The discovery of the real location of
Kayak trips have their own life cycle: here rules the serenity and
challenge, the recurrence and endlessly extended time. All the hustle and
bustle vanish. What did politician A or B said? What car is the next door
neighbor driving? How was the new best-seller movie? The priorities turn over. New
and truly important questions take place of old ones. What is the wind and wave
forecast for tomorrow? Do we have enough water for the next few days? Is the
sleeping bag dry enough to sleep in? How do the back and shoulders feel? Will
our dreams come true and tonight we reach a coast with some first class
facilities such as a restaurant and hot showers? The eyes are wide open to
grasp the nature surrounds, the ears get used to the silence. You watch the
motion and the shape of the clouds, and not just for the sake of relaxation. The
birds’ motion, the skies, the vegetation along the coast line, the moon - all those
are important land marks that help you to navigate and survive, or rather, to
live through the day, because the only time a paddler has is the present.
The preparations took almost a year, during which our enthusiasm had
gradually been replaced with great concern: isn’t this mission too big for us?
On one of our paddling days all the surrounding were covered with
thick fog. We had to rely on our compass and GPS as we could see no land.
According to my calculations, we had to take course to the right,
Alon thought we should take a little bit more to the left. Of course, I was
right, although Alon still mistakenly thinks the same about himself. Anyway
this time each of us continued paddling in the direction he chose for himself
while yelling at his partner. When the distance between us exceeded the
effective shout range of an outraged Mediterranean male, each of us took out
his VHF radio and continued shouting. I wonder if anyone has ever used the VHF
radio in such a creative way, however unfortunately there was no one around monitoring
VHF, to hear us and comment on our creative skills. In fact, that was the only
utilization that we found for this valuable piece of equipment. More than once
we chased the fishing boats and yachts as if we were two pirates running after
boats loaded with gold and jewelries, holding our paddles instead of guns and shouting
something like: “Hey, what kind of wind is expected tomorrow?” In the battle of
uneven forces - our arms and paddles against the motors and sails of the
fishermen, not always we prevailed. We had also those days when there was no
one around to ask, when all sea crafts vanished and we were all alone in the big
sea. This was during the storms.
Although the kayak looks small and vulnerable it has a remarkable
ability to survive in stormy seas. The West coast of
Imagine yourself sitting in a kayak with an open spraydeck,
the most intimate piece of your body exposed to the forces of the Southern
Ocean. Every 10 second there is a 3-5 meter wave, a wall of water as high as a
modest building. While balancing the kayak you continue the activity that
forced you to open the deck in the first place. If you are not relaxed - you
failed! This self control exercise is known to the best of Buddhist's monks.
And we wonder how this viable technique is not yet part of the 5 star BCU assessment?
In the first days of the journey I was wandering: why do I need it
all? The back is aching after 12 hours of paddling, the palms are one big callus,
my entire body is tired, and all it is dreaming about is a moment of rest. Not
only I suffer, but I also pay for this kind of vocation. However, after three
or four days of paddling the body acquires the paddle’s pace, the head cleans
up and the soul stars smiling.
One stroke after another, step by step; how many dozens of thousands
of recurring motions do you do in every day? Paddling becomes a pulse of the
body, like breathing. The thoughts are entirely disconnected from what the body
is doing. What do you think about during those 12 hours? Lets’ see:
Most of the time the head is tabula rasa. Simple as that: empty space, like our
world before creation, but without the chaos. If the brain was to be connected
to a monitor at that moment, it would only show white noise in low volume, with
minor spikes - the result of the self question “when is a break?” However, you
also have moments when the mind is actively busy. Since the archive of interesting
subjects is finite, you first put them in accurate order like precious stones.
The least interesting topics you put at the top of the pyramid - to be thought through
first. The most interesting subject and the longest one is
always kept for the middle or to the end of the paddle, or maybe even for
another day. This is the sweet and delicate desert which you do not want to
swallow in the beginning of the meal. You are not hurrying anywhere. There are
also daily meals that you eat no matter what – like Nepali “Dal-bat”
or British porridge, or Russian vodka.
Those are the songs you repeat every morning, noon and evening, trying
to carry on with it as long as possible. Alon sings in Hebrew, I sing in
Russian. The two languages mixed in an funny way
breaking the silence of the surroundings. The last two hours of paddling were entirely
devoted to thoughts about the dinner! Alon preferred to concentrate on earthy steaks,
but my dreams were rather flying amongst fish, salads and mashed potatoes. At
the end of the day we were landing on a deserted beach with no civilization,
and, guess what, instead of the steak and mashed potatoes we swallow 2 packages
of disgusting dehydrated food with a promising print “pack of six” on
each.
