These are my journal writings while on the trip, so it may read somewhat clunky. But I have tried to capture the feeling of the trip as it happened, not in reflection in the warm comfort of home!
A video of the trip can be found by clicking here
During the planning phase of the trip, deciding where to go was to be dictated by my goals and objectives. What did I actually want from this trip?
This is what I came up with:
1. To see and experience what happens to me internally spending 4+ nights alone in the remote marine setting
2. Push/expand my comfort zone
3. To see and camp in incredible locations
4. Have time for recreation – Fishing, reading, and exploring the islands more intimately.
5. Achieve something that has never been done before.
It is these objectives that led me to choose the South East Eyre Peninsular to facilitate these goals.
Here there are over 24 off shore islands within 100km of each other. The Sir Joseph Banks Group and the Thorny Passage group separated by 40km of water.
One week out from the trip I found the background of my mind was consumed with the trip. A sort of mental preparation by living out the experiences you are anticipating before they’ve even happened. Preparing itself for the trials and discomforts that may come about.
Being June, I was not expecting to get many consecutive days of paddling in and was quite looking forward to being stuck somewhere and witnessing the ferocity of the Southern Ocean. Being forced to stay put.
I’d planned to start paddling on Sunday the 31st of May, but a series of strong cold fronts delivering 30kt winds and 5-8m sea state was a bit too wild.
However there would be a window on Sunday, where I could boost over to Reevesby before the wind kicked in, then just hide out there.
After a phone call with Malcolm, who had offered to be my land support, we thought it through. To his credit, he did not try to sway me either way in my decision but remained an honest sounding board. Soon I had to say, “well, I’m now asking for your advice, what would you do?”
His comment was “ It would be a marginal and demanding crossing, and if that is what you’re after then fine! But if things go wrong, it’s not going to be good, particularly on your first day’s paddle when you’re not quite in the rhythm. Could you do it? Probably. Do you need to put yourself at that risk? No.”
We decided that launching on Tuesday the 2nd of June would prove much wiser, with no further pending threat from the weather for the rest of the week.
Just prior to leaving home, I found myself becoming somewhat emotionally detached – to protect myself from the anxious thoughts. Thoughts that if left to their own devices can end a trip before it begins.
FOCUS: Don’t think, just do. Tick off the tasks until the only task left is to crawl into my tent at night on Reevesby Island.
Excitement and nerves, but I am just about as prepared as I can be.
I tell my self, don’t be surprised if you feel gloomy on the first night – It always seems to happen to me on solo’s. Remember the next day so far has always felt better.
2nd June – Writing on Reevesby Island.
Although the day started in glassy conditions in the safety of Tumby Bay, today was filled with a mix of emotions; the excitement of heading out, and then the uneasy feeling as squalls came thundering through in the middle of a crossing. You would hear it before you felt it. A hissing noise. You look to see where it is coming from and see the ocean has turned to white caps and is coming straight for you. 15 minutes later, it would abate, and all was well with the world again.
I’m sitting now at home bay, enjoying some entrée and I am feeling as I expected – kind of scared and happy to never kayak again. What is this crazy thing that I keep convincing myself is a good idea to do!?
But if these emotions have been expected and arrived, then tomorrow I can expect happiness and peacefulness. It must be something of transitioning out of the rhythm of home, to the rhythm of the wilderness.. it is not a switch, it’s a transition. It is much easier to deal with now, knowing this pattern happens to me everytime – It’s normalised.
I had 10 – 17kt WSW winds for the crossing, so I headed at 150° with the wind on my beam. This evidently became in the direction of Kirkby Island (from Tumby Bay). Once at Kirkby I would turn to the east and run the wind into Reevesby.
I’m still uncertain on tomorrows plans, only that I need to make my way south – into the headwind and against the tide. A necessary slog to set up the success of the rest of the trip.
I ask my self, what is it I actually want to do with my time here? But I dared not answer that question with these gloomy emotions, lest I end up paddling back home!
