Well, we finally have a moment to sit back, dry out, and fill the world in on our adventures so far. Let’s just say it’s certainly been a hard couple of days at the office for Team Bass Strait, after making the gutsy call on Monday to finally get wet.
Our resident Cape Barren Goose.
The first leg of our crossing was, as Mick so eloquently put it, a baptism of fire. With a head wind pushing 30 knots and some rough and confused water between Port Welshpool and Wilson’s Prom, the whole team was sharply reminded that, yes, this is Bass Strait, and, no, you can’t afford to be complacent.
Seven-and-a-half hours and 45 kilometres later, we paddled into the calm, aqua waters of Sealer’s Cove and all breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, it was a stunning journey along the Prom’s coastline – dolphins, penguins, banjo sharks and albatross were among the locals spotted – but when the head wind had our average speed down to fewer than four kilometres an hour, it seemed like a journey that would never end.
Unfortunately, with dusk already upon us, we didn’t have much time to explore Sealer’s Cove. It was a quick scramble to set up tents and cook dinner, before hitting the sleeping bag ahead of an even longer, and potentially more perilous crossing to Hogan Island.
Our campsite on Hogan - not bad, huh?
The next morning, the glassy conditions at Sealer’s had us thinking we were in for a cruisy 55 kilometres. Wrong again. While the wind was down on the previous day, at around 18 knots, its southwesterly direction combined with two- to three-metre swell, pushed many of us to our limits. Brendon was the first casualty, succumbing to sea-sickness and managing a mighty technicolour yawn down the front of his lifejacket before conceding defeat and hopping on our escort boat, Montique. The moral of that story? Take your Quells before you get on the water – once seasickness sets in, it’s basically game over.
Then there were the inevitable capsizes that come with rogue side-on waves – fortunately everyone was able to hop back on and keep battling, which is true testament to the team’s fitness and bravery. Only Couttsy, and Jarad and Emma in the double XT, managed to stay upright for the entire seven-plus hours, although Emma, who’s in the back of the double with Jarad, reckons she can’t take much credit for that.
The upshot of all this drama is, we made it, we’re alive and we’re all relishing the adventure, despite the seasickness, blisters and dodgy wrists from all that bracing for dear life. At about 5am this morning, we very sensibly decided to stay put on Hogan for a second night, to give our aches and pains time to mend, and wait for the more clement weather that we’re promised will arrive later in the week. (Although, if we hear the word “abate” one more time, we might throttle someone).
And Hogan ain’t such a bad spot to be marooned for a while. Sure, it’s a bare and rugged little island, inhabited only by penguins, cows, Cape Barren Geese and some very self-assured rats who have delighted in our arrival, but it’s a fascinating place too, with incredible views across the Strait. We even had the pleasure of meeting the island’s tenant today, who came across by boat to check on his 40 head of cattle. Alan, whose family has held the lease here for 50-odd years, has been very welcoming of us, and appreciative of the fact we’re also here to help clean up his beaches. Speaking of which, we conducted a massive cleanup of the island today, practically circumnavigating it by foot to see what we could find. Fishing paraphernalia accounted for most of the items found, along with a few incongruous pieces, like a plastic bread crate – how the hell that ended up here we’ll never know. Sadly, that dreadful scourge, the plastic drinking bottle, also reared its ugly head a few times – it’s depressing that, even out here, at such a remote location, personal rubbish of this nature is having an impact.
Team Bass Strait with Hogan Island caretaker Alan, and his mates Richard and Alfie.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. Just now we’re cooking spuds on a campfire, sinking some beers, while a naked Brendon Grail frolicks with a stingray. This must be paradise.
So, until our next post from Deal Island, which we hope to reach either midday tomorrow , or Friday, it’s greetings from Hogan.
