Sharks, birds, and a night in a resort!

Crocodiles have a reputation for gnawing on the odd kayak as it drifts north along the QLD coast. Crocs, however, have a great habit of camouflaging themselves and undoubtedly we have so far slipped past many hungry sets of jaws waiting to take a toothy bite of plastic rudder (or an unlucky paddler!).

On the other hand, sharks are not quite so cautious with their approach. When paddling over reefs we regularly pass gangs of cheeky sharks resembling the troublesome teens up to mischief in shopping centre carparks. Sharks approach the kayaks with the "are you lookin' at me?" attitude and while we haven't yet had a set of sharpened gnashers fasten onto our thin plastic hulls, I suspect that day is approaching. As our latitude decreases the sharks are increasing in both number and size and several times in the last few days I have glanced over at Lain's boat to see a razor-like fin slicing thew water just metres behind the rudder. When sitting in a 5.5m boat, a 3.5m shark looks pretty dangerous, at least that is what seemed to be written across Lain's face as one whaler did a u-turn behind her and slipped effortlessly into her wake.

Sea birds gather in abundance on the reefs and islands of this remote region. From a distance we appear to be approaching a large unmarked rock on the horizon, and then the rock moves. A boil of fish below the water attracts huge numbers of birds and our approach sets the sentries on high alert. The boobies are the first to approach, and there are often more boobies than at a nudist beach in the south of France. Although not quite as inquisitive as the paparazzi at a royal wedding, these graceful gliders swoop and hover to gain a good view of what we are up to below (perhaps we look edible!).

Next are the noddies, black tern-like birds with a clean white head, that approach in the thousands. They zoom past us at cruising speed and crash into the water to feast on the abundant schools below. Small storm petrels hover and dance on the water, effortlessly leaping from one small wave to the next. The shrill squeaks of birds directly above usually signal a pair of small white terns with a long forked tail gossiping away to each other like ladies in a hair salon.

The water is alive, the air is full, this place is truly a haven for wildlife.

Despite being quite happy to spend another night sharing a beach with the ghost crabs, we had the good fortune to arrive on Haggerston Island for a night. We were welcomed as guests to the small and private resort that has been painstakingly built here in a beautiful and unique New Guinean style. The lagoon here harboured so much life, so many big fish, that yet again we had to invent a new scale for measuring how incredible our snorkelling experience was. While we made every effort to help the hard working staff to prepare the evening meal, nothing we could have done could have possibly repaid the incredible meal that we were served - sweet and succulent coral trout and red emperor served with fresh garden vegetables, and a cold beer. We had a fabulous evening, shared with the guests, staff and owner of this remarkable resort and we thank you all for your generous hospitality.

As we approach The Tip the mangroves are getting thicker, the water murkier and our croc-dar is getting more active by the day. Another week or so and we should be resting our weary elbows on the beer mats of a bar in Thursday Island, reflecting on our first leg of this journey. But that is a week away, there's so much more to see, so many place names on the map.

Picture: Lain snorkelling in the lagoon at Haggerston Island.

Paradise is found!

Lain here...[written on Thursday 28th]

Our 40km paddle yesterday to an island a fair way off shore seems to have been worth every bit of its while! We are currently located at Forbes Island and this is it... I truly believe I have found my piece of gold.

This divine Island is surrounded by reef on every side and even in a kayak we had to go the long way around as we had arrived at low tide and even our 6 inches or less of draft was too much at this time. We circumnavigated the island in awe and amazement and eventually found our way into one of the bays on the north side of the island. I guess in paradise all creatures are in attendance but the resident croc we found on the way in seemed welcoming enough as I paddled directly over the top of him, him eyeing me and me him.

We arrived late in the arvo so spent most of this time eating coconuts, exploring the beach and relaxing. The following day (today) we decided that beauty like this place may not find us so often so even though fresh off a rest day we called in another.

With no sign of the croc we hit the reef snorkelling. WOW. You first have to swim out beyond about 100m of shallow reef with channels of spectacular corals and more fish than you have ever seen. Then you hit the outer drop off reefs. Here you enter the big fish realm and the stunning bommies sheltering all sorts of species. Out here I found incredible swim throughs, some just big enough to actually fit through (some not quite big enough as I scratched my leg up trying to squeeze through... What's a bit of blood in a croc bay!)

With a fish speared for lunch and coconuts in abundance a fish rice coconut dish was lunch before more snorkelling.

All in all I really have found paradise here and leaving tomorrow may prove more difficult than I imagine. Lets just say the bar has been raised on tropical islands. But I will keep looking!

Picture: Arriving on the beach at Forbes Island - paradise.

A time for restoration.

During a hot and gruelling paddle from Morris Island, with virtually not a breath of wind to flutter our empty sails, we attempted to find a campsite amongst the jagged rocks and mangrove roots on two smaller islands before pulling up for the evening on Night Island. That night the wind changed, became cooler and stronger, and waved a little flag that the sublime weather was at an end.

