In early September Freya called me by cell phone while she was taking a day off near Lancelin, a town about 75 miles north of Perth in Western Australia. Poised to turn the corner and take on Australia’s southern coast, she had over 6,000 miles (9,700 km) behind her. She was outside of her tent and looking at her kayak. I could hear the wind rasping across her cell phone.
It sounds windy. Are you outside?
I was just looking on the bottom of my boat and I have a bit of a hole. Something to repair, I reckon. Yesterday I was paddling close to shore and hit a bit of a reef here and there. The damage doesn’t look too bad but I need to fix it.
Will you be meeting up with Greg in Perth? (Greg Bethune, a charter boat operator Freya met at the Gulf of Carpentaria is now her partner and plans to provide support for Freya as she paddles the south coast.)
No, he’s going to meet me at the end of September. We’ll meet around Augusta, right at the southern corner [of the west coast], so there are still three to four weeks to go. We may have a couple of days off to get the van Greg bought in Perth set up to support the whole thing, do some shopping and then get going again.
It looks like it’s going to be nice and easy weather for the next few days, at least. That’s what I saw on the long-term forecast. Yesterday was lovely but today is horrible. Last night and today the wind was supposed to be from the southwest and it’s exactly that. It was blowing like heck at night and I was stupidly camped right on the open beach.
I should have been hiding in the dunes but I didn’t expect the wind to be so strong. My tent eventually got buried in a sand dune but I was nice and warm in my sleeping bag. That was the most important thing. I got sandblasted and the sand came under the tent fly and through the mosquito net. That’s just the way it is when you camp on the beach in the wind.
Are you out of the tropical weather and into cooler temperatures?
It’s pretty chilly at night so I had to add this blanket thing to my sleeping bag. My thin sleeping bag isn’t holding up to the cold anymore. I already got a fleece blanket and just a couple of days ago borrowed a down duvet as an extra cover. It’s nice and warm.
During the day it’s cool—not really hot, not really cold. The nights are coolish. It’s a lot like German summer weather. It’s not bad, but it’s not inviting to jump in the water at the end of the day. The water is still about 20 degrees [Celsius] (68° F), but I’m spoiled. It’s supposed to be getting better again because it is getting to be summer again. Now it is the springtime weather and I have three or three and a half months to go. With summer coming it should be hot again. We’ll see.
How was the passage along the Zuytdorp Cliffs? (The cliffs span a distance of 170 kilometers and preclude landing anywhere along their length.)
We were waiting for the right weather window. That’s why I was sitting in Denham for a couple of days. Then the weather was right. The forecast was good for the two days I’d need to paddle along the cliffs. There was supposed to be a following wind, and there was during the days, but at night it was quite rough.
There was a front that came through that nobody predicted—none of my three different weather forecasters had. So it was quite lumpy and bumpy with a strong wind at night, instead of the calm that had been forecasted. I knew there was going to be no moon, but I was not expecting having no stars and no open sky at all. I didn’t have any visual horizon for sixty to seventy percent of the whole night. Instead of paddling I could only lie on my back deck to stabilize myself with my paddle.
I stupidly didn’t take my floats like I did on the big crossing [the Gulf of Carpentaria] because I couldn’t afford to take time to sleep. I had to be paddling all night to get done before nightfall on the following day. So I wasn’t thinking about taking my floats. I was not expecting having no visual horizon, but that’s what happened. And then it was very, very rough. I’m very good at balance, no doubt about that, but if you have no visual horizon and big water you simply can’t paddle.
So it just wasn’t working. I had breakers crashing over my boat every now and then. It was nice that I had following seas, so for at last three quarters of the night they pushed me in the right direction when I was not paddling. Later on the weather turned and was pushing me toward the cliffs. I had my GPS on and I could watch how close I was getting. I was getting closer and closer and eventually I had to sit up and do a little bit of paddling that would take me away from the cliffs.
There was a bit of a horizon then, but five times it rained so it was completely dark. The few stars I had were over me instead of on the horizon. The horizon was always covered by big clouds. It was not what I expected. I had never experienced that [loss of horizon at night] so I was basically lying on the back deck and surviving the whole thing stabilizing myself with the paddle alone. I was in a basically empty boat so it was tippier than usual.
