Crossing the Ditch

by Castrission, James

  But while we had our shared motivation for persisting with the expedition, both Justin and I had very personal reasons to keep on going. As we retired to the cabin, Justin did a video diary: “I continually let Cas down big-time the last two years – he’s shouldered heaps more of the work than me. This is my time to give something back to him. He’s stayed outside an extra two hours to pump water ‘cause he can’t do it in the cabin – it’s made me feel really guilty.”

  It was typical Jonesy – on our adventures, he always felt uncomfortable if someone else was working while he had some downtime.

  Sometimes when we’d bitch to Mr Camera about the other one, we’d hope the other person would take note. On this particular occasion, though, I think Jonesy was trying to make me feel better. He’d heard me say earlier in the day: “I’m really lucky to be out here with Justin – no-one in the world would have put up with how useless I’ve been in the cabin and not have a tiny feeling of resentment.”

  DAY 49

  DIARY, DAY 49 – JAMES

  “Frustrated/pissed off with the slow progress, these unknown currents and new meso scale overlays [a map showing Lot 41’s position in relation to the currents]. No favourable currents towards NZ now. Wasted energy paddling down south. Auckland (500km) or New Plymouth (450km)? Who knows. Not far now, but oh so far.”

  The sea remained relatively benign today, but we weren’t able to make any progress, as a 30–40 kilometre-per-hour southeast headwind made sure we were cabin-bound the whole day. The biggest morale booster we’d had in the previous couple of days was when we unwrapped the spare iPod and found a whole set of new videos on it, and these absorbed our attention as we continued to drift west back to Australia.

  There was a pile of climbing movies I’d forgotten I’d put on there, which transported me back to some of my favourite climbing spots around the world. I paid particular attention to the rock formations, valleys, waterfalls and, I guess, the essence of being on land. I swore to myself that I’d never take the beauty of land for granted again.

  DAY 50

  New Year’s Day. We celebrated extravagantly by polishing off the last of Louisa’s Anzac biscuits. Once again the weather was stunning but, once again, we were drifting back towards Australia. After a quick TV interview over the satellite phone, we had a “crisis sked” with Pat. It appeared that the Rescue Coordination Centre (RCC) in NZ were deeply concerned with the length of time we’d been out on the Tasman and, judging by our recent progress, wanted to initiate a rescue ASAP.

  They had to be kidding. We were angry that the authorities wanted to take our fate in their hands without even consulting us about how we were doing and what the reason was for our apparently slow progress. They had this image that we were totally decrepit, painfully weak and not making progress because our bodies were too wasted.

  They also believed – wrongly, as it turned out – that we only had 20 days of food remaining on the current rationing. We alerted Pat that we could quite easily have got out to 90 days if we had to and that our food provisions were nothing to be concerned about.

  As this was happening and RCC were in the early stages of mobilising a rescue, we received word that our families were flying across to New Zealand to meet us on our arrival. That afternoon as we slowly slogged on, we could see vapour trails from the planes above. We couldn’t help but feel the energy of our families being within few kilometres of us. What would it be like seeing them again – I could almost feel Dad’s grey beard bristling against my neck as I hugged him. Then a horrible thought entered my mind which I should have bitten my tongue and not told Jonesy about – but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Hey, Jonesy.”

  “Yeah, mate,” said Justin through his blistered lips.

  “I’ve just had the most awful thought, which I don’t really want to tell you about, but I feel I have to.”

  “I really hope it’s not what I’m thinking.”

  “Mate, can you imagine if the plane crashed, killing our whole family? How could we ever live with ourselves – the guilt would be crippling.”

  “Geez, Cas, how did I know you were going to say that? I was thinking the same thing.”

  We’d now spent so long together that we could almost preempt what the other was thinking or about to say. The stress of the past month and a half was now starting to show in that stupid scenarios like this one would get me quite emotional. My mind wouldn’t leave the idea alone, and for the next hour I continued to explore this horrible vivid picture.

  A 15-minute drift test broke this thought pattern. It revealed we were moving at approximately 2 kilometres per hour west-southwest. Although we weren’t making progress towards New Zealand, the scenery was stunning. The sea was relatively calm, and with the vibrant light dancing above our heads, it was, as I wrote in my diary, “one of those days that we will always dream of…these are the days we will remember”. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by relief that evening when the sked revealed that our families had arrived safely in NZ.

  DAY 51

  Throughout the night, the ache in my joints and my grumbling stomach woke me several times. Both shoulders and my back were the worst. I could no longer sleep on either side – my favourite sleeping position – as it would send the whole arm numb. It wasn’t an acute injury but one caused by overuse.

  We woke to a beautifully calm day. The previous three days, my bowels had been completely congested and blocked, but enhancing the morning’s enjoyment was my first decent bowel movement in 72 hours. I couldn’t believe how something so simple improved my morale and outlook!