This tropical region has its wet and its dry seasons but it seems that we have slipped into the fragile crack between the two during the last few weeks. Stories of a trade wind so predictable that we could sail calmly all the way to the tip were tantalising, but unrealistic. In fact, while we travel quickly with the sails full, it is about as exhausting as trying to tame a mechanical bull where somebody keeps slipping coins into the machine.

The wind blew and for a day we had a great ride, narrowly avoiding being dashed against a reef, and cruising to Cape Direction almost as fast as a shopping trolley in the "12 items or less" lane. We didn't realise at the time but our campsite was the very spot where another long distance paddler was bailed up by a croc until she abandoned her paddling goal and sought a rescue. Fortunately the croc was elsewhere and we enjoyed a fine but windy campsite, surrounded by huge granite boulders and with a welcome trickle of fresh water.

With loaded water containers we packed up the following morning, Anzac day, aware that the weather had further deteriorated and that the wind was blowing significantly harder than the previous day. The wind is not so much the problem, but combined with a strong swell the conditions can get hairy. After slogging it out for several hours, and with Restoration Island clearly in sight, a wave sought to derail me and I came as close as I have ever been to being capsized from my kayak. Paddling beside me, Lain glanced over to see nothing but the underside of my kayak as I lay side-on in the water. Fortunately a dunking wasn't on the cards for me and I regained stability only to have the joy of battling back into the headwind to retrieve a water container that had been ripped off the deck.

Like Captain Bligh many years before us, making landfall at Restoration Island was an absolute relief - a place for the restoration of our senses. We were still wringing ourselves dry when we were enthusiastically greeted by the island's only residents, the iconic Dave and his enthusiastic 3 year old puppy, Quassi. Dave's visitor's book lists a long history of paddlers and other visitors to the island, and we were honoured to add our names to the list.

Given that we have been living on dehydrated meals for a while, the feast that was cooked up by Dave and our new north QLD friends was just as much of a restoration for our stomachs as this island has been for our souls. A curry of coral trout, painted crays and banana prawns cooked in coconut milk - yep, this is the life.

The wind is still blowing pretty hard and our next stop is another 40km or so out to sea, so we just might stay here another day and soak up the restoring powers of this island for a little while longer. I wonder what is on the menu tonight…

Pictures: Juz and Lain watching a Cape Direction sunset. Dave on Restoration Island.

Deserts in the sea.

Paddling so far out to sea that you cannot see land is a daunting prospect. When you get there, jumping out of your kayak and going for a swim probably seems about as crazy to most people as the idea of jumping out of a perfectly good helicopter into a bushfire! (Lain & I have both done that plenty of times too.)

Over the last few days we have left the safety of the coastline and the more obvious islands and headed further out to sea. This has been partly fuelled by our desire to find a patch of ocean that is not crawling with crocodiles so that we can give our snorkels a bit of a workout. And wow, has it been worth it.

A highly trained troupe of Chinese contortionists would be proud of the way Lain and I twist and squeeze into our boats every day. Inside the cockpit we have several water containers (like large wine casks in a tough bag), a water bladder with a tube, a pair of sandles, an extra seat and a few other bits, all tied in with bungee cords. Then we wear a spray deck, a life jacket, hat, sunnies, gloves and we are always clipped in to a survival kit. You can perhaps imagine the gymnastics required to jiggle out of all this clobber while attempting not to capsize or fill the cockpit with water. It is no easy feat.

Life under the waves, though, is always worth a look, especially when we are bobbing over part of the largest reef system on the planet. There are turtles, sharks and clownfish, the celebrities of the reef ecosystem, and then there are the hordes of other fish and creatures with names that only get marine biologists excited. Corals crowd around in all combinations of shape, size and colour - brilliant blues, iridescent green and golden yellows. Huge giant clams are speckled in thousands of tiny spots the brilliance of which no words could describe.

Kayaks have the unique ability to go where other boats can't, and paddlers therefore are privileged to see parts of the ocean even the most intrepid sailor cannot. To glide over a reef is incredible. No land is visible. Waves steepen a little as the first deep bommies appear beneath you, then they are all around. You can see the shapes, huge blobby lumps, flat plates, spiky branches, all dropping away into the deep. They are everywhere, getting thicker, shallower, joining up. The bommies become a constant plain of coral and rubble and you float over thousands of fish as you silently survey their world. Shallower now, only a couple of feet - turtle territory. Every 20 or 30m a huge frothing splash erupts from under your kayak as a terrified turtle bursts from its hideout in a flurry of flippers, desperate to escape to deeper water. Then the reef peters out and the desert begins.

From the comfort of your computer and with the knowledge you can glean from Google Earth you might assume that these vast reef systems are complex reef all the way through. I'm sure any self respecting marine biologist will tell you the same. However, behind the wall of bommies and the homes of the turtles lies an entirely different ecosystem. Thousands upon thousands of acres of shallow sand, only several kayak-scraping inches deep, are punctuated by the odd clump of algae, the slicing fins of a black-tip reef shark and the unmistakable, black, gooey and somewhat turd-like form of the sea cucumber, beeche-de-mere. Just like any desert there is obviously life in the sand, the thousands of small holes are clearly a great spot to live for some filter-feeding worm or a well-hidden mollusc.