Reflecting on the rich conversations I had with Malcolm last night; a big take away was to expect change, in all of life – opposed to being surprised when changes come. Similar to how I am expecting to feel uncomfortable at times on this trip, if I can expect changes to my plans, then I will be far more receptive to adapting well to change when it arrives unwantedly.
It is also strange to sit here where I’ve shared the company of TAFE groups, how they keep the darkness away, and now to be here in silence and solitude.
Tumby Bay to Reevesby Island Via Kirkby – 27km.
3rd June
Well, I do feel better this morning! At peace. The wind has shifted to the SE, meaning my location in home bay is still and calm. A pair of pacific gulls are fishing for crabs in front of me.
The plan is to aim for Langton Island, then possibly on to Spilsby Island.
A low blanket of cloud looms gently over, causing daytime to be just a lighter shade of grey from night time. I cannot yet tell if the sun has risen or is yet to rise.
I set off to Langton, managing a good 5kph against wind and tide. Beyond the protection of Reevesby, the water was unfriendly all day. The previous days’ wind from different directions had caused a sloppy sea state.
Having visited the Sea Lion breeding colony at Langton I set off for the protection of Roxby island to gain a break from the sloppy seas.
Roxby to Boucaut Island was the sloppiest and seemed to take forever. I had wanted to investigate Boucaut Island, but found there were no friendly landing spots today! I was surprised to see such a swell coming up and wrapping around the island.
On to the NW side of Spilsby.
Again I was astonished at the swell coming in. The south coast of Spilsby had become a death coast of random breaking reefs and limestone teeth. But it was a breathtaking image!
Tomorrows plan; to cross to Thistle Island via Dangerous reef – a 40km crossing that has not been achieved as a solo, or from north to south.
Up at 6, on water by 7, that’s the plan. 10kt NE winds should be sweet!
I am feeling content.
Emotions deteriorate with fatigue – something else to be expected, but I am warm, dry and in one of the most stunning places I’ve seen with a long sleep ahead of me. It is good.
4th June – Writing at Observatory Point, Thistle Island
I was up at 6, and on water by 7:15. The swell from yesterday had reduced.
I set off into the featureless horizon bearing 210° to dangerous reef. Once I had left the protection of Spilsby, the previous days SE winds and the now NE winds created quite a messy sea state. If the wind was 5kts stronger, it would have been quite uncomfortable as the seas would turn into 1m breaking waves everywhere.
Heading to Dangerous Reef – one of the 3 largest breeding colonies of Australian Sea Lions – only meant one thing in my mind. Sharks. Though I’ve never seen one I fought my mind to suppress the thought of them and being so far from land.
I realised I was willingly putting myself into a survival situation – Get to land, or be in serious trouble. So I suppressed any un-helpful thoughts, even the thought of looking back to see if I was being stalked.
After 1hr 40m I had my first sighting of a white stick popping out the ocean – Dangerous Reef. This brought a strong feeling of optimism – It does exist!
After 3 hours I arrived and was pleased to find the southern side of the reef offered protection from all the messy sea state. A good place for a meal and a piss!
I felt joy and satisfaction in the achievement, a first to solo kayak to this rocky island, but I did not tarry long. Far from land in prime shark country, the safety of land beckoned me on. Though I regret now that I did not investigate the reef more.
I’m over halfway with Thistle Island now clearly in view and a calmer sea state meant I was able to relax and be much more positive.
I visited the Porter and Black Rocks because well, who knows when I’ll ever be coming this way again!
Just a few k’s off Thistle, the new ebb tide began threatening to suck me past Thistle and into the Thorny Passage!
When I arrived at Observatory Point, I was so surprised to find its western shores so severely damaged by the weekend’s storm that I chose to sit out. The beach had become steep and waves had eroded into the sand dunes making them appear as if someone had chopped them in half and thrown them into the sea.
I figured Snug Cove would offer a good landing, but I was wrong. As I went south along the coast I found 2m tall walls of seaweed to the water’s edge, as if the island had made its own fortification to prevent me from landing!
*Sigh*, turn around against the tide, find a better spot. This eventuated on the eastern side of Observatory point.
40km and 6 hours.