The lighter kayak was good for strong paddling but lying on the back deck I had to put the paddle out to one side to feel the water instead of relaxing and doing nothing as I’d usually be doing [in that position]. I really had to clamp my grip on the paddle and feel the water all the time; otherwise I was not comfortable in the complete darkness and crashing breakers. There was no chance of seeing anything so I just had to feel and hear for when the breakers would come over me.
That’s what I needed to do to survive until morning. It was only survival, nothing else. At least I was pushed in the right direction. I got no rest at all. It was highly stressful for the mind and body. I didn’t get any naps throughout the whole thing. I was fully awake and in full survival mode.
Were you annoyed at yourself for having left the floats behind?
Oh yes. That was definitely a mistake. The next two sets of cliffs I will definitely take the floats. [At Zuytdorp] everything came together: no moon, no stars because it was raining, the visual horizon was gone and the seas were… well it was not much fun.
In the middle of the Great Australian Bight there are two sets of cliffs of similar length. We’ll see what kind of moon and stars I’ll get at night. It will be better there than at Zuytdorp because there are roads that go right along the cliffs. If I carry a light, drivers will be able to see me down there on the water. It’s kind of funny.
[At Zuytdorp] I had a headlamp I could shine around a bit and see some of the breakers that were coming. Shining it around a bit was all I was comfortable with. I couldn’t shine it on my GPS or my chart without getting blinded. At night I usually leave my GPS on with its light on a very low level so I can check it. The headlamp was all right because I could at least see the top of a breaker coming. It was better than nothing but it was definitely scary. I was not scared to death, but I really was very aware that I needed to just hold on and wait for the daylight to come.
The next day there was just a bit of headwind, but luckily it shifted and the seas calmed down. I made good progress. I had to keep myself awake by singing. I didn’t get any rest that night. No sleep, nothing. I had to keep on paddling, but it was all right. I was doing different movements at night but not paddling—I’d just been pressing on my paddle as an outrigger—so in the morning the paddling was good. I was making seven kilometers per hour.
It’s a big difference paddling an empty boat. [Terry Bolland of Perth drove to Denham and shuttled the bulk of Freya’s gear to Kalbarri at the south end of the cliffs.] It adds about one and a half to two kilometers more per hour. This will make a big difference when I have my support crew.
You don’t think the lower stability of an unloaded boat will be a problem?
No, I don’t think so. If you want to rest it makes a difference. If you lie on the back deck it’s not that nice. But I don’t really need to rest that much.
What effect did your successful crossing of the Gulf of Carpentaria have on your approach to the cliffs? Did that eight-day crossing make you think that an overnight passage along the cliffs wouldn’t be much of a challenge?
Exactly. That’s what I thought to myself. When I was about ten Ks away from the cliffs I was not that scared about being pushed into them, even when the wind shifted in the last quarter of the night. I didn’t feel any rebound from the cliffs.
Even if I would have had my floats and had a bit of sleep I wouldn’t have felt rested because you never know what the current and wind might do. Close your eyes and then the cliffs are suddenly there.
The GPS tells you where you are and this is quite nice compared to Paul’s [Caffyn] day. He had a pitch-dark night as well. Basically I wasn’t really scared of the cliffs at all. I’m used to paddling through the night without getting any sleep, so one night is all right.
But if you paddle with fear it’s much more stressful. I had more stress there after that single night going without sleep and with high attention to surviving than the eight days [of Carpentaria] with decent sleep at night. I was more mentally tired—not physically tired. I know how it feels having no sleep at night—working through the night more than dancing through the night actually.
I’ve spent more time working at my shop all night than I have partying all night. The body needs a rest. That may be the reason a virus caught me. [Freya was ill for five days after reaching Kalbarri.] Maybe without the stress I wouldn’t have caught it.
With many of the worst challenges behind you were the cliffs a reminder that you can’t let your guard down?
I don’t have the worst behind me yet at all. There are lots of things coming up in the Southern Ocean. There are two more sets of cliffs. I’ll definitely be carrying my floats so it can’t be so scary as Zuytdorp. Big swells will be there and huge, ugly seas.
