshall Bay was one very long fairly uninteresting beach, but Tanners Bay had more little rocky outcrops and headlands, and Mt Tanner as a backdrop, and there were a few shacks visible through the scrubby foreshore, and also quite a few tents and caravans. We went ashore around the point near Leeka, where a natural rock boat ramp had been improved with a little bit of concrete work. The coastline was now getting very rocky, with lots of offlying rocks and little islands, and we dodged along through some of these to Cape Frankland - the tide making itself felt as it pushed us along.

We now had a strong headwind to contend with, but the current was in our favour - and by keeping in close to shore where ever we could we had an easy paddle along the coast to Killiecrankie. This is a nice big bay with a long white beach, and a natural rock breakwater to shelter the fishing boats moored there. We landed about 11.45am near the houses at the western end of the beach - two of which belong to Alf, Cec’s brother. He lives in one, and rents the other out now and then to people for holidays. Both were empty, and Alf’s was securely locked - but the other was not. It was now the middle of the day and extremely hot, and after sitting on the rocks for a while I decided to sit in the kitchen/lounge of the house till Alf came home. Naturally Jeff, John and Rex paid a visit to the local shop for yet more pies and goodies, including coke. Out in the bay was a two masted yacht that I recognised as belonging to Cec’s other brother Brian, from Victoria. He owns property here on Flinders Island which he visits now and then to work on, but was here now on his way down to Hobart for the Tall Ships event. He appeared briefly during the day before driving off on another errand, but didn’t know where Alf might be.

I had planned to go along to Stackies Bight at the other end of the bay to camp for the night, before popping round to NE River the next day, but during the afternoon we watched a big front storming in from the SE with huge rain squalls embedded in it. This was totally unpredicted, and as the afternoon drew to a close I decided to use the house without permission. The rain and wind hit before dark, a real gale. I left a note on Alf’s door explaining we were using our sleeping bags in his other house, and we went to bed. Well some of us did. Rex went to have a brief rest on one of the beds about 5.00pm, and was still asleep on it about 10.00pm when we went to bed. He apparently got up about midnight to find his sleeping bag, and watched a bit of the lightning flickering over the bay.

I went over to apologise to Alf in the morning, but he only said he was glad we used some initiative. 25mm of rain fell before lunch time, and continued to fall all day, and the next night - it was wild. John took his wet weather gear and walked right round the bay to Stackies Bight during the day - and later on we borrowed Alf’s car to drive round to look at NE River, as we obviously weren’t going to reach it by kayak. The entrance to NE River was wild, the onshore gale blowing up huge seas across the bar - that, and the driving rain, made us very glad that we weren’t already there - we only stayed out of the car for about two minutes. We were now halfway through our allotted time and needed to start retracing our route back to the Tasmanian mainland. Apart from those brief excursions we didn’t move out of the house all day, just sat watching the fury from the shelter of the house. We felt very comfortable as we sat there sipping a couple of bottles of Alf’s home brew.

Monday the gale was still blowing, and the forecasters were warning of flash flooding on Flinders Island, but it was due to moderate. This easing of conditions let the boys visit the shop again, and they had sausages for lunch and tea, as well as Icecream and blueberries, while I continued to lighten my kayak. We could just see Deal Island for the first time, way out on the horizon, as we sat out on the rocks in the late afternoon sun. We packed the kayaks as much as possible and cleaned the house, ready for an early start in the morning.

Alf came down on the beach to see us off at 7.00am, and we had a very fast trip along to Cape Frankland with the aid of the tide, against a light westerly wind. This made it a bit choppy in close to shore, but we still went in close to Egg Beach, and took numerous short cuts through the offshore rocks - where we all had some exciting near misses in breaking waves. Then my rudder came down on a rock and broke one of the stainless steel lugs on the rudder. I went ashore to have a closer look at it, but it needed welding, or maybe fibreglassing. I decided to continue on without it to our proposed campsite on Settlement Point - about 17km away. It was very frustrating not being able to sail at full speed, and was a devil to keep in the right direction. I tried it with one sail, then two, then without any. It seemed best with just the front sail up, but required a lot of sweep strokes and stern rudders, the wind was too light just to let me sit there and sail without paddling - and so I was trailing along at the back of the group.

