Madmen of Banks Strait

The June longweekend (1993) was the worst I have seen for many a year. Rain, hail, sleet, snow, gales, highways closed. So what was I doing at Little Musselroe Bay in the North East of Tasmania? A mate from work, Andrew Grant (better known as Wonder Dog) had really wanted to do an interesting trip - a REAL trip.  So some time ago I had told him we could do Preservation Island.

And here I was, absolutely chilled to the bone - staring out across Banks Strait just before sunrise. My mind was in top gear trying to think up some other trip to do in this area that would be interesting, but not too dangerous, as I considered it was far too cold (apart from any sea conditions) to do a trip across Banks Strait. However the gale force westerly wind really precluded any other trip so I was resigning myself to telling Wonder Dog it was all off when he arrived. In fact the sea conditions didn’t look all that bad from where I was standing, it looked like a really fast sail all the way across to Preservation, side on to the wind and seas.

As the sun rose it began to provide a slight degree of warmth, and the sky was free of cloud, so we could probably rely on a few hours of warmth. Had it been cloudy I definitely would not have gone, the odds would have been stacked heavily against us. So when Wonder Dog arrived shortly after we resolved to give it a go.

The ebb tide was slackening off as we left the shelter of Little Musselroe Bay and tested out the conditions on the water. Naturally they were good in close to shore and we were soon sailing along the coast of Cape Portland at a good rate of knots. This all changed as we left the shelter of the land and encountered the huge seas running through the notorious Banks Strait. I suppose the waves were 3 to 4 metres, and I was hard put to keep looking back over my shoulder to see if Wonder Dog’s sail was still upright.

Although we were going to arrive on the other side with a fast incoming tide I chose to keep well up to windward, allowing that if we were miles to the west we could always run downwind against any tide. For a relative novice in these conditions the lad was doing a mighty job, and getting valuable experience to boot, and just when I thought things were going so well disaster struck - in a big way!

I looked around for the umpteenth time and didn’t pick up the big red sail. I braced into the wind and had a longer look - yes I could see some red, but it was the underside of the old Greenlander. Because of the force of the wind I found it almost impossible to get my mast out of it’s step, and when I finally did I feared I may be too far away to pick him up again. However he was still well in sight and I managed to finally get back and alongside him.

In actual fact, as he told me later when we were safely ashore, I had missed some of the fun. While resting on his upturned kayak waiting for me, he noticed some gear drifting off so climbed onto the hull - took a few running steps, and dived headlong after the errant gear. Upon gaining the security of the kayak again he noticed more gear drifting away and repeated the little run along the upturned hull to dive in after the gear.

By the time I got back to him he was naturally beginning to feel the effects of several minutes immersion in freezing water and even worse windchill, and was relieved when I rafted up and helped him back into his kayak. But when he went to switch the pump on - a big fat nothing. Now I haven’t yet mentioned that this 18ft long kayak does not have a front bulkhead, only a rear one, so two thirds of the kayak was full of water and it was floating very low at the bow, so to speak.             

There was nothing for it, he had to get back in the water and reach in behind the seat to try and locate the trouble - a loose connection on the battery. He pushed it on and it worked - beauty. But by the time he had managed to climb back into the kayak again it had stopped again. Out he hopped again, and repeated the procedure a couple more times.

By now things were starting to look a bit desperate - the little guy was beginning to freeze. Finally we found that the wire would stay connected if we released the battery from it’s position and just sat it on the bottom behind the seat, a very precarious place because another capsize would see it go the bottom of Banks Strait. However it did continue to function and the boat soon emptied, while I revised our position. We were still way to the west of Clarke Island and only just drawing level with it so I decided to run more or less straight downwind to Rebecca Bay - always a good port in a storm, and not the first time we had taken similar action in the past. But because we were so far west, and with the tide now starting to really run against us it was a very long time to see any forward progress towards land. And the closer we got the bigger the seas got, as the tide ran against the gale. Wonder Dog had many an anxious moment as we wound our way in through the bad angry patches of sea, both of us continually glancing over our shoulders as the sterns lifted high in the air to each wave - hoping against hope that this wasn’t one of the really big ones.

It was a huge relief to finally pull in behind the big offshore rocks at the western end of Rebecca Bay and into dead calm water and out of the wind. The contrast was unbelievable, and it was a great buzz to realise we had made it OK. Little time was lost in producing warm dry clothing and then taking camping gear up along the fence line to our usual sheltered camp-site in the middle of dense scrub.