I would rather paddle through the crocodile country again with flat seas than deal with fat, heavy seas. But I’m going to make it. I’ll have limited landing spots but I’ll have to go for it. It will be similar to [my circumnavigation of the south island of] New Zealand. Pick the right day, wait for the waves to be low enough and the wind to be fair enough.
Has Greg arranged to support you along the southern coast?
Yes, that’s 100 percent sure. He may have to leave for a week in November but after that he’ll be back. [An Australian paddler] David Winkworth said he’d be happy to support me in the Great Australian Bight.
Will he be paddling with you or on shore driving?
No, I don’t want him to paddle with me. I don’t want anyone to paddle with me for more than an hour. He volunteered to help me along the Bight, so there may be two guys in the four-wheel drive.
Is wanting to paddle alone a bit of a change? Before the trip you entertained the idea of having someone paddle with you, especially across the Gulf of Carpentaria. Are you now set on paddling alone?
Yes, I had been looking for someone to paddle with me, but I’m happy in the long run not having anybody around. It’s definitely now the case that I won’t paddle with anybody for longer than an hour on this trip. That’s usually when I’m getting into or out of a town.
I’ve changed my mind about the [land-based ] support thing, for sure, because I want to be with Greg. It will be nice to have the support. It changes the rest of the trip quite a lot. If I were to compare what I’ve done so far with what Paul [Caffyn] did with a support crew, it’s simply easier with support, not only with paddling but also mentally, plus with setting up camp, organizing things and all the logistical stuff I have to do by myself.
What would be the problem with having someone paddle with you?
I just don’t feel comfortable with probably anybody on this long trip. I want to stop when I want to stop, rest when I want to rest and eat when I want to eat. I don’t think there are many female paddlers around [who could join me] and the men are always trying to race me.
This is what I’ve experienced. I had two guys paddle with me for a half day. They started out paddling with me but eventually they were just pulling ahead and showing me “I’m the bigger paddler.” They were paddling an empty boat and they’re tall, strong and very aggressive guys, and I had a fully loaded boat and had already paddled quite a bit not only on that day. What’s that worth?
With a support crew you’ll be traveling lighter and faster. Do you also anticipate a psychological advantage knowing that there will be someone waiting for you at the end of the day?
Well, it’s very nice, especially if it’s your own partner. With anybody else it’s nice as well, and you’re motivated to keep on going to get to a certain meeting point instead of just pulling ashore at a nice landing spot if you’re tired. It definitely motivates you to make a little bit more distance.
Three days ago I was lucky to have somebody help me [along the coast] south of Port Denison. Some people who just met me at the beach and traveled [on shore] with me for two days. So I had a nearly empty boat for those two days. I had bloody hard headwinds and with a fully loaded boat I would have just stopped. It makes such a difference to have support. To know that somebody will be there who’ll already know what I’d like to eat at night and what needs to be shopped for helps a lot for my organizing.
Are you concerned about how people might view your trip when you go from unsupported to supported?
Sorry, I don’t give a [expletive deleted]! It’s my trip. If anybody wants to do the upper portion of the Great Australian Bight unsupported, he can try that, but there simply is no water. That’s the issue. I really need to think of my water spots and how much water I’m going to carry. The water issue is the main thing for support.
I also just want to get done as soon as possible. I’ve been doing it for so long now that I don’t mind if it’s done. I won’t feel sorry when [the circumnavigation is] finished.
On the north coast water was no problem. Even in the Kimberleys there were enough people around [who could give me water]. In the Great Australian Bight there is no water and even if there were people, anyone who is just pulling off the road can’t just go up to a roadhouse and turn on the water tap. You have to buy water in big canisters. You might be able to get water from people driving the road but there are not that many people traveling on that road. There simply is no water.
I could carry my desalinator, which I haven’t yet used [and is in storage in Melbourne], but I haven’t calculated if I really would need it. I haven’t calculated it out; it’s just easier this way [using a support crew].
It has started raining now so I have to climb into my tent. This is bloody ugly weather. [sound of tent zippers] I’ve got too much sand in here. Everything is coated with sand. How funny is that? At least it’s warm and dry.”