This reef desert continues for sometimes kilometres, a peaceful respite from the waves, before gradually deepening, to a deep turquoise sea again, sometimes with a reverse of the battle lines drawn by the turtles, coral and their marauding armies of fish.

Reefs are a gentle place for the kayaker, a place to reflect. It is worth reflecting though, on just how far one might have to drag one's kayak should the falling tide drop too low and literally leave you stranded in the desert until the next high tide.

Every last drop.

The full moon has just risen over Bathurst Bay, our prison for the last day, as we have suffered through an exhausting rest day. Weekends used to mean so much but a rest day on a Monday is a sweet reminder of the lives we left behind to make this adventure happen. Cape Melville is stunning, surrounded by huge granite boulders that are eternally locked, with the wind and waves, in a battle that will inevitably erode vast monoliths into the fine sand between my toes.

To make matters better by significant degrees of magnitude, Cape Melville's granite backdrop stores a supply of our most precious commodity, fresh water. Water collects under boulders, in caves, in wetlands, and it flows in abundance out onto the beach just 50m from our already windswept tent.

I heard recently how proud the mayor of Brisbane was of his constituents for only using an average of 220 litres of water per day. Lain and I are averaging about 5 to 6 litres a day. That is paddling a loaded kayak for hours in tropical heat, rehydrating every meal, and watching every single drop. Perhaps this is Level 10 water restrictions!

To find a campsite so abundant in water has caused me to reflect on just how precious our resources are here, and how this compares to life back home. On your average Monday morning at home I would have used more water, eaten more food and used more power than I have all day today.

The sun shone for much of the day so I was able to recharge some of my power supply. We have two 14W solar panels, each with a regulator and a 12V battery but it takes at least a full day of tropical rays to fully recharge a battery. Like most things I also have a spare small solar panel and another battery just in case it all goes pear shaped. Our house back home has a 1.5kW solar array on the roof, more than 100 times the capacity of my little panels.

Our house is also adorned with a solar hot water heater, 320L of it sitting in a snug tank on the roof, offering us an almost never ending supply of steamy, hot, fresh water. Today our 10L solar shower spent all day in the sun to provide both Lain and I with a long and luxurious luke warm rinse.

Given Lain's unquenchable thirst for tea, our kettle at home is running more often than Cathy Freeman, with a brew almost constantly on the boil. A stroll down the beach to the spring with the billy this morning, and a few logs burning on the sand provided pretty much the same effect.

Normally we'd drive to the shop to get basic food supplies. This morning Lain took over the reins as the master baker in this household (or tenthold) while I wandered the shallows with a spear keeping an eye out for lunch. Lain's loaf was a crusty success while I brought to the table (granite boulder) as many mud crabs as I could carry. Mmm mud crabs.

We may have shaken some of the modern world's conveniences, and our resources may take a little more thought to secure than we are used to, but we are certainly not suffering for our current remote and simple lifestyle.

Before I fire up the sat phone and connect these words back to the world I think I'll have another long, deep guzzle at the water bottle and drink up all the resources I need.

A meal fit for an emperor.

Lain's update:

We are about a days paddle from halfway to T.I. Paradise surrounds every bay, hillside, island and reef and our bellies are filled with Red Emperor, mud crabs (today's lunch), fresh, crusty bread and much more.

Recently, as I was saying goodbye to my brother-in-law Rob at Brisbane airport, his final words to me were, "I hope it is everything you dreamed of Lain." Well Throb-La, I can honestly say that I could never have imagined it could be this incredible…not in my wildest dreams!

I feel like in the last 3 weeks I have already come on such an incredible journey. My first (and only) blog was one of being overwhelmed by the immensity of what we were doing. I was expecting this feeling but when it hits you with such intensity it can take you a little by surprise. I now feel like I have settled into my boat, which I absolutely love paddling 6 or more hours a day, floating past turtles, so close I can touch dugongs and having full eye contact with some massive fish as it launches itself so far out of the water that it has a look of, "oh hell, I wasn't expecting to see you here" written across his shiny face!

Our camp set up is getting more and more comfortable as we tweak and adjust our gear as well as our diet which is getting more and more exciting all the time. As for the scenery, well back to my previous note…not in your wildest dreams are there places so incredibly beautiful.

As we move further into the remote northern tip i feel more and more comfortable with our surrounds and lack of all basic conveniences one is so used to. I am even getting more comfortable with camping on small islands next to croc slides, even if I do build a little forte!

I guess a nice story to end on...

As we were paddling into Barrow Island, back towards the mainland after Island hopping out to Lizard Island, we were coming to the end of our 6 hour paddle. Feeling amazing after a very benign weather day which allowed for a constant but just perfect paddling day, we spied the first boat we had seen in a long time. It was little tinnie anchored just off the point so we attempted to sneak up on it and scare the occupants! Unsuccesfully we were discovered but nonetheless we paddled over for a chat and an opportunity to learn a few fishing skills from a couple of pros.

