Enjoy the CDU Newsletter

Published: Thu, 02/18/21

19th February 2021 CDU Newsletter 688

Terry 0417 977 330

terry@canoeingdownunder.com.au (email)

https://canoeingdownunder.wordpress.com/ (website)

https://www.facebook.com/canoeingdownunder/ (facebook)

https://terrybolland.wordpress.com/ (trips & achievements)

Pat Takes on the Avon
Progressive Racing Group
Down River Around The Buoys
Sprints Regatta 5
Downwind Race
Retracing George Grey 1838 in the Kimberley
The Canning River Race
Coming Events
Products

I love summer paddling especially in the evening when there is plenty of light and warm temperatures. This summer I'm losing some of those evenings. Over Christmas I had four weeks off with an bacterial infection in my leg. Last Friday I had a varicose vein seen to which means another 3-4 weeks off paddling. I will miss the City Lights Race for the first time and the WA Marathon Championships.

However I'm hoping to get rid of all my health issues by the time I'm 70 in June as I am intending to paddle 7000 kilometres over my 70 birthday year.

That would mean I would have to paddle 20kms a day every day for 365 days so being sick would make it a near impossible task.

Pat Whittleston takes on the Avon Descent

for the first time when she was 63 years old.

Are you ready to give it a crack this year?

Pat was 63 years old when she took up paddling and competed in the Avon Descent.

Receiving a medallion for finishing the Avon Descent.

Pat, Pam Riordan, John Dinucci and Steve Coleman.

Pat who is now nearly 90 reminisces on the good times paddling

the Avon River.

Pam and John were white water instructors for many years.

John is one of my main competitors and it was his 70th birthday when this photo was taken last Saturday.

AKC Progressive Racing Group

33 paddlers took part in the PRG training on Tuesday evening.

A warm up lap before the 3.8km time trial.

Come and take advantage of these beautiful summer evenings and daylight hours and join us.

The dark winter evenings will soon be here.

Down River Around the Buoys

We had a race on Monday evening at Point Reserve, Bassendean.

There is another one at Ascot Kayak Club on Sunday morning.

This morning, Friday at training.

Baillie Liddle has taken time off to have a baby but she hasn't lost any of her skills.

Baillie was only one second behind dad Peter going around a tight course.

Will she be at Sunday morning's race for a rematch?

Marie Andersson has only paddled a kayak without a rudder 4 times but you can see by the tilt of the kayak she is going to be one to watch when she paddles one regularly.

Father and daughter Peter and Baillie discussing race times. Mum Jane also took part.

Down River Race

Around The Buoys

Ascot Kayak Club

Sunday 21st February.

Time: 9.00am

Sprint Regatta 5

Note this regatta starts 3.30 pm Saturday 20 Feb.

Canning Canoe Club members train for the sprints.

3.30pm start.

Down Wind Race

The Drummers Downwind Challenge Handicap race entries are now open. The Handicap race is on 20/2/21. Get your entries in.

The conditions can be challenging.

The surf zone is often the most difficult part of the race.

The Kimberley Expedition

With Ken Cornish

retracing George Grey's 1838 overland expedition.

After doing three kayak expeditions around the Kimberley Coast, I again decided to do another expedition this time the main aim was to retrace George Grey's overland journey that he did around the Prince Regent area.

Retracing George Grey’s 1838 Kimberley Inland expedition had kept me in suspense for a few years but it wasn’t until 1987 that I managed to interest Ken Cornish, another keen paddler and Ascot Kayak Club member to join me.

After sailing from Europe, Grey started his overland expedition from Hanover Bay, near the Prince Regent River and on foot he and his team meandered southwards towards and across the Glenelg River. His three month ordeal was plagued with problems from the beginning. He had small unbroken ponies from Timor that deteriorated because of the lack of feed, severe weather and the difficult terrain conditions. Grey also became wounded by an Aboriginal spear and lived with his wound throughout the expedition. Despite his hardships he also made some remarkable discoveries, including being the first white man to see and record spectacular Wandjina Aboriginal paintings.

It was such an interesting and intriguing story that I just had to retrace it before someone else attempted it, so 149 year later Ken and I did.

It was Ken's first expedition and I believe the first time he had been away from his wife and family.

Ken paddling along a beautiful Kimberley cliff line.

To reach the site of Grey’s expedition Ken and I had to drive 2300 kilometres north from Perth to Derby and then paddle for three weeks along the treacherous Kimberley coast to the Prince Regent River area. Once there we would start our walk and retrace Grey’s complete route, find the caves, go to his furthest point and try to finish the expedition on the same date and place that he did, but 149 years later. Then we would paddle back to Broome. It sounded simple but to be there at the same time though meant that we had to tackle the Kimberley and paddle up the coast in the wet season.

It was early March and the wet season brought very high temperatures and unsettled weather conditions. A cyclone had recently deluged the area and another was expected to strike at any time.