After a short rest and a bite to eat we wandered up to the top of the nearby hill where it was possible to lean 45 degrees into the wind without falling over. From up here Banks Strait looked it’s normal ugly self, foam streaks on a carpet of white-caps as far as the eye could see - not an encouraging sight.

Still, we had no ambition to do any paddling for a couple of days, deciding we had done enough, and would spend our time here before returning to the mainland of Tasmania. We strolled across to Green Hill, from here we could overlook the sea to the east of Clarke Island including the fearful Moriarty Banks.

The next day saw us heading north over some rough wheel tracks to seek out the homestead up on the NW corner of the island, and found that the previous family had moved out when the island was sold and now had a caretaker till the new owners decided what to do with it. They (two of them) were not rural people and were not familiar with chainsaws and compressors etc and Wonder Dog and myself were pressed into service to get these things going and operational. They fed us not the best homemade bread I have ever tasted for morning tea before the two of us decided to walk on, before we were given anymore little chores around the place.

That afternoon while Wonder Dog went beachcombing I walked over to Moriarty Bay where a fishing boat was sheltering, and found the bay was a very nice camping spot if ever needed in the future. Wonder Dog arrived back with a long bamboo pole with a very heavy lead weight on the bottom of it, that he had found along the beach. We left it poked in the bushes as a marker for the camp-site as it was a mite too heavy and too long to take home as a souvenir. 

The third day, when we had planned to go home produced an extremely unpleasant sight - huge breakers crashing up the beach in Rebecca Bay, something I have never seen before in all my years of coming to this isolated island in Bass Strait. And getting off the beach looked nigh impossible. Because of the tides the ideal time to leave was about 4pm but this would mean crossing in the dark and was out of the question, so the next best time was 10am. So duly at 10am Wonder Dog pushed off to give it a go. I stayed ashore as it was useless me getting out (if I could) if he couldn’t, so I had to wait and see. Oh I wish I had a Video camera. 

For just about an hour he made attempt after attempt to break out, only to be returned to the beach upside down every time. He eventually gave up, being fairly exhausted and we resolved to wait to 4pm for another try, and perhaps better conditions.

At 4pm I decided to go first on a different part of the beach, as it looked just possible to get out every now and then. I sat in the shallow water waiting for a lull in the breakers and then went for it. This was easy. I made it over several small waves and was almost there when OH HELL! The biggest wave I had seen for a long time reared up out of nowhere and I barely had time to utter a strongly worded curse and dig in hard with my paddle before it dumped on me. It knocked the very breath out of me, and as I careered backwards I could feel that the aluminium paddle shaft had snapped like a carrot. Being upside down I decided to part company with the kayak and go for some air and let go the paddle while doing so. Normally it would float and could be retrieved but just as I let go I realised it would sink now that it was in two pieces. Too late, neither piece was ever seen again.

Now here was a problem. No spare paddle, and it was going to be dark in a couple of hours and we really needed to be a good way across by then. Back on the beach I raced up to the camp site and scruffed the long bamboo pole Wonder Dog had found, and used a pocket knife to cut off a length for a paddle shaft. Then I scrounged around on the beach and found an old piece of an apple case and carved two long thin blades out of it. These I lashed on each end with nylon cord, and was ready to go again - all within half an hour or so.

Into the fray once more, and back up the beach again with one blade ripped off the shaft - a quick repair, and another try. By this time Wonder Dog was already out beyond the break - having swum his kayak out beyond it and then clambering in over the side. I eventually made it myself - with relative ease as it turned out, but I did not like the feel of the paddle. The second repair had reduced the size of one blade considerably and I decided I wasn’t about to tackle Banks Strait with it - and it was going on for dark already.

So back to the beach. I was lucky and got in without a capsize but Wonder Dog had taken such a pounding already today he wasn’t going to risk another beating, so jumped over the side just before the surf line, intending to swim in by himself and let the kayak take it’s chances. However, I watched with some amusement as the wind carried it further off shore, and he was forced to get back in and paddle it back towards the shore again. Right on the break he was overboard again and this time the kayak washed smartly up the beach, followed by Wonder Dog.

Back into dry clothes and set up camp again. Then in the failing light we went the full length of the island to the homestead to make use of their workshop tools to effect a more permanent repair to my makeshift paddle. The caretaker scouted about and we found some waterproof construction plywood about one and a half centimetres thick, and I cut two large rectangular blades out of it. These were fastened to the bamboo shaft with some long self tappers, and heh presto, a paddle as good as a real one It was now absolutely pitch black as we navigated our way back to camp and lost no time in turning in - it had been a long exhausting day.