These lovely 2 fishermen were so amazed by us out there and coming in from nowhere that they not only imparted their fishing knowledge but also the biggest, most beautiful Red Emperor onto us that we had ever seen or eaten. We were also offered a beer back on their "big" boat which we sadly refused as it would entail an intense night paddle back towards the mangroves where we did not particulary feel like being croc bait. So yes, we actually said, "no" to a beer! Later that night the Red Emperor was shared as we caught up with Ma and Pa again and feasted under the stars around a camp fire. Good times...

A Lizard, a Crocodile, a Fish and a Nymph

Lizard Island truly is a jewel in the richly encrusted necklace of the Great Barrier Reef. Surrounded by spectacular reefs, the dramatic rocky peak of Lizard Island stands proudly from the watery world below it, like the last remaining soldier on a battlefield.

Finally we had the confidence to leave our highly tuned crocodile sensing paranoia on the beach and brave the crystal waters for a snorkel. The reef teems with more life than an Attenborough documentary, with giant clams so large that even the world oyster-eating champion would turn and run at the thought of polishing off one of these monsters.

Our adventure has now blended somewhat with the path of another pair of explorers, Lain's parents sailing their tiny (25ft) yacht heading north to Thursday Island (or somewhere). Lain and I are fully self sufficient so this is not a case of being supported by a mothership, although sleeping on a yacht once in a while has its merits too. It has been a great spot to catch up and encourage each other on our grand adventures. We hiked to the summit of Lizard Island together, to all stare out into the wild blue yonder and wonder which way the wind will blow us.

Lain and I left the yacht, Trivial Pursuit, in Watson's Bay as we headed on to what we hoped was an even more incredible paradise, Nymph Island. Being surrounded by a huge reef, our low-tide landing on Nymph Island perhaps wasn't the best planning and we scraped our heavy boats over acres of coral, with moray eels and stingrays slithering around our feet and crabs nipping at our toes (literally).

Under the heat of the midday sun we started to survey our surroundings only to discover that while this island truly is a paradise for wildlife, that wildlife clearly includes our large reptilian friends. Walking towards the lagoon there were croc slides all over the beach - all around where our kayaks were rocking on the slowly rising tide. Very reassuring.

The middle of nymph Island is a lagoon, and this place must truly represent the way you could imagine the world before humans got in and started meddling with things. The crystal water of the lagoon was rushing out a narrow, mangrove-lined channel when we watched pure nature unfold before our eyes. Sharks cutting corridors through schools of wary fish, their bigger cousins looking on from the shallows. Birdsong echoing around the mangroves with the watchful eye of the white bellied sea eagle surveying the shallows from it's lofty platform. truly beautiful, but with croc-dar on full alert we didn't stay long.

Lain tracked down the one spot on the island where we have the lowest chance of being mauled by a monster during the night. Perched on the beach, less than 50m from the edge of a very thick mangrove swamp, and not much further away from a croc slide up the sand, we are totally protected by Lain's latest invention, Croquefort. The hight security compound is really just a couple of logs and sticks placed around the tent to help prevent crocs from being too inquisitive. If this is my last blog then you'll know the fort didn't work!

Oh, wait, I promised a fish in the title. On the way to Rocky Islets a few days ago I tested out my highly developed fishing skills by trolling a lure behind my kayak. Within about 3 minutes I had a whopper on the line. The crocodile long-tom is a scary looking fish at the best of times, let alone when it is gnashing its wildly pronounced and needle-sharp teeth within inches of my astounded face. Catching this beauty, the colour of the ocean, and by far the biggest fish I have ever caught, was the easy part. Realising that we now had to paddle for over an hour trailing a burleigh of fish blood was perhaps less appealing. Needless to say, we made the trip in exhausting double-time with one nervous eye searching the water for the fin of a hungry tiger shark.

Thankfully a shark didn't get me, or our dinner and we happily ate long-tom steaks as soon as we made it to shore.

This is my first blog from the sat phone so I hope it all comes through OK.

Pics: Me with my fish, a very tasty crocodile long-tom, and Lain considering the many crock-slides on Nymph Island.

A new beginning, and our first croc.

After nearly a week in Finch Bay (Cooktown) we could both feel our fibres being woven back into the fabric of society. How easy it would have been to stay in such a beautiful spot, with such a friendly crowd, but it was time to move on even though the wind hadn't quite finished blasting it's way from the South. After the many days of rest, tea, cards and laughter it felt like we were beginning our adventure all over again, with a different family waving us off the beach this time.

At first the paddling was truly terrifying as waves crashed over us and the wind pushed us around like bath toys. We both found our rhythm and after a while we raised the sails for what turned into a wild ride. Leaning into the wind, bracing hard, another wave in the face, while steep, wind-worn mountains and white sandy beaches slowly slid into the distance behind us. The perfect tabletop of Cape Bedford, our beacon, our north-point, loomed above us as we tried to trick the wind into letting us have a quick bite to eat and a pee stop. It is not easy to pee in a kayak in 25 knots of wind.