Our starting point of Derby, one of the original Kimberley pastoral towns and the gateway to the beautiful gorges, is situated at the bottom of King Sound some 130 kilometres from the open ocean and surrounded by mangrove lined shores indented with tidal creeks and mud flats. It boasts the highest tidal range in the southern hemisphere, and the second highest in the world. It has an 11 metre rise and fall at the wharf. The effect of the massive tidal range controls shipping movements, creates swift currents, rapids, whirlpools and boils. The mangroves and mud flats of course create a great habitat for crabs and crocodiles.

Time for Ken to soak in a fresh water pool.

Several days into our trip we paddled into a small cove that was full of debris and logs of all sizes floating up and down with the tide. The heat was intense. We dragged our kayaks up the beach to start unloading. Ken entered the shallow water and crouched down to cool off. As he stared across the cove, a sudden movement in the debris caused him to leap to his feet. He saw a shape rise and move and he nervously shouted crocodile and immediately ran from the water.

I dropped my gear and turned. Ken was running for his life. I quickly extracted my rifle from its case and at that moment the leathery reptile disappeared beneath the surface. The rapid tide had reached our kayaks and waves started dumping into our open rear compartments. The crocodile lost important, swamped kayaks were now our immediate concern. I rushed over to Ken and held the rifle towards the lapping surf whilst he dragged the kayaks further up the beach.

The crocs absence posed a mystery, was it swimming closer to us and would it strike? We watched for ripples on the water and at last the croc rose, its whole body surfacing at once and revealing its 4 metre length. Its magnetic eerie stare chilled us but it then sank out of sight.

At shower time we filled our pots and washed on the beach but one of us stood with the rifle just in case. We retreated to a rock ledge not far from the waters’ edge when we saw a shadow under the water heading straight towards us, it didn’t look as big as a croc and it turned out being a turtle. A small wallaby hopped around the rocks and straight towards us, causing both of us having near heart attacks.

We moved further down the coast occasionally being hit by sharks and although fearing crocodiles more than sharks we were forced to make a detour up a tidal creek to find water. After about 1 kilometre our route was barred by thick mangroves so we had no choice but to tie our kayaks to mangrove branches and walk the last 200 metres to a shallow pool in a rock hole which gave us all the water we needed.

On our return the tide had risen and stranded our kayaks 10 metres from the cliffy shore. I didn’t fancy swimming out to them but I had no choice, crocs or no crocs. I slipped carefully into the water and gingerly swam out to them trying to create little splash. The ropes fastening the kayaks to the mangroves were well underwater so I had no choice but to duck dive down a metre to untie the knots. My eyes stung as I fumbled with the ropes beneath the surface.

Through glassy eyes the drowned mangrove limbs waved with the currents and bubbles created by hidden crustaceans rose to the surface. It was a silent underwater world, a magic mystery that I would have cherished in safer waters. I eventually got them free and towed them to the shoreline and we quickly jumped back in.

We paddled out of the creek as threatening storm clouds eased their way to our evening camp site on Helipad Island. Thunder, lightening, strong winds and then a violent downpour bombarded us. We rigged our spare tent fly in a hollow and within minutes we had collected a heap of water. Now we had too much water and we couldn’t carry it all.

Read the full story here:

https://terrybolland.wordpress.com/kimberley-kayak-expedition-4/

Further up the coast near our destination.....

We were getting closer to Walkers Valley where we would start to retrace the footsteps of George Grey’s 1838 journey. We had faced crocodiles, been hit by sharks and pushed around by tides and tidal rapids, escaped whirlpools but it was all worth it when we rounded High Bluff and recognised the land features that Grey described in his diary.

Paddling into Walkers Valley, and within 30 minutes of our destination we passed a small pocket of tropical rainforest that was being fed by a cascading stream of water from the cliff top. It was quite a beautiful surprise.

Huge cliffs narrowed our passage where a welcoming crocodile leapt off a nearby ledge. To escape the narrow channel it swam under our kayaks to a forest of mangroves that we had just passed further downstream. The water then became wildly alive with dozens of large mullet milling around the shallows not far from where we were getting out in Walkers Valley. Within minutes of landing the tide had receded, leaving our landing spot devoid of water, for another 6 hours at least.

The light soon faded, and as we prepared dinner a thunderstorm struck, sending us scurrying for cover. I threw my tent fly over our gear and squatted in a small cavity of the cliff as streams of water drenched me as it ran down the rock face. It was pitch black, except when spectacular streaks of lightning exploded above the gully. My left leg became entangled in a thick spider’s web as I tried to squeeze further into the crevice. Luckily I wasn’t afraid of spiders, but I soon became very cold which encouraged me to retreat under my tent fly for extra warmth.

Ken was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared along the valley when the storm started. In between the noise of thunder, the spectacular streaks of lightening, a weird and mysterious howling cry echoed from the cliff top which carried on most of the night. When the rain stopped Ken appeared and we settled in for the night.