I took a moment to reflect and celebrate the achievement. I had truly found my rhythm now, and a wash in the winter ocean truly makes one feel alive!
To say I enjoy these open water crossings would be a lie, but the sense of achievement and mental growth makes them more than worth it. They are becoming easier on the mind.
Now I have the uncertainty and unknowns of what lies ahead with Williams Island and Thorny Passage on a spring tide.
2m ocean swells are forecasted – which is on the small side for this area – and I do not know how that corresponds to the landing at Williams Island. All I can hear in my head is Dave’s words “Oh Williams, that’s a fantastic place! Just beware of the dumping wave and the tide rip off Cape Catastrophe!”
There are few worse feelings in sea kayaking than arriving at your only option to get off the water, but the price is a nasty surf landing.
The risk was increased further by an Ebb tide running from 1pm – 8pm, meaning if I do get there, and the break is brutal, I would not be able to paddle against the tide back to somewhere else!
But the reward? Seeing Williams, which appears to my research to be absolutely stunning, and who knows it may also have never been paddled to solo.
5th June – Writing on Williams Island
I slept in till 7:30, funnily enough is when the sun does too in June!
I appreciated a slow relaxing morning, as the tide was flooding strongly until lunchtime, and I only had 16-19km for the day.
It was glassy still as dolphins and sea lions cruised past by.
Its cloudy again, yet so humid despite it being only 12°C
I got on water around 10 and set off against the tide flow. Rounding Nose Point revealed many breaking waves on the various reefs that are between Hopkins Island and Thistle. With little hope I wanted to see if landing at Mittler’s Cove was possible, and the breaking waves did not make me hopeful.
However, further investigation revealed a glassy calm bay with a steep landable beach. I was stoked, as I had wanted to explore the area on foot yesterday but had landed too far away.
On this day the cove provided no camping, as the beach was steep up to its cliffs. Malcolm later told me that TAFE has camped there before! So obviously things change.
I set of to Carrington Point with the hope of gaining a commanding view of the area. It was much further than my lazy judgement had made, but it was entirely worth it.
50m above the southern ocean I had views from Thistle’s exposed SW coast, the Neptune Islands, Williams, Cape Catastrophe and the Thorny Passage.
The ocean looked calm, and perfect for crossing with the Neptune’s tantalisingly close and tempting! *Sigh*, another day.
Entering Thorny Passage at high tide meant I would not have to battle the incoming flooding tide or worry about the tide races. It was my plan to get into a healthy position during the slack, then catch the ebb out past Cape Catastrophe and on to Williams. However, how the tide behaved between Williams and Cape Catastrophe I was unsure. Which way would it take me?
My move across Thorny Passage was eerily calm, but I thought I’d make the most of the conditions to get a closer look at the Cape while the possibility was there.
Fresh in my mind was the story of the 1996 Coffin Bay to Port Lincoln paddle, where the worst waters they encountered on the entire trip was in the Cape Cat vicinity. As well as the disaster that occurred to Matthew Flinders’ crew due to the rip tides, causing the name Cape Catastrophe.
As I reached the Cape the ebb tide began to kick into gear. The calm water which had no wind influence on it began rising up into little waves that were threatening to break!
I was easy to imagine what an opposing wind would do to this section.
I was sucked out past the Cape and into the Southern Ocean. For me it was a strange feeling.. Should I really be here? What a mad place. The Cliffs, the whole scene is just wild.
I started the crossing to Williams aiming between West point and Williams so I could determine the tidal influence. Aim to much at Williams and risk missing it to the east. Aim to much at West Cape and risk missing Williams to the North. I curved my way into the bay with no dramas.
As you enter Williams – which you really do.. its 800m deep V shaped northern coast means you really enter the island – the water swiftly changes from endless deep blue to a rich tropical blue. The high banks of the island surround you, and a pristine untouched beach awaits you. I was blown away. All this to my self!
I was delighted to see minimal surf on the beach! Though the sets were dumpy.
A NZ fur seal colony lays on the rocks at the western end as well as a rock shelf along the beach which at times is hidden in the water as to catch a sea kayaker out. The eastern end proved the best camping, though not very flat.