Another 10km or so later led us to the paradise of Three Islands National Park. We were very carful to minimise our footprint on this haven for our feathered friends and watched the ospreys and brahminy kites patrolling the beaches like prison guards in a maximum security lockup. The waters were teeming with life - we watched, mesmerised, as sharks chased fish while stingrays and shovel-nosed rays played tag around our feet in the shallows.

I drummed up the courage to go for a snorkel but the slightly murky water and mangroves at the end of the beach meant my croc-dar was on high alert so my swim was very brief. This day ended with a glorious sunset on a deserted tropical island and two happy souls feeling quite alive and content that we decided to make this adventure happen.

Downsizing from Three Islands to Two Islands National Park this morning was a gentle 10km of paddling north. Islands appeared on the horizon - the Direction Islands (North and South) and Lizard slightly to the West. The shallow reef surrounding Two Islands was dreamy - crystal clear, colourful coral, turtles and stingrays tearing off in every direction, and so shallow we had to raise our rudders just to cruise through. Could this island be more beautiful than the last? We didn't allow ourselves the time to explore, deciding to head for the next blip on the map, Rocky Islets.

Several hours and thousands of terrified flying fish later, we approached the reef surrounding our destination under the watchful gaze of about a million inquisitive sea birds. The crystal waters and colourful reef finally gave us the confidence to think we had found a spot we could safely dangle our toes in the water for a swim. We pulled up on the beach at what seemed like a fine campsite and prepared to take a cheeky dip.

"Crocodile!!" Lain's eager eyes spotted the confidence-crushing beast. No swimming here. About 50m up the beach from our apparently perfect campsite was a very obvious one-way croc slide all the way up the beach from the current low tide mark. That makes one in the water and one almost in our campsite. We were back in our boats in seconds and off to find a more secluded spot.

I write this from a hammock suspended over the nest holes of hundreds of noisy mutton-birds. Although this is a paradise I suspect that it is the wildlife here that will get a better night's rest than this weary paddler.

Pictures: A Finch Bay Send-off (Jason, Eli, Nico, Peter, Margs, Lain. Ros & Mausey), Three Islands campsite, Approaching Rocky Islets (just near the croc sighting).

A new beginning, and our first croc.

After nearly a week in Finch Bay (Cooktown) we could both feel our fibres being woven back into the fabric of society. How easy it would have been to stay in such a beautiful spot, with such a friendly crowd, but it was time to move on even though the wind hadn't quite finished blasting it's way from the South. After the many days of rest, tea, cards and laughter it felt like we were beginning our adventure all over again, with a different family waving us off the beach this time.

At first the paddling was truly terrifying as waves crashed over us and the wind pushed us around like bath toys. We both found our rhythm and after a while we raised the sails for what turned into a wild ride. Leaning into the wind, bracing hard, another wave in the face, while steep, wind-worn mountains and white sandy beaches slowly slid into the distance behind us. The perfect tabletop of Cape Bedford, our beacon, our north-point, loomed above us as we tried to trick the wind into letting us have a quick bite to eat and a pee stop. It is not easy to pee in a kayak in 25 knots of wind.

Another 10km or so later led us to the paradise of Three Islands National Park. We were very carful to minimise our footprint on this haven for our feathered friends and watched the ospreys and brahminy kites patrolling the beaches like prison guards in a maximum security lockup. The waters were teeming with life - we watched, mesmerised, as sharks chased fish while stingrays and shovel-nosed rays played tag around our feet in the shallows.

I drummed up the courage to go for a snorkel but the slightly murky water and mangroves at the end of the beach meant my croc-dar was on high alert so my swim was very brief. This day ended with a glorious sunset on a deserted tropical island and two happy souls feeling quite alive and content that we decided to make this adventure happen.

Downsizing from Three Islands to Two Islands National Park this morning was a gentle 10km of paddling north. Islands appeared on the horizon - the Direction Islands (North and South) and Lizard slightly to the West. The shallow reef surrounding Two Islands was dreamy - crystal clear, colourful coral, turtles and stingrays tearing off in every direction, and so shallow we had to raise our rudders just to cruise through. Could this island be more beautiful than the last? We didn't allow ourselves the time to explore, deciding to head for the next blip on the map, Rocky Islets.

Several hours and thousands of terrified flying fish later, we approached the reef surrounding our destination under the watchful gaze of about a million inquisitive sea birds. The crystal waters and colourful reef finally gave us the confidence to think we had found a spot we could safely dangle our toes in the water for a swim. We pulled up on the beach at what seemed like a fine campsite and prepared to take a cheeky dip.

"Crocodile!!" Lain's eager eyes spotted the confidence-crushing beast. No swimming here. About 50m up the beach from our apparently perfect campsite was a very obvious one-way croc slide all the way up the beach from the current low tide mark. That makes one in the water and one almost in our campsite. We were back in our boats in seconds and off to find a more secluded spot.

