Around The Cape

Par d'elle y on que nous - the hoary phonetic French joke was certainly in evidence on this trip.

Les saw us off, before he went on to work, with the cheerful remark, "Last seen heading towards--—". Unknowingly to us, the blighter even took a slide-shot at us as we paddled out into the gentle swell of glass. Ahead were the noble rock-heads of Cape Cleveland, and, under such ideal conditions we decided to push straight across the Bay. A thousand black dots on the water resolved into a mass of ducks, and we couldn't resist quietly sidling up to them before they rose with a splashing roar.
And now to orientate - many rocky ridges run down from Mt. Cleveland, but at the foot of which is Laun's Beach, still over 17 Kms. away? We settled for the third one (actually it was the fourth), and then to paddles, pushing the calm water towards the orange "Rock" as Townsville slowly sank into the blue sea. We arrived off Launs Beach well ahead of our appointed time, decided to land even on the falling tide, and vowed never again! We finished up abandoning the canoe to stop ashore through calf-deep ooze! But we had made it, for now we could be somewhat sheltered from those nasty south-easterlies that are so apt to ruffle our eastern waters. So confident were we that no "Quelle dommage!" could affect our serene atmosphere, that, whilst waiting for the incoming tide, we ate and drank, lazed, and even went for a walk down the the beach, where, the previous day, three hapless beings had bogged their 4-wheel drive in the mud. Little did we know that the insidious tide was again bringing us to near disaster. After our bog-trot, we left our paddles on a rock shelf, so were astounded to find, when we returned on a premature look-see, to behold the canoe bobbing about in chest-deep water, and the paddles just about to float off the ledge! Five minutes later and they would have gone! The innocents abroad retrieved them and looked around for a sandy camp site: but the relentless full-moon tide rose and spattering out our rock-top camp fire and marooning us on the high scree on which the hut rests. So we slept on the verandah, the lights of higher Townsville dim across the Bay. In the early hours, in day-like moonlight, a tall, thin dingo sniffed its way across the beach.

Rejoicing in the calm sunny conditions we paddled past rocky headlands, sandy bays, and the spread of sand and mangroves at Long Beach to dip round Red Rock Point and on to secluded camp in Red Rock Bay. Abounding in wood, a great place for camp fires, we stayed several nights. The peninsula is thin here, and the contours less, so we had a safari to the opposite coast, a lovely swimming bay bordered by steep cliffs dropping into deep blue-green seas. The next day puffs of wind mottled the water's surface - we had finished with our dreamy doldrum days - but we went past the lighthouse, watching some big Tuna? jostling in the waves, and turned our frail craft round the standing cliffs that make the head of the cape. Only a short distance, though, for the surging swell and painted wind-waves intimidated us, so we turned around and sought the sheltered side of the peninsula. We had fixed a fishing line to the canoe and "something big" had a go at it, bit off bait, line and sinker in one snap! (We gave over dangling our hands over the side)! J. did catch two fish, but they were at the other end of the scale - too small.

Now to return - after an abortive attempt to round Red Rock Point through wind and wave, we solved the problem by a midnight, moonlit journey to Long Beach. The coloured hills beckoned; long fingers of granite dipping into the ocean and so we scrambled up the rough granite. Soon the bush closed in, however, so we descended to the stream and walked up the mild Elliott-like creek for about 2 Kms.

It was a good camp on Long Beach - plenty of driftwood, people helpful about water etc., but our time was ending as the moon waned, so early in the morning we said "Good Bye" to our friendly pelicans, and set off for Townsville under a blurred half-moon. When daylight came we saw the orange "Rock", many miles away, though what was more to the point, the wind. We could not make a bee-line to the City: it were better to travel round the Bay and take shelter as far as possible from the line of mangroves. Also, if the breeze turned north-easterly we would face the possibility of dangerous, white water as we approached Townsville. Accordingly we skulked near the mangroves, but this, of course, piled up our mileage horribly, so I decided to run down wind across the chord of the curve - not a bad decision, for, not only were the wind-waves white crested, but a tricky cross swell climbed over the side unless we were quick enough to counteract it. It was with great relief two wet and weary travellers bailed up at Ross River mouth, with our longest day's run, 27 Kms., behind. At that point, I do not think we would have fully appreciated anyone saying "Paddle your own canoe". No, not one little bit!

H. Kershaw
J. Reynolds