Still, we were ashore on Settlement Point by 11.30 am, and I was just taking the rudder apart when the Ranger turned up, and offered us a lift along to the Chapel that Jeff wanted to go and look at. I stayed and glassed up the rudder, and the other three got the lift to the Chapel, and walked back later. This isn’t a bad place to camp if you watch out for the jack-jumpers, which were numerous, but we still had time to go on to Whitemark, or even Trousers Point. After working out that the shops would just be shutting at Whitemark as we arrived, we stayed - and had a pleasant evening round yet another camp fire, while watching a dive boat(?) make ready to go to sea. There was only one occupant, and we failed to work out where or why he might be going out at that time of night - or even why he came back in at 4.00am in the morning, waking us all up with his singing, and banging as he unloaded the boat, and eventually drove off in a noisy 4WD.

John and I paddled right round the shores of Lillies Bay, Sawyers Bay, and Arthur Bay in flat calm conditions the next morning, and caught up with Jeff and Rex off Long Point, where we felt a very light westerly wind. We sailed with partly flapping sails across towards Whitemark till we were within a kilometre or two, where we took them down as the wind died away. Then I could hear a strange noise behind me and looked back over my right shoulder and there was this incredibly black cloud covering from horizon to horizon, and very obviously made up out of violent wind and rain. I just barely managed to get both sails up and cleated before the storm hit, which was just as well, because then all I could do just hang on and brace for all I was worth. One second it was absolutely flat calm, and 30 seconds later it must have been well over 40 knots. Rex got both his sails up, but didn’t have time to cleat the back one down. He raced off across the whitecapped sea with it flapping all the way to the shore - just hanging in there. Jeff and John had been a bit ahead of us at this time, but I flew past them towards the jetty at Whitemark.

There was a large store building near the wharf, where a man was unloading trucks with a fork lift, and as soon as we hit the beach we scurried for it with our bags of dry clothes. He’d been watching us the last few hundred metres, and was probably quite amused to see us strip off in his shed. He didn’t mind us leaving our wet gear hanging to drain on the steel columns, as we made a speedy departure towards the pub and supermarket. The wind got stronger, the rain got heavier, the lightning flashed, the thunder crashed overhead, and then down came the hail. After a brief visit to the supermarket we retired to the pub for a cider/beer or two, and Rex demonstrated his prowess at 8-ball (signs of a mis-spent youth I always say). About lunch time we sallied forth to the bakery for more pies for lunch, and then back down to the wharf. The storm had come with such speed it would obviously go with similar speed, and even though it was still raining and blowing a bit as we went into the shed to change - by the time we got on the water again it was almost a flat calm. There was still a bit of lightning over Strzelecki Peaks, and Rex was concerned about a theory he’d heard that when you are out on the sea in an electrical storm you will be the highest point - so the lightning will strike you. I told him this was an excellent chance to test the theory out, and told him I’d apologise if he was right, and I was wrong.

It was very pleasant just cruising along in flat calm conditions, still watching the occasional flash over Strzelecki, but even that quickly died away. We got as far as Lagoons Point in these conditions, just opposite Green Island. Then the wind came in from the west again, and heavy showers blotted out Trousers Point, and Strzelecki Peaks, but cleared again as we neared the N side of Trousers Point where we landed to check out the campsite there. It would be allright, but not a patch on the southern side. While we were ashore here the wind increased yet again, and we battled out of the bay and were immediately in very confused seas rebounding off the rocky shore. I sailed the couple of km along here, and then waited to see the others one by one come in round the point to shelter, and then we were back in our old campsite again.

We had just got a fire going when our friendly ranger from Settlement Point turned up. We had heard second hand that there was a total fire ban on Flinders Island for the whole month, but surely with all the rain over the last three or four days it was pretty safe. He seemed to think so.

There were now big seas starting to blow into our bay, and whitecaps as far as the eye could see.

Thursday morning the weather had if anything worsened - would we go out to Chappell Island or not, we had a day or so to spare if we needed it. I got very democratic and asked how they felt - and there didn’t seem to be an overwhelming enthusiasm to put the kayaks in the water. So we stayed put. Or I did anyway. The others thought a walk round to Big River was the go, and so they went - and I heard later that Jeff had narrowly escaped an attacking tiger snake.