I write this from a hammock suspended over the nest holes of hundreds of noisy mutton-birds. Although this is a paradise I suspect that it is the wildlife here that will get a better night's rest than this weary paddler.

Pictures: A Finch Bay Send-off (Jason, Eli, Nico, Peter, Margs, Lain. Ros & Mausey), Three Islands campsite, Approaching Rocky Islets (just near the croc sighting).

What's in a name?

Just like pushbikes do not need a licence plate to ride on the road, kayaks (unlike most vessels) are not required to be registered to float on the high seas.

As we are planning to enter PNG in a boat at a port, technically our boats need to be registered and we are officially classed as 'Captains' of the ship. This leads to a small conundrum but one that I am sure will be able to be breezed over in Daru when we make it that far.

To make things as official as possible we'll need to complete a 'captain's log' (our daily lat/long written into a $1 notebook) and our boats need to be named. Regardless of the red tape, we had always imagined that we'd be cruising the world's waters in boats bearing a bold and proud name. And so it was that on our last night in NSW, amid the madness of final preparations, we managed to cover our boats with sponsor's stickers and our shiny new names, Birubi and Trinity.

Birubi is the name of one of the local beaches in our home, Port Stephens. When I first launched my shiny new kayak all those years ago it was from Birubi Beach and I have had many pleasurable hours paddling the waters off Birubi Beach chasing humpbacks in the winter and kingfish in the summer (not that I ever caught one). The name is of Aboriginal origin (I presume from the local language of the Worimi tribe) and it means "Southern Cross".

When Paul Caffyn completed his unbelievable circumnavigation of Oz back in the early 80's he had two kayaks - one for himself and a spare that was for a paddling partner (or partners) who joined him for some sections of the trip. Caffyn's back-up boat was named "Birubi", a strong Aboriginal name with relevance for his trip.

The name "Southern Cross" also has a history of use in Australian expedition kayaking, being the name given to Eric Stiller's Klepper kayak that made it from Sydney to Darwin in the book "Keep Australia on Your Left".

Lain's kayak also boldly displays the name of an Aussie beach that has special significance both for her and for the Archipaddlo expedition, Trinity. While the word itself implies a trio this is a kayak for one and an expedition for two.

Lain spent much of her childhood playing in the sand, swimming in the water, sailing, jetskiing, wakeboarding and getting up to all sorts of mischief under the swaying palms of Trinity Beach. It may in fact be Lain's years spent, sunburnt and happy, at Trinity Beach that have fuelled Lain's fire for exploration and adventure. It was largely for this reason that we decided to begin the Archipaddlo expedition from this well-worn swathe of shifting golden sand.

Our kayaks carry names that represent for us our origins, and remind us of home. These same names also inspire us to explore the world around us, and to stand on remote beaches and stare out at the sea, at the sky and at the world around us.

Birubi. Trinity.

Make repairs while the sun don't shine.

That dirty great low that has been blasting us with with constant strong wind for the last few days is lingering like a hangover after a stag night. We are still trapped in Finch Bay, Cooktown, imprisoned in the amazing abode of our great new friends Margs and Mausey. As I write the rain on the tin roof is loudly drowning out the incessant chorus of the frogs in this little slice of tropical paradise.

These few days of rest have been a great opportunity to catch up on some repairs, dry out our gear and wash some very smelly clothes. We are both itching to get back in the boats (or is that just the sandflies?) but the swirling maelstrom outside the bay is enough to justify boiling the kettle one more time.

My kayak has needed a small overhaul, and after just one week of paddling! In actual fact my boat is now about 5 years old (Lain's is a year or so younger) and despite my best efforts to keep it in pristine condition, salt water is not forgiving and my boat has started to show the evidence of many hours on the water.

On day one of this expedition we noticed that my rear hatch (containing two week's food, the computer, sat phone, all the spare parts and many other essentials) had a serious leak. Noticing that the 5 year old neoprene hatch cover was starting to get a bit thin in a few spots I assumed the problem would be solved by replacing the cover (yes, I had brought a spare!). On day two the hatch filled up with much more water so my simple fix was not the answer.

On closer inspection I discovered that one of the rudder line tubes (if they have a technical name then I don't know it) was broken right down at the stern. Let me explain. Our kayaks have a small rope cleated to the deck within easy reach of the paddler on either side of the kayak. Pull the left rope and the rudder is deployed, pull the right and the rudder lifts from the water so it won't be damaged in shallow water or beach landings. For this marvel of engineering to take place the rope passes into a small plastic tube inside the boat that then runs from the main cockpit through the rear two hatches to the rudder at the stern of the kayak. At this point the tube passes through a small hole in the boat and is held in place by a large goop of silicone. Water can enter the plastic tube (with the rope) but it should never end up in one of the hatches.

