Cape York Story-Scared of Water

by Jon Muir


The ocean has always had a powerful effect on me. I am scared of it. It is a fear I have known since childhood. My mother tells the story of our first experience of it, when my twin sister and I were plonked on the beach in front of the ocean. I bawled my eyes out, while pat loved it.

Things have not changed too much since then. As a teenager I spent a lot of time in the water bodysurfing, but never became totally comfortable with it. In the '90s I've made several journeys by sea- kayak, and in 1997 I completed a solo voyage from Cooktown in far north Queensland to the tip of Cape York, the northern most point of Australia; for 52 days, I travelled alone through an awesome landscape of reefs, islands and rugged and remote coastline. There was excitement and adventure every day both on the land and on the water.

For someone scared of the water, following the coast was one thing, crossing some of the huge bays quite another. On one of the largest bays I was completely out of sight of land, the island I'd left in the morning having disappeared over the horizon and the one I was headed for wouldn't have turned up. The coastline was at times 60 km distant, and I so I was completely surrounded by water. In a larger vessel, this might seem different, but in a tiny kayak, for someone afraid of water, it was quite a mind trip. I had to keep a careful check on myself so I did not completely loose it.

The journey went well, and towards the end, with just one big bay left to cross, I had become very confident. Newcastle Bay tested that confidence. The day I crossed it, I began by following the coast for a while before heading for the tiny Brewers Island. I launched my kite, a small parachute that pulled the boat along through the water, and pulled in the island for lunch. Being on the lee of the island, it was difficult to tell what the wind was doing. I had the impression it had picked up, but looking out the water was quite calm, an illusion given by the sheltered conditions. There was a temptation to spend the night where I was, but another part of me wanted to get that last big crossing behind me now.

Under sail, I left the island and within a kilometer I realised the wind had picked up considerably and I was in for a frightening time. Though Mai Island was only 20 km away at the far side of the bay, I was seriously gripped, and the distance stretched to infinity.

The big difference between being alone on the sea in a kayak to being alone on the sea with somebody else is that when you are alone and for whatever reason you come out of your boat, there is no possibility to do what is called a deep water rescue. If you capsize, the way to right yourself is to do an Eskimo roll. I'd practice many times and I was confident, but it is one thing to do something in a controlled situation, quite another in an outraging sea.

With my kite up, pulling my kayak and I at high speed across the bay, breaking waves all around, I started to wonder. If I did capsize, and failed to roll back up, I would have no choice but to get out of the boat. This was a frightening idea, alone in the wild sea, my chances of getting back into the boat would be very slim. Coming out meant hanging on to the upturned kayak until it washed ashore somewhere. Which could be in quite a number of hours, or in some places days, if at all. If I survived the immersion without turning into a shark meal, I might get ripped to shreds on a reef or a rocky headland. However I viewed it, coming out of the boat was not a comforting thought.

Away from the island, in the open water, the wind was very strong. A big swell was coming in from the east, and the wind was creating smaller but steeper waves from the south as well. With the kite up, it was all too much. I called it ' riding the torpedo', and sometimes it seemed a little out of control. The line is fine between in control and out of control, and it can be difficult to know whether you have crossed it or not. My very strong feeling was that I had indeed crossed that line…

To slow down, I needed to get the kite down. Normally, I would have done it by pulling it in with both hands, which meant I had to let go of the paddle, but if I capsized at that point, I would never be able to roll back up, as I needed the paddle in my hands to do so! Cutting the rope that held the kite seemed like the best bet as I had a knife taped on the deck…I was about to do this when I freak gust of wind downed the kite onto the water. (Which did not mean the end of my problems..)

There were countless foaming white caps around and at one point I was hit by four in quick succession. Each one (they) covered me in foaming white spray and came close to knocking me over, and there was no time between waves to regain my limited composure before being hit again by the next wave. If I did capsize and managed to roll, I'd be surfacing just in time to be knocked down again! Eventually Mai Island came into view, and grew oh so slowly as I approached.

Coming in the last kilometer meant travelling through a 100m channel between the island and Pitt Rock (a threatening looking rock sentinel…) A tidal stream was flowing very powerfully, in an incredible confusion of currents and standing waves. Literally out of the blue, a small shark slammed straight into the bow, looking more shocked if possible than I was. The boat was bobbing up and down all over the place, and at times coming a little too close to jutting rocks and coral bomies.

Suddenly, I was through. I had been concentrating so hard on the fight that I had not noticed the calm water on the lee of the island until I entered it. I could relax now.