I remember Steve, who worked on the customs boat tell me that if I paddled into Walcot Inlet I would never get out. Again I didn’t believe such a tale, if the current takes you in, it must take you out, but seeing a gradient in the water level with my own eyes and the current still running in at an amazing speed, when the tide had supposed to have turned, I started to think that he could be right. Shit, now I was starting to doubt myself?

I had paddled into the inlet on the highest of the spring tides, which in turn produces the fastest water currents in the year. Now I was waiting in an eddy over 3 kilometres from the open sea, surrounded by mangrove forests and suicidal currents, and you could say it was a little unsettling. I started paddling back towards the entrance close to the cliffs, but it was still a struggle. A boil, come whirlpool 30 metres on was in my way of escape, but I had a slim possibility of paddling between it and the cliff so I had to give it ago. In between the eruptions and whirls it became calm, giving me enough time to clear it and position myself behind a boulder before it started erupting again. When it erupted the current moved out from the centre and started pushing me towards the rock face. I fended myself from the wall with my paddle and hands. The current then pushed me backwards jamming my rudder under a rock ledge and as the boil rose my rudder crunched and it sank my stern in the water compromising my balance. Time after time I was at the mercy of the upsurges until my rudder was free.

The water was too powerful to paddle against and a whirlpool was still to my right. Hell knows what I would have done if a crocodile came. I waited. I was eager to get to the inlet entrance as soon as I could, but it was impossible to paddle against the current, I really needed to wait for the tide to turn. Eventually the current eased to a manageable speed so I fought my way along the edge of the shoreline trying to use the slack water behind the rocks and boulders. I passed over many small whirlpools and boils and climbed several fast running chutes, skirted mangroves and continually scanned the water for crocodiles. There were 3 big bays that were well laced with mangroves so even though I was getting closer to the entrance I still had the thought of crocodiles in my mind.

With one kilometre to go, although a tidal current was still coming in, an outgoing current helped me out of the entrance, but the meeting of the current and the wind waves blowing against it made for an exploding ocean. I had thought that all my fighting had ceased for the day, but now I was paddling against an ocean of steep high waves which were angered by the swift out flowing current. The steep waves slapped against my bow and I had no time to recover before the next one hit. At times I was feeling a little unstable when the bow was caught on one wave and my stern was on the top of another and I had no water underneath me. Then as the wave passed over my whole cockpit disappeared under water. I had 5 ½ kms of this slop before I was safe on Fletcher Island.

Waves of saltwater smacked me in the face increasing my unbearable thirst. As I turned to the west side of Fletcher Island the waves hit me broadside, making paddling really uncomfortable so I was pleased when I landed on the beach and was welcomed by two ducks and two oyster catchers. It felt good to have survived such a harrowing and dangerous ordeal especially after experiencing it on one of the biggest tides (10.1m) of the year with the fastest tidal currents.

The two ducks flew off to the other end of the beach leaving their large chick under a driftwood pile that stretched the full length of the beach. The 300m beach was littered with numerous turtle tracks. I managed to get rid of the salt water taste in my mouth after making a beautiful cup of coffee. The simple things in life, like a cup of coffee and some dried fruits were heavenly. I tied my hammock between two gum trees up on the ridge over-looking my beach, the mainland and its outlying islands. I relaxed next to my kayak and when I returned to my hammock for the night I heard a hissing noise coming from near my feet, but I couldn’t see anything. Shit, a snake, I thought. I stepped back and it continued to hiss so without delay I jumped in my hammock to get off the ground and sleep.
 

I woke to a day more important than Christmas. Santa Clause, alias Ivan Brown from Koolan Island planned to visit me on the island and bring water to top up my dwindling supplies. He said, if he wasn’t able to reach me on Sunday, because of a storm or something he would try again on Monday night after work.

Two boats, one yellow, one white came screaming through the heat haze towards my beach. Ivan had arrived. With the tide out I trudged into knee deep mud and into the water walking towards his boat. A cold beer and a soda water were waiting for me. Although I didn’t usually drink, I chose a cold beer instead of a soda water as it was celebration time. I had been dreaming of a cold drink all week.

Six men, Ivan and a dog made up the team. The second boat was given the job of making breakfast so I had bacon, eggs sausages and chops. I didn’t even have that at home.