Perhaps my heavy handed attempts to overfill my kayak with too much gear on day one resulted in this cord being damaged, either way it needed fixing. With some extra, somewhat thicker plastic tube, deck caulking goop, silicone, my trusty Leatherman, two scraped knees, several expletives and a few extra bits from the spares kit I have hopefully now solved the puzzle of the leaking hatches.

In one week I have now repaired the tent (thanks to a hungry rat), two holes in my blow-up mattress, and now my faithful kayak. I hope this is not a pattern that will be repeated every week from here on. While I have been very prepared with spare parts and bits and pieces it is a strictly limited supply and I expect we could find ourselves washed up like Gilligan, trying to fix a sat phone with coconuts and bamboo!

The Angels of Cooktown

I lie in a comfy queen size bed, freshly showered and full of beer, hamburger, cake, beer, coffee, tea, beer, cottage pie, apple turnover, and beer while our kayaks sit in the chilly drizzle outside. Yep, we have been taken in by the angels of Cooktown and today has been a great day.

We spent two nights at Archer Point, which we have since discovered is renowned as the windiest place in Queensland. Our camp was tucked in among coconut palms and mangroves behind a mudflat that without the constant airflow would have no doubt hoarded an army of midges, and as so many of the locals have suggested, at least one big croc.

The wind was so strong that even with our tent carefully tucked into the shelter of some dense trees, and with a Bear Grylls style windbreak of coconut leaves, the tent needed to be strongly tied down just to keep it from being ripped from its pegs (perhaps even with us inside!). I felt like we had pitched the tent on the median strip of an eight lane highway, with semi trailers roaring past in either direction. The noise of the wind was so overpowering that it really was challenging to get much sleep.

Having fixed the second leak in my trusty air mattress, I awoke with some disappointment to discover a rather large hole in the wall of the tent, yet more repair surgery to perform. The new ventilation, I soon discovered, coincided with the strange disappearance of my carefully portioned lunch bag. I hear the white tailed rats up this way will happily gnaw through a coconut with ease, so paper-thin nylon clearly presented not much of a challenge. As it happened, there was no way I could possibly have stopped paddling today for long enough to consider shoving in any of the food anyway so I didn't really lose out in the end.

We spent two nights at Archer Point not because it was a great campsite but because the weather had turned - somebody opened the wind valves. Our previously placid ocean boiled to a frothy mess in the tempest and the thought of battling the conditions all the way to Cooktown did not appeal. During our rest day, largely spent reading and bracing the tent from the semi-trailers, we somehow talked ourselves into the idea of giving it a go and escaping Archer Point for the, hopefully, more comfortable conditions in Cooktown.

And so it was that in the drizzle of the early morning, to catch the nearly high tide (full boats are heavy to drag over mudflats), we nervously faced the storm. Paddling first directly into the wind for 500m or so to escape the bay was a massive challenge. Every paddle stroke, at full power, seemed to only pull the boats inches forward. The top of every wave that crashed over our bows was whipped into our faces by the incessant headwind. We were totally spent by the time we turned our boats out of the bay and with the wind to Cooktown.

The next few hours was like something you might have experienced in a "Perfect Storm" style 3D movie as a kid. Monstrous waves looming out of nowhere and crashing over us. Inescapable wind that refused to allow us any control over which direction our boats headed and that was doing its best to tear the paddles from our white-knuckled grip. Horizontal rain that needled the skin and obscured all landmarks. The constant threat of capsize…in crocodile infested waters. We nearly missed Cooktown altogether mistaking a much more distant headland for our destination.

Finally we limped into the first available landfall within cooee of Cooktown, Finch Bay, and headed for the only corner of the beach that was sheltered from the wind. A tin roof, a verandah, barking dogs, perhaps we can pull up there. But there's a lot of mangroves, it looks like real croc territory. WHAM!! The stern of my boat lifted from the water as a two metre shark gave it a solid nudge then exploded from the water right behind me. According to Lain "my voice broke" (I squealed like a girl) and my eyes looked like saucers.

Apparently it is croc territory, a 4.5m monster who frequents the bank we landed on, but who was thankfully absent for our arrival. Margaret welcomed us to her amazing home while trying to decide if we were crazy ferals or just crazy. Maureen and Margaret have fed us amazing food, filled us with good cheer, even collected us from town when we needed a lift. We lie in the comfort of their home and it feels like a five star resort. I'd like to see a white tailed rat chew its way into this tent!

The weather seems to be sticking around for a few more days with a couple of low systems just off the coast and that terrifying word "cyclone" being thrown around by some of the locals. Perhaps we'll hunker down here for a few days and recharge the batteries while the weather sorts itself out.

Don't worry Margs, despite our threats we promise we'll keep going on our adventure when the weather breaks…perhaps.

Sails and Tribulations

A leaking kayak, howling winds, ferocious downpours, blisters and mozzie bites - well yes, but there is much more here than meets the eye.

The last few days, well away from society and mobile coverage, have been blissful. Just ask Lain to describe the look of glee in my face as I ran around naked in the rainforest in a downpour surrounded by the glistening round leaves of the majestic Licuala palms. Priceless. Hippy.

