It only happens once a year. The highest tide at Woodgate was to peak at 3.52m bringing with it the chance to find out if a local rumour was true. Some years ago we had been told that on a high tide you can get from Theodolite Creek through to One Mile Creek. No clue as to what type of vessel, but if it could be done, then surely a kayak could do it.
We launched from near the Theodolite Creek boat ramp and paddled north directly into the entrance of Crab Creek where the impatient tide was submerging everything. We suggested Ann return to Theodolite Creek so she didn’t have to push against such an impressive tide. We were soon ducking and weaving through a mass of mangroves without a clue as to where a dribble of a creek may have been. Unexpectedly we broke into a an open expanse covered by 2 or 3 feet of water. While we could see casuarinas we thought likely to be on the dunes on the northern bank of Theodolite Creek and at the base of One Mile Swamp, impenetrable tall thin mangroves blocked this direction. So it was back to best guess navigation which chanced us upon a the SW arm of One Mile Creek.
We found ourselves on a deep watery trail a mere 3 feet wide lined by a dense wall of mangroves whose red arching roots were several feet underwater. It was entrancing and a guarantee of no company. This narrow passage opened out into One Mile Swamp. Foam was drifting in so we followed a fork to the right to find the very southern end of the swamp marked by a deep brown cesspit. At the mouth of the creek the tide was still flooding in strongly. Waves rippled in and foam banked up against the mangroves where a mere two boat lengths (instead of 50m) separated the creek from One Mile swamp. The mouth of One Mile Creek still had a number of strainers and mangroves which made access difficult, so we decided to head up the swamp arm with the intent to paddle out the mouth of the creek after checking out the limits of the swamp.
Paddling north we came across elaborate camp sites made possible by appropriately large 4WDs. Children played in the rising creek while some adults had taken a small tinny to check the crab pots. Whoops of joy heralded some impressive muddies. About half way along the swamp suddenly changed in that all of the trees next to the water were dead. 100% dead. Long dead. Lichenified and brittle. A spooky testament to some complete event. Anything above water snapped if brushed against. The underwater logs were not as forgiving and demanded attention as the water became shallower. The foam continued to drift north despite a NE breeze. At times the flow was very strong so we paddled with it thinking that there would have to be another breakout to the beach at the northern and of the swamp.
We found ourselves paddling over 4WD ruts for adequate water. The absence of the sound of surf suggested that there was a slight technical hitch. We soon found ourselves out of water on broad white sand patch and while the tannin stained water continued to flow in, there was no break out. There was no sound of surf. The bush looked scrubby and dense. Ooopsie. Time to return to a disused 4WD track in search of the ocean.
We left the kayaks and scrambled up the overgrown track and within 300m we had found the ocean, a dumping surf and a steady 10Kn NE. Time to haul the kayaks up and start sprouting some chicken feathers. I never really liked Palm Beach. It had bad memories of 4WD solo adventures when I thought that we were going to donate the black Feroza to King Neptune. A previous surf launch in similar conditions from Coonar Beach (a little further north) some years ago had not been easy. In the meantime the wind was definitely freshening to 15Kn NE with bonus open fetch. As the tide receded and the waves were dumping more with about four or five to get through.While I knew Mark could send me off into the surf, this beach can have a nasty rip and getting broadside seal launching can happen all too quickly.
I went in search of a monster 4WD to ask the driver if they could please give Mark a push off the beach. I came across a German family about 300m down the beach. Once they understood what I was asking, they were happy to help out after they had had lunch. We returned to have some morning tea, I secured everything down on the front of my boat, including a velcro wrap around the sail (it is annoying to say the least when a wave deploys your sail) and tightened my PFD to strangulation. Mark primed his bilge pump. He was doing the cheery attitude but this did not help one iota. White caps were everywhere. I was beyond chicken feathers. I was moulting. In the distance a 4WD was weaving along the beach splashing the edge of the surf. Given that beggars cannot be choosers and the wind was on the up I flagged the car down anticipating a load of yobs on the turps late for fishing. To my surprise the window wound down to reveal a portly retired couple, the driver of whom, after he realised what was being asked of him, kindly obliged.
In the meantime Mark couldn’t get me in my boat fast enough. He took the nose, stood in waist deep water and barked at me to get my deck on because he was about to shove me off. Too bad my paddle was backwards, he saw a lull and pushed me into it with me saying less that polite words before I ripped into four sets of moderate breakers. Mark then hopped into his boat, left the skirt off and asked for a push, which the 4WD driver kindly did with gusto. Interestingly he got through the break without taking in much water at all. We waved to the German family as we paddled south in a sea measled with blue jellyfish.
Approaching Theodolite Creek can be daunting as it is invariably awash with white water. However, the breakers are usually small and tend to have more bubble than power. They can be a lot of fun once you are reminded that yes, you will broach, but they are fluffy waves, not the dumpers we launched out through. The 15Kn NE capped a fascinating and varied kayak venture as we sailed back to the boat ramp where the ebbing king tide had the last say as we made a leisurely 1Kph sail to the ramp.
