Island Hopping From Dampier
Meticulous planning is one of my strong points. I have detailed equipment and food
lists, look at all types of maps and charts, check historical weather trends and
extremes and try to find out as much as possible about the area and it’s history. It
makes the lead up to the trip exciting and lets you plan a route to take in all the best
spots. This trip was no different as I had the whole month planned. There was the
small risk of a cyclone but as it is the end of the season I discounted it. The large tides
dominated my planning as in some of the areas low tide goes out for 3 kilometres.
Hmm, a long way to carry a kayak by myself. The trip I had planned would start solo
at Cape Kerundera in the north west of Western Australia down to Dampier where I
would meet 5 mates and continue on to Exmouth, island hopping the whole way. The
first two weeks I would be doing around 40 kilometre days along an arid remote
coast.
With two days to go till I headed off on the 1500 kilometre drive to Dampier I noticed
there was a cyclone watch in the north west. It was not just any cyclone, it was the
biggest cyclone in the southern hemisphere. Cyclone Inigo was 400 kilometres wide
with an eye 80 kilometres wide and heading for Dampier. I was devastated. This was
not in the plan. Frustrated I had to sit tight and see what was going to happen. I put
the trip back one day to see where Inigo was going to hit. On the Sunday it was
forecasted to hit Monday night or Tuesday in Onslow south of Dampier. Great, I
would race up the coast and get above the cyclone so I could then resume my trip as
the cyclone headed south.
“Inigo” of course had other plans. As I drove into Dampier it was on Yellow alert
and the cyclone was heading straight for me. Oh great. It was fortunate I have a
friend who organised for me to store my kayak in a cyclone proof shed and offered me
shelter. I settled down for the night not quite sure what to expect in the morning as the
cyclone was due to cross at midday. It was down graded to a category 2 overnight
and forecast to further down grade as it hit the coastline.
The morning showed light rain and 20 knots of wind. The cyclone was going to hit
100 kilometres south at Mardie and had been downgraded further to a 1. At 2.00 I
took my video down the water to see the normally calm bay. The wind was about 40
plus knots and the water very rough and confused. The circular winds and the islands
meant there was no real wave pattern. As waves combined they peaked into a 3 metre
random dump. The first 50 mt was white water that every now and again produced
foam that was then spat at the land like spittle from a foaming beast. Beyond that, the
water was stained red from iron ore and soil and it contrasted with the white breaking
waves and the grey sky. The forecast was for 5.5 mt seas and looking a the chaos that
was normally a sheltered bay I shuddered to think at what it would be like in the open
ocean. Leaning into the wind and feeling the spray on my face I felt a cold shiver
down my back as I thought about heading out for a 12 day solo paddle.
What to do? I had never had this problem before. My plans always worked so this was
all new and very frustrating. I could start my trip at Pt Headland and paddle down to
Dampier. That would drop of 3 days on my original plan or I could spend the next
days visiting all the islands off Dampier and to the north. The rain cut the road south
and I was not sure if the road north would be cut with the rising rivers. I also
expected a few days of westerly winds so paddling east was not appealing and they
were forecasting 4.5mt seas the next day. This was a real dilemma for me as I would
have to spontaneously come up with a plan for the next two weeks that would have me
finish in Dampier to meet my mates. After agonising for several hours I decided I
would head off from Dampier the next morning and spend the days wandering around
the islands heading north. This was the safest option as I could hide behind the first
few islands until the ocean settled down. But what sort of plan was that. There are 42
islands and rocks off the Dampier coastline so I suppose I would have plenty to keep
me busy.
I packed up and hit the water an hour before high tide heading off into a
northwesterly wind. My target for the day was Enderby Island, about 25 kilometres
from Dampier. The boat was low in the water and felt like lead as I put my first few
strokes in. As I got used to the heavy boat I felt more comfortable. The boat was
holding its speed as it ploughed into the oncoming waves. The heavy bow would slice
into the wave leaving the top to rush up the deck with the inevitable drenching as it
struck my body. After 4 hours of non-stop paddling into the wind I arrived at a white
sandy spit. As it was now late I wasn’t going to look around. Without a plan I had no
choice, this would do for the night. The bow of the boat hit solidly running up the
sand as I beached. I climbed out feeling a bit stiff as I walked up see what my first
nights camp was going to be like. What a surprise. I could not have asked for a nicer
place. A red rock cliff of dolerite that was split into rectangular pillars and large
boulders offered me some shade and at the base was some flat sand for my tent. To my
left the sand formed low sand dunes stretching to the other side of the spit with grassy
tussocks on the peaks and wind blown paths between. I settled down to my first night
feeling very happy with myself.
