Paddle Report

The night was wild with the wind howling and the rain pelting down. I awoke twice in anticipation of the 4.30am alarm call. I was off on a early morning paddle to South Perth for breakfast with a group of dietitians. It was 18 kilometres, a near two hour paddle. To get up so early was not like me, 6.45am is usually bad enough. I had the choice to drive to South Perth but the thought of walking out the door with my kayak on my shoulder and then paddling to South Perth, just seemed so much more exciting. I needed the exercise.

As I walked down towards the river I noticed a tree floating, it must have been washed down by the tide. As I took another look I suddenly realised the river had flooded its banks and it was the old tree that was usually on the rivers edge.

I closed in to Sandy Beach Reserve. Water was lapping over the top planks of the jetty. Stretching directly out from it I could see a line of black buoys. My first thought was that a fishermen had cast a net right across the river. Moving closer however, I could see that the line of buoys was actually 40 or 50 black coots. I had never seen so many in one place before, it must have been a coot convention! They spread as my sleek kayak slipped between them.

As I rounded the bend and headed in a more westerly direction towards the Ascot Kayak Club the wind virtually forced me to stand still. Waves created by the gale force wind slid down the short straight like no other time in the history of my kayaking in theses waters (over 26 years). The river had stretched well beyond its banks and flooded Ashfield flats and many areas that lay downstream.

Beyond the Tonkin Highway Bridge I fell from darkness into waters lit by huge lights from the Ascot Race course. I didn't see any horses racing around the track. It was here sometime last year that a jockey was struck by lightening whilst doing an early morning ride and was killed. Although the weather was violent, thankfully there was no lightening.

A severe rainstorm blasted me just as I moved under the Garrett Road Bridge. A pelican greeting me, wasn't fazed at all. I was now back into the dark and more exposed to the weather. Layers of black clouds swept quickly across the morning sky. At times the layers would part allowing the full moon and some stars to shine brightly through. Within moments though the moon would disappear again as the clouds crowded in. I recalled that it was just over a month ago when I was paddling around Shark Bay on a near full moon.

My thoughts were racing from one great ordeal to another. The fierce storm reminded me of when I paddled the Mississippi River and was blasted by tropical rainstorms and lightening so severe I had never witnessed anything like it before. Then there was the time when I paddled from the start of the Avon River, taking three days to reach Northam, entered the Avon Descent and then at the end where everyone finished, I paddled on through stormy weather to Fremantle.

I turned east and the wind was directly behind my back. A build up of waves also assisted my speedy passage. My watch pipped 6.00am at the Maylands tennis courts, which meant that I had one hour to rendezvous with the dietitians at South Perth.

The river horseshoed back to the west where it widened and became more exposed. I cut the corner, the Belmont Racecourse was ahead, but the full brunt of the storm hit me face on. The trees on the bank beside me were being bent near horizontal. At the end of the strait a huge neon sign was lit up with 'Mercy' hospital, I got it in my sights and honed towards it. I struggled forward towards the light at a crawling pace feeling pretty vulnerable as I crossed the wide, storm tossed river. Another rain storm cut visibility. The lights of the city sky scrapers were almost lost. I could only see the blue lights at the top of the buildings.

When the river turned south again I was thankful. My pace quickened but the wind shifted to my right side. The extreme wind shifts constantly whipped away my right paddle blade. I held onto it desperately as it kept being yanked over to my left side. With this concern also came the wind and waves that tried pushing me towards the shore. I tried crabbing away from it, keeping my paddle low.

Yet another rain squall hit as I paddled under the Farmer Freeway Bridge. A runner had been reduced to a walking pace as he waded through deep water covering the cycle/walk path. Behind him the Burswood golf course was under a sea of water with a huge mob of pelicans taking refuge there. The further I travelled, the rougher the river. As I crossed over to the right side of the river I became a little jittery as the waves hit me on an angle and my bow burrowed as I surfed them.

Near the causeway bridge, I peered through the heavy rain towards a statue, when the statue made a slight movement I realised it was actually a fisherman. I couldn't believe it, who in their right mind would be fishing on such a hostile, windy, wet day. He must have been crazy.

Meanwhile this crazy kayaker found a pocket of of calm water shaded by the bridge, but the reprieve was short lived. Beyond the bridge the wild gale whipped the water into a mass of breaking waves. I was now only 2 kms from my destination but to reach it was going to be one of toughest and roughest paddles that I had experienced in a racing kayak for some time.

The south end of Heirisson Island was being punished severely by the waves. Spray leapt high into the air as the water hit the rocks. I tried to keep clear but that wasn't as easy as it seemed, the gale force winds controlled my passage. Luckily the wind gusts eased momentarily to help me keep control.

A mass of white water, breaking waves and 120 kilometre winds threatened to send me swimming. I couldn't stand the embarrassment of capsizing, so I hung on, using as many bracing skills as I could.

Although the conditions were intimidating I couldn't help but feel good about the challenge of this exciting ride. Large waves hit me and stopped me in my tracks. With speed lost I became more vulnerable to tipping my unstable craft. The wind exacerbated my situation by whipping my paddle away and not allowing me to head straight into the waves.

My boat took off, bounced and crashed through the waves. I felt my self paddling tentatively trying to force forward but supporting and bracing at the same time. I knew I was now a little late, I hate being late. I also knew the speed that I was trying to attain could get me into trouble, but I couldn't help myself but push on and push on hard.

The eastern end of South Perth foreshore was inundated with wild water that's force spared nothing. A big cleanup would certainly be required tomorrow.

The surf landing at the Boatshed was my last challenge. I wanted to create an impression by landing without incident just in case the group may have been watching. As it happened it couldn't have been better as it was a perfect landing. Sadly, they didn't notice they were busy tucking into their breakfast.

I had finally arrived, a little windswept and with an appetite!

What a sensation, I had paddled and beaten the biggest storm this year. I realised it was worth getting up early, I must do it more often, I think.

By Terry Bolland