Sometimes we were luckier. Cockle Creek is a tiny deserted town in
the south part of Tassie. It was the first settlement
that we came across after six days of paddling along the South West Nature
Reserve. We dreamed of hot showers, laundry, restaurants – we fantasized of all
the luxuries of paddler’s life – but the reality was cruel and bitter. There
was nothing except a few empty houses and a beautiful view. From the distance
we saw a lone man innocently walking along the beach. His name was Michael.
Alon checked the distance and targeted the victim. Poor man had no chance! Alon
describes in hurry all we have been through, all the glorious and horror
stories, shows his palm black from calluses (an old trick but works perfectly every
time). I am sitting in my kayak smiling as nicely as I can, trying to give my
burnt, unshaved and salty face a little bit friendlier look. “But there is no
public showers here”, - Michael is desperately trying to protect the last lines
of Mazino. “And where do you have your own shower then?”
responses Alon instantly. My smile extends even wider. After the shower Michael
joins us for tea and brings one kilo of tasty Wallaby burgers.
The Tasmanians are warm and good people. They invite us to their
homes, give us food, give us lifts to the shops. Yet
they are weird. After three weeks into the expedition the first question they
ask when they meet us is “Are you alright?” That was odd. I felt perfectly fine
as long as I don’t see the wild frightening beast staring beast looking at me
from the mirror. Alon? I got used to him.
The East and North coast went by well, although paddling in against
strong head winds was extremely frustrating. Sometimes it was me who suffered
after the day's paddle, on other days it was Alon. A strong tendon’s
inflammation developed in my wrist, Alon suffered from numbness in his right
leg due to strong back pains. We both got bitten by March flies, who were pretty much responsible for our quick progress. The
We are one hundred km after Strahan, which
was the last point of civilization on the West coast. The sky is dark, the clouds
are looming, it is getting late. We have a 3 more km
to
100
My paddle is in setup, ready for roll. I feel that I am climbing up,
higher and higher, stay still for a moment and then drop, crash and get buried
under wave giant that constantly rolls the kayak and me in a way that resembles
a horrible washing machine. After three rolls my paddle is ripped out of one
hand, a second later my other hand loses it either. I have no choice but to bail
out of the kayak, and loose it the same moment in the power of the water. In
the complete mess, I continue being rolled, without any idea where is “up” or
“down”. I try to swim towards what seems
to be the surface making strong movements with my hands, the air in my lungs is
about to end. I feel no fear, I just want to breath. I
can see where the light comes from and fight, with the rest of my forces to
reach it. Among the white foam of tumbling water I manage to take a gulp of air
and then again get buried by the wave. A few seconds later the mess calms down.
I’m swimming in the waters of the Southern Ocean, 120 km away from the closest
civilization. I prefer not to think what will happen if another wave hits me
now.
Lucky us it was a single freak wave that broke this far from the
shore. This fact eventually saved our lives. The wave dragged us to the
distance of only 100 meters away from the cliffs, and the next one – should it
come then – would smash us and our kayaks on the rocks. Yet we are lucky again.
Here is a gloomy summary of one of out most striking experiences in Tasmania: my
reentry and roll, Alon’s almost dislocated shoulder, paddle leash ripped off, a
security bungee rope of the spare paddle ripped off, front hatch partially
opened, sea charts washed from the deck, foam of the helmet washed off, one of
the waterproof GPS died. Nevertheless the biggest loss was one of the “toilet
bottles”, from now on the act is no more spontaneous and
needs to get coordinated with the partner upon demand. That’s when the true friendship is developed.
Friendship is probably the most valuable outcome of the voyage.
Together we laughed and argued about washing the dishes; together cooked pasta
and ate in restaurants; together pitched the tent and together slept under open
sky after the tent with the sleeping bags and mattresses inside was blown away with
the wind to the ocean; surrounded by the mountains of water next to the South
West Cape and in 45 knots winds in Port Davey - all this we went through
together. Even in the hardest moments of the trip, when each of us could rely
only on himself, the fact of being next to a friend was helpful. We reached all
we aimed for, we even completed the circumnavigation in a record time, but this
is not the chief thing. The friendship built worth much more than the self
achievement.
So where exactly is