  Mid-morning we saw an albatross chillin’ in the water. To our amazement, it just stayed there. We decided to paddle over to it, half expecting it to fly away as we approached. Having spent heaps of time talking and thinking about albatrosses since the expedition had begun, it was fantastic for us to get so close to one. Graceful in the air, we were impressed with the power of its big flipper feet that would effortlessly propel it through the water faster than we could paddle.

  The personality of the albatrosses on the eastern Tasman was vastly different from those closer to the Australian coast. We found the “western albatrosses” weren’t interested in us at all – they’d fly past us without even a glance. Initially quite put off by their arrogance, we found it difficult to build any rapport with these graceful giants.

  But as we neared NZ, there was a stark change in their personality and they began to be more personable and inquisitive, often coming back for a second and sometimes even a third fly-by. We couldn’t figure out what it was about the New Zealand albatross – had the bush telegraph spread through the bird world to go and check out those two crazy dudes in that funny looking kayak? An ornithologist would probably say it’s pretty stupid to say that the birds were getting more inquisitive and friendly – but that was what we observed.

  We knew these birds can fly big distances – up to 510 kilometres per day, in fact – and are known to travel from a breeding ground on the southern tip of NZ (Stewart Island) to Tasmania, pick up food for their young, then fly all the way back!

  With their strong muscular covering, we could understand how seafarers could be tempted to eat them – if it wasn’t for the “myth of the albatross”. Among sailors, and in the poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, this large seabird is considered a harbinger of good luck, and capturing or killing it, whether deliberate or accidental, is thought to bring misfortune and woe to the ship and its crew, and death or curse to the sailor who kills it. Although starving, we never even considered capturing one of these birds.

  As the albatrosses got bored with our company, we were greeted by a pod of dolphins energetically leaping into the air – it had to be a good sign. Up until the Tasman, neither Justin nor I had given much thought to superstition – as far as we were concerned, tarot cards, star signs and palm readings were only for the gullible and people reading trashy magazines. Now, it was amazing how we’d look for the hidden meani
ng of everything – a shooting star, a glimpse of wildlife, even a slight change in the breath of a wind. Each encounter with the natural world provided a break from the monotony of life at sea and started to take on a deeper meaning. We were asking ourselves, “I wonder what that means” or “What is God trying to tell us here?” It was like some “greater spirit” was conversing with us.

  Paddling along late afternoon, a large brown fin effortlessly cruised in front of the bow. Alarm bells rang immediately – this could only be a tiger shark, known for their intrusive, aggressive nature. They have a reputation for munching on just about anything. Then as a small wave washed over the bow, it stealthily submersed itself like a submarine and was gone. Nervously paddling on, we checked behind the kayak every now and then to see if it was tailing us. We tried to be as robotic as possible and not to send “fear waves” out, as we’d been told that sharks can sense them.

  It had been a day in which we’d seen an incredible display of Tasman creatures. It reminded us that she was bubbling with life – and it was only going to increase as we approached the shores of New Zealand.

  There were also signs that we were getting nearer to land. In places, oil streaks and rubbish floated on the surface, and although we were outraged to see this pollution, we were glad about what it represented. Civilisation was drawing closer.

  DAY 52

  The sea was dead calm, but we still found ourselves pushing current. Four hundred kilometres to go. The formations in the sky were now different – a good sign that we were approaching land. The thick, moist, mid-ocean clouds had given way to high wisps of cirrus – like peroxide-white fairy floss hurled out a car window – that only formed above the high mountains of New Zealand. They were familiar, reminding me of the months I’d spent mountaineering in the South Island, where cold air would be forced up to 40,000 feet high off the mountains causing clouds to form.

  Plugging along at a painfully slow rate, we did a 15-minute drift test that revealed a current was pushing us 1.6 kilometres per hour northwest (towards Queensland). These circular currents barring our entry into New Zealand were starting to fray both our nerves, and Justin’s elbow had started to drastically flare up with bursitis, which caused him a lot of pain.

  We weren’t in a disastrously bad mood, though. At the end of the day – the same as most other days – I sang out “Quittin’ time! Quittin’ time!”, imitating the foreman in the film Gone with the Wind. It was our version of the Flintstones’ “Yabba dabba doo!” and Jonesy seemed to enjoy the moment as much as me. Then, while he got the para-anchor ready to deploy, I immersed myself in a video diary and whinged that I was finding holding the camera up hard work.

  DAY 53

  VIDEO DIARY, DAY 53 – JUSTIN

  “Beautiful morning, calm seas, but probably the ugliest mood we’ve had on the kayak.”

  Our support team was sending us the most up-to-date current charts available. On the eastern Tasman, these overlays were surprisingly accurate; now, they had no relevance to our position. The frustration was getting under our skin. The Tasman was finally beginning to succeed in its mission – it knew it had no chance if we stuck together, but once we began squabbling, reaching NZ would be so much more difficult.

  “Mate, you’re taking too bloody long getting ready in the mornings,” I aggressively spat out after waiting in the pits for him for 20 minutes.

  “Give me a break – there’s a lot I’ve got to do in getting the cabin ready every morning,” Justin replied defensively (he’d had an atrocious night’s sleep, which didn’t help his diplomatic skills).