It was the fourth morning and the wind had picked up a bit and was blowing about 15
knots northwesterly. I had camped the night on Angle Island and decided to head
north to Legondry Island. I was starting to get used to waking up and then deciding
what I was going to do that day. There was a small but steep beach dump to get
through as I set off. I headed straight north and was happy at the way my body
instinctively swivelled at the hip to counter the pitching and rolling of the boat in the
sloppy conditions. The water was steely grey and there was no horizon as the water
melded into the grey overcast sky. To my right where the horizon should be there was
a curtain of rain that hung from the sky like a mosquito net for the gods. The
temperature was around 32 degrease Celsius with very high humidity making me feel
hot and clammy.
I kept plodding along the rough rocky coast for an hour or so till I came to a small
channel between two islands. By taking the channel I would then be in the lee out of
the wind as I headed for Legondry. The entrance to the channel was a zig-zag with a
protruding rocky point on one side and low rocky cliff on the other. From outside the
surf break it looked like there was a sandy spit off the rocky point and once over that
calm water in the channel. The surf was only about a metre high with a few big sets
getting up to one and a half metres. I had just started in when I slowed and let a big
one pass under the boat. From the top of the wave I saw rocks in front of me. “Oh
dear” I muttered, or words to that effect. Hard left rudder and leaning the boat I set
up the turn.
The weight was reducing my sprint speed and the boats reaction. I wallowed on the
back of the wave for what seemed like an eternity. Then the boat responded and I
started rounding off. A small wave went under me giving me the opportunity of
turning faster. The next wave was much bigger and going to break. I hit it at a 45
degree angle leaning forward, arms straining as I wrenched the paddle through the
water. Up the face went the bow as the wave steepened to almost vertical. The top
started to curl down the side of the boat as I threw my paddle over the peak. The
blade bit into the solid water on the back of the wave as the curl tore at the back of my
boat, spinning me to 90 degrees. The top of the wave broke in a loud roar at the back
of my boat, dragging me backward as I flayed at the water with all my strength. All of
a sudden I slipped out of the grip of the wave and could start to make headway.
Looking up there was a still bigger wave bearing down on me. A grey wall was
forming in front of me as I struggled to increase speed. The bow launched sky ward as
I hit the wall and all of a sudden I was airborne till the boat smashed down with that
sickening “smack” that a two hundred kilo kayak striking the water makes. The bow
was sucked under as I braced lightly on the right hand side. As the bow surfaced my
paddle blade bit and I was off out of the break zone.
In my struggle to turn I had noticed that further to my left there was sand all the way
across the entrance to the channel. I moved over and lined up the sand a little more
tentatively. After drifting in and checking the lie of the land I finally committed and
surfed a small wave over the sand bar and into calm water.
The entrance to the channel was about 100 metres wide narrowing down to about 50
metres. As I headed in slowly about 20 metres away I saw a head protruding from the
water. As my eyes focused on the head they instinctively widened as I recognised a
sea snake of the same type that had attacked Tel on the Montebello trip. Without
thinking my paddle speed went from a doddle to a full sprint. Heavy boat or not my
arms were flying and my muscles protested at the sudden burst of adrenalin inflicted
on them. I was doing well over 10km per hour as I snatched a glance back to see if he
was following me. My conscience told me there was no snake there and I could slow
down but my sub conscience wasn’t having any of it and I kept up the thrashing pace
for another hundred metres. By that time my heart was racing and I had no choice but
to slow down. I looked back. No snake in sight. I paddled on at a more sedate pace
but I kept looking back just in case. I wandered along the coves and islands heading
for Legondry. At about 11.00 am I reached the end of the island and faced an open
area with a quartering head wind. I changed my mind. Hey, there was no plan, if I
didn’t feel like pushing into the wind I didn’t have to. A following sea was much more
fun. I chuckled to my self. In my job as sales manager in a competitive industry, my
life revolves around goals and outcomes. To set a goal like going to Legondrey and
then change it on whim was so out of character for me. It actually felt good to have a
free spirit, and no responsibilities so I headed across the large bay to Dolphin Island
happy with the world.
A deep bay opened up as I rounded the end of a cliff line on Dolphin Island. At the far
end of the bay mangroves formed a barrier that cut off part of the inlet. I love the
mangroves that grow on these islands because they are not the muddy smelly types of
swamp you get on the coastline. These are clean and have sandy bottoms but still
abound with all sorts of life. I paddled along till I found a small hole in the outer
bushes. By grabbing the bushes and pulling I was able penetrate deep into the
mangroves. It is a magical and eerie feeling as the mangrove jungle envelops you.
The air is still and cool and the light diffused with a mirror reflection coming off the
water. You hear birds and insects all around and as you look into the water you see
hundreds of small beautiful fish. I floated around for a while soaking up the
atmosphere and then decided to stop on the edge of the mangroves to have lunch.
