Turning 90 degrees to the Southerlies, my heading was west.  I thought I saw a beach on the Yarrabah side of the peninsula west of Rocky Island.  My absolute concentration was on that point.  I was feeling the lack of nourishment, but sheer determination took over and I increased my paddle stroke.  The crosswind wasn’t easy, but I was making progress.  The “beach” was getting bigger.  I can do this and I can get there before dark.

The sun kept going behind the clouds making it darker and hard to see, although I began to suspect my “beach” was actually light coloured sheer rock.  As I got closer, my suspicions were confirmed.  No worries, I would find another beach.  I scanned the shoreline as the sun dipped behind the hills of Cairns.  Ah, is that a beach just north of the sheer rocks?  Perfect, the wind would help me get there; but it was getting dark and I was not certain it was not another sheer cliff.  It was so hard to tell for sure.  Okay, Plan C.  What was Plan C?  If that was sheer rock ahead, I would have no time to get anywhere else before dark.  What did that area look like when I was planning my route?  I hadn’t really looked at it because I never imagined the conditions I encountered and the need to paddle nearly twelve and a half hours straight.  Lesson learned.  Plan C was tucking my tail between my legs and sending out an SOS; there was no other option.

I turned on the steam and measured my breathing. I. WOULD. GET. THERE. BEFORE. DARK. exhale AND. LAND. SAFELY. inhale.  I was making progress.  The beach was getting bigger and Bingo!  It was a beach!

A beach it was, but small and rocky.  Closing in, I assessed my options.  I would land as far south as I could on a strip about 10 metres wide before I smashed into rocks.  I knew the wind and waves would push me so I had to act fast.  I should have bailed my cockpit, but it was getting dark, and I was exhausted.  I timed my landing in between wave sets and jumped out.  I hauled on the front of the kayak and cried out in pain.  I hadn’t realised the six blisters on my right hand and seven on my left and as I tugged on my kayak, they all ripped open.  The kayak got washed north as I figured out a way I could haul it up on the beach with my disabled hands.  I grabbed the tow rope and looped it so I could use my arms as well as hands to take the pressure off the painful blisters.

The waves were landing sideways filling my cockpit with water and pushing it dangerously close to the rocks.  What could I do?  I started unloading.  I flung as much stuff as high up onto the beach as I could.  Each time I grabbed something, the salt washed into my wounds causing excruciating pain.  My legs gave out as I tripped over some rocks.  KEEP GOING!  YOU MUST LAND THIS KAYAK.  I hauled myself back to my feet and emitted an anguished, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” as my kayak was pushed into the rocks.  I mustered every last gram of strength and hauled as hard as I could when the next wave came in.  The kayak moved up the beach!  The next wave was sideways and pushed it to the rocks again.  I gritted my teeth, knowing this was it, either get that kayak out of the water or there would be no more kayak.  I squatted down, braced against the weight, and used my quads to inch the kayak up to safety.  Then I collapsed and laughed and laughed.  I had done it.  I had endured what was certainly one of the most difficult paddles of the entire trip on the first day!