Strait Across
Retro scoop: fibreglass slalom boats are three students' choice for the first crossing of the Bass Strait.
The story of the first successful paddle across the Bass Strait, as we launch our series of ‘retro scoops’
Words Rod Harris, photos Rod Harris collection
It’s cold and dark and I am surrounded by breaking waves in the middle of Bass Strait. My two friends and I are being pushed relentlessly by the wind and the current into the Tasman Sea. Only New Zealand is downwind, some 2000 kilometres away. We are in small river kayaks. In calm water we could raft up by lying alongside each other, locking paddles across the decks. But this sea is far too rough and we have to hold on to the cockpit combing of the adjacent boat, taking turns to be in the middle, for the whole night. What are we doing here?
THE EARLY 1970s saw a flurry of attempts to be the first person to cross Bass Strait under human propulsion alone, with adventurers paddling craft ranging from surfboats and canoes to rowing boats.
One contender launched from Apollo Bay and landed at Wilsons Promontory. Another actually made the trip from Tasmania to the mainland, but was found dead on the bar at Port Albert. He was rowing a dory with a lead keel and it is speculated that he was struck in the head by the keel when capsizing on the bar.
In March 1971, stimulated by these attempts and an ABC radio program and book, Bass Strait – Australia’s last frontier, three canoeists – two brothers, Ian and Peter Richards, and myself – decided to attempt the first north-to-south Bass Strait crossing, by paddling from Wilsons Promontory to Tasmania. The crossing by island hopping is about 160 nautical miles (300 kilometres).
We were all members of the Whitehorse Canoe Club and had each done a considerable amount of whitewater kayaking on Victoria’s rivers and further afield. This, however, was an entirely different prospect.
As impoverished students, our boats were fibreglass slalom boats, designed for manoeuvrability rather than long-distance paddling. To make them more directionally stable we added fibreglass skegs to the stern, which made the canoes run straight. In retrospect, we should have added a skeg to the bow as well, because with any crosswind the bow blew off, necessitating paddling much harder on the downwind side – unsustainable for long distances.
We were concerned that the skegs would hinder ‘Eskimo rolling’, as we called it back then. On a trial run from Flinders to Seal Rocks in Westernport Bay, Pete tipped himself over and then rolled back up to find us laughing – because, of course, the skeg is airborne for most of the roll and has little effect.
The boats lacked the storage space that modern sea kayaks provide, and there was no easy access to food and equipment once it was loaded. Food, tents, water and sleeping bags were all stuffed into double bags and stashed behind the cockpit, completely out of reach once at sea. Bailing was done with a foam sponge inserted down the front of the spray deck.
Ian was in charge of weather forecasting and his research found March to be the best time of year for a crossing attempt, traditionally dishing up the most stable conditions. His only equipment was a small transistor radio and a barometer. Being pre-GPS days, navigational tools were also basic. I navigated with a photocopy of the chart covered in contact and taped to the deck of my boat, with an orienteering compass hanging around my neck.
Because the tide floods and ebbs in Bass Strait up to three knots (east and west), and because we were paddling at about three knots, we were often tracking at 45º to the rhumb line. On top of this, with our eye level less than one metre above the sea, we were out of sight of land for most of the time. Rather than attempting to continuously compensate for the tide, we paddled in the same direction through several cycles of the tide moving us left and right, until we were in sight of our destination, and then made final course adjustments.
ON SATURDAY 27 March 1971 we started our adventure from Tidal River on the western side of Wilsons Promontory, paddling down the coast and camping near the lighthouse on the southern tip – the southernmost point of the Australian mainland.
The next day saw us paddling out into Bass Strait proper, heading southeast for the unoccupied Hogan Island. At 30 nautical miles (55 kilometres) this was the second longest passage of the crossing. Initially there was a strong flood tide flowing but this eased off and after ten hours of paddling we approached Hogan just before dark.
With no beaches on the south and west sides, and waves breaking on rocks, we had a desperate landing with our heavily laden boats. A steep rock scramble in the dark brought us to a rough bivouac site on top of the cliffs. Ian voiced all our fears: ‘I hope all the activity under our sleeping bags are mutton birds and not tiger snakes’.
During the trip we saw a lot of avian, marine and terrestrial wildlife, including sea eagles, shy albatross, wallabies, pelicans, dolphins, Australian fur seals and little penguins. One species that thrives on many of Bass Strait’s islands we could do without meeting on our first night, however: the fat black tiger snakes.
Our destination on the third day was the Kent Group, consisting of Dover, Erith and Deal Islands with their beautiful bays, big cliffs, wind-pruned forests and open grassland.