As we have packed enough flour for two loaves of bread a week the bakery opened on Snapper Island for a perfect, crusty rye loaf. I think Lain was even more surprised than I was at my baking prowess, although I may have set an unnecessary precedent. Like my BBQ skills, I should have burnt the first loaf to a cinder so that I am never allowed near the yeast sachet again. Note to self - burn the next loaf!

The many delights of coconuts have been added to our culinary selection over the last few days. I am somewhat dubious however, that the energy spent on obtaining the flesh justifies the effort of cutting it out. Even with fancy machetes there is clearly a clever technique for hacking through the husk to which we who shop in supermarkets are not privy. I am slowly learning and this afternoon we drank the sweet milk of several of these deadly cannonballs. Rustle, rustle, THUMP! Yes, don't place your tent under a coconut tree.

The paddling so far has been a mixture of blissful serenity and terrifying exhilaration, similar to reading a good book while rocking on a chair then leaning too far back with you stomach in your throat. Sailing on a gentle breeze silently past dense tropical rainforest and thick, healthy mangroves and countless terrified turtles is just about as good as it gets. Later in the day the wind has been picking up converting blissful cruising to a ride you would happily queue for hours in an amusement park for. The swell and wind pushes and pulls the kayaks one way while the sails are doing the opposite resulting in an exhausting exercise in preventing oneself from being capsized while attempting to head in the right direction. Lucky we can see where we are going…for now.

Cedar Bay was heavenly - fresh water creeks flowing out over graceful sandy, coconut lined beaches with fringing coral reef all wrapped in an elaborate parcel of mountainous rainforest. No sooner had we erected our flashy new tarp when the heavens opened - a downpour of legendary proportions. Within seconds our campsite was completely flooded and the rain on the tarp was so loud we had to yell at each other just to be heard. We were collecting the rain to refill our supplies of fresh water but the 10L bucket we were collecting it in was overflowing within 30 seconds. Needless to say, we have enough water for now. The torrent that flowed out over the beach would have kept any whitewater enthusiast drooling and the previously crystal clear gentle streams were now mudslides. It is brilliant to see nature's power, even better to be naked and standing in it!

This first week has been an emotional one. As we figure out the task we have set ourselves to achieve, how to pack our boats, the routines of camp, how to avoid sunburnt lips, how to make the electronics clip together, and what to do in our spare time, our thoughts inevitably drift back to home, to friends, family, puppies, to hot coffee and cold beer. Lain started this week an emotional wreck with the slightest reminder of home resulting in a stream of tears. The days of separation seem to be making things easier. Lain has just closed the last page of Vicki McAuley's book "Solo" about Andrew McAuley's ill-fated paddle to New Zealand. Perhaps glimpsing the footprints of adventure giants like McCauley make Lain and I realise that what we have set out to do is, if a little bit dangerous, very achievable.

Another storm is lashing the tent as I write this spiel from the campsite below Archer Point. If the wind stays up we'll have trouble getting out of this shallow bay tomorrow, but nothing we can't handle.

Emotions and oceans...

Lain here... the somewhat more silent blogger!

I thought I should add something of a woman's perspective of our first week away. I would be lying if I didn't say it hasn't been somewhat emotional. I think the very first night away I quickly realised the massive undertaking that we have set out to achieve this year. With an incredibly heavy boat and muscles that had not paddled for some time I really felt quite overwhelmed by the circumstances I found myself in. One day at a time though and each day has been one to treasure.

Emotions aside as they quickly find themselves as I paddled past the biggest turtle i have ever seen on day 2 (only to be beaten by a bigger one on day 5) the tranquility and simplicity of just being out here with sometimes perfect weather turning into torrential downpours has already been one of the most humbling experiences of my life.

We have seen more turtles than I can count, sharks herding fish in shallow water and some un-idetifiable mammoth leap from the water not far from us! The beautiful rainforest and mangroves take you breath away and the feeling of a gentle breeze filling your sail warms the soul.

Back to the emotions... Crocs scare the shit out of me I have realised! I have been working through my issues (and probably driving Juz crazy with questions like 'Can you see a creek?' and 'get back from the waters edge!') everywhere we pull up but I am starting to realise and understand (I hope) the patterns of these man eating animals. We have set ourselves some ground rules and we are still here to tell this story so far so they must be okay. I realised I had fear though whilst sleeping ocean side in the tent not far from the high tide mark on Snapper Island directly out from the mouth of the Daintree River... yeah you tell me you wouldn't do a torch scan from the tent many multiple times that night!

As I turn my head torch off on day 6 it is with absolute happiness that I have to be where I am. I certainly do miss my beautiful family and friends but I also know that I will come back bigger and better from this and have amazing times with you all again. I thank you all again for your support in our crazy adventure and look forward to seeing you all on the flip side. For now though... may you all enjoy exactly where you are... and hug a tree of run around naked in a thunderstorm just because you can!