It had been an adrenalin charged day that that had left us wound up like coil springs. Emotionally and physically spent, it had been a continuous game of hopscotch, ducking and weaving pounding headlands, hidden bommies, breakers and reefs extending kilometers out to sea.

    Apartment sized waves cannoned all around us like artillery fire and finally we had crept up to the Wanderer River entrance. Stunned, we sat off shore in a state of near shell shock. Now, we were faced with what appeared to be an impenetrable seething foaming mass of pounding five meter surf, extending well down the from the north end of the bay. It blocked the entrance to our next camp and safety, a monstrous, angry writhing dragon.

    Well, I had been warned.

Wander River Entrance - after the seas settled down
Wayne Langmaid

    Five years earlier, waiting out bad weather on Deal Island during a crossing of the Bass Strait, one of the my paddling partners had commented on his trip down the Tasmanian west coast. Dinner complete, we lounged like overstuffed lizards on the beach. Doug mentioned that one of the most challenging paddles he had ever done was the entry in the Wanderer River on the remote far South West Coast.

    The River has a small bay out front,” said Doug, “And in front of the bay is a reef that extends from the north end, well south, about 500 meters across the entrance. It goes off. ” He trailed off in thought.

    Just how big is, ‘it goes off',” I replied. “Oh my,” was his only response as he took another slug of port.

Wiped out after a day of avoiding big reef breaks
Wayne Langmaid

    Years later, here I was. He was right. The waves were so huge that we couldn't even see bay behind, let alone the river. We were wired. Only a short time earlier, Geoff, one of the paddlers in our crew had been wiped out by a massive swell surging over a reef. He ended up surfed, tumbled and flipped for over three hundred meters across the reef. Ending up relatively unscathed in deep water on the other side was a miracle of great paddling and good fortune.

    We needed to land.

 
1000+ year old Huon Pine Driftwood
Wayne Langmaid  

    Years before, Doug's advice had been to try find the most extreme southern edge of the north reef and paddle it in. Even though you would be “ in feare for yore lyfe,” you need to avoid getting too far south or you get caught on a south reef that extends up to meet the north.

    “Like the pincers on a crab,” he said.

    Paddle straight in through this keyhole towards shore until about five boat lengths from the seething monstrous rocks, at which point a channel; would appear to the left.

    You should be able to paddle confused water to the head of the river.”

    So we did.

Matts Hobbit House - dry, warm with a huge mug of tea
Wayne Langmaid

    I could have used a Mylanta milkshake about that time; my stomach was in such a knot. The odd chunk of timber hurled through the maelstrom at us, cascades of water smashed down over our boats, often submerged completely underwater. I refused to believe that was fin that just shot past!

    The air was so dense with salt spray I figured I might as well be under water. Hang on; I was under water!

    Far out – this was the right way in?

Kevin Melville - dinner at Rocky Boat Harbour camp
Wayne Langmaid

    All the way, my mate Kevin, who seems to have a misplaced faith in my abilities, stayed stuck to the stern of my boat, figuring the only way in alive was to stay with me. Silly man.

    Sure enough, Doug's words came true. Next we knew we were in the absolute total calmness of the Wanderer River. A near complete trunk of prehistoric Huon Pine, over 1500 years old before it fell, lay the beach. I wondered if I would have made such an enduring monument?

    We made camp down at the entrance to the river and enjoyed the analgesic properties of Matt's Magical Mud mix, a calming, soothing concoction of chocolate, rum, nuts and who knows what else.

    Sucking on spoonfuls of that delicious mixture, Kevin asked what I reckoned on that landing.

    All I could muster was, “Oh my.”

The editor, Wayne Langmaid and a group of his mates make an attempt to get away at least a few times a year to blow the dust off in a new remote, beautiful paddling locations. Sometimes a little more than the dust gets blown off.