I sat on a rock in the water so I could see the fish in the mangroves and was surprised
that there was no little fish to be seen. Then two snouts poked out from the base of the
mangroves. Slowly two perfectly formed Tiger Sharks about 12 inches long emerged.
They very tentatively started to swim around me checking me out. I started imagining
what they were saying to each other. “You attack him”. “Oh no, you attack him”.
“Ok then, you keep an eye on him and I’ll get mum”. After a few minuets of checking
me out they disappeared back into the maize of roots leaving me pondering as to
where mum really was. Slowly I loaded up and set off. A few kilometres further on I
came across a spectacular bay. It was so nice there was no decision to be made. This
was the camp for tonight. Tomorrow’s destination… yet to be decided.
After breakfast I was just sitting. Actually I was putting off getting up and doing my
dishes but there was no rush. I started thinking about a distant oilrig I had seen and
decided to check it out. It was close to the islands and I was not sure if it had been
bought into shallower water because of the cyclone or weather they were drilling this
close to the coast. Ok that sorted I had better do the dishes and head off. I was hard to
get motivated in the warm and balmy mornings.
As I got closer I was aghast at its size. I estimated it to be 25 stories from the top of
the drill derrick to the water. I paddled right up to the massive anchor chains that
hold it in position. Each link would be well over 100 kilograms and the steel uprights
that hold the platform were huge and imposing. I was awed at what mankind could
make. As I was paddling down the side some one noticed me and informed me from a
loud hailer, in two unrepeatable words, that I was not welcome and should consider
moving off. How rude, but I suppose he did get his point across very quickly. In this
time of heightened security and radars I was surprised I was able to paddle up to and
down the side of an oilrig before I was challenged. Maybe they don’t see kayakers too
often. I turned my kayak back towards the archipelago and found a beautiful bay to
spend the night.
.
After setting up camp I laid on my air bed in the shade of my tent for a rest and to let
to day cool down before starting to prepare dinner. The high pitched screech bought
me back to reality as I opened my eyes and watched a pair of Bramany Kites glide
over head. I rolled on my side to take in the magnificent curved sandy bay with still
blue water contrasting the red rock cliff stretching out to the headland. One of the
Kites slowed then swooped hitting the water. It seamed to stall and with massive red
wings flapping furiously it finally lifted off the water with a silver fish flapping lamely
in its talons. It flew over to a small rock ledge marked by streaks of white guano and
ripped at the hapless fish with it’s beak while it’s mate screeched in protest at not
being invited to the feast.
The islands are a harsh environment and their beauty is in the unspoilt ruggedness.
They were formed over 6,000 years ago when the water level rose to inundate the
land. Most of the islands are Dolerite and are covered in large red blocks of rock with
Spinifex grass and some Acacia clumps in between. There is no permanent water on
the islands and the temperature can sore to 50 degrease centigrade. But even in this
hostile environment wild life is abundant. Behind me is a group of rock wallaby’s
timidly hoping from rock to rock with astounding agility. All around the tent are
insects of various size and shapes, two Sooty Oystercatchers strolled the shallows and
a group of Silver Gulls squabbled over some tit bit at the base of the rocks. As I gazed
out to sea every now and again fish would leap out of the water leaving swirls of the
otherwise still glassy water. The suns golden rays splayed out over the rocks behind
me as the shadows crept towards my tent. I finally rolled onto my back and
contemplated dinner.
On my second last night I took time to reflect on the trip so far. It had been totally
changed to my original plan but now I was glad it had. Paddling down the coast on a
mission is a different type of trip to wandering aimlessly through a myriad of islands.
The second part of the trip from Dampier to Exmouth with it’s set goals was still to
come, but at the moment solo island hopping without a destination in mind was giving
me different rewards. It was like going on a retreat when you could ponder life and
unwind. Lying under the stars all by yourself with the moon on the water giving it a
silvery glow you can’t help but feel humble and insignificant. We humans are an
arrogant bunch. We have been on this Earth for the blink of an eye yet we believe we
have conquered it and that we have a dramatic effect on the universe. What crap. In a
few more million years the earth will have dealt with the human plague as it does with
every other plague and life will keep ticking along. If we smarten up a bit we may
even be here to whiteness it, if not we will be relegated to the dinosaur’s destiny. All
those pressing problems back home don’t seem that all encompassing out here as you
drift off to sleep under of blanket of stars with a soft warm breeze on your cheek.
It was almost two weeks since I set out with a firm plan in mined. How differently it
turned out. As I headed back to Dampier I was keen to see and talk to people again. I
was also looking forward to the next stage of my trip with my mates.. I felt relaxed,
happy and had experienced a new kind of trip. I now have a different perspective on
paddling and can understand why in the past the more sedate paddlers would just
shake their head and smile as I powered past, always on schedule, always with my
goal in mind. Les Allen
