All the Way Round by Stuart Trueman

There was only one set of waves to beat but because of the steepness of the beach the wave formed itself and curled up to about a metre before tripping over itself with a crash. Because this was happening about a kayak length off the beach, I had no chance to ready myself in the kayak or get up any speed to break through. It was then I realised how spent I was; I had to catch my breath for a few minutes before trying again.
    I was gearing up for a second go, with little hope of success, when a couple of fishermen wandered up, coffees in hand. It was early and there was no one else about. They started asking the usual questions and I tried to steer the conversation around to the fact that my tangle with the surf would be much easier if I had some help from someone. All in vain. They knew what I was getting at but it never occurred to them to strip off and get wet.
    For some, fishing is not the main reason to visit this area but the only reason. I’m not much of a fisherman, there are more than enough people keen on it already. So when the main topic of conversation turns to fishing and what was caught, what they didn’t catch and what they’re going after tomorrow, my body language gives me away.
    Then a woman arrived for a chat and I quickly realised it was her kids who had invented the ‘Let’s throw rocks at Stu’s tent’ game. I was braced for a spray on the do’s and don’ts in my treatment of her little darlings, but instead she showed genuine interest in my trip. It turned out that the mum was a former pupil of Sandy Robson, when Sandy worked as a schoolteacher, and she had followed Sandy’s kayak trips on the internet. During my carefully crafted conversation she realised I had just been spat back after a failed exit. I hoped she might shame the two men into giving me a hand. Instead she ran back to her tent, changed, jumped into the surf and helped me to successfully beat the waves while the two fishermen, still holding their coffees, watched on.
    I reached Gnarraloo Bay which is just about the southern limit of the Ningaloo Reef, 250 kilometres from North West Cape, on 18 May 2010. This is one of the few places along this stretch of coast where fishermen are able to drive right up to the water and launch their boats. It’s a gentle beach that offers shelter from the southerly winds and waves. Soon after I landed conditions deteriorated as the wind picked up.
    This signalled a recall of the various boats scattered around the nearby coast. My entertainment for the afternoon was watching the fishermen get their boats back on the trailers without getting their cars bogged in the soft sand. Their priorities were clear—they avoided putting a single scratch on their boats but would drive their cars into the sea up to the doors. These fishermen were hardcore and well versed in the exercise. Nevertheless, their vehicles got bogged and they struggled to stop their boats being blown away as they wrestled waist-deep in the water and coaxed their craft onto the submerged trailers. Those who made it successfully ashore joined a growing group of spectators with a beer in hand, helping those continuing to struggle by providing moral support in the form of laughter and light-hearted abuse.
    I was watching the show comfortably seated in a small tinnie left on the beach, until its owner swam ashore and said that he needed my seat to ferry his catch to the beach. After he sorted out his catch, I found myself explaining my situation to him and his friends, one of whom was a professional fisherman who had fished the Zuytdorp Cliffs. It was unusual to find someone who knew the cliffs, but what really made this guy stand out was that he was positive about my plans to kayak the cliffs. They were the first words of encouragement I had been given for the cliffs and they made the dozens of discouraging comments from others, most of whom hadn’t even been there, fade away. That single short conversation about Zuytdorp Cliffs would