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.