Friday was more of the same, but we paddled regardless, into a strong westerly wind and big breaking seas. It was only about 9km out to Chappell Island, but we hadn’t gone too far when I heard Rex yell out. I thought, ‘Oh damn, he hasn’t capsized has he’, and looked back behind me. But no, he was still in his boat and paddling - Jeff and John were momentarily out of sight behind a big swell. Then I rose over the swell and could see John swimming next to his kayak, and just making an attempt to get up on the rear deck for a re-entry. He fell back in, and made one try at a re-entry and roll before I was alongside to raft up while he got back in and put his spraydeck on and switch the pump on. Then we continued on, rounding up momentarily for the biggest breaking waves, then bearing away again for Chappell. Once Chappell Island was blotted out by heavy rain, and it was a while before I bothered to look at my compass and realise that I was way off course, and that was the reason Jeff and John were so far upwind. John had used his compass straight away. We closed in again as a group, then Jeff and John gradually drew away as we neared the island, and Rex and I brought up the rear, eventually landing on a small beach on the eastern side 2 1/2 hours after leaving Trousers Point.

Climbing into our dry clothes was not without its moments, as Jeff let out a yell and dropped his trousers rather quickly - a scorpion crawled out. He must have picked it up on Trousers Point when he was packing in the morning. We all donned long trousers and gaiters and then proceeded carefully up the north ridge to the top of Mt Chappell, keeping a wary eye out for Australia’s most venomous snake (the Chappell Island Tiger Snake). It was all rock and scrub along this ridge, and exposed to the cold wind, and I wasn’t expecting to see any snakes here, and haven’t done in the past. They tend to be in amongst the mutton bird rookery on the eastern slopes, where the morning sun warms them up, out of the wind.

After sitting on the trig point for a few minutes we set off down through the rookery, although there wasn’t anyone following too closely behind me. Of course when ever you do see a snake, you tend to do a little hop in the air, and then a sideways step away from the snake - this could probably become a popular dance step - the Mt Chappell Shuffle. We did see a few on the way down, and a few more on the way back along the flat to the kayaks, but they mainly headed for a burrow and quickly slid out of sight.

It was now only a short hop (1 km) across to Badger Island where we planned to camp, but it required some very hard paddling because the tide was ripping through between the two islands and threatened to put us up on the rocks around Little Badger Island. We missed these by the odd metre or so, and then cruised along the beaches to Lucy Point, where we normally camp. Nearby is the grave of Lucy Beeton, a very large indigenous lady who lived and taught here. The beach here is the usual white sand, with large granite boulders each end covered with orange lichen, a very picturesque spot indeed.

We explored the nearby area, spotting signs of the early habitation, and walked the kilometre or so over to the present buildings which include the house, shearing shed, and other farm buildings. These are used irregularly by Alf (who leases Badger Island) when he visits by plane or boat to check out the sheep, and by the shearing team every year. And in fact Cecily and I had been out here about six months ago to help Alf load 29 bales of wool onto his yacht ‘Alcheringa’ to take to the wool sales in Launceston.

I was surprised to see ‘Alcheringa’ making its way out to Badger Island late in the afternoon, and anchor in the next bay to where we were camped, but he didn’t come ashore. He too was on his way down to Hobart for the ‘Tall Ships’, but had to go to Bridport first to pick up 8 of his passengers/crew, and then join up with brother Brian in his 50ft yacht to travel down together. Our fire on the beach that night managed to split large slabs off the rock it was against.

Jeff’s wrist had been starting to give him trouble as early as the day we climbed Strzelecki, and I really thought we should be taking the shortest route home as it was getting more painful by the day - but he seemed to think it would be OK to go out to Goose Island first. The Alcheringa had already departed when we got on the water at 8.00am, to use the fast current out to Goose Island, against a very light westerly wind. It was a brilliant sunny day as we landed on the rocks near the lighthouse, and then wandered about on the miniature pigface, discovering old foundations and signs of the keepers quarters long since gone. There is now a huge array of solar panels at the base of the lighthouse to keep it functioning, and one old stone building that used to have supplies in it for the use of shipwrecked persons - but now has only old paint brushes and rollers left over from the visiting maintenance men who apply the vivid white paint to the lighthouse.

From Goose Island it is a long boring 23km paddle across to Thunder & Lightning Bay on Cape Barren Island which was our next destination, so we sat around for an hour or so to wait for the tide to change to get every assistance we could. The very light wind also helped, and an hour and a half after leaving Goose we landed on Boxen Island. We have never landed here before, in fact I’ve never seen it before. It is such a small low island that it can not normally be seen when we paddle our usual route round Cape Sir John on our way to Flinders Island. It was a welcome resting spot today, but not an island ever worth making a special trip out to see.

