Read Online All the Way Round by Stuart Trueman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stuart Trueman
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brings with it oncoming waves. If strong enough, these waves roll over the deck, smacking into the kayaker’s chest, chilling them while slowing momentum—a double whammy. This is particularly a problem in a loaded kayak as the bow is sluggish to rise with the wave, opting instead to dive through. It’s a wearing process and not something to look forward to.
I had asked myself, ‘What were my options if faced with the all-too-common 20-knot southerly wind during my progress along the cliffs?’ It would be very unlikely I could call on a passing boat, as there wouldn’t be any and even if there were I didn’t carry a VHF radio to contact them. I could paddle on, but kayaking into a strong headwind made an already hard task much harder, and was obviously dangerous. I could turn around and paddle back, but I knew myself too well; I’d probably keep trying to continue until the very last of my energy was drained and it was too late to consider returning. Then I’d have to use my PLB and hope I was found before I was dashed against the cliffs or more likely succumbed to the cold waters.
My answer was a sail. This gave me an option to turn around, allowing me to make use of the wind to aid a return to my starting point. It may sound like a no-brainer at first but, as with most things, if you think about it hard enough it can turn into a difficult decision. Much of the sea kayaking world frowns on the use of sails, seeing it as cheating. I saw the sail as a safety device which had the benefit of aiding progress.
Just as I had envisaged, the winds picked up from the south at the halfway point. Faced with 100 kilometres to paddle into a headwind of 15 knots was a demoralising situation. However, the thought of paddling back 100 kilometres was an even more depressing prospect, so I kept on going. After three hours the wind died down to nothing and I picked up speed.
As the conditions settled down, I drifted off into the misty area of my mind created by lack of sleep and continuous exercise. But I was snapped back to clarity when I missed a sleeping whale by the length of the kayak. It was a humpback with its back showing above the water and its massive flukes spread out wide. It made me think of a teenager passed out in the most uncomfortable pose designed to take up the most space possible to ensure you couldn’t miss them. There’s no doubt which one of us got the biggest scare; the whale vented its fishy breath and slapped its flukes a few times but didn’t actually move, while my speed suddenly increased and the chance of me falling asleep dropped to nil for a few hours. I’m sure it was back to dreaming of far-off krill before my heart rate had a chance to drop.
During the night I struggled to maintain my ‘40 kilometres in six hours’ schedule. I was tired and hurting from paddling for twenty hours. Even though I kept drinking and eating regularly, sleep-deprivation was taking its toll and I had to pop a few caffeine tablets. The hours before sunrise dragged and dawn took a long time to show itself.
Morning brought mental relief but also 20-knot winds over the cliffs. I tried to get some help from the sail but all that happened was I got blown away from the cliffs and then blown over. I had stopped to eat a banana sandwich when a combination of a wave, a gust of wind and a dozy kayaker resulted in the kayak leaning at an impossible angle. I realised I was going over and grabbed the paddle, but got it at the wrong angle so instead of providing a hold on the water to prevent me rolling further, it just sliced through and I found myself still chewing my sandwich underwater. At first all I could think about was that my urine was now emptying into the sea, so I quickly shut my mouth.
With the sail creating a huge drag, I only managed to roll enough for my head to resurface to gasp some air before I went back down. While underwater the second time I remembered my spray skirt was off, so the kayak was filling up
I had asked myself, ‘What were my options if faced with the all-too-common 20-knot southerly wind during my progress along the cliffs?’ It would be very unlikely I could call on a passing boat, as there wouldn’t be any and even if there were I didn’t carry a VHF radio to contact them. I could paddle on, but kayaking into a strong headwind made an already hard task much harder, and was obviously dangerous. I could turn around and paddle back, but I knew myself too well; I’d probably keep trying to continue until the very last of my energy was drained and it was too late to consider returning. Then I’d have to use my PLB and hope I was found before I was dashed against the cliffs or more likely succumbed to the cold waters.
My answer was a sail. This gave me an option to turn around, allowing me to make use of the wind to aid a return to my starting point. It may sound like a no-brainer at first but, as with most things, if you think about it hard enough it can turn into a difficult decision. Much of the sea kayaking world frowns on the use of sails, seeing it as cheating. I saw the sail as a safety device which had the benefit of aiding progress.
Just as I had envisaged, the winds picked up from the south at the halfway point. Faced with 100 kilometres to paddle into a headwind of 15 knots was a demoralising situation. However, the thought of paddling back 100 kilometres was an even more depressing prospect, so I kept on going. After three hours the wind died down to nothing and I picked up speed.
As the conditions settled down, I drifted off into the misty area of my mind created by lack of sleep and continuous exercise. But I was snapped back to clarity when I missed a sleeping whale by the length of the kayak. It was a humpback with its back showing above the water and its massive flukes spread out wide. It made me think of a teenager passed out in the most uncomfortable pose designed to take up the most space possible to ensure you couldn’t miss them. There’s no doubt which one of us got the biggest scare; the whale vented its fishy breath and slapped its flukes a few times but didn’t actually move, while my speed suddenly increased and the chance of me falling asleep dropped to nil for a few hours. I’m sure it was back to dreaming of far-off krill before my heart rate had a chance to drop.
During the night I struggled to maintain my ‘40 kilometres in six hours’ schedule. I was tired and hurting from paddling for twenty hours. Even though I kept drinking and eating regularly, sleep-deprivation was taking its toll and I had to pop a few caffeine tablets. The hours before sunrise dragged and dawn took a long time to show itself.
Morning brought mental relief but also 20-knot winds over the cliffs. I tried to get some help from the sail but all that happened was I got blown away from the cliffs and then blown over. I had stopped to eat a banana sandwich when a combination of a wave, a gust of wind and a dozy kayaker resulted in the kayak leaning at an impossible angle. I realised I was going over and grabbed the paddle, but got it at the wrong angle so instead of providing a hold on the water to prevent me rolling further, it just sliced through and I found myself still chewing my sandwich underwater. At first all I could think about was that my urine was now emptying into the sea, so I quickly shut my mouth.
With the sail creating a huge drag, I only managed to roll enough for my head to resurface to gasp some air before I went back down. While underwater the second time I remembered my spray skirt was off, so the kayak was filling up
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