A 3 metre crocodile noticed our presence and dropped in for breakfast. With all the chops eaten one man threw a hunk of bread over the side and instantly the croc leapt forward opening his mouth wide and grasped it in his jaws. For several minutes the croc made no attempt to eat it and then finally let it float away. As it was circling the boat with 7 men on board, it probably had a different meal in mind! With the rising tide now covering the sand, Ivan powered his boat up the beach. This gave everyone a chance to stretch their legs and look with amazement at my slender kayak. In the rush to get to me, Ivan had forgotten the main reason he was here and that was to bring drinking water to top up my supplies. That was a bit of a blow but instead I used the melting ice water that was keeping the beer cold in the esky.

By 11.00am, lunch time was declared so we all climbed back aboard Ivan’s boat to eat some chicken, tomatoes, cucumber, asparagus, cheese, bread, and all the nice things in life.

The men were in fine spirits after drinking since arriving and they talked about the mishaps that they have had along the coast and when their power boat was nearly sucked down by the whirlpools in Walcott Inlet. I could now relate to their stories.

After lunch it was time for them to slice back through the choppy waters to Koolan Island 70 kms away. All the food not eaten, mainly chips and biscuits were left with me so I finished up feeling very queasy by the end of the day. I was very grateful for their visit and hospitality. It was strange and very quiet when they left.

I wanted to go back to Walcot Inlet and look at the whirlpools, but this time from the land. I needed to see them from another perspective and see how dangerous they really were, so I left my beach on Fletcher Island and paddled over to the mainland. I had noticed a rocky landing when I passed by two days previously so I headed for that.

It was hot and humid and I could hear the coast-watch plane in the far distance, but as usual it never spotted me. My choice of landing spots between the mangroves didn’t seem at all wise, but some would say that doing this trip in a kayak wasn’t wise, although I always took as many precautions as I could. I came across a prehistoric looking piece of driftwood along my route and there is nothing more sinister and chilling than paddling towards logs that look like crocodiles. However time and experience had now conditioned me to the sudden daily dangers that I faced.

Kimberley Croc Attack

On June 8^th 1988 and with 200kms of our trip behind us Ewen McGregor and I toiled against large relentless waves, south-east of Koolan Island.

It was a pleasure to be close to an island after being rammed by a shark and battling the elements for 3 1/2 hours. Exhausted we paddled in silence 2 kms off the rocky shoreline, slowly creeping towards a semi-circular pebbly beach on the island, both eager to step ashore to have lunch and rest.

Suddenly with no warning there was an enormous splash close to Ewen’s kayak. I glanced over and was confronted by the most chilling sight. The open jaws of a crocodile were gripping the stern of his kayak. I immediately shouted “Croc, paddle”. Ewen let out a shout of terror and accelerated at a rapid pace.

After several seconds the croc released it’s grip but the respite was short lived as seconds later it exploded from the water and struck again, it’s open jaws bent on crushing the kayak. My rifle was strapped on the back deck in a watertight case, but if I turned around in the cockpit, I would most likely capsize trying as my kayak was fairly unstable.

It was quite terrifying and I was helpless to assist my friend. The predator’s jaws were locked around his kayak’s stern only millimetres from the rudder wires. It lifted its head high out of the water and with a tilt, tried desperately to put the kayak into a death roll. Fear was shaking my body, I was icy cold and my heart raced just watching. My mind tried to refute what my eyes were seeing, but this was no Crocodile Dundee movie, it was real.

Ewen never looked back to glimpse the predator but he felt its strength. His arms pumped like windmills and his kayak, although heavily laden, ran swiftly through the water. The croc eventually lost its grip again and disappeared under the murky water. If it had caught the rudder wires in its teeth I’m sure it would have capsized Ewen’s kayak.

Several  frightening seconds now ticked by. It disappeared and I was wondering when it would attack again and would it go for me as I was now closer to it. By now Ewen was several metres away and as I sliced past the crocs foaming waters I paddled hard to reach the waves breaking over a sandbar ahead. I continually scanned the water expecting the croc to attack! Minutes felt like hours as Ewen still paddling hard was getting further away from me.

I felt quite vulnerable being closer to the attack sight and I must admit I was thinking come back Ewen this is your croc.

After paddling 2 kilometres out into the open sea we stopped and with Ewen truly shaken I tried to turn the frightening experience into a light hearted joke, as we still had 3 weeks of paddling ahead.

I had spent over 225 days at that stage paddling around the Kimberley and had been chased by crocodiles on several occasions, but this was the first time that one had attacked, although the year before in 1987 when I was paddling in the Prince River area with Ken Cornish, a crocodile had taken Ginger Meadows at the falls on the Prince Regent River.