There was a moderate swell with light seas running as we left Hogan, and by early afternoon we approached Erith Island. Murray Pass, which runs between Erith and Deal, is notorious for its strong tidal flows. For our crossing we had a strong current running against the wind, creating big standing waves. To cross the passage, we got on to one of the standing waves, held the boats at the correct angle and surfed, effortlessly and exhilaratingly, sideways across the passage for two kilometres.
At 305 metres altitude the lighthouse on Deal is the highest in Australian waters. We were welcomed on to the island by the lighthouse keeper Peter Scott and spent the next day resting and doing repairs.
THE CRUX OF the trip was the next day’s passage from Deal to Flinders Island – a distance of 35 nautical miles (64 kilometres). We left late (10 am) to take advantage of a flood tide. By 2 pm the westerly swell had given way to a strong southeasterly headwind and the increasingly choppy one-and-a-half metre sea made for exhausting paddling. By nightfall we were still four nautical miles north of Craggy Island and the realisation that we would have to spend a stormy night at sea sank in. Making an improvised sea anchor out of one of our waterproof bags we rafted up for the night as the weather deteriorated further.
In these stormy conditions, capsizing and failing to roll would have been disastrous. We were practised at deep-water rescues (using one boat to empty another across the deck), but here it would have been impossible to get back into the boat and seal the spray deck without being swamped. In the rough water and darkness it was crucial not to become separated. We each held on to the adjacent kayak, absorbing the differential movement with our arms. Fortunately, we saw no other vessels and did not have cause to use our sophisticated navigation lights – small torches sewn on to our beanies. Initially we were fearful as to where the storm would blow us and whether we would survive the night. As the hours wore on the adrenaline ebbed away as we could see that our rafting technique was working and the threat of capsizing had eased.
By morning the conditions had calmed and we determined our position by dead reckoning to be about 16 nautical miles from Deal. We made the conservative decision to return to Deal rather than push on to Flinders Island. However, this was easier said than done as the wind now swung around to the northeast and we were again paddling into a headwind.
We got back to Deal at midday. After two days and a night at sea we were exhausted and our legs were useless. To exit the boats we had to capsize on the beach and crawl until our legs recovered. The next day was spent on land, doing running repairs and supplementing our Spartan food rations with fish that fought for the hook.
The following morning the weather looked good and we set off early. Initially there was a slight westerly swell but no wind and we made good progress. Long passages in a kayak are arduous and your mind goes in circles. I recited ballads and did mental arithmetic – how many kayak lengths is Bass Strait? 98 000. How many paddle strokes for the trip? 180 000.
For a while we had a dark shadow under us – not a shark as we initially thought but a cruising seal. Approaching the spectacular Craggy Island for the second time the seas got rougher but we continued paddling strongly and eventually reached Killiecrankie Bay on the northern end of Flinders Island at around 5 pm, hugely relieved to have made this major passage without further incident.
The people at the guesthouse at Killiecrankie made us very welcome for the evening and the next day we headed south down the west coast of the island. A strong headwind made for unpleasant paddling but we reached the town of Whitemark late in the afternoon. Again the local people were hospitable and we slept overnight here before continuing south in calm weather past Cape Barren Island and going on to camp on the island of Rum, just off Preservation Island.
The last day of the trip, Tuesday 6 April, was the 20-nautical-mile (36-kilometre) crossing of Banks Strait to the Tasmanian mainland at Cape Portland. Westerly winds and metre-high waves made for choppy conditions but we reached Foster Island for lunch and could just make out a group of people on the mainland. Initially we had not realised that the Melbourne and Tasmanian newspapers had started reporting on our attempted crossing. At Whitemark though, we had been in touch with the Mercury newspaper and knew that reporters would be waiting for us. A press plane had flown over that morning but our obliging Eskimo rolling went unphotographed.
We paddled the final short leg without incident and landed on the beach near Cape Portland just before 4 pm. As we got out of our kayaks for the last time we felt a strong sense of relief that the journey was over but we were also extremely pleased that we had made a successful crossing.
There was a small welcoming party and the celebratory beer offered by John Cullen of the Mercury tasted great. Champagne followed and numerous press photos were taken. It was late in the afternoon when we eventually headed off for the drive back to Launceston and civilisation.
MODERN SEA KAYAKS, GPS navigation, better meteorological information and EPIRBS all make the Bass Strait crossing easier and safer today. However, an old Chinese proverb is as pertinent now as then: When the deities are with you, you can cross an ocean on a plank. When they are against you, you can drown in a ditch!
Looking back now after nearly 40 years, three young men paddling across Bass Strait didn’t change the world, but such efforts – taking calculated risks and pushing the envelope – whether on the sea, in the mountains or in any field of human endeavour, are important for a vibrant society and should continue to be encouraged.