In a spring tide and a big storm I imagine the entire beach would be submerged.
The view from the beach is splendid, looking across the water back to the southern most points of the Eyre Peninsular.
A quick climb to the summit revealed an impressive panoramic. Neptunes, Wedge, Thistle, Eyre. A commanding and inspiring view!
While cooking my dinner something kept grabbing my attention in the corner of my eye. It persisted. So I turned off my light and walked to the water.
Behold, when a bigger wave broke, the entire wave became electric bright blue! Bioluminescent Algae! What a rare treat!
On this occasion there is only one downside to the island. The thousands upon thousands of mosquitoes that were all over the island. They were thirsty, not just for blood! But my guess is moisture. They would go into my food and hide in my vestibule! I received no bites, but they made it impossible to stay up and read.
I’ve decided tomorrow to head back up to Taylors Landing and end the trip there. The opportunity to get back to land is safe, and favourable for Thorny Passage, so I thought I’d better make the most of it.
Forecasted to be 5-15kt SE winds, with a flooding tide should make the 23k’s go rather quick.
6th June Writing on Williams Island
I still have food and water for a few days yet, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve made the maximum of my time out, only taking 4 nights. But I have achieved all my primary goals. With such good weather I’ve had zero no paddle days; something I was not expecting in winter!
It has been great, but the result is different. A day or two where I am stuck somewhere is kind of what I was hoping for. To be forced to stop somewhere. Hunker down, read and relax.
A Sea Kayaker in South Australia must take their opportunities to move on water as they present themselves, lest conditions deteriorate in un-foreseen ways. This trip has caused me to take the opportunities each day. I could happily sit to here longer if it was not safe to paddle, but it is.
Perhaps if it were not so infested with mozzies here, I would be inclined to remain another day, but they are beyond counting, and do not rest, for their thirst for moisture is so great. In this case it is them who have successfully repelled me.
They resulted in my least enjoyable night so far, which is a shame. Are they here all year round? If so, that would put some serious weight against coming back here again.
I am content with the successes of the trip, bar not having more time to do nothing – something that I’m sure will come in future expeditions.
The next trip is set for July, where I am certain the weather cannot be as kind as it has been to me this week.
I am ending the trip at a place of contentment – not sick of it, therefore leaving me happily to come out again.
Interesting how on the first night I thought my self mad and would happily never paddle again. Now my comfort zone has been stretched and increased and I have settled the rhythm of life in the wild.
Writing from Tumby Bay
After negotiating the dumping break, which seemed to increase in force with an incoming tide, I set off from Williams around 10:20.
I had taken time to soak in the island before returning to society. Near Cape Catastrophe the flooding tide was in full swing, running 2kts as charted.
The wind was far less than forecasted, and I could see the Neptunes, Thistle and Wedge all beckoning me their way.
I was genuinely torn as what to do! I still had 4 or so days’ worth of food and water, amazing weather, and I had grown to enjoy the solitude more and more. I don’t think I wanted to leave this simplistic rhythm, oblivious to the chaos in the outside world. No work, no virus, no riots. The only real evidence of imperfection was the guaranteed presence of plastic (mostly bottles and caps) found on every beach I visited. It always makes me sad, as all that plastic had drifted our oceans and landed on our pristine beaches. I have often found items covered in entirely foreign language!
I entertained the thought of recharging in Pt. Lincoln, then making a dash across to Yorkes. I was truly comfortable and happy, and I wanted more.
The good weather and time spent alone on the ocean had reduced my fears and grown my comfort zone. Simple life centred around the rising and setting of the sun and staying alive.
As I came up the passage, I began to wonder what I was bringing back with me. It was not entirely clear what had changed.
A sense of accomplishment, satisfaction, increased depth to my mental fortitude, and that unshakable confidence that comes from doing hard things.
I hope I am afforded more opportunities in the future to spend even longer on my own. I must remain cautious though, as the ocean is the great humbler and leveller of those who stand too tall. Bring with you too much pride and arrogance and it will certainly bring you back in check… if you have managed to keep your life.
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