  “Stop being so f***ing smug. You can never take any objective feedback. You’re always right. You never apologise when you make a mistake. You always get defensive,” I said, almost looking for a fight.

  Jonesy jumped in immediately. “I get defensive because whenever you address me with feedback, it seems like you’re attacking me.”

  “I say it the way it is. C’mon, mate, surely I don’t need to carefully craft what I’m saying – you’re not that bloody sensitive, are you?”

  “I’m not saying that. Can you just work on the way you deliver your feedback?”

  “Yeah, okay, but only if you’re more open to it.”

  “Deal.”

  As we paddled on in uncomfortable silence, an object appeared 100 metres off our port bow. Justin was the first to speak. “Cool, what is it?” he called out.

  “Not sure, mate, it looks like a traffic cone – let’s go and investigate.”

  As we got a little closer to it – about 30 metres – I reaffirmed my initial thoughts. “Yeah, it definitely looks like a cone of some sort – a big black cone. Hey, mate, have you changed bearing?”

  “No, why?”

  “It’s almost on our beam now. Quick,” I directed him, “turn left before we miss it.”

  “That’s weird.” He seemed quite perplexed. “It seems to be drifting up into the wind.”

  As we got to within 10 metres of it, we realised it wasn’t a cone at all – it was a giant fin gliding in circles. The apex of the fin stood at least one-and-a-half feet out of the water. We immediately realised our stupidity. Our childish inquisitiveness was once again biting us on the arse – this time we were sure it was a great white shark. We quickly altered course and again tried to employ our “robo-paddling” technique, eager not to send out any bad energy.

  The next half an hour of paddling was terrifying. These sharks are the lions of the ocean, with a formidable reputation for destruction – even in the shark world, they’re well up the food chain. We briefly discussed the viability of bunkering down in the cabin but decided that this wouldn’t alleviate the problem, as it would keep us in the vicinity of the shark. It was best to paddle on.

  After we arrived on land, I learnt that Justin had felt horrible that I was in the front pit. He had the protection of the cabin if the shark came up for a chomp, while being in the front pit I was completely exposed and couldn’t hide if it came from below. I’d futilely held my paddle like a lance, ready to spear it, knowing that the blade wouldn’t even slow its momentum.

  As we slogged on, we could feel land was approaching. As well as the clouds, the birds were noticeably different and the amount of rubbish in the water had increased. The Tasman had lost its sparkling clarity and was becoming murky and cloudy.

  DAY 54

  We (in other words, Justin) started the day by replacing all the corroded battery terminals. This took over an hour, resulting in us having a shorter day in the pits – a tad over 10 hours. I’d been saving and saving The Power of One audio book by Bryce Courtenay the entire voyage. Finally, it was time to delve into this classic I’d been so looking forward to listening to, as all my music playlists and podcasts had been exhausted and I needed a morale injection. The pain resonating from our bones through every muscle fibre was now almost unbearable, and listening to this audio book allowed my mind to drift to a fantasy world and seek some kind of solace.

  Packing up at the end of the day had become more difficult as I could no longer stand up in the pits. As Justin would pass dry bags out, I’d find myself having to keep one hand holding on to the cockpit rim as I constantly collapsed. Inching back into the cabin, I felt like an invalid. It was the first time in my life I’d begged my body to carry out simple functions and it had failed to respond.

  DAY 55

  In my diary, I wrote, “250km to go. As the days go on, clarity of thought seems to get more and more vivid. The understanding of our past makes more sense now and the visualisation of our future seems so sharp.” It was an interesting contradiction. We were struggling to articulate left and right, east and west, but our inner thoughts seemed more vivid than ever before in our lives.

  DAY 56

  The wind had begun shifting to the northwest – a welcome relief. Although it was predominantly behind us, we needed to remain cautious that it didn’t blow us south of New Plymouth, one of our possible landing points, towards the Cook Str
ait. This narrow stretch of water between the North and South Islands of NZ was notorious for funnelling water through on the ebb tide at an extraordinarily fast pace – up to 15 kilometres per hour.

  The nor’westerly brought with it an overcast angry sky that resulted in wet, cold paddling. We had to weigh up whether to wear our Gore-Tex cags and spray skirts to trap the warmth or go without – the barrier gear made the paddling more enjoyable as we stayed warmer, but resulted in severe attacks of prickly heat on going indoors. The other option was not to wear these barriers, be cold the entire day, then be much more comfortable in the cabin. Each day now we fluctuated between the two, with the option we hadn’t chosen always seeming like the more attractive one. Yes, it really is always greener on the other side.

  As I recorded in my diary later in the day, even when we weren’t cocooned in our cags and spray skirts we were both feeling like “prisoners of freedom”. The ideology of pursuing our dreams and trying to break the shackles of society was what drove us to be out here; but ironically, by pursuing this freedom we found ourselves surrounded by a desolate landscape and in a situation seemingly becoming more and more hopeless.