We set off again, but hadn’t gone far when Rex discovered he’d left his sunnies on the shore, so I nipped back for them. Then we continued to slip along in the direction of Thunder & Lightning Bay, still able to keep the sails just filling in the light wind, eventually arriving mid afternoon. We chatted to a local family picnicking on the beach, and inspected the fresh water supply. It just bubbles out of the sand in quite a few places, and then creates a small gully as it flows into the sea. It is very fresh and extremely drinkable, and in fact quite a few islands in Bass Strait have similar springs, such as Hogan, Preservation, and Three Hummock.

It was now time to head off to the last camp before heading back across Banks Strait - Preservation Island. This is the site of the first settlement in Australia outside of Sydney, unplanned as it was. The ‘Sydney Cove’ was beached here after springing a leak in the Southern Ocean and westerly gales up the side of Tasmania. Some of the crew then went off in a whaleboat to try to reach Sydney, eventually making it on foot. Vessels were then sent out to rescue the rest, but unfortunately one of the rescuing boats then went missing itself on the return trip to Sydney. This rescue expedition led to the discovery and exploitation of the seals in the area, and they were decimated to extinction, and no longer breed here.

Preservation Island has been used for grazing cattle for many years, and has a very comfortable house on it, which was used infrequently. I have used this in the past, with the knowledge of the previous owner, and was looking forward to a relaxing time here again. But as we rounded the point we saw a dinghy on the beach, and then a plane behind the house - it was occupied by the new owners - they had arrived the day before for a visit. They offered us coffee, fresh water, and Jeff used their phone, and then they suggested there was a good campsite further round the island. This surprised me as I have been visiting this island for the last 15 years, and in any case we had had a fairly long day and I wasn’t particularly keen to get back into wet canoeing gear this late in the day. Jeff, John and Rex went off for a walk to the southern end of the island, returning just before dark - when we set up camp between the house and the foreshore.

6.35am and we were off on our last day, first round to Rebecca Bay to wait for the right tide to cross Banks Strait. The last of the ebb tide shot us around to Rebecca Bay against a light headwind - this is another glorious long white beach, and with a short walk up to a good lookout overlooking Banks Strait, from here you could see Swan Island far away to the south, and Cape Portland which was our next destination.

I always like to leave Rebecca Bay with the last couple of hours of the flood tide, and head across to Cape Portland. The tide will take you to the west into Bass Strait for a couple of hours, then it turns and starts to bring you back to the east again, just as you near Cape Portland. This then builds to a real tide race and sweeps you along the coast to Little Musselroe Bay.

As we left Rebecca Bay the tide race round the point was quite spectacular, at least 4 or 5 knots, causing big confused seas, but it quietened down as we drew away from the shore. Our only problem was we had a freshening SE wind which would push us further to the west than we normally allow for. But it was almost side on and we could all use our sails, paddling at the same time. It was a long hard bash across here, and as Cape Portland swept across our bows I thought we were going to miss it altogether. About an hour away from the Cape I decided we were travelling too slowly, Rex seemed to be going slower and slower, so I clipped on a tow line and towed him till we were only a few metres off the shore. We did just manage to get to the end of Cape Portland so the tide must have turned - even though it was hard to see because of the fresh SE wind. We landed after four hours of hard paddling, Jeff’s wrist was now giving him hell as we all collapsed on the beach in a very shallow little bay. But there was no rest, as very shortly this would dry out with the falling tide - and I wasn’t in any mood to carry the kayaks several hundred metres to get back into deep water. So with less than a ten minute break we were off again, and anybody who thought the tide hadn’t turned yet was soon put straight. It was like a river off the headlands, a very definite wide body of water sweeping along the coast at several knots. I nearly made the mistake of paddling along close to shore, but realised that in here you can quite often encounter a back eddy in some of the bays, so headed off shore and paddled in the middle of the stream. Despite our tiredness, and the still constant headwind, it only seemed like minutes before we were rounding the last point into little Musselroe Bay, and paddling up the outfall of the lagoon. This required some fast furious paddling as the large body of water emptied out through a ten metre channel, and we all encouraged Rex to go a bit harder as he came in behind us.

We unpacked very slowly, savouring the satisfaction of completing several hundred kilometres in Bass Strait without too many incidents. Banks Strait had showed once again that it can be quite challenging, unless you want to sit around for days waiting for a flat calm. But the whole point of having sea kayaks is that they are designed for paddling in the sea, not flat water. One of the local residents came out of his house while we were unpacking, and relived the many times he’s watched sea kayakers start off across the strait from here. He remembered Cec’s trip in 1979, and some illfated attempts to cross Bass Strait much earlier than that.

Then it was off to the Gladstone pub for the odd ale or two, and then back to Bridport before the fish shop down on the wharf closed - more junk food.