Read Online All the Way Round by Stuart Trueman - Free Book Online

to paddle off with disregard for the compass. I could see nothing but ocean, there was no land or landmarks, but nevertheless my brain was convinced I should ignore the compass and head off that-a-way. The warning lights came on when I casually noticed there was a tennis court off to my left. It had the net up, an umpire’s chair, and was surrounded by a high wire fence to keep any wayward balls from hitting passing kayakers. But strangely, the court’s surface was water. Ha! I thought, I must be hallucinating! I was pleased with myself for recognising it as a figment of my imagination, even though my reasoning was deduced from the fact that its surface was water and not because there shouldn’t be a tennis court suddenly appearing in Bass Strait. It took discipline, trust in my preparation and the realisation of my state to convince me to follow the compass and take the correct heading, and after 35 hours of paddling I landed safely at 6.30 pm.
    Completing the Bass Strait crossing gave me a tremendous psychological advantage. Knowing I could commit to crossing a long, serious stretch of water gave me peace of mind that I would be up to it when faced with the challenge again. I also learnt which foods were best, how much water I needed for the trip and what worked for me when paddling at night. As well, I was introduced to hallucinations and what to expect when my mind and body started to reach their limits. I can’t say it was a totally pleasant experience but at least I knew what I was in for with the long crossings on this trip, and that I could do it.
    I’d felt the force of the southerlies on my approach to Denham, noting the fleeting forecasts of good weather quickly come and go along the cliffs. All the information I could gather confirmed that my window of opportunity was approaching.
    When I wasn’t on the move I imagined the worst of the problems that could happen while tackling tough obstacles ahead—I have enough experience to dream up some really shitty scenarios to avoid. Some I can prepare for, others I just have to hope don’t happen. The good side is that I’m prepared when things don’t go well, and relieved that it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be; the bad side is I wear myself down with endless what-ifs.
    Before I reached the cliffs I briefly thought I would like to tell my family that I loved them, and explain what they should do if I didn’t make it, but I quickly dismissed the idea—even mentioning the real task ahead would make them worry for no gain. However, it was important to me that, if I didn’t make it, I protected myself against the legion of voices that would bring themselves out of the dark, condemning the attempt, considering themselves experts purely on the basis of having an opinion. So I sent a seemingly innocent email to a kayaking friend, explaining my strategy, the weather and timing, with the hope that it would help in my defence should I get caught out.
    It is 50 kilometres, or a day’s paddle, from Denham to Steep Point, the start of the cliffs. Then I would have to paddle continuously for more than 35 hours along the Zuytdorp Cliffs to get to the sanctuary of the little town of Kalbarri. Each day into the future the weather forecast would become less reliable. If I arrived at Steep Point and the forecast changed for the worse and didn’t look like clearing up, I would have to paddle back to Denham to wait for another chance.
    On 28 May I was at Steep Point, the northernmost point of the Zuytdorp Cliffs, looking at the swell smash into the western coast of nearby Dirk Hartog Island, the surf leaving a ribbon of fog hanging over the cliffs.
    My preparation being as good as I could get it, the weather forecast being as good as I could expect, and with all my food bagged and everything ready, I surprised myself as I realised I was totally comfortable with the task ahead. There was nothing else to do. I smoked my pipe and was content and relaxed, the rewards