Flares and farewells

Oh yeah, now we're safe!

The pointy end of the planning process is starting to take a hold of our every movement as the time left before our departure is counting down in sleeps rather than weeks. Three o'clock in the morning seems to be the most active time for my overtired brain and the lists of tasks left to achieve, and gear left to organise is growing way faster than penicillin in a petrie dish.

Into the mix of trip planning, food dehydrating, gear preparation, house renos, and all the hundreds of little processes required to escape normal life for a year, there's also the heart-wrenching goodbyes to family and friends (and puppies!). We are recovering from a weekend of party games, water bombs, amazing food, and incredible company - a top quality send-off from our mates, who we know are supporting us all the way to Bali. 

Perhaps the most interesting donation to our expedition kitty over the weekend was a box of safety flares (cheers Soph!). Now, of course we weren't expecting to depart without critical safety equipment, however, this original 1970s box of marine flares would probably be better off in a museum than a kayak. Despite a little inebriation we decided it would be best not to release a flare into the car park of Joelene's pizza shop (or even in the wood-fired oven) - very good move.

It is certainly comforting to have the support and encouragement of such and awesome crew (the 2316 crew!). We'll miss you all like a Kingsley pizza fresh out of the oven!

Battle of the bulge.

Ideal body shape for starting expedition.
Note: It's not me - thanks Google for the pic.

In a day and age where Australians are topping out the scales as some of the heaviest and chubbiest people in the world it feels quite paradoxical to be doing all I can to gain weight in a hurry. 

Our dehydrator is busily humming away, crisping up just about anything we can find that'll give us energy during the trip. Unfortunately, to jam the amount of food we need into the tiny kayak storage space that we have available, just about everything from spaghetti bolognese to banana bread is being reduced to a grainy, dry powder. Texture, in this case, is one luxury we simply can't afford. 

Given these conditions, I fully expect that we'll be rapidly burning up all the extra energy we have carefully stored away in our adipose tissue (our 'Christmas cheer'). We'll be losing weight faster than a liposuction patient and we need to draw out our demise for as long as possible. 

While we still have access to the daily smorgasbord we westerners so often take for granted, Lain and I need to gain weight. This is a concept unfamiliar to me. I generally drink as much beer as I can, eat pretty much whatever I want, dig way too deeply into the Nutella jar and still stay basically the same weight all the time. Fortunately, just like the contestants on a TV show, I have a trainer!

My brother in law, Ian (he's nee a man, he's an eating machine!) has spent the last week teaching me that I do need another slice, I must have the biggest portion, I deserve the last three biscuits, that fruit is disappointingly low in fat and that you can cut butter slices thicker than cheese. 

I'm sure our bodies will find a skinny balance during the trip, where we'll have used up all the good stuff but we need the rest just to keep us paddling. I expect to go hungry quite often so while I have this chance I'm rummaging through the fridge as often as I can and forcing in the last few crumbs off every plate. 

I'm pretty sure I won't be on The Biggest Loser any time soon.

A weekend in the deep end.

Launching from Yagon Beach

Baking hot weather, a looming storm, loaded boats, dehydrated food, surf landings, and some new gear to test out - a great mix of ingredients for an exhilarating weekend of paddling.

After sharing Yagon camp ground (NSW, near Seal Rocks) with some inappropriately loud wildlife (drunken yobbos) and learning that a tent with only one vestibule just doesn't ventilate on one of the hottest nights of the year, we were feeling slightly less energetic than usual to take off on a long paddle. One look at the beach though, and the crystal warm, flat water beckoned us in.

Taming the wild sails

Day one was a paddle to Broughton Island - a lazy 25km or so. Now, given the distances we are contemplating this year, somewhere around 9000km, a 25km day trip should be a doddle. I am sure that in time I'll adapt, but the process is only just kicking in, and staring 25km across a wide blue ocean to Broughton was somewhat daunting. Then the wind kicked in.

We were expecting a nor-easterly to push us south on our way, and as the wind rose during the afternoon the swell got bigger…and bigger. You might think that using a sail is cheating - that isn't paddling - but the sail is like a caged wild animal that is doing its best to escape, while you do your best to keep it on target. Like a lion tamer thrusting his head into the gaping jaws of the beast for the first time, this was a heart-thumping, sinew wrenching test for our sails, and our muscles!