By the time we were fully packed for the overland trek the morning sun was beating down and the fresh smell of the evening storm had faded with the heat. Our packs were heavy. As well as having backpacks we also had heavy day packs strapped to our front, which made seeing very difficult. We calculated them weighing around 40 kilograms and I only weighed 60 odd kilograms. Leaving the mullet to advance with the rising tide we stumbled away from camp and along the valley of huge paperbarks trees, lush vegetation, big boulders, and vines and spinifex hiding potholes full of water that we trampled in.

Already weary and tempers frayed from our ¾ kilometre trek, we were faced with the difficult task of spiralling our way up the rocky slopes of the cliff. Rests were frequent. Ken wheeled his machete around, trying to slash the tangling vines, but with little effect. We had achieved little by nightfall, the terrain, heavy packs and the heat made us stop regularly.

We rose early in the morning but the terrain still forced us to stop every 200 metres. Ken had his first brush with green ants which gave him an insight to what was to come. Their attack was deadly, as their nippers pieced into his skin, causing severe jabs of pain. He angrily threw his pack to the ground and we rested again, our packs were just too heavy.

We turned on the Flying Doctor Radio for the morning schedule to hear some distressing news. An American women, Ginger Meadows had been taken by a crocodile only a few kilometres away from us in the Prince Regent River. A search was on to find her body, but no other details were released. We wondered how the news would affect our wives. The police wanted us to return as they said it was too dangerous for us to be out there. I don’t know if they realised how far we were away from civilisation.

After struggling a few more kilometres we decided that something drastic had to be done with our heavy packs. The radio, battery, solar panel and safety gear had to stay. So we decided to half our 22 days of food to lighten our packs and help us keep on schedule. We each hid 11 days (11 kilos) of rations under a big boulder hoping it would still be there and not taken by animals when we returned. Losing so much weight helped us to walk faster. By 2.15pm we were in the Lushington Valley at a spot where three small streams merged. Beneath my shadow I noticed a rusty, worn axe head blending in with the coppery coloured rock. It was difficult to believe that we could find a piece of civilisation in this vast wilderness where very few people have ever trod. Did it belong to Grey’s expedition or was it used by Aboriginals that could have once been in this area? It was a mystery.

I found an old axe head in the middle of the wilderness.

Our walk took us across some really difficult terrain, in wet season heat and on half rations. We passed by the sight of where Kingsford Smith had to make a forced landing in his Southern Cross aircraft on March 31st, 1929 on the mudflats of the Glenelg River, we found the caves that Grey discovered and returned to where Grey departed on the same date, but 149 years later.

In the early morning darkness, toilet duties took me along the beach, while Ken busily hauled his gear off a rock ledge. There was a slight chill in the air and the dew had dampened the sand and grasses around me. I dug a hole in the sand and squatted and as I looked out towards the calm ocean and silhouetted cliffs, I day dreamed. A tinge of sadness streamed through my veins at the thought of leaving these unique surroundings. It seemed hard to believe that we were the first to retrace George Grey’s 1838 inland expedition and we were at the same place as Grey was exactly 149 years to the day. Now after weeks of exhausting paddling and backpacking we only had 24 more days of paddling back to our finish destination, Broome. As I quietly gazed out over Hanover Bay, studying the stars and the faint shadows of the cliffs, my tranquillity was suddenly shattered by a loud cry from Ken.

Terry a snake has bitten me, he yelled.

Expecting the worst, I rushed over to him immediately. As I went through the snake bite procedure in my mind, I wondered if Ken had been bitten by a deadly King Brown snake common to the area. If he had, how long did he have to live? I was hoping he was just joking but it was no joke, I could see a huge snake coiled in a cavity below the rock ledge he was sleeping on.

Ken was calm and he felt no pain or discomfort, which was promising, but not knowing how long the venom takes to react did cause for concern. He really wasn't sure if it had actually bit him or just brushed against him so with my torch beam I scanned his leg. It was riddled with scars from infected mosquito bites but I couldn’t find any snake puncture marks hidden among them.

I shone my torchlight into the cavity to see a giant of a snake that looked like a non-venomous python. That was good news. Occasionally it would flicker its tongue, look me straight in my eye and probably wonder what all the fuss was about. His bulging head gave way to a slender neck and then its body increased in size and again started decreasing nearer its tail. Its eyes looked friendly and its small but dark nostrils a few centimetres from its mouth were lightly pulsating. It looked light brown in my torchlight.

As Ken was feeling no ill effects and we couldn’t find a puncture wound, he sighed with relief. He must only have brushed against it. How lucky were we. We were way in the wilderness hundreds of kilometres from the nearest hospital and if Ken had been bitten by a poisonous snake his chances of living would have been pretty slim.

As a little light started to bring life to the morning the snake started to uncoil and uncoil and then it started to slither from out of the rock cavity. Its head looked huge, but its body started to stretch out and stretch out and when its whole body left the cavity it was at least 3 metres long and we soon realised it was only a python.