The wind was still howling from the west the next morning but if anything, the waves were slightly reduced in size, so about the middle of the day we hit the water once again. The new paddle was great and took me out first time, but Wonder Dog took a couple of attempts, the first one somehow managing to snap the terminal off the battery. - which no doubt had been weakened considerably by all the tampering with it over the weekend. This was not good news, particularly without a front bulkhead, but we used to manage without pumps back in the old days, and I dare say we could manage again.

We could sail for an hour or so but by then the tide had started to flow east, and this combined with the wind was making far too much leeway, so we had to drop the sails and punch up into the wind a bit more. The next few hours were probably as gruelling as any I’ve ever had, the wind never easing for a second, and although the waves were quite manageable, we were being swept SE at a fair rate of knots. Gradually we made slow headway across the current into the wind, stopping every now and then to raft up so Wonder Dog could sponge out. This took quite a long time.

Hours later, as we were being swept past Swan Island I thought it might just be possible to get into its back eddy about half a km from it, and then maybe make our way up to it and land. I waited for my mate to catch up. We hadn’t sponged out for a while and as he came alongside he had so much water in the bow it was under water, only still floating by virtue of the waterproof bags of camping gear inside and he said "I think I need to sponge out." This sponge out took ages, and by the time it was dry again Swan Island was some kilometres away and well out of reach. It was about here that I towed the Dog for about 20 minutes just to give him a bit of a rest, because even though the shore didn’t look all that far away we were still being swept past it at high speed, and the wind was now directly in our faces.

Late in the afternoon we staggered ashore on a beach way down towards Musselroe Bay, miles away from where our vehicles were at Little Musselroe Bay, but we were thankful to be ashore. At first I couldn’t even stand up - my legs just collapsed under me, and there I was kneeling on the beach trying to drag my kayak out of the water. And cold - you’ve got no idea. It was all I could do to get some matches out and get a fire going.

In the icy wind this didn’t do a great deal to warm the inner man, but it was a morale booster while we consumed as much sweet stuff and liquid as we could, still in wet clothes as we didn’t plan to be around here long. It was still a good way back to the vehicles but the tide had stopped ebbing and would gradually be building up in our direction. Just on dusk we entered the kayaks once more for the final battle, to find Little Musselroe in the dark - and it was dark - no stars or moonlight. I fitted a flasher across the other kayak so I would know where it was, and turned on my flashing hat. Being close inshore at least the waves were now non-existent, but the wind was still strong. There were several tricky moments as we heard surf in the darkness as we rounded rocky points, and navigated by ear alone till we were once more following a dim white beach. It took about two and a half hours to reach the point where I felt the entrance to the bay was, and after one false try when I ran aground 20 metres too far south I led Wonder Dog to the boat ramp from whence we had started. I think he was rather amazed that we found it in the dark.

There’s a public phone about halfway back to Gladstone and I pulled up to use it to notify Cec that we were safely back and on the way home - and learnt that the police were already starting to look for us.

One of the residents at Little Musselroe had seen us depart days ago and when we weren't back by nightfall today had given the vehicle registrations to the police. They had finally got on to Cec who hadn’t heard from us since the day before yesterday when we rang during our first visit to the homestead. The police had just rung Clarke Island to get them to try and drive over to our camp-site to see if we were still there, or had left - and therefore may be in trouble somewhere. Not that I think for a minute anyone, particularly a newcomer to the island, would have found our camp-site, so it was just as well we were able to halt all proceedings with the news that we were safe and well. Even if still cold. It took about an hour of running the car heater full blast to finally warm up.

And so ended a very memorable trip with some very valuable experience behind us. Andrew said it actually did him good because he hadn’t capsized in a couple of years and was overconfident of his ability. We were both tired of course and he said he would have trouble keeping awake on the long drive back to Hobart so I lent him a tape of my favourite music which he played flat out the whole way. Later he would tell me that for some weeks after that he would catch himself humming Stormy Weather - by Lena Horne.

Note: It is now 2024 as I put this old trip on my webpage. I still have that paddle and occasionally still use it. This was on a day paddle I did in the Splinter on the East Coast of Tasmania, south of Orford, This is the kayak my 16 year old son paddled to Maatsuyker Island in 1980 - 44 years ago. It did have a rudder in those days.

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