The swell rose to about 2.5m and started breaking, while the wind was hovering somewhere around 25knots, as an uneducated guess. Bracing through the white caps of the waves I contemplated how challenging it would be to attempt an eskimo roll with the sail up - fortunately I didn't have to test out this skill on this occasion.

I watched a grey fin flash past me and wondered how tasty I looked to the 2.5m shark that stealthily disappeared into the deep just off my bow. Squadrons of small flying fish launched in synchrony, exploding from the water in all directions, while a turtle bobbed lazily at the surface, surveying the submarine world around it for a tasty jelly.

A perfect campsite & a happy paddler.

The craggy peaks and windswept slopes of Broughton Island loomed upon us and we narrowly avoided being dashed against a hidden bommie while we threaded a path through reefs into shore, landing on Providence Beach, exhausted, hot and hungry. A hastily erected tarp did little to shelter us from the wind and heat, so we paddled a further 3 or 4 km around to Coalshaft Bay, where a idyllic scene awaited us.

As if lifted straight from the pages of a glossy Mediterranean travel brochure, the silvery water reflected the chalky cliffs and hidden caves of this weather-beaten coastline. Straight in for a snorkel, we realised the importance of taking a hand spear on the Archipaddlo trip - the succulently plump and colourful fish schooled in abundance, almost mocking the dehydrated spag bog they knew we would be suffering through later on. Dehydrated dinner was passable, but hungry bellies seem to make just about anything taste worthy. Wedging the tent between the base of the cliff and the previous night's high tide line, we slept, but both had one nervous eye open for much of the night in case the tide decided to rise any higher tonight.

Sunrise over a glassy mirror.

Dawn was one of those sunrises that you are so thankful you woke up for - pinkening clouds reflecting off a glassy ocean, idyllic temperature, and the promise of an eventful day. Despite the obvious detour, for years I have wanted to paddle through the Looking Glass, a huge split rock jutting directly out from the sea, and this sublime morning was the opportunity.

Staring through the looking glass

The Looking Glass is a well known dive site as it is home to the endangered Grey Nurse Shark, but above water the paddling is equally spectacular. On a gentle surge we drifted through the enormous cleft both in total awe at the spectacle above us. Fifty metre high cliffs on either side plunging straight into the crystal water below us and disappearing into the abyss, the walls alive with algae and molluscs, and birds taking roost on the craggy cathedral above. Brilliant. 

The wind of the previous day dropped to a gentle breath, then a sigh, a puff, and then it burnt off like a morning mist in the rapidly rising, and increasingly humid heat of the day. Shearwaters, swooped like stealth bombers, hovering on an invisible pocket of air millimetres from the surface. Fish teemed in great schools, the occasional shark flashed us a sleek fin and thousands of insects floundered on the surface above packs of hungry guppies. 

Sharing the shimmering sea with sooty shearwaters.

The contrast from the previous day was extreme. This was hot - tropical - breathless, and so flat that distances meant nothing as islands appeared close enough to touch from 20km away. Sails tightly packed on deck, this would have been a relaxing paddle, if it weren't for the southerly change we knew was due later in the day. We were racing along in the calm before the storm. 

Stopping for a quick rest at Fingal Spit sounded like a good idea, but by the time I realised how big the surf was crashing over the bar, it was way too late to escape and I surfed and narrowly avoided being seriously thumped by a decent-sized wave. I turned to watch Lain meet the same fate, bracing upright surrounded by a boiling froth of white water. Almost everything that wasn't tied down to the deck was stolen by the surf - fishing lines, water bottles and the like. With a bit of luck all items were recovered and a mental note was made - everything gets attached all the time!

The mercury kept rising just to make sure our trial run was as authentic as possible. We didn't have enough food, we needed more sleep, we could have had more water, lollies - we need lollies. We learnt plenty from our weekend in the NSW tropics. Fortunately we were off the water before the southerly change punched in with a headwind, and we collapsed back at home contemplating the enormity of the task in front of us. 

Yet again, we seem to have